There is perhaps no part of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason which has called forth such severe criticism as his deduction of the System of Categories in the Transcendental Analytic. I am not aware of even one among his many followers who holds to this part of Kant’s doctrine. And the reason for this disagreement is obvious. Kant’s deduction of his System of Categories is based on Formal Logic, the theory of syllogism, first laid down by Aristotle. Mediaeval scholars had changed some details and partly systematized the subject. Kant himself had added some finishing touches to produce his famous number of a dozen categories, but the gist of this logical theory was the same as that found in Aristotle’s Organon.

Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, one of the greatest philosophers of law and state, died 250 years ago, on December 4, 1679. His name was so frequently associated with a certain unfortunate conception of his moral and political philosophy, that the public's lack of interest in this centenary is not to be wondered at. So far, even amongst the scholars who admitted his merits, few tried to penetrate into the depths of his thought, and only at the end of the last century, thanks to the writings of Ferdinand Tönnies and George Croom Robertson, was a new impulse given to research into Hobbes’ spiritual heritage. A series of monographies was published, and the personality of Hobbes appeared in a new light. His theories, when better known, proved to be less crude and more human than they had seemed, for they are a reaction from the revolutionary tendencies of his time.

Thus we cannot simply dismiss the principles of common sense as invalid or fictitious. What attitude, then, ought we to adopt towards them? There are two obvious suggestions.

(I) The poet’s words: “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp” are not merely a command of what ought to be, they are a description of what is. (a) Man has always been stretching himself beyond his own measure. He has a sense of the Infinite: Eternity has been set in his heart: he has not been content to look only on the things seen, his gaze has ever been towards the Unseen. Whatever stage of development he may have reached, he seeks for, and strives after, what is above and beyond himself and his world. In science he tries to get behind the phenomenal reality as his senses apprehend it, to the noumenal, mind. In philosophy he endeavours to bring the multiplicity of his experience, outer and inner, into a unity that will evidence itself to his reason as coherent, and not contradictory. In morality he is not content with the customs and standards of the society of which he is a member; but conscious of their inadequacy, he conceives and aspires to realize an ideal adequate to his nature; his ought to be is always challenging his is. The impulse or motive (the élan vital) of progress in all spheres of human interest and activity is “the best is yet to be.”

The question in philosophy of whether History is a Science is rather like the question in Politics of the expediency of a Channel Tunnel: it is one which provides a perennial subject for debate, there is no indication that it will ever be decided one way or the other, and it does not after all seem to matter much even if it never is decided; we can get along well enough by neglecting it altogether. One might argue indeed that the dispute is not much more than a matter of words, of the intension and extension of terms. It is evident that the method and aim of the historian differ widely from those of the physicist, and on the other hand resemble closely those of the geologist. Why trouble to go splitting hairs?

There can be little doubt, I think, that the quality and texture of recent scientific and philosophical thought mark a greater break with the past than any innovations such as were introduced by a Gallileo or a Newton, a Descartes or a Kant. The switch over from the logicality and essential rationality of these men to the irrationalisms, the anti-intellectualisms, and the new logics of the moderns, is not at all on the same footing as that deepening of our concepts of knowledge and reality which we associate with the masters of thought, more particularly with the critical philosophy of Kant. Strong and significant as these earlier changes were, they marked but the onward strides of an art of thinking which remained in its essence the same in spite of them. But the thinkers in the public eye to-day are exploring in unknown regions, and it may turn out that they have got beyond their depth. Whatever their fate, it seems undeniable that the experiments that they have made and are making constitute, at points at least, and for the time being, a veritable revolution.

“The object of the moral faculty,” wrote Butler in a classic passage of the Dissertation on Virtue, “is actions, comprehending under that name active or practical principles: those principles from which men would act if occasions or circumstances gave them power, and which, when fixed and habitual in any person, we call his character. It does not appear that brutes have the least reflex” (i.e. reflective) “sense of actions, as distinguished from events; or that will and design, which constitute the very nature of action as such, are at all an object to their perception. But to ours they are: and they are the object, and the only one, of the approving and disapproving faculty.

In previous articles I have been concerned with various aspects of science; and I have now to endeavour to look at scientific activity as a whole, and to view it in its relation to other activities of man. I have been trying to avoid those pleasant sweeping generalizations which strike the imagination and which are so easy to write and to read about: such as that science is our only avenue to truth; or that science is abstract and tells us nothing about the concrete nature of things; or that knowledge of particular facts is the object of science, generalizations being merely a means thereto; or that generalizations are the object of science, investigation of particular facts being merely a means thereto; all of which can be defended by a rich array of arguments, none of which can finally stand confrontation with the actual nature of scientific activity as a whole. The situation seems to be much more complicated than any such generalizations would suggest.

Shaftesbury is one of those philosophers who are usually placed more or less in the margin of the history of thought because an insufficient idea of system and a certain looseness of conception make it difficult to grasp their ideas and to classify them. Yet when you are able to break down or to dismiss the mental figures in which you have been accustomed to consider the historical succession of doctrines and are prepared to revive their words with an open mind, not only do they give you in their originality more than you had hoped, but also they help to render your representation of intellectual life as a whole more complex and more harmonious in its development. Bandini,1 an Italian scholar, in making a zealous study of Shaftesbury, has succeeded in drawing out his rich personality, and at the same time in explaining the importance of his contribution to the perennis philosophia. We could hardly succeed in understanding the modern English mind in its genesis if we concentrated our attention exclusively on those empiristic currents which, although they preponderate in Anglo-Saxon speculation, do not contain all its originality. There is a deep fount of romance in the spirit of this people which wells up from time to time, and the drier and harder the surface earth the more strongly it gushes forth. Shaftesbury is just such a fount, isolated and inexplicable to all outward appearances, but far otherwise for anyone who knows how to penetrate below the surface. In his essay Bandini, while emphasizing the contrast between the philosophy of moral enthusiasm and feeling and the contemporaneous doctrines of Hobbes and Locke, examines with equal penetration the way in which the former becomes reattached to English speculative tradition and by what means it contributes in its turn to furnishing new trends in philosophy.

In America most of us are so proud of our own achievements and—as a corollary of this—so provincial and narrow-minded in our general worldoutlook, that it has probably never occurred to us that until very recently we have cut absolutely no figure in the world's philosophy. In fact, it may still be said that even in 1930 the influence of American philosophy upon the philosophical world is almost a negligible factor. But even such nearly negligible influence is vastly more than American philosophers could boast of thirty or forty years ago. The fact is that even as late as at the outbreak of the world-war most of Europe hardly knew that there was any such thing as American philosophy. And up to a very few years prior to the beginning of this devastating conflict such judgment concerning the non-existence of American philosophy was probably quite in agreement with the facts of the case. For an understanding of America's present cultural position it is essential, therefore, that one should know something of the recent advances in American philosophy. In fact, such philosophical progress in contemporary America constitutes one of the most remarkable and distinct proofs of America's ability to make significant and appreciated contributions to the highest intellectual and cultural life of the world. It would be foolish were one—even yet—to claim that America has arrived, philosophically. But the signs which indicate that American philosophy is definitely on its way are numerous, and are constantly multiplying. If American philosophers cannot yet say: “Plato, Hume, and Kant, we are here!”