THE TONE SCALE AND THE ARTS.

"For some reason I love this painting, but that one... Ugh!"
"I never could dig most classical music; it’s too depressing."
"Maybe it isn’t good writing, but I enjoyed the book anyway."
Whether creative people like it or not, most individuals respond to the arts emotionally because there’s a definite relationship between the tone scale and the arts.
Aesthetics forms a scale of its own going from the gaudiest dime store glitter to the elegance of a masterpiece. This scale moves (perpendicularly) up and down the tone scale. Therefore, we may find flawlessly executed art that is depressing. Conversely, we may see happy, upscale work that is less than perfect aesthetically.
When a person says, "I know it’s supposed to be good, but it doesn’t appeal to me," he is objecting to the emotional tone of the work; he may prefer something that is sad, schmaltzy, fearful, mysterious, gutsy or unobtrusive, depending on his tone.
There are thousands of songs in the Grief band alone and they range from quickly-forgotten novelty numbers to exquisite classics. Aesthetics has a strong tone-raising value as you will know if certain books, paintings or music fill you with excitement and pleasure.
MUST THE ARTIST BE NEUROTIC?
An artist who expects to interpret life truthfull~ must be able to view all tones from Apathy tc Enthusiasm with an equally detached viewpoint. His own position on the scale needn’t influence his creativ ability. Many of our most talented artists were or ar low-scale. However, it isn’t necessary for the artist to bE neurotic in order to be creative (this is an idea thai seems to get passed along despite the fact that it’s nol valid). Although an artist may be able to produce wher he’s low, he’ll be more robust and adept if he moves upscale, and he needn’t sacrifice his form, style or talent in any way. No person gets worse by goinз up-tone.
"A good poet can cheerfully write a poem gruesome enough to make a strong man cringe, or he can write verses happy enough to make the weeping laugh. An able composer can write music either covert enough to make the sadist wiggle with delight or open enough to rejoice the greatest souls. The artist works with life and with universes. He can deal with any level of communication. He can create any reality. He can enhance or inhibit any affinity."—L. Ron Hubbard, Science of Survival
ON STAGE
The tone scale can be useful to the actor, playwrighl or director. An actress doing a dramatic Grief scene will do it more easily if she understands all the .5 characteristics, many of which can be conveyed without words (expression, posture, movements and communication lag). A Grief person droops; her eyes are downcast. She never gives fast, snappy answers. She sighs heavily. She’s so wrapped up in herself that she finds it difficult to get interested in anything or anyone else.
An actor or actress in training could exercise by taking a few lines and saying them in every tone on the scale.
THE WRITER
Countless writers survive (and even prosper) without formally learning the tone scale. The best of them, however, actually do use the material when they accurately observe and describe human nature. If you write about people (whether real or imaginary), using the scale will make your work easier and more believable.
If every political writer and historian knew the tone scale, it would be a simple matter to determine whether any famous person was a great statesman or a conniving scoundrel.
Recently I read about a popular but controversial man. Since he’s quite influential, I was eager to know his tone. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell whether he was a 1.1 or top-scale because the writer intruded his own emotion so strongly through innuendo and thinly-veiled criticism. Covert Hostility types commonly do this to discredit a high-tone person. When I finished the article
I knew more about the writer than the subject of the article.
Sometimes, out of admiration (or orders from the editor), a writer will endow his subject with a falsely high tone. If enough direct quotations are included, however, you can usually by-pass the author and make an accurate evaluation.
"IN CHARACTER"
Probably since the first cave man scratched a hieroglyphic symbol on a wall, student writers have been admonished to keep their fictional people "in character," although they are seldom told exactly how to do this. Today, however, the best interpretation of this ill-defined phrase lies in the use of the tone scale.
Once you select the chronic tone of a fictional person, you can keep him in character by sustaining that emotion until your plot introduces a situation that justifies a rise or drop in tone. Meanwhile, you can predict his reactions: When he’s threatened will he be brave, pig-headed, cowardly, or so low he’s unaware of any threat? Will he be honest when faced with temptation? Will he be generally liked or disliked? Will he boost or depress others by his presence?
You can show the village drunk as easy-going or pugnacious when under the influence. If you sober him up, however, he should be placed in Apathy—morose and brooding.
The Angry prostitute (such as the one portrayed by Barbra Streisand in the movie "The Owl and the Pussycat") has the same 1 .5 characteristics as the tough army general. The characters can be rich, poor, nauseatingly intellectual, drop-out dumb, prudish, nicely moral, nicely immoral or downright cheap. They can be chic or dowdy. They can be members of an Indian tribe or the New York cocktail circuit. But if the tone is constant, it can be readily recognized by the jet set debutante as well as the frazzled housewife in Hoboken ("I know somebody who’s just like that").
SOME FAMOUS CHARACTERS
One enjoyable way to practice the tone scale is by spotting people (whether real or fictional) in books, articles, movies and plays. Let’s do a few for a warmup...
That famous, slinky creature, Long John Silver in Treasure Island was definitely a 1.1, as evidenced by his sneaky trickery and his smiling front.
Hamlet seemed to move around the scale; but when he delivered his famous "to be or not to be" he was caught in the indecision of Grief. His uncle (the King) exemplified the suppressive 1.1 by the devious skulduggery which brought about the death of everyone around him.
In the The Love Machine Jacqueline Susann describes a No Sympathy person in Robin Stone.
In the play Pygmalion, George Bernard Shaw also gave us a No Sympathy person, Henry Higgins. Liza Dolittle, spunky and outspoken was mostly Antagonism, with occasional fits of Anger. Higgins’ lack of sympathy shows up in his complete inability to perceive or acknowledge Liza’s feelings, although he sometimes uses the "coaxing cleverness" of the 1.1 or throws a fit of temper. After much exposure to each other, Shaw (believably) settles out the relationship at mid-point (1.5): "She snaps his head off on the slightest provocation, or on none . . . He storms and bullies and rides . .
Thomas Berger in The Little Man sketches a 1.1 practical nurse in a few succinct sentences: ". . . stout, over-curious, and spiteful . . . one of those people who indulge their moral code as a drunkard does his thirst . . . and went so far as to drop certain nasty implications . . . A more sensitive person would have taken my murmur as adequate discouragement, but Mrs. Burr was immune to subtlety."
In The Godfather by Mario Puzo we have the tone level of organized crime (1.1 to 1.5). The Godfather himself, often unsympathetic, occasionally angry, operated for the most part as a 1 .1. "We’re reasonable people. We can arrive at a reasonable agreement," but underneath the simulated friendliness, there was a mutually shared knowledge that any person who failed to comply would simply be destroyed. His frequent poses of sentimentality and kindness were merely 1.1 devices for gaining control over others. Despite his apparent love for his family, his activities placed them under constant threat from both the law and rival underworld gangs. We also see the exalted ego of the 1.1 as he demands "full respect" from his underlings, constantly asserting his "honor" while indulging in covert treachery, deception and betrayal.
Kurt Vonnegut in Slaughterhouse-Five brilliantly depicts Apathy in the funny, pitiful, non-hero Billy Pilgrim.
VOLUME
The writer can also make excellent (and realistic) use of tone volume. Some characters come on strong while others stay in the background—not intruding too heavily in the story—just as they do in our lives.
We see a 1.1 who’s amusing and likable—a charming, boyish, ladies’ man who’s generally forgivable. Of course he’s still unreliable, unfaithful and unethical. Some of his jokes will have a bit of an edge; he won’t keep agreements; he won’t persist on a job. He’ll carry all the 1.1 characteristics, but his charm makes him socially acceptable (as long as you don’t need to depend on him for much). This is 1.1 on the low side, lightly done. On the other hand, we meet a 1.1 with the volume turned up and, although he still wears the plastic smile, he’s so viciously dedicated to destruction that he leaves nothing but tears and frustration in his wake. The difference between them is volume.
One Apathy person may be practically invisible, while another sits in the corner, saying nothing, but permeating the room with a heavy, suffocating hopelessness.
REALISM VS. ROMANTICISM
For a number of years we have been bombarded with a level of creativeness called realism. To this school, life is a garbage can. "Telling it like it is" means depicting drunkenness, deceitfulness, addiction, prostitution, crime, depravity, murder, unhappiness, sorrow, and every form of spiritual slumming. Honest realism shows us the roses in the garden as well as the refuse in the back alley.
There’s usually somebody around to appreciate every tone of writing. However, it wouldn’t hurt any writer to notice the popularity of the upscale invulnerables: Sherlock Holmes, James Bond, Tarzan, Superman, the Lone Ranger and every hero who can shoot from the hip with his eyes closed and never miss. There’s pleasure in believing in the superhuman and, no matter how mundane his own condition, man never tires of this vicarious invincibility.
High-tone writing needn’t be happy every minute. Erich Segal’s Love Story is an excellent example of an upscale story about a young couple who meet on a mutually antagonistic level and, falling in love, move uptone to a delightfully bantering, but meaningful, relationship. The Grief (introduced in the last one-fifth of the book) depicts the way upscale people would react in such circumstances. Critics of this book fall into two camps: for or against. No one, it seems, is indifferent. Segal plays sharply on the emotional responses, so both high and low-tone readers are deeply moved by this ten-Kleenex book. In the war of the critics, however, the first shot was fired by the 1.2s. No Sympathy doesn’t dare let anyone tug this way at his atrophied heartstrings, so he fights back by sneeringly labeling the work "romanticism." And the one who laughs when everyone else is weeping is most likely the 1.1 in the audience.
If Mr. Segal were to look closely at those who attacked his book most viciously, he would find them all at 1 .1 or 1 .2 on the scale. They’re saving their kudos for low-tone art that will contribute more to the degradation and destruction of the human race.
THE TURNING POINT
Most fiction plotting requires at least one major turning point to add interest and bring about the desired ending. The poor little waif makes good. The tough criminal decides to go straight. The philandering husband realizes he loves his wife after all.
People do make major decisions which change the course of their lives; but writers go out of character more on this device than any other.
When a person experiences (or causes or witnesses) a big upset, loss or misunderstanding, he’s likely to make a decision that will change the course of his life; but the choice he makes will be a downscale one. When he drops to a low tone, it’s impossible for him to make an upscale decision or determine to be an upscale person. Any decision made in the middle of a low-tone upset will be a low-tone decision designed to keep such circumstances from occurring again.
It is during such extremely depressed moments of life that a person decides to have less affinity for his fellow man ("I’m never gonna love anybody again"), less agreement ("You can’t trust anybody"), less communication ("You won’t catch me shooting off my mouth again"). This is when he will decide to quit school, leave town, get drunk, never trust a woman, never believe anybody, never tell the truth or try to help anyone again.
Let’s say the tough, No Sympathy killer shoots at a cop and injures a little girl instead. He immediately suffers remorse and tries to make it up by lavishing the girl and her family with gifts and money. Society may now consider him a "good" man but the author should realize that this man is at Propitiation and the rest of his behavior should be consistent with his tone. He’ll still be unethical, weak and ineffectual.
If you want the character to go straight, you must plot the circumstances to raise him uptone. After I gave a lecture in California, a young playwright came up to me and said, "I’ve only recently learned about the tone scale. I’m writing a new play that’s nearly finished and I’ve discovered my heroine is a Grief person. I don’t want to end the play with her still at this level; but if I change her tone completely I’d have to rewrite nearly every scene. Is there any believable way I can raise her up before the end of the play?"
"Yes," I answered, "Show a turning point of wins, not losses. Let her succeed at something she’s trying to do, perhaps by leaving someone who’s holding her down." A person at the bottom can experience a tremendous upsurge with any minor victory: baking a cake that doesn’t fall or getting a balky car to start. I went on to suggest that he move her up through the tones, stressing some more than others. "She could start by showing a stronger interest in others, then she might become more courageous and willing to fight anything stopping her. Keep giving her wins and you can take her as high as you want."
This seemed to solve the problem because his face lit up like a launching rocket: "Yes, I can do that. Wow! You’ve saved me six months of rewriting."
REALIZATIONS
When you show a mean, angry character who experiences a devastating loss and realizes that he should turn into a nice person, remember that his decision was made in the middle of Grief ("I’d better be another. I’m too painful."). If you insist on endowing him with the stereotyped heart of gold, remember that heart is made of mush at .8 and .9 on the scale.
If you want a character to "realize" on his own that he’s been a coward, or a no-good, and you want him to become an upscale hero, you must devise a way to move him up-tone before this realization takes place. People are incapable of confronting the truth about themselves while in any low tone. Near the bottom of the scale, magnificent realizations tend to be nothing more than pretty delusions.
A low-scale person moving up will go through Anger, and it’s a natural turning point. At this time the former coward will say, "I’ve had enough of this sniveling around. I’m tired of being everybody’s doormat. From now on I’m getting tough." Once he’s capable of getting angry, he might move on up. It’s at Anger that a person insists on a showdown, a face-to-face confrontation. Don’t try to bypass Anger in taking a person upscale. It’s unreal.
We sometimes read true accounts of people who undergo some "awakening" after enduring the darkest moments of their lives. There are two explanations for this type of phenomenon. Such things can happen to a high-tone person who suffers a loss and bounces back upscale, enriched by the experience.
A Conservatism man experienced a nearly fatal automobile accident. During his long recovery he found himself so weak and helpless that he considered suicide. He managed to cling to some thread of sanity, however, and he gradually regained his strength and moved back upscale. Today he’s higher-tone than before. If he meets a pretty girl he kisses her. When he wakes up and the sun is shining, he considers it a beautiful day. If it’s raining, he still considers it a beautiful day. He’s less inhibited and has more fun: "I found out how good it is to be alive."
Many of the "breakthroughs" we hear about, however, are nothing more than the person settling into philosophic Apathy. The determining factor is this:
what did he do afterward? Did he go out and become more effective or did he develop a sedentary philosophy about the mystic significance of a blade of grass?
There is an interesting and consistent phenomenon which I frequently notice: when a person abruptly becomes interested in a mystic, occult, or symbolic explanation for everything, this is a certain clue that some ambition of his was shattered. He’s wordlessly slipped into a peaceful Apathy where everything is now explained by stars, numbers, or symbols—all of which are mysteriously preordained and out of his control.
THE ENVIRONMENT OF THE ARTIST
High creativity cannot take place in an atmosphere of downscale criticism. The artist should select his working environment, close friends, instructors and critics with care.
The more successful an artist is, the more low-tone people gravitate toward him. Use a pitchfork if necessary, but get rid of them. The creative person needs a free mind and peaceful surroundings. If you share your dreams with a low-tone person, he’ll crush them. Look around you and you’ll find many friends with stories that were never written and songs that were never sung because they aligned themselves with someone below 2.0 on the scale and soon gave up.
YOUR CRITICS
Better to blush awhile unseen than ask the wrong person to criticize your work. The creative impulse is often fragile and the beginning artist is easily discouraged if his embryonic creations are heavily punctured. Even experienced writers are vulnerable.
A well-known author showed an unfinished manuscript to a friend. The friend voiced some criticism and the author abandoned the piece for nearly a year. After he recovered enough to finish the book it became a best seller.
The critic you select may be well-published, heavilydegreed, and wear a stamp of "authority" from some lofty institution; but if you want to survive as an artist, use his tone scale position as the first credential. Although he may know his subject well, his comments come through his tone. If it’s low, his intention will be to stop you. Below 2.0 there is no such thing as constructive criticism.
Over a period of several years, I encountered a variety of writing instructors. In Freshman English it was a Boredom type whose literary criticism consisted of correcting grammar and sentence structure. Neither encouraging nor discouraging any possible talent in the class, she was harmless.
The Antagonism instructor in the Composition Course loved to take a philosophic question, toss it to the class and encourage hot debate. Although we engaged in many stimulating verbal brawls, we learned nothing about writing skill.
The next professor I met was pure Sympathy, who so thoroughly understood artistic fragility that he never entered a single criticism or constructive remark into his teaching. He didn’t even give assignments. His was a "free" class—even free from help.
The most discouraging instructor was a 1.2 who specialized in undermining the confidence of his students. When asked for specific advice on a piece, he curtly replied: "If you want to learn the art of simile, read Georgia Portly Lament." He often referred to obscure writings, implying that unless we knew them we were beyond hope. Criticizing with blunt generalities, he left the students dissatisfied and discouraged with their work and not knowing exactly how to improve it.
Eventually I found an uptone instructor (there really are some) and the differences were remarkable. With no wish to hurt or discourage his students, he praised as often as possible. On the other hand, integrity to his job (and his own skill in the field) made him able to criticize when needed. The important difference was this: he gave specific criticism, not generalities.
I mentioned this to a friend of mine who is a university art professor and he thanked me profusely. While acutely conscious of his students’ vulnerability, he was never able to work out exactly how to criticize until I mentioned the word specific.
This kind of correction doesn’t hurt (unless the student is on a low-tone vanity trip) because the artist knows exactly how to improve his work; he learns something.
Incidentally, this is the main reason a rejection slip is so discouraging to the writer. It’s a generality. There is no clue why his story didn’t sell. When the author knows the true reason (no matter how gruesome) it is easier to confront than his own low-scale imaginings, and he may be able to remedy the piece. I understand that some publications are now using a rejection slip in the form of a check list, and I’m sure this helps.
SUMMARY
Choose your art, your environment, your teachers and your critics by tone. You need low-tone help about as much as you need a case of malaria.
There is every reason for the artist to be upscale and none for being down. Ron Hubbard said that it is "the artists who, through grossness and vulgarity, destroy the mores of a race and so destroy the race." (Science of Survival)
On the other hand, topscale artists are the most powerful people on earth, for aesthetics is the quickest method of all for lifting large numbers of people up-tone.