Before any attempt is made to solve the problem with which this paper deals, it is necessary to convince the reader that the problem exists. Much is written and said to-day about class distinctions, both by those who announce with satisfaction their growing disappearance, and by those who half guiltily admit their existence, but it never seems to occur to such writers that the nature of these distinctions is itself something of a mystery. We take it for granted as one of the most obvious and commonplace facts of daily life. It seems hardly likely that the examination of a thing so ubiquitous and immemorial will yield anything new. My object will be to maintain that this attitude is mistaken, and that the idea of “class” is not really self-explanatory, but deserves a closer analysis than it usually gets. And if this proves to be the case, it must be admitted that the subject is of importance. Many political and social problems are deeply involved in the fact of class distinctions. Many who believe in a possible regeneration of human society would gladly surrender much to secure a world where poverty should be no more, yet hesitate before the prospect of a loss, through diffusion, of cultural values which they feel to be infinitely precious, and which give to the existing order a greater claim to permanence than it would otherwise possess. We most of us hardly know our own minds in this matter. We yield social distinctions their place, but we do so shamefacedly, as though confessing to a mere unjustified conservatism.

Speculative Philosophy, or Pure Metaphysic, stands at the present time in a very interesting position. There is perhaps some degree of slackening in the construction of elaborate systems, though, with the recent examples of McTaggart and Professor Alexander before us, this may be open to some question. But at least we probably realize, more fully than was possible in previous generations, the exact nature of the problems with which pure metaphysic is concerned. Its work has been more and more clearly marked off from that of the empirical sciences (including even the more detailed aspects of psychology), and from that of the mathematical sciences (including even the quasi-mathematical aspects of formal logic); and its province can now be definitely confined to the general theory of knowledge and the light that is thrown by this upon the structure of reality. It is my object in this paper to indicate briefly the chief problems that appear to fall within its scope and the chief directions in which we may look for light upon them. It is well to admit, however, that metaphysical problems are difficult, and that any statements that are made about them, unless expressed in language of a somewhat technical character, are very liable to be misunderstood. I must try to avoid both the Scylla of obscurity and the Charybdis of superficiality.

We must begin by asking; What exactly is common sense? No doubt the word was originally used as a translation of Aristotle's; κοί⋯νη αἴσθησις but that is not its modern meaning. When Reid or more recent philosophers speak of common sense, they clearly have something else in view. At the present day, it is perhaps most often used to mean a quality of a mind, as when we say that jurymen or Members of Parliament should be men of common sense, meaning that they should show intelligence in the ordinary affairs of life; or again, we say that a little common sense would enable us to solve this or that political problem. But we are not concerned with that meaning either, though it would be interesting to discuss it. Common sense, as we are concerned with it here, means rather a body of very general principles commonly accepted by ordinary non-philosophical men in the ordinary affairs of life. These principles are really philosophical—that is to say, they belong to the proper subject-matter of philosophy—but, of course, the plain man who accepts or applies them at every moment of his life is far from being aware of this. Some of them are metaphysical, or (if we prefer to say so) epistemological, others are ethical; and whether or not there can be a common-sense theology, as a recent writer has asserted, it seems quite possible that there may be one or two among them which properly belong to the theologian's province. All these principles, taken together, make up what is usually called the common-sense view of the world. But in this discussion we shall confine ourselves to the metaphysical or epistemological ones, which are more frequently appealed to than the others, and which, besides, seem to be more interesting. But our conclusions, if valid, will apply to the others also.

If we need a figure to indicate the way in which the influence of Plato has passed through Europe, we must liken it, not to a river continually at the flood, but to an expanding atmosphere enveloping and pervading whatever it meets, an atmosphere with a perfume that has made some sick and others open their nostrils to take in the seed and substance of a new life. A river makes a linear path which, except perhaps for a few sinuosities and an occasional overflow, can be traced with relative ease; but an atmosphere, enlarging itself in all dimensions, with attenuation here and condensation there and precise limits nowhere, offers neither clue nor pattern for the inquisitive historian who would, seek to plot its course. We may be prepared to find it anywhere. So it is with the metaphysics of Plato. No sphere of learning or of art has kept beyond its reach. Anyone who, by comprehending its particular incidence and its total range, would write the most remarkable single chapter in the history, of thought, would have to search the minds not merely of philosophers but also of saints, scientists, poets, painters, sculptors, statesmen, and educationists of all ages. He would even have to search for the breath of it among the innumerable works of fiction that tumble mechanically from our modern undiscriminating presses. The following, for example, is pure Platonism: “We come from a world where we have known incredible standards of excellence, and we dimly remember beauties which we have not seized again; and we go back to that world. Uncle Pio and Camila Perichole were tormenting themselves in an effort to establish in Peru the standards of the theatre in some heaven whither Calderon had preceded them.” To understand, alike in its emotional beauty and in its scientific severity, the metaphysic that underlies such charming phrases is perhaps an obligation, almost a necessity, and certainly a privilege.

There is a certain experience which awaits reformers of all parties sooner or later. They make plans for amending some small part of the world, and consider means for getting the idea into practice, and then someone interposes a comment: “This plan,” he says, “is all very well, but it is mere machinery. The world can be saved only by what is inward and living, by change in heart and thought, by renewal of spirit.”

Vedānta endeavours to base itself essentially on the facts of experience—in the fullest sense of the term. It recognizes the occurrence of everyday experience and the so-called fact of evil, but it refuses to view them as real. The real, it says, like Hegel, does not exist, and that which exists is not real. Evil is only an “existent"—as all this Samsara is—but not the ultimate Real. But it will be at once objected that if evil is an appearance, a Maya, why should this appearance appear at all? If it has no foundation in reality, how and why does it occur at all? Further, how can anything be known as real unless it should appear (to us)? Reality must appear.

Popular interest in the progress of physical science has increased very rapidly in the last few years. Perhaps the spectacular ‘mysteries’ of wireless and the intriguing paradoxes of the theory of relativity are the chief causes. For every home now has its Magic Box—a piece of pure physics; there is not a familiar thing in it, not even that sine qua non of all things that ‘work’—a wheel, only mysterious parts called condensers, grid-leaks, inductances, and thermionic valves. And surely, when a Sunday newspaper produces a facsimile page of Einstein’s recent paper in German containing abstruse tensor equations, reverence for the mathematical physicist is nearing its zenith.

It is not only in science that abstraction is found as a method of dealing with the world, and we may profitably begin by showing its wide use in ordinary practical life.

This survey first deals with German Philosophy in the Twentieth Century and Forms of Thought, both by Hans Leisegang. It then summarizes Theodor Ziehen's Foundations of the Philosophy of Religion. Next it refers to a revised edition of Hermann Cohen's Religion of Reason, and to two small books by Louis Anderson. Finally some shorter announcements of other new books, including Hans Reichenbach's Philosophy of the Space-Time Theory, which Einstein has praised, Nicolai Hartmann's Hegel, and a new edition of Bolzano's Theory of Science.