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. (shrink)

“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” “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. (shrink)

Gentile's philosophy merits the attention of every serious thinker, for it presents the doctrine that reality is spiritual in a more uncompromising form than is to be found elsewhere, and claims to solve on this principle all the great problems that have beset the history of metaphysic. His own name for it is Absolute or Actual Idealism . For Gentile, nothing is real but the Spirit, and by the Spirit he means the pure act of self-conscious thinking. “The subject that (...) conceives itself in conceiving All is the reality itself.” In the act of conscious thinking, the Spirit is present in its entirety as subject ; generating therein by its own creative spontaneity a world of objects, and resolving the products of this act of objectification into the womb that gave them birth. In this immanent dialectic–pure subject , pure object , subject-object –lies the rhythmic life-history of the Spirit. “Our doctrine,” writes Gentile, “is the theory of the Spirit as act which posits its object in a multiplicity of objects, resolving their multiplicity and objectivity in the unity of the subject itself.” For such a doctrine, transcendence is the enemy, the Goliath whom Gentile has gone forth to slay. He confronts us, on almost every page of his writings, with an ineluctable dilemma. Either a philosophy of sheer immanence, or reality is unknowable. (shrink)

The student of Spinoza is faced by a peculiar difficulty. On opening the Ethics —Spinoza's chief work, completed for publication shortly before his death in 1674—he finds a system of metaphysics set forth in geometrical form, starting from definitions, axioms, and postulates, and advancing synthetically from first principles to a detailed interpretation of the universe. The difficulty lies not in the language— Spinoza's Latin is easy to construe, and there are translations—nor in the lack of literary graces; his style indeed (...) is singularly impressive in its austere dignity. It lies rather in this, that the method of exposition conveys a misleading suggestion of dogmatism and finality, and conceals almost all traces of the patient inquiries that issued in the finished structure. If once the principles of the system are admitted, the rest appears to follow by logical necessity. But by what processes of thought was Spinoza led to those principles? This is the problem that besets the reader: in order to understand the Ethics, he must penetrate behind the text of the propositions to their significance as answers to the questions that were stirring in Spinoza's mind. (shrink)

“He who tries to rise above reason, falls outside of it,” said Plotinus. If this be so; if, as Plotinus said also, “ Nous is King,” reason must cover more than inferential reasoning. The methods of inference are not sovereign, but manifestly instrumental; they furnish the scaffolding for the mind's ascent, but not the goal of its endeavour. This distinction between the wider and the narrower use of reason is familiar in every age of thought; it appears in the Platonic (...) and Aristotelian doctrines of Nous, in Aquinas's discrimination of discursive and intuitive knowledge, in Spinoza's of ratio and scientia intuiliva, and in that of the understanding and the reason in post–Kantian idealism. At times, as in the case last mentioned, it has been pressed to an extreme, with the result that reason was set in sharp contrast to the understanding, which came to be regarded as a separate faculty and even as a source of error. Wordsworth, to whom the antithesis passed through Coleridge, wrote of “that false secondary power, by which we multiply distinctions.” In face of such excesses, it behoves us to be on our guard, and to remember that thought is one amid the diversity of its operations, and that faith is at least as fallible as logic. It is only by co-operating in the service of reason that either can point the way to truth. (shrink)

The student of Spinoza is faced by a peculiar difficulty. On opening the Ethics —Spinoza's chief work, completed for publication shortly before his death in 1674—he finds a system of metaphysics set forth in geometrical form, starting from definitions, axioms, and postulates, and advancing synthetically from first principles to a detailed interpretation of the universe. The difficulty lies not in the language— Spinoza's Latin is easy to construe, and there are translations—nor in the lack of literary graces; his style indeed (...) is singularly impressive in its austere dignity. It lies rather in this, that the method of exposition conveys a misleading suggestion of dogmatism and finality, and conceals almost all traces of the patient inquiries that issued in the finished structure. If once the principles of the system are admitted, the rest appears to follow by logical necessity. But by what processes of thought was Spinoza led to those principles? This is the problem that besets the reader: in order to understand the Ethics , he must penetrate behind the text of the propositions to their significance as answers to the questions that were stirring in Spinoza's mind. (shrink)

We have been led by our preliminary survey to acknowledge the autonomy of the moral life. The Tightness of an action is something that is sui generis and ultimate. It is vain to seek a reason for the rightness other than the Tightness itself. To the question, “Why ought I to do what I ought?” the only answer is, “Because I ought to do it.” 1 It is with rightness as with truth: Vera idea est norma sui et falsi . (...) In any moral situation, we intuitively judge what it is right to do, and in judging recognize that the obligation to do it is unconditional. That we possess this capacity is what is meant by saying that we are moral beings. (shrink)

“ All men desire the good.” This doctrine, which lay at the root of the ethics and also of a great part of the metaphysics of Greek and mediæval thinkers, is either a truism or a paradox, according to the interpretation we place upon it. Its meaning is far from obvious; it veils a multitude of implications and has given rise to a swarm of misconceptions. It has been assumed that all desire is sub ratione boni ; nay more, the (...) good has been defined as the object of universal desire, as “that at which all things aim.” The view that desire is conditioned by prior apprehension of the good has provoked the rejoinder that desires precede consciousness of their end, that cognition is the result of, or at least concomitant with, the conative process which reveals it. Again, it may be asked whether the gooddesired is necessarily my own good, so that its attainment may beconstrued as self-realization; and, if so, whether it is private tomyself or a common good which can be shared with others. Is heereone absolute Good, knowable by man, to which all other goodsare relative? Is it possible to pass beyond what we opine and believeto be good, so as to know and desire what is “really” good? (shrink)

We were led, at the close of the last paper, to the conclusion that the moral judgment lays claim to a knowledge of what is unknowable. It is not merely that our volition is imperfect, that the act of necessity falls short of what we know to be right. This seems bad enough; but the plight in which we actually find ourselves is even worse. The paradox is that we never know, and never can know, in any particular situation, what (...) it is really right to do. We know indeed that it is always right, really and absolutely right, to do what we believe to be right. For a man to act “against his conscience,” after all possible thought has been taken for its enlightenment, we know to be morally wrong. But this knowledge is purely formal and gives no clue to the matter of moral obligation. It tells us what is common alike to any and every case of moral duty; it does not tell us what we ought to do. For the right that we will cannot be merely the rightness of willing it. What I ought to do cannot be merely that I ought to do it. Now our beliefs and judgments as to material rightness, i.e. as to what it is right to do in a concrete situation, are notoriously liable to error. So we seek for a criterion by which to test our variable and fallible judgments, a criterion of what is really right. But the search is doomed to failure; we can only test beliefs by beliefs, our former beliefs by our later, the beliefs of one man or society or age by those of others. (shrink)