The positions that I would support in regard to the question whether philosophy has any relation to practice are as follows. In the first place, there are certain problems of modern civilization, and those amongst the most crucial, with which philosophy alone can deal. In the second place, in spite of appearances to the contrary, the present age will not be deaf to the voice of philosophy, if it can speak with sufficient clearness and power to secure a hearing. The problems to which I refer do not belong to the sphere of science, in the strict modern sense. Science is triumphant in its own sphere, but it is not concerned primarily with the values of human existence, or the activity of the mind by which they are discovered, pursued, enjoyed.

The subject which has been chosen for me is sufficiently comprehensive. Several years ago I wrote the last of a series of essays in a book called Science, Religion, and Reality, in which, as requested, I tried to sum up the contributions of the other writers, with reflections of my own. I have also given a short statement of my opinions in the first volume of that interesting book, Contemporary British Philosophy. Lastly, I have tried, in a book published in the autumn of 1933, to consider the religious and philosophical implications of recent scientific theories and discoveries, and particularly of the conviction held by our leading astronomers and mathematicians that the Second Law of Thermodynamics is unassailable, so that the ultimate extinction of the universe as we know it is certain. I showed that the acceptance of this verdict raises important questions for the philosopher and theologian.

The dominant feature of eighteenth-century aesthetic is the inquiry and discussion concerning the theory of “taste.” There is material or bibliographical evidence of this in the rapid sequence of treatises, essays, inquiries, observations, and controversies on this subject, extending from the close of the seventeenth to the last years of the eighteenth century, and bearing the names, in France, of Dacier, Bellegarde, Bouhours, Rollin, Seran de la Tour, Trublet, Formey, Bitaubé, Marmontel, and, still more eminent, of Montesquieu, Voltaire, d’Alembert; in England, of Addison, Hume, Gerard, Home, Burke, Priestley, Blair, Beattie, Percival, Reid, Alison; in Italy, of Muratori, Calepio, Pagano, Corniani; in Germany, of Thomasius, J. U. König, Bodmer, A. von Schlegel, Wegelin, Heyne, Herz, Eberhard, J. C. König, and, by German influence in Hungary, Szardahely; and, greatest of all, Immanuel Kant, whose Critique of Judgment consists in the main of a critique of the aesthetic judgment of taste.

Nicolai Hartmann, in an interesting discussion of Aristotle’s account of moral virtue, has called attention to the difference between the contrariety of opposed vices and the contrast of certain virtues. The äκρa or extremes, somewhere between which Aristotle thought that any morally virtuous disposition (with the possible exception of justice) must lie, are not conciliable. The same man cannot combine or reconcile, in the same action, cowardice and bravery, intemperance and insensibility, stinginess and thriftlessness, passion and lack of spirit. These are pairs of contraries, between which a virtue lies; but the virtue is not a synthesis of the extremes in a pair.

Prefatory. The Logic of Theism.–Our world, the thing or complex of things, which is continuous and co-ordinate with our present perception, is self-transcendent. The proof is from observation, from our reactions, which are often more sensitive than our direct observations, from the testimony of philosophers, expert psychologists, and poets (cited in the text).

To say that our world is self-transcendent is to say that it presents itself to our minds as indigent of some sort of supplement or complement having some sort of ontological status which it implies in some capacity.

The problem of the Logic of Theism is the problem of determining, assigning a definite value to, these “somes.” In other words, the proof of God is the proof that what “our world implies” when it is made determinate corresponds with the received conception of God in such a way as to justify the substitution of the name God for the indication “what our world implies.”

The generally accepted interpretation of Kant's formula “act only on that maxim which thou canst at the same time will to be a universal law,” is roughly as follows:—

Our moral experience is fundamentally a consciousness of the difference between Duty and Inclination, between "doing what we ought to whether we like to or not, and doing merely what we like whether we ought to or not."1 When we have open to our choice different acts, there are some which we would like to do, others we would not like to do, and perhaps others towards which we are indifferent; or we like to do any one of them, or we may dislike all, or we may be indifferent to all. But we must ignore our inclinations, our aversions, our attractions, and our indifferences. We must ask ourselves which of the acts open to our choice ought we to do, no matter what our feelings in the matter may be.

Philosophers, accounted wise in their generation and even beyond their generation, have enthroned the unchanging and sung the praises of fatality and acquiescence. But there is a voice even more authoritative than that of the sages—the voice of the LifeShaper himself. Perched on the height of the human soul, he has set two watchmen, more sagacious and knowing than the Metaphysicians who weave words “About it and about” in the taverns beneath; their names are Wonder and Surprise. Wonder spies out novelty, and Surprise discerns change. Wonder arises at that which is beyond expectation; Surprise at that which is contrary to expec tation. What could completely surpass expectation save the completely novel? What could so drastically dismantle expectation save the hurricane onset of change?

F. Enriques and G. de Santillana have begun in collaboration the composition of a general history of scientific thought. The first volume of this work, which has been recently published, is concerned with the science of antiquity,1 and to a large extent covers the same ground as the history of ancient philosophy, as the frontiers of philosophy and natural science, at any rate until the time of Aristotle, were not yet clearly differentiated. But the two historians are interested in bringing into prominence a great many problems and personalities that the history of philosophy generally leaves on one side, although they help to complete and vivify the picture of the mentality of the ancients. Mathematics, medicine, geography, astronomy, applied mechanics, and physics, in short all the particular scientific studies that were just beginning to detach themselves from the parent trunk of general philosophy are studied by the authors in their individual developments and through the personalities of their cultivators. The explanations are clear and simple and can be followed even by readers unversed in science; the information is at first hand and is supplemented by a careful discussion of sources. The scientific questions are not isolated from the historical setting of the civilization of antiquity, but are shown in relation to matters of philosophy, religion, art, and moral and political life. The bibliography, intended for the more purely scientific and technical departments of philosophy, forms a very useful and timely completion of the bibliography of philosophic thought in general.

Philosophical literature in Soviet Russia displays the same arid uniformity as before and is almost entirely confined to the exposition of dialectical materialism. That can be seen from the very titles of the books published within the last year: Dialectical Materialism–the Philosophy of the Proletariat, by V. Pozner; Dialectical Materialism, extracts from Marxist classics, selected by the students of the Institute of Red Professorship; Marxism and Natural Science, a collection of articles; The Problem of Causality in the History of New Philosophy and in Dialectical Materialism, by B. Bogdanov and Mihailov. The latter is a digest of papers read at the seminars on the history of philosophy at the Institute of Red Professorship and does not contain a single original idea or throw any fresh light on what has already been said on the subject by Engels, Lenin, Byhovsky, and others. The very quotations from Engels and Lenin are the same as are generally made in Soviet works on dialectical materialism. Arzhanov's Hegelianism in the Service of German Fascism is a critique of neo-Hegelian theories from the orthodox Marxist point of view. But although Hegel's name is often used merely as a bludgeon against the infidels, the non-Marxists, there is a genuine interest in Hegel's work in U.S.S.R. and a desire to introduce it to the general public. In 1929 the Marx and Engel Institute undertook the publication of a Russian edition of Hegel's works, except his lectures on the “Philosophy of Religion” this year two volumes of Kuno Fisher's History of Modern Philosophy, dealing with Hegel (first translated into Russian by Lossky thirty years ago), have been republished.