A System of philosophy, a comprehensive world-view, is a work of art, although it is also more than that. Already Plato described the philosopher as a poet, and Plato himself was a great poet as well as a great philosopher. In recent years Professor Alexander has explained, on various occasions, that there is artistry involved in all scientific and philosophic thought. They demand creative intellectual construction of a high order. In so far as this is true, as I believe it is, it should be possible, sometimes at least, to contemplate a great system of philosophy as a work of art, to enjoy it in a spirit of detachment, above the noise and the tumult of conflicting personal convictions.It is more or less in this spirit that I propose on this occasion to deal with some of the fundamental ideas of Spinoza. That, I believe, is in accordance with his own wishes. He wanted his works to be published anonymously, so that his philosophy might be considered impersonally, entirely on its own merits. Such a method of treatment may in any case be most suitable on this occasion when, in spite of probably great divergences in our individual views, we have come together to do honour to his memory. This kind of personal tribute may be contrary to his own wishes. But we owe it to ourselves, and to mankind at large, to keep alive the remembrance of one of the greatest masters of the art of high thinking and plain living.

Natural science enables us, it is supposed, first to know what science properly is. Other sciences—which purport to exhibit a radically divergent type—are either of doubtful authenticity and highly disputable value, or else humbug, which has long since become transparent. If now the humanists are to be compelled to practise science, they will have perforce, nolentes volentes, to take the natural sciences for their model and adopt their methods. Extra ecclesiam nulla salus. Under no circumstances is recognition extended to a distinctive humanistic type of science side by side with the type of natural science. The distinctions between scientific forms and methods of procedure, which are forthcoming, accordingly all turn out to constitute merely variations within natural science itself.

The object of this paper is, as the title implies, to investigate the relation of Plato’s thought to natural science. More especially, it is intended to examine the widely held view that Plato’s influence, owing to the character of his beliefs, was necessarily and positively unfavourable to the development of natural science, as we know it at the present day.

Any account of Socrates must necessarily begin with the admission that there is, and always will be, a “problem of Socrates”. He himself wrote nothing, and although soon after his death—possibly even before it—many of his friends and admirers began to write about him, their writings are not reports in any literal sense, but reconstructions or interpretations coloured, to a greater or less degree, by the writer's own interests and prejudices, and inevitably selective in their treatment of a complex personality. Out of the very considerable bulk of this Socratic literature there is left to us in a complete form the work of Xenophon and Plato only, together with some scanty remains of Aeschines and yet scantier fragments of Antisthenes, the reputed founder of the Cynic school. In antiquity it was Aeschines who had the reputation of giving the most faithful picture of the master, a fact which deserves to be borne in mind when we attempt to determine how much of Plato's Socrates preserves the record of the man himself.

Recent advances in physics render a reconsideration of the Place of Mathematics in the Interpretation of the Universe particularly timely. On the one hand, we have the introduction of non-euclidian geometry, which has given rise to much controversy informed or otherwise; on the other hand, we find mysterious forms of mathematics, invented to cope with the quantum difficulties, which so far have escaped metaphysical investigation or criticism. It would seem most desirable that these modes of interpreting reality should be examined from the broader philosophical point of view.

This year is being celebrated by a large number of our fellow-countrymen as the centenary of a movement, associated with the name of the University of Oxford, of which, although in its first stage it might easily be mistaken—and has often been mistaken—for a mere wave of theological and ecclesiastical reaction within the Established Church of England, the attentive historian of the nineteenth century must take account as in fact a very powerful influence in the religious and, no less really though to a less degree, in the social and political life of the whole nation. Considerable, however, as is the importance which may justly be attributed in other respects to what is known as the Oxford Movement, the professed student of philosophy may be excused if he is chiefly struck by the apparent remoteness of its original leaders from the currents of speculative thought characteristic of the period in which it began its course. There were perhaps among them only two who can be named as contributors to philosophical literature in the technical sense now commonly borne by the term “philosophical”; and the contributions even of these two can scarcely be said to have taken their place among the works to which an ordinary teacher of philosophy would be likely to direct the attention of his pupils. To these two, however, John Henry Newman and William George Ward, I propose to devote here a few pages which may be found not without interest to readers of Philosophy.

The stream of books and papers devoted to the bearing of modern physics upon philosophical problems is apparently endless. Nevertheless, I am, I think, safe in asserting that the relations between physics and philosophy are still far from satisfactory. If, then, I venture to add one more paper to the stream, it is not because I believe that I am in a position to succeed where so many have failed, but because I have a suggestion to offer which, while it has not hitherto to my knowledge been made, would, if it could be accepted, throw some light upon one aspect of the vexed question of the status of the physical world.

Those philosophers who are interested in the contemporary philosophy of all countries have come to recognize the importance of the “neo-scholastic” or “neo-thomist” movement. This current of ideas is not least strong in France, owing much at the present time to the work of Jacques Maritain. In this essay I propose to consider neo-thomist ideas in the field of art, limiting myself somewhat arbitrarily to their expression by Maritain and their application to French art throughout the period in which thomism has appeared in “modern dress,” i.e. since 1879, the date of the famous papal encyclical Æterni Patris. This limitation is arbitrary, since in the first place there are living thomists who do not agree entirely with Maritain's interpretation of St. Thomas, and in the second place scholastic principles, if true, must from their nature apply to art as such—Greek, mediaeval, and modern, to say nothing of Oriental and primitive art.

While reflecting recently on what the historian means by greatness, I was led to examine Croce's theory of economic action. It seemed to promise an answer to the troublesome problem of the relationship between greatness and moral goodness. How those hopes were disappointed will be explained presently, but Croce's theory must first be considered on its merits. I shall confine the discussion as far as possible to Croce's philosophy of the practical, avoiding any detailed reference, e.g., to the somewhat artificial parallelism within the dialectic of the spirit between the forms of theoretical and those of practical activity. Since, however, Croce teaches—and his practice is in accordance with his teaching—that any severance of part from whole does violence to philosophy, it will be necessary to touch on certain larger questions before we close.

According to Spinoza, the categories of good and bad—in fact, all categories of value—are relative. The only valid category is that of substance; value as distinct from reality has no genuine meaning. Spinoza’s attack on valuation is based on two sets of arguments, one rationalistic and scientific, the other religious and theological. We will consider each in turn.

I think it will be agreed that there is a domain of investigation where physics and philosophy overlap. There are branches of philosophy which do not approach the subject-matter of physics, and a great part of the work of practical and theoretical physicists is not aimed at extending our knowledge of the fundamental nature of things; but questions which concern the general interpretation of the physical universe and the significance of physical law are claimed by both parties. I suppose that ideally the physicist should be allowed to elucidate his own universe up to a point, and then hand it over to the philosopher to ascertain its exact status in relation to a wider outlook.

It is well known to readers of the Republic that, according to Plato's representation, a casual meeting of several friends develops into a sederunt for the express purpose of finding a solution to the question, what is justice? The question has its origin in the remark of the aged Cephalus, quoting Pindar, that whoever lives a life of justice and holiness,

Sweet hope, the nourisher of age, his heart

Delighting, with him lives; which most of all

Governs the many veering thoughts of man.

(I)The meaning of the word philosophy, “love of wisdom,” the dominant interest of Socrates, the developments of Greek philosophy in Epicureanism and Stoicism, Kant's reliance on the practical reason as a clue to reality—all justify the direction of attention in this essay from the abstract theoretical to the concrete practical aspects of thought. Not that the two can or ought to be separated from, or opposed to one another; for human personality is a unity, and theory and practice must act and react the one on the other. The familiar saying: “More harm is wrought for want of thought than even want of heart,” indicates that in moral activity under-standing of consequences is no less necessary than goodness of intention or motive. The preacher who declared that he was an Agnostic in mind, and a Christian in heart, if he really knew himself and was not deceiving himself with a rhetorical phrase, was in a perilous and unsatisfactory state of mental equilibrium.

Not for the first time in the history of our tradition, we are conscious of the defects of our inheritance and look doubtfully forward to a future whose structure we can hardly surmise. There was a Decline of the West in the first years of our era and again at the close of the Middle Ages. Now once more the beliefs and customs are shaken, on which our tradition is based; and there is no certainty that we shall carry forward what that tradition has so far achieved into a new form of civilized life. But, on the other hand, there is no reason to suppose that Western Civilization will disappear.

It is often said that there can be no conflict between the two great departments of human interest, called Religion and Science, because they deal with different themes in totally different ways, and therefore never overlap, so that there is no possibility of a fight—the kind of thing that used to be said about Nations before 1914. But this is an exaggeration; no human being can always be satisfied with any one department of knowledge; there are times when he must seek a more comprehensive view. The alternative is to keep your thoughts from straying out of the region to which you are attending, and concentrate on one side only at a time. This has been the practice of many good people, and it is certainly one way of avoiding conflict.But it is not a philosophic or permanently satisfying way. Between the two great regions there is a frontier, and there squabbles and conflicts may occur, unless there be some way of reconciling the frontier inhabitants of the two regions. Our senses tell us that there is a material world full of things which we can investigate; our instincts and intuitions tell us that there is a mental and spiritual world where also we can feel at home. But the object of this article is to show that there is also an etheric or metetheral world, which spreads over both the other regions, and may be the means of reconciling them or of enabling us to attend to either or both without dislocation or shock.

There are many possible ways of approach to philosophy, and there is also an impossible one, though one that has often been tried. That the philosopher can somehow spin his philosophy out of what he finds inside himself; that he has some private internal source of information in virtue of which he can decide what the Universe must be, without needing to take the trouble to look at it, is a belief that dies hard. But it is now dying, if not dead, so that it is hardly necessary to refute it in detail. It should suffice to say that anybody who cherishes the belief will not find anything to interest him in what follows. I shall simply assume that the philosopher is, what we all are to some extent, a spectator of the world and of man's life in it and a commentator on what he sees. Where the philosopher differs from others is in the kind of interest he takes in the facts, not in the kind of facts that are there to be interested in.

It is fairly clear that, when I say “I like this” and “This is good,” I do not mean the same thing. Even though I should reverse the position of the two relata in my expression of the former proposition and state the non-symmetrical relation intended in the equivalent form, “This is liked by me” unidiomatically or, in good English, by “This pleases me,” the meaning of what I assert would not be logically equivalent to “This is good.” True, it is certain that, if I actually believe the latter, I also believe the former; this must please me in some way: I approve of it. Here, however, we have only one-sided implication, not equivalence; B implies A, but A does not imply B.

The manner in which the phenomenological method has been applied to the data of ethics by Max Scheler, and his resulting criticisms of the formalism of classical theories of an absolute good and the subjectivity and relativity of the opposing “content theories,” have been discussed in a previous article. It is the purpose of the present paper to present Scheler’s claim to have resolved this dilemma in ethics by laying bare a structure of value too often obscured by the series of falsifications and confusions that he has exposed.

Nietzsche's opinions on philosophy and aesthetics developed under strong and lasting impulses from classical antiquity. These were not always the same, for at various periods in his life Nietzsche placed Heraclitus, Empedocles, Aeschylus, and even Socrates and Plato on the highest summit of wisdom. In his so-called first stage of development the pre-Socratics (especially Heraclitus) were generally his favourite thinkers, and in the third and last stage these same figures tend to come into prominence again. On the other hand, in the works of Nietzsche's second, rationalistic period, when he was particularly influenced by Comte, Voltaire, and Darwin, Socrates and Plato—usually so hated and despised—are mentioned with affection, with gratitude or even with warm enthusiasm; and so, over and over again, is Epicurus.

History presents us with a unity which is also a plurality. Both materialism and idealism subordinate the plurality to the unity, interpreting the particular either in terms of racial and social laws, or in terms of a unitary Idea or Spirit; and both, when developed to their logical conclusion, lead to a denial of significance to individual personality. According to the opposite point of view ‘objective spirit’ and economic ‘laws’ are equally abstractions of an individual’s mind, whose existence as a separately willing and experiencing self is prior and irresolvable. The problem is then to account for the unity of history in terms of individuals who are historically related but essentially (or existentially) separate.