Its broad, winding river, crossed by a multitude of bridges; its surrounding hills, amongst which stands conspicuous the long line of the Hradcine, topped by a continuous stretch of stately buildings with the cathedral of St. Vitus towering above them; the wide expanse of its numerous streets, over which rise the spires of many churches, ancient towers, and the lofty walls of numerous municipal and university buildings; the long history to which its architecture bears everywhere striking witness and of which its inhabitants are justly proud, rendered the city of Prague a no less fitting background for the eighth philosophical Congress than that which Oxford provided four years ago for the seventh. Nor was the hospitality which Czechoslovakia offered to its members a whit less cordial or less generous than that of England. The delegates who gathered together from all parts of Europe, from America, China, and from Japan, were welcomed both by the Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dr. Beneš by the Minister of Public Instruction, Dr. Krčmář, by the Mayor of Prague; and, were it not for his unfortunate illness, would have been received by the President of the Republic himself. The Společenský club was placed at their disposal. They were entertained at the Foreign Office to tea, and at the palace of the President to supper by his daughter, Dr. Alice Masaryk. Their railway fares and even their tram fares were considerably reduced. On Thursday they were conveyed by motor-cars to Konopišté, a beautiful castle, soaring above pine forests and overlooking an extensive lake, formerly the residence of the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, now taken over by the State, but maintained exactly as it was when the unfortunate heir of the Emperor Franz-Joseph was living there. The arrangements for the Congress were excellent, thanks to its President, Dr. Rádl, and to an extremely efficient organizing committee which placed itself unreservedly and unremittingly at the disposal of the 350 active and 150 associated members who attended the various meetings.

A few months ago General Smuts, as Rector of St. Andrews University, addressed a stirring appeal to the youth of the world to dedicate itself to the defence of the threatened cause of Freedom. As a young man, General Smuts fought in the Anglo-Boer war for the political freedom of the South African Republics. As a member of the British War Cabinet during the Great War, he was prominent among the Allied leaders in what was declared to be a war to “make the world safe for democracy”. As a signatory of the Treaty of Versailles, he was the first outstanding statesman who, on the very morrow of the signing, had the courage to confess the inadequacies of that settlement, and to appeal to a war-torn world to lay aside the passions of bitter conflict and return to sanity and co-operation. In the League of Nations, which he, more than anyone else, helped to conceive and bring into being, he has sought to create the machinery for the peaceful co-operation between nations.

When we from what may be called Aristotle's Cosmology (crowned as it is by the upper story of his Astronomy, which is a sort of “super-Physics”) turn to his work traditionally called the Metaphysics, we are faced with something—an inquiry or doctrine—of a surprisingly different character. There what we find is the exposition of a sort or degree of knowledge superior to that of the Sciences. This is what we call his metaphysics, but he does not so name it; he names it Wisdom, or (in effect) Theoretical Wisdom. At times he calls it First (we should rather say Last) Philosophy, or, again, Theology (which means not knowledge of God or gods, but knowledge of what is divine). It is par excellence knowledge, the consummate achievement of theoretic or cognitive power. It is the supreme Science, scientia scientiarum. Of what is it knowledge ? It is knowledge not about, but of, whatsoever is real, really real (and of that at its widest extent), and of its universal and necessary attributes. The latter are distinct from one another, and from that to which they indissolubly belong, and metaphysics apprehends all this in its distinctions and interconnections. Further, it is a knowledge of itself, a knowledge of knowledge, and so a Wissenschaftslehre, or “super-Logic.” Finally, it is knowledge commensurate with the real Universe as a whole, so that nothing which is genuinely a part of that escapes its view.

One of the most deeply engrained habits of the modern world is the habit of thinking in terms of a contrast, and indeed of an opposition, between something we call Mind and something we call Matter. This habit is obviously not confined to philosophy. It is built into the structure of our languages and of our ways of behaviour. It conditions our religious and moral attitudes, as well as our reflective thought in science and philosophy. It is not surprising, therefore, that much of modern European Philosophy has consisted in an effort to overcome the dualism to which this habit gives rise when we try to clarify and systematize our knowledge of Reality. This essay on the subject is an essay in scepticism.

Sir Herbert Samuel gave his Presidential Address to the Members of the Institute at University College on January 22nd. There was a large attendance. He took as his subject “Philosophy, Religion, and Present World Conditions.”

My subject to-day falls within that branch of philosophy which is commonly called the philosophy of science. And it is intended, among other things, to illustrate, by the particular case of science, the suggestion which I made in my first lecture that all subjects, scientific, literary, moral, if you examine their first principles, will lead you back into philosophy.

I have for some time found it increasingly difficult to resist a conclusion so heretical that the mere acceptance of it may seem a proof of lunacy. Yet the failure of a recent attempt to resist it has led me to want to confess the heresy. And at any rate a statement of my reasons may provoke a refutation.

Times have changed since Pfleiderer, in 1883, after summing up Neoplatonism in three contemptuous sentences, concludes, “In this convulsed state, entirely destitute of contents, consciousness has disappeared, and with it the very possibility of the religious relation, in favour of an orgiastic tumult of feeling.” Had Pfleiderer ever read a word of Plotinus or Proclus? If not, he had many to keep him company among the philosophers of his generation, though to be sure, Hegel, Schopenhauer, and Hartmann realized the importance of the latest era in Greek philosophy. Jowett, in his introductions to Plato, never shows the slightest interest in what Platonism became under the Roman Empire. Edward Caird had certainly read Plotinus; but his lectures upon him in his Evolution of Theology in the Greek Philosophers, though highly praised at the time, are even more misleading than the ignorant neglect of writers like Pfleiderer.

From the third century we pass to the thirteenth, from a century in which Europe is still pagan to a century in which Christianity has been so long established there that its paganism is wellnigh forgotten, from a century in which it is ruled by a Roman emperor to one in which ecclesiastically it is still ruled by Rome, but the empire has passed from the Roman to the Teuton.

No one who is interested in the problem of value and attempts to read through the literature on the subject can fail to be struck by the extraordinary diversity of opinion. Some of this difference of view is traceable to ambiguities in language; there are various terms employed, each of which, of course, may or may not express any valid idea—terms like value, values, kinds of value, sorts of things that have value, value-objects, things that have value. The terms value and values are subject to and lead to much confusion, even on the part of those who are aware of the existence of such a danger. Much of the difference may probably be due to two other important factors: first, the education and training in earlier years whereby emotional reactions to words instead of intelligent understanding of their meaning and validity are induced, and, second, the continual reliance upon moral experience, which reliance may seem to be necessary, but which may be invalidated by the consideration, generally overlooked and unappraised, that moral, like social, experience might not be what it is if certain views were not entertained and did not prevail. The latter possibility would put moral and social studies on a plane quite different from that of physical investigations, for the moral and social inquirer would always have to bear in mind that the facts with which he is confronted, and to which he seeks to appeal, may exist to confront him and his fellowmen only in the sense that they arise from the acceptance and effectuation of a belief or theory, and would not be but for the effectuation of the belief or theory. The other factor, that of the influence of education and training upon emotional reactions, is also important in relation to a study of value, for it is necessary to be on guard against confusing reactions to words and reactions to objects, things, or situations.

“Nation” and “nationalism” are not easily defined; mainly, perhaps, because these words, as popularly used, do not have precise meanings. A nation may mean: (1) A people living under a common government,—as when we speak of British or French “nationals"; or (2) A people with a common racial inheritance—the Jews; or (3) A people, inhabiting a certain tract of the earth's surface, with generally common sentiments and habits of thinking, though possibly of mixed race, and part of a wider political society—the English, as distinguished from the Scottish, or Irish, nation.

There is a belief among the aborigines of Central Australia that the attributes of the divine ancestor are parcelled out among the component members of the tribe: and there are long periods in the history of ideas in which “divine philosophy” is similarly dismembered. The reason is that all great philosophical systems rest on a balanced tension of contemporary cultural elements, and as these change, and especially if they change rapidly or decisively, the unity of thought under which they have been gathered begins to disintegrate. There follows a period of piecemeal experiment, in which the material of philosophy is too rich and too disorganized to be appropriated in a single conspectus: a period in which there will be no great philosophers, and perhaps little conscious philosophizing, not because philosophic genius is lacking, but because there is no scope for it till the various special tendencies of the age have achieved a certain internal development and a definite sense of direction.

The problem of suffering is essentially a problem in philosophical theology. For many philosophical systems the phenomena of suffering set no special problem at all. The most influential philosophies of the present age, for example, have almost nothing to say on the subject—and there is no reason why, on their metaphysical; principles, they should say anything. The problem is a relevant one only for those philosophies which claim to be in at least general accord with the “religious interpretation of the universe.” But for them it is crucial. Given a Weltanschauung like that of Absolute Idealism, for which the ultimate principle from which all things derive their being is an Infinite and Perfect Spirit, and it becomes at once a clear obligation to offer some explanation of how we are to reconcile the Goodness of God with the existence in the world of so much suffering which is prima facie just bad. As we all know, the problem is an extraordinarily hard one to solve. But, inasmuch as the religious interpretation of the universe demands its solution as a condition of its own possibility, its importance is proportionate to its difficulty.

I want to state the theory in An Experiment with Time as clearly as I can in my own way; then to consider its application to Precognition; and then to consider whether there are any other grounds for accepting it beside its capacity to account for the possibility of Precognition. Mr. Dunne himself holds that the theory is required quite independently of explaining Precognition. He also holds that the facts which demand a serial theory of Time require that the series shall be infinite. Both these contentions might be mistaken, and yet Mr. Dunne might be right to the extent that it is necessary to assume a series of at least two terms for the special purpose of explaining Precognition.

Notwithstanding persecution, the Jews have clung staunchly to God. But so have others. And is there any man's life which is free from the persecution of Death, which is not finally futility? “Surely every man walketh in a vain show”; “his days are as a shadow that passeth away.”

The title I first chose for my remarks was “The Socialization of the Hedonic Impulse,” but I concluded that I had better indicate my real objective rather than the process of getting to it.

Just as the pleasant experience differs from the non-pleasant or unpleasant, and (according to many at least) the aesthetic from the non-aesthetic, internally or qualitatively, and not merely in degree, or externally or relationally, so, it is natural to expect, a moment of moral living differs from a moral or immoral moment. Indeed, from many quarters, and most emphatically from the Stoic and Christian, we have been wont to hear that if we but leave our sinful or indifferent lives and put on righteousness or goodness, we shall become new men or men reborn, even creatures of a different species. But according to many (perhaps most) analyses of morality these promises of transfiguration or translation are nonsensical lies: for the moral experience, as exhibited in these analyses, differs from the non-moral or immoral only in respect of external relations, or at the most in degree. Whether the truth resides in the promises or in the analyses is, obviously, a question of no mean import. It is also a vast one, while the time and space that can be given up to an article are brief; hence the following will be barely more than a raising of the question, or a provocation, by means of rough statements, some dogmatic, others hypothetical.