Explores the nature and types of mystical experience and discusses the value of mysticism for humanity.

Excerpt from The Concept of Morals In morals finally we have the doctrine of ethical rela tivity.' It IS the same story over again. Morality ls doubtless human. It has not descended upon us out of the sky. It has grown out of human nature, and is relative to that nature. Nor could it have, apart from that nature, any meaning whatever. This we must, accept. But if this is interpreted to mean that whatever any social group thinks good is (...) good (for that group), that there is no common standard, and that consequently any one moral code is as good as any other, then this relativism in effect denies the difference between good and evil altogether, and makes meaningless the idea of progress in moral con ceptions. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. (shrink)

Sir arthur edington's brilliantly phrased article, “Physics and Philosophy,” which appeared in the January 1933 issue of Philosophy, seems to me to contain a number of things which are calculated to be provocative to the mere philosopher. And I propose in this article to discuss what appears to be one of the most important of these provocative things, namely, Sir Arthur's view of the status of the physical world.

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.

By the Parmenidean dogma I mean the proposition that “something cannot come put of nothing.” If you like to add the other half of the common statement it is that “something cannot become nothing.” But in this paper I shall be thinking mainly of the first proposition. I call it the Parmenidean dogma because, although it may have been implicit in much human thought before Parmenides, it was he, so far as I know, who first made it explicit in the (...) form of an abstract metaphysical proposition. (shrink)

We are familiar with the statement that the present world-conflagration is, or involves, a struggle between two different philosophies. Obviously the statement is very vague, and it is exceedingly difficult to say exactly what it means. But if it has any meaning at all, a professional philosopher ought to be supremely interested in it. Philosophers are too apt to sit in their ivory towers, weaving curious distinctions and debating strange intellectual puzzles, without any consideration of their implications for humanity. For (...) even the most abstract questions invariably have, in the end, important practical bearings. And we are apt to forget that, in the last analysis, philosophers are the uncrowned rulers of the world. For their ideas, secretly infiltrating among the masses, are among the forces which drive civilizations. Plato has had more influence on the destiny of man than the inventor of the steam engine. And so I make no apology for attempting to discuss here the question whether the two great nations now engaged in war, Germany and Britain, represent any philosophical ideas, what the philosophical issues of the war are, and where, in those issues, the truth, or the greater degree of truth, lies. And the paper will have two parts. In the first I shall try briefly to state what I believe the issues to be. In the second I shall attempt to discover whether there is any rational ground for preferring the philosophy of the one side to that of the other. (shrink)

I Think there is scarcely any academic subject regarding which there exists so much general misapprehension as philosophy. If I were to introduce myself to the readers of almost any newspaper as a professor of chemistry, or of classics, or of music, most of them would have a fairly good general idea of the nature of my subject. But if I were to introduce myself as a professor of philosophy, I suspect that many of them would vaguely associate my subject (...) with theosophy, or palmistry, or occultism. Very few would have any notion of what philosophy really is. Even in a university, even among the learned themselves, it would be true to say, I think, that. (shrink)

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. (shrink)