When the weather is fair, it is the custom of the writer to take a walk across the common which abuts on to his house and garden. This morning he observed the fresh green of the spring grass, and at the same time heard from an adjacent hawthorn bush the cheerful song of the thrush. As he proceeded, the scent of burning brushwood in a clearing near by was smelt. He picked up a stick lying on the grass and used it as a staff. Within a few minutes he had enjoyed sense experience through eyes, ears, nose and hands. In the autumn he hopes to gather from the bushes a handful of blackberries, as he has done in many previous years, and enjoy their luscious taste.

Philosophers are apt to assume that impartial thinking is both possible and desirable. This article, originating in a very definite doubt of this assumption, is an attempt at an examination of the problem.

This paper has been written in the light of recent discussions on the relevance of the New Physics to Philosophy, and with particular reference to a symposium held at the Royal Institution on May 19, 1943. It seemed to me that, at the symposium, there was some misunderstanding both on the part of the scientists and on the part of the philosophers, mainly due to the fact that neither quite realized what the opposite side considered to be the function of science and philosophy. One of the few things that emerged clearly was that the scientists thought the new physics (by which was meant the developments in physics associated with the names Einstein, Planck, Rutherford, Bohr, Heisenberg, Schrödinger, Dirac) had very definite relevance for philosophy, while the philosophers thought that it had no relevance at all. It would seem that such disagreement could be due only to disagreement about what the new physics attempts to do, or to disagreement about what philosophy attempts to do. I shall consider each of these in turn.

The experience of each one of us is individual, private and particular, and in its immediacy is incommunicable. Images of all sorts, sense factors, figments of the imagination, mental comments and judgments, all these impressions, some persistent, some fleeting, follow one another in endless passage through the consciousness.

There can be no doubt that we do know one another. We know that others exist and we know a good deal about others. The question is how we know others. To say that others do not exist would be to assert a solipsism—a theory which no serious philosopher has ever maintained. Solipsism is absurd. Not because it is self-contradictory, for there is nothing self-contradictory in the notion that I alone exist having the experiences and thoughts which I do have and that apart from me nothing and no one else exists. It is absurd simply because others do exist and I know this; because, that is to say, it contradicts the known evidence. This is the sole—but the adequate—ground for concluding solipsism to be absurd. Any discussion of this present problem, therefore, must begin with, the recognition of the fact that knowledge of others occurs.

You have invited me to speak about Morals without Faith. Briefly, I take it, this question means: is there any moral law for agnostics? But it might be more interesting to put it rather differently: to ask, not simply whether there is a moral law for those who do not believe in God, but whether there is any such law even for those who do independent of their belief? We are then asking: Does being under a moral law mean nothing more than being commanded by God? Is the only incentive for obeying it in our love or fear of Him, the only criterion by which to judge the morality of actions in their conformity to a revealed standard? Or would it be more true to say that the law which God wishes us to obey is that law to which we ought to conform because it corresponds to our nature and conditions in this world, a law which, apart from being God's will, we can understand as being indispensable to the kind of beings we are?