Contemplating the catastrophic course of the Nazi Revolution we may well find it all too easy to see nothing in the spectacle but the nether darkness made visible; and if we are advised that it is not merely permissible but highly advisable to learn from the enemy, we may be tempted to think that whatever the Nazi war-machine has to teach the strategist and the technician, the political history of Germany in the last decade, and in particular the political ideology that has imposed itself upon the German mind with such apparent thoroughness, can yield only the negative lesson of a warning, by displaying upon the world-wide stage the doomful consequences of wrong principles ruthlessly pushed to their extreme. But it is certainly an error to deny that nothing of more positive value has emerged out of the revolutionary cauldron: and indeed it would be more than strange, where such whole-hearted energies of mind are being enlisted in the evil cause of Nazism, if none of its votaries had ever stumbled for a time into wisdom.

You have invited me to speak about Morals without Faith. Briefly, I take it, this question means: is there any moral law for agnostics? But it might be more interesting to put it rather differently: to ask, not simply whether there is a moral law for those who do not believe in God, but whether there is any such law even for those who do independent of their belief? We are then asking: Does being under a moral law mean nothing more than being commanded by God? Is the only incentive for obeying it in our love or fear of Him, the only criterion by which to judge the morality of actions in their conformity to a revealed standard? Or would it be more true to say that the law which God wishes us to obey is that law to which we ought to conform because it corresponds to our nature and conditions in this world, a law which, apart from being God's will, we can understand as being indispensable to the kind of beings we are?

The title of this article might quite well be given the more hackneyed form, Has Kant answered Hume? Much of the discussion pertains to this latter question, but as the aim is also to emphasize some points concerned with Kant himself a deviation in title may be permissible.

Philosophers are apt to assume that impartial thinking is both possible and desirable. This article, originating in a very definite doubt of this assumption, is an attempt at an examination of the problem.

It is too often assumed that Voltaire is uninterested in metaphysics and that his whole attitude is inimical to such studies. This assumption is of course largely dependent on the definition of the term metaphysics. To modern minds metaphysics tends to imply knowledge of the absolute obtained by some direct intuition of reality, and to the Bergsonian definition of metaphysics as the science which claims to dispense with symbols the present writer would largely subscribe. Given this modern definition of metaphysics, which is also the Kantian one, as a special mode of knowledge, it is an undoubted fact that Voltaire is not in this sense a metaphysical mind; the appeal to any peculiar or specifically a priori mode of thought was, of course, incompatible with his empiricism.

This paper has been written in the light of recent discussions on the relevance of the New Physics to Philosophy, and with particular reference to a symposium held at the Royal Institution on May 19, 1943. It seemed to me that, at the symposium, there was some misunderstanding both on the part of the scientists and on the part of the philosophers, mainly due to the fact that neither quite realized what the opposite side considered to be the function of science and philosophy. One of the few things that emerged clearly was that the scientists thought the new physics (by which was meant the developments in physics associated with the names Einstein, Planck, Rutherford, Bohr, Heisenberg, Schrödinger, Dirac) had very definite relevance for philosophy, while the philosophers thought that it had no relevance at all. It would seem that such disagreement could be due only to disagreement about what the new physics attempts to do, or to disagreement about what philosophy attempts to do. I shall consider each of these in turn.

I propose to fashion this paper after the pattern of a conventional sermon. That is, I shall begin by taking a text, and shall then elaborate on it. My text is a sentence of Whitehead, and it reads as follows: “It is more important that a proposition be interesting than that it be true; the importance of truth is that it adds to interest.” To my knowledge Whitehead makes this identical remark at least twice in his writings. It appears in Process and Reality. And it appears again, word for word, several years later in Adventures of Ideas. The fact that he thus says it twice, in identical words, suggests to me that he is himself immensely pleased with it, and that he values highly the thought which it expresses. At this I am not at all surprised. For it seems to me that the remark enshrines one of those sudden flashes of insight for which Whitehead is famous, and which stamp him as, not merely the ordinary very clever or very learned man, but the man of genius. Speaking for myself, I can record that when I first read this remark it produced in me a sudden thrill, a sense of illumination, of the opening of new vistas, not wholly dissimilar to the thrill which, as a very young man, one felt when one first read certain stanzas of Shelley or Wordsworth.

To anyone who has been engaged in teaching and studying Plato, particularly the Republic, for the last thirty or forty years, one fact must stand out with special prominence. That is the remarkable increase during that period of the direct applicability of Plato's discussions to our own problems. Thirty-five years ago the concrete situations which Plato had in mind in these discussions, the general assumptions at the back of them, the possibilities for good or evil that he envisaged, would all seem to the student of that time remote and almost unreal, and it required a considerable exercise of the imagination to discover that there were certain underlying ideas in them which had application to our own time. If we wanted contemporary illustrations of the rise of a tyrant we had to turn to some of the most backward States in South America. The idea of a completely planned society existed only in the minds of the writers of Utopias, to whom we were accustomed, sometimes, to say rather patronizingly that they had forgotten that constitutions, grow and are not made. We could study the criticisms of democracy as an intellectual exercise without any feeling that they might be one day applied in practice. How different is the situation now! Many of the possibilities are as near for us as they were to Plato. Many of the general ideas of Plato's day are as readily assumed by us as they were by him. Indeed the difficulty now is greater in trying to gain a sympathetic hearing for the ideas of thirty or forty years ago than for the ideas of the fourth century b.c.

Theism is sometimes defined by reference to the contrasted doctrines of Deism and Pantheism. Deism, it is said, lays stress on God's transcendence, while Pantheism emphasizes his immanence to the exclusion of his transcendence. Theism, on the other hand, mediates between these two one-sided doctrines and affirms that God is at once both immanent and transcendent. He is in the world and yet beyond it. This definition, however, can only be accepted with qualification because some forms of Pantheism are arrived at by stressing, not the immanence, but the transcendence of God. According to Neo-Platonism, for example, the ineffable Absolute is so transcendent in existence and value that the world is reduced to the humble status of a mere illusory appearance and all veritable reality is absorbed in the Divine. This complication of the matter means that when studying the nature of Theism it is necessary to consider the opposition between Cosmism and Acosmism as well as that between transcendence and immanence The cosmistic tendency is to affirm, whereas the acosmistic tendency is to deny, the ultimate reality of the finite individual's effective autonomy. Theism is cosmistic, in the sense that it refuses to reduce the finite individual to a mere dependent mode of God. Nevertheless, the acosmistic tendency is very evident in many so-called theistic systems—so much so in some cases, indeed, that what is alleged to be Theism really amounts to Pantheism in disguise.

The relation of philosophy to science, a problem of paramount importance for the future of philosophy, is reconsidered in this paper. Usually science has been accepted as the indubitable basis and philosophy has been made so dependent on it that it has become chiefly an investigation into the foundations, the results or the language of science. It has been wrongly assumed that science contains all possible material knowledge and that philosophy has but to analyse the language and grammar of science. Even where science has been criticized, as in the French Critique of Science, it has been accepted in its present form and restricted merely to the analysis of matter whereas the access to life has been claimed for philosophy (Boutroux, Bergson).

There can be no doubt that we do know one another. We know that others exist and we know a good deal about others. The question is how we know others. To say that others do not exist would be to assert a solipsism—a theory which no serious philosopher has ever maintained. Solipsism is absurd. Not because it is self-contradictory, for there is nothing self-contradictory in the notion that I alone exist having the experiences and thoughts which I do have and that apart from me nothing and no one else exists. It is absurd simply because others do exist and I know this; because, that is to say, it contradicts the known evidence. This is the sole—but the adequate—ground for concluding solipsism to be absurd. Any discussion of this present problem, therefore, must begin with, the recognition of the fact that knowledge of others occurs.

The experience of each one of us is individual, private and particular, and in its immediacy is incommunicable. Images of all sorts, sense factors, figments of the imagination, mental comments and judgments, all these impressions, some persistent, some fleeting, follow one another in endless passage through the consciousness.

When the weather is fair, it is the custom of the writer to take a walk across the common which abuts on to his house and garden. This morning he observed the fresh green of the spring grass, and at the same time heard from an adjacent hawthorn bush the cheerful song of the thrush. As he proceeded, the scent of burning brushwood in a clearing near by was smelt. He picked up a stick lying on the grass and used it as a staff. Within a few minutes he had enjoyed sense experience through eyes, ears, nose and hands. In the autumn he hopes to gather from the bushes a handful of blackberries, as he has done in many previous years, and enjoy their luscious taste.