It is not my intention in this brief essay to give an exhaustive critical analysis of the theory of art championed by Croce and his follower Collingwood; I intend only to point out certain confusions in and misunderstandings of their theory, and to make a few critical comments in the light of them. Nor do I wish to imply that the theories of Croce and Collingwood are identical; but although they diverge on some points, and although each develops views that the other discusses only briefly, they are so substantially alike on all important points (at any rate, on any that will be discussed in this essay) that, as reviewers were quick to point out on the appearance of Collingwood's The Principles of Art, the two can for all practical purposes be considered as one theory.

In order to do anything intelligently a certain degree of reflection is necessary. This is particularly obvious with regard to any practical activity or occupation. Take, for example, the case of a naїve bricklayer. Let us assume that this man never reflects upon the nature of his occupation, but simply looks upon it as a more or less mechanical procedure of laying one brick upon another for a certain period of time during the day. He does not relate his occupation with the occupations of his fellow–workmen, or even with the purpose of erecting buildings. If such a man were left to his own devices on a desert island with a plentiful supply of bricks and mortar, we could imagine him erecting a gigantic pinnacle of bricks, without purpose or meaning, where a more intelligent man would have endeavoured to construct a shelter against the rigours of the climate.

It is generally acknowledged that Hobbes's radical scepticism is intimately connected with his nominalism, and that his nominalism in turn rests upon the doctrine of meaning and truth set out in its best-known version in Chapters 4 and 5 of Leviathan.

To probe people's motives is almost an occupational malaise amongst psychologists. And it is not one that can be nursed in private. It intrudes constantly into discussion of acquaintances, into moral assessments of people's actions and their responsibility for them, and into pronouncements on the proper operation of law. On this account psychologists are treated with suspicion, often with derision and resentment, by their academic colleagues. Of course, like Jehovah's witnesses, they come to expect, even to relish, the reception they receive. For has it not been written that we all have a strong resistance to such revelations, our real motives being often those which we are ashamed to admit? But there may be good grounds for this resistance as well as psychological explanations of it. My hope in this paper is to set out the sorts of grounds that there may be for our resistance to this scrutiny of our motives and to the theories of motivation which lend some kind of scientific respectability to it.

It has been said, and few would deny, that John Locke is as important as the founder of philosophical liberalism as he is as the founder of the empiricist theory of knowledge. Though he was a most versatile thinker, writing on philosophy, politics, medicine, education, religion, and economics, and on all these with the knowledge of an expert and the influence of an authority, his fame no doubt derives on the one hand from his treatises on Toleration and Civil Government, and from his Essay on Human Understanding on the other. Whenever these are expounded by scholars, the political writings are discussed independently of the Essay and the Essay independently of the political writings. The reason for this is obviously that scholars have seen very little connexion between Locke's principal works. This has been changed with the appearance of a manuscript in which are preserved eight essays on the law of nature written by Locke in Latin shortly after the Restoration of 1660 and thirty years before the appearance in print of his major works. This manuscript has been published by me, and it is now possible to recognize that Locke's two main bodies of doctrine, namely his political theory and his theory of knowledge, have a common ground and that this lies in his early doctrine of natural law. Admittedly, the notion of a natural law can be seen to be of central importance in his treatise on Civil Government and it also plays its part in the Essay.

The terms we use in putting forward arguments may be ambiguous. When this is the case, our reasoning, however strictly we adhere to formal syllogistic rules, is apt to be fallacious. Here is a familiar text–book example of such a faulty process of thought.

The controversy between teleologists and deontologists, whether under these names or in other guises, is one of the long-standing disputes of ethics. In different branches of philosophy the perennial nature of a dispute may point to different things: in some, for example, it may properly incline one to say “a plague on both your houses” and thereafter to look for some way of disposing of the whole problem around which the philosophical problem has raged; in ethics, on the other hand, root-and-branch methods of excision are to be deplored, for here a perennial issue usually draws attention to points of view which have somehow to be reconciled if the problems underlying them are to be overcome. The deontology-teleology controversy seems to me a case in point. Here, if anywhere in ethics, a reconciliation must be effected; and in the present paper my primary aim is to induce deontologists and teleologists to abandon their mutual hostility.1I shall attempt to carry out this mission of philosophical good will through examining the ways in which we justify imperatives. In the first section of the paper I shall say something about the controversy itself, making it clear that I consider that it has roots which it would be inconvenient to expose at this stage of the inquiry; in the second I shall study the justification of a number of typical non-moral imperatives; in the third I shall apply the findings of the second to the justification of moral imperatives; and finally, in the fourth section I shall return to the deontology-teleology controversy and attempt to elucidate how it arises, to point out the two levels on which the same dispute (as it seems to me) can be found, and to suggest a way in which the essentials of the rival views may be accepted and combined.

“We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see.” So Tennyson wrote in the nineteenth century, using the same distinction that in the first of our era Paul the Apostle used, writing to his converts of the walking by faith that looks not to the things seen and temporal, but to the things eternal and unseen. (2 Cor. iv. 18, v. 7.)

“I have never been able to read Hegel: I initiated my attempt by studying some remarks of his on mathematics which struck me as complete nonsense. It was foolish of me, but I am not writing to explain my good sense.”—A. N. Whitehead.

The meaning of the title of this essay is not clear. And something must be done towards clarifying it, in order that the question at issue may be understood.

“The composition of the lectures of which Aristotle's extant works are the notes probably belongs in the main to the twelve or thirteen years of tail headship of the Lyceum, and the thought and research implied, even if we suppose that some of the spadework was done for him by pupils, implies an energy of mind which is perhaps unparalleled. During this time Aristotle fixed the main outlines of the classification of the sciences in the form which they still retain, and carried most of the sciences to a further point than they had hitherto reached; in some of them, such as logic, he may fairly claim to have had no predecessor, and for centuries no worthy successor…one of the greatest of analytic thinkers. “SIR W. DAVID ROSS, Aristotle.

When we first begin to reflect about conduct in a philosophical way? whether as philosophers or not, we look for general truths, fundamental principles. Our acceptances and rejections, preferences, commendations and disgusts, seem at the start chaotic and unsystematic, and we hope to reduce them to order—to show that there are general principles by reference to which all our varied acts, admirations and decisions can be understood and justified. The number of such principles should for choice be small. Ideally, we think, it should be possible to present our progress through life not as a thing of fits and starts, of zig–zags, gestures and recoils, but as aimed in a single uniform direction. If we esteem some things above others, praise some men, commend some deeds, admire some paintings this should be (according to the ideal) because in each case the Supreme Value or Ultimate Good finds expression in the esteemed, praised, commended or admired thing, man, deed or picture. We hope to find a single standard by coming up to or falling short of which things of all sorts will earn the prizes or rebukes they deserve.

This question as to whether machines can, or could, be made to think, has become familiar in recent years since the renewed outburst of interest that has taken place in the development of Cybernetics. The notion of servo–mechanisms and the like has a history in remote antiquity but the form of its fundamental question has recently taken on a new and especially acute significance.

The need for objective standards of judgement is acutely felt in the bewilderment created by the world situation of our time, a bewilderment that is partly the result of the rapid advance of the natural sciences, with its profound effects upon metaphysical doctrines, religious beliefs and moral attitudes, and partly due to the intractable problems which have arisen in social and political fields. The progress of the sciences, while it seems to have given us secure knowledge of the world about us, has, at the same time, undermined confidence in the criteria of belief and judgement in the conduct of affairs which hitherto had served to guide mankind. Bereft of these the majority of men are unable to see a clear way through the complexities of modern political and economic life and are overwhelmed by the major problems that confront them. As examples of the major perplexities with which mankind is faced today, I shall mention only three:—

Operative Logic and Mathematics would appear to be a new venture. Only a few weeks before his premature death Hermann Weyl, one of the most original mathematicians of our time, the author of a Philosophy of Mathematics and Natural Science and also of a stimulating book on Symmetry, drew my attention to Paul Lorenzen's Einführung in die operative Logik und Mathematik(Springer, Berlin). This book had given him new hope, since GÖdel had discouraged his endeavour to find the foundations of mathematics. “Perhaps,” he added, “Lorenzen's approach promises a way of arriving at reliable foundations.”

A retributive theory of punishment must at least say that it is a necessary condition for the justification of a punishment that the person punished should be guilty. But “guilty” here may be taken in two different senses, giving two very different kinds of justification. In the first sense, to be guilty is to have wilfully disobeyed a law or order of some authority, and it is the defiance of this authority which justifies punishment. Mr. Mabbott has put up a good case for a view of this kind. It is clear that we regularly do justify the punishment of offenders on the ground that they have broken rules, and therefore deserve to be punished. And there are some moral situations (those of officials charged with the administration of regulations) in which this is the only fact to be considered in deciding whether or not to punish. As to the view that this constitutes the only valid justification of punishment, I wish to make two comments.