I use the word Moralist, somewhat after the French fashion, in the sense of a commentator on the human scene. I apologize for Contemporary, but there was another Camus, way back in the seventeenth century, who is being resuscitated now and who, according to the new Encyclopaedia of Literature, “wrote besides theological works some fifty novels which make him a pioneer of religious edification through popular fiction.” Our Camus is very much of our century and is still a comparatively young man. And he is contemporary not only in the accidental sense that he happens to be alive and writing in our generation. He has suffered in his own flesh with our generation. He is both of us and with us. Born to a working-class French Colonial family in 1913 he knew none of the douceurs de la vie which held the memory in the first World War; while in the second he took an active part in the French Resistance movement and after the liberation edited the periodical Combat. His novels-L'Étranger (1942) and La Peste (1947)-are not so much works of imaginative creation as fictional records of the events of our time. His plays-Le Malentendu (1943), Caligula (1945), L'État de siège (1948), Les justes (1950) -are studies or allegories of moral and political collapse in its various and varying moods. Like Actuelles, a collection of his current writing from 1944 to 1948, both novels and plays are testimonies of the anxieties through which our generation has passed.

In the course of his life a man surrounds himself with questions, much as he surrounds himself with furniture, books or pictures. Personality is expressed not only by the selection of a Chippendale chair, the amassing of early colour-plate books, or the purchase of a Renoir, but also by the kind of questions which a man “collects”-raises, without necessarily solving. Some questions, like some books, are to be brooded over and studied; some are introduced only to be contemplated from time to time, like fine bindings; and some occur so casually as hardly to rouse any attention at all. There is an obvious difference between a man who bids carefully at a book auction or forces himself on to his knees to identify a dust-covered quarto in a slum bookshop, and a man whose library is inherited from parents or grandparents; acceptances and not choices will distinguish the casual possessor from the bookman. Similarly, there are many questions which sit lightly on a man's mind, which are as little the object of sustained wondering or bafflement as his ancestors” well bound volumes of theology or game-shooting are the reflection of his own tastes or interests. These may be questions of any sort: they may be factual questions, important or trivial, or they may be theoretical questions, philosophical perhaps, or religious or scientific. A student of literature, for instance, has been known to congratulate himself on his ignorance of modern science, ignorance so deliberate that any scientific question raised in his presence fails even to make him wonder. For any person, however, there are ranges of questions which barely touch his mind: he may be aware that he does not know how to derive answers to them for himself, but his inability will not cause him concern. The memory, the practical or the reasoning skill of the kind that would be required are perhaps so much out of proportion to what he possesses that to bemoan the lack of them is unrealistic -as it is often idle and merely conventional for one who is tone-deaf to say how much he wishes he could sing an aria. Other questions altogether, important or trivial, he takes seriously and troubles to answer, because they touch his own special interests directly: he may pride himself on never neglecting a newspaper problem in bridge or chess, or he may never fail to answer correctly a question about the construction of some instrument or machine. The same person, however, will also get the length of raising many questions which remain mere questions. He may be troubled and puzzled about certain political or social question which circumstances do not compel him to answer: but he will not be hypocritical in professing an interest in them. Some of these questions, of course, may become solved after a fashion, if he listens to the voice of politician, statistician, priest or psychologist and is lucky enough to get an answer which satisfies him. But many will survive with just enough recurrences of wondering about them to make them, as you might say, chronic. This is the intermediate class of questions.

Thus Pascal sets forth the romanticist thesis that reason has nothing to do with the deep intimations of the worshipping soul. Religion is an affair of the heart, and the productive Source of all things cannot be comprehended by the exercise of the finite intellect. This doctrine foreshadows the Kantian dichotomy between phenomena and noumena: the understanding can legitimately operate only within the sphere of space, time and natural causality, as it knows nothing of the transcendental postulates of the moral life. In Kant's case, however, the opposition is worked out by means of a sustained and systematic analysis of man's faculties of cognition, and the intuitions of moral feeling are not without a rationality of their own. One might say that in Kant's view there is a logic of ethical sentiment as well as a logic of the scientific understanding, the former being practical, the latter theoretical. In the practical domain of morality the categories of the scientific understanding do not apply: the individual who acts from a sense of duty is free and immortal, besides being destined to receive rewards from the hand of God according to his deserts. The practice of the moral life therefore creates a sort of categoreal vacuum, the individual becoming a noumenon, emancipated from the shackles of the sensible world; from an empirical point of view, morality means self-transcendence.

The scientific developments of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries have traditionally been associated with the revival of Platonism. The natural philosophers who invented the methods of classical physics have usually been depicted as men who repudiated the principles of Aristotle and embraced conceptions provided by the writings of Plato and his school. The characteristic feature derived from Platonism was the emphasis on mathematics and it is with the application of mathematics to experience, under specially devised conditions, that modern science arose. In this sense, it is the Piatonism of Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo, which forms the distinctive quality of the scientific revolution that culminates in the work of Newton.

Mill's Utilitarianism is widely used to introduce elementary students to Moral Philosophy. One reason for this, I trust, is a recognition that Mill's doctrines and interests have an immediate attraction for most people. But certainly another reason is the belief that Mill's arguments contain a number of obvious fallacies, which an elementary student can be led to detect, thereby learning to practise critical philosophy.