The starting point of any inquiry into the relationship between Frederick and the Arabic-Islamic culture goes back to the Arabic-Norman Sicily to which he was bound by the great Constance, by his infancy, by his early adolescence, and by his crown. Despite the fact that he was born by chance in the Marche region and had preferred to spend his adult years in the flat land of Puglia, where he died, it was in Sicily that he first formed the elements of his intellectual personality and culture. The first question to be answered, therefore, is: How much of the Arabian culture of the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries was still alive in Sicily after the survival of both the Moslem domination and the political, religious, ethnical, and social crises by which the last Mohammedan influence upon Sicily had been completely eliminated under the last Norman kings?

There has been no uniform conception of philosophy in the West. The Greek conception differs very much from that of Kant, and Kant's philosophical thought is in turn altogether dissimilar from that of a man like Ayer. However, there are certain broad characteristics which distinguish the philosophy of European culture from philosophies of Hindu and Chinese cultures. Within the same culture, of course, there are a number of clear-cut directions. It may, for example, be pointed out that philosophy, as conceived in Germany, Spain, and Italy, differs very much from the philosophy that has evolved in Britain and Scandinavian countries. There are, certainly, exceptions. Britain has produced Bradley and Whitehead; and Denmark, Kierkegaard. Still we are not far wrong in thinking that there is something which distinguishes the philosophy of one tradition from that of another. This difference is inevitable because philosophical activity takes place not in a vacuum but within a historical setting. History is influenced by the geography of the country and the racio-cultural patterns that have been established. Again, foreign impacts produce currents of far-reaching change in habits of thought as well as action. To cite an instance, but for the German influence sweeping through Coleridge, the Cairds, and Green, Bradley or Bosanquet would be unexplainable. I will therefore assume that the philosophy of a tradition can be taken as a historic and continuous phenomenon with a special genius of its own and, perhaps, a destiny as well.

I have been asked to express in my turn the reflections which a reading of K. Satchidananda Murty's fine paper, “Philosophical Thought in India,” have inspired in me. In complying with this request, I would like, first of all, to caution the reader that my aim is not an ambitious one and that my remarks will be formulated with great modesty. They are based, to be sure, on thirty years of intellectual and spiritual contact with Indian thought, but they remain nonetheless those of an analyst and observer from the outside. It is not fitting that a guest admitted into the intimacy of Indian civilization should raise his voice too high in commenting on a statement that is based on knowledge originating from within. Therefore, I propose merely to explain how the data of Indian philosophical history might appear to a mind that has been trained in the civilization of the West and that seeks to achieve a universal view; to indicate where, for such a mind, major emphases should be placed.

To define abstract art, which occupies such an important place in contemporary aesthetics, merely as a plastic mode of expression that makes no attempt to seek its own forms among those already existing in reality is to give a very inadequate notion of it. The term “non-figurative art,” which is sometimes used to describe it, arbitrarily restricts its range by stressing as peculiar to it this elementary fact alone and by characterizing abstract art solely as a controversial or even as a revolutionary art, as opposed to traditional aesthetics, which is itself figurative. Abstract art at times has also been called “concrete” or “non-objective” art. All these definitions have as little validity in themselves as those that are made use of in the history of art and are acceptable only at their “face value,” to use the monetary term, because they have no absolute value but merely a conventional one based on the principle of exchange (Baroque, Gothic, Rococo, Cubist). However, they are not to be ignored, since they do express the state of uncertainty, uneasiness, and indecision that afflicts most amateurs and even historians of art in regard to abstract art. At the same time, these definitions also indicate an awareness that we are dealing with a very important and complex phenomenon, enriched by extensive projections into the domain of social psychology, sociology, and probably even metaphysics.

The relation between government and industry is a problem not of economics but of political economy. It is a problem of controlling and civilizing economic power in order that it may be used for the public good within the framework of democratic institutions. It is a problem of striking a delicate balance between individual freedom and centralized control. It is a problem for which there is no monistic solution and which transcends the clichés of popular controversy between conservatives and liberals.

Except for scholarly works dealing with well-defined problems, writings on Byzantine art rarely fail to arouse in the reader some disquiet, some perplexity, regarding the aggregate of this art—its distinctive characteristics and essential values. The following remarks, confined to painting, are designed solely to clarify the foregoing statement, to indicate why it is justifiable, and to retrace, if possible, the genesis of such a state of affairs.

The development in modern times of the scientific study of the languages and civilizations called “oriental” (actually those outside western and central Europe) has of necessity been followed by a division of research into disciplines essentially delimited by linguistic boundaries. Thus experts of classical Arabic and of spoken Arab dialects, whether they study these idioms for their own sake, for their spoken or written literature, or even, making use of Arabic texts, to elaborate the history of the peoples of Arabic language, their nations, or their culture, have found themselves tending to work more or less together and to consider themselves under the name of “Arabists” as the artisans of a common science. Likewise, the experts of classical or modern Chinese and of Chinese dialects—linguists, philologists, historians, ethnographers—are conscious of working in the same corps of studies, known as “Sinology.” In both cases the linguistic definition is reinforced by a fairly precise geographical definition; the Arab countries, or China, are easily found on the map, and the educated public understands without much difficulty the sphere of interests of the Arabist or the Sinologist.