It is an odd thing that after two and a half centuries' experience of representative government—if we take the 1688 Revolution as ourstarting point—we have still no very certain or coherent theory of what it represents. The easy-going eighteenth-century idea that their own sense of political responsibility and the ties of political sympathy uniting them to the people at large enabled representatives chosen from among the “natural” leaders of the nation adequately to fulfil their representative role, despite the meagre measure of choice exercised in their denomination; and the rather later notion that the function of a representative system was to reflect the class structure and dominant interests of the nation, have both failed to survive criticism at the hustings, and the spread of political consciousness associated with the rise of democracy. Modern ideas identify representative government with self-government, and insist on applying to it Colonel Rainboro's dictum that “the poorest he (or she) that is in England hath a life to live, as the richest he.” On the subject of what representative government represents there may nowadays be distinguished two views; what may be called the popular, or hustings view, and the academic theory, which, while different in form, preserves the same general character as the hustings view.

The hustings view is unqualified majoritarianism. Representative government is government by the will of the majority. Certain ideas underlying, or associated with this view may profitably be distinguished. The most important is that of individual right. Majoritarianism is no respecter of tradition, or birth, or inborn talents, or acquired experience; it is no respecter of persons at all, only a counter of them. In its view there is no species of authority that gives one person or class of persons the right to push others around; everyone, indeed, has a presumptive right not to be pushed around.

During my student days at Edinburgh I became particularly interested in Aristotle's doctrine of God as Final Cause. Concern with other problems and periods of Philosophy, along with many years of teaching in most of its branches, has kept me from ever writing anything down on the subject except in the very briefest way. But it has always seemed to me to claim fuller attention than is commonly accorded to it. That Aristotle's conception, however independently it was worked out, owes much to the philosophy of Plato appears to be beyond question. The design of the present article is to relate Aristotle's view on the subject with that of Plato. I will first state Plato's allied doctrine; then, after indicating Aristotle's criticisms of Plato, so far as relevant to the subject, summarize his argument for his own position; and, lastly, consider the significance of the concept concerned.

Is The Prelude a philosophical poem? It is, of course, many things besides: it is an autobiography; it contains profound reflections on psychology, education and politics; and there are passages of an almost purely lyrical character. Does it also contain philosophical poetry?

On this question, the critics of Wordsworth are divided. Coleridge and Raleigh answer Yes; Arnold, Bradley, Dr. Leaves, from their different points of view, agree in answering No. I believe that the first answer is right, although it has usually been supported by the wrong reasons. I believe the second answer to be wrong, although many of the arguments that are supposed to lead to it are in themselves sound enough. Those who say that The Prelude is not a philosophical poem, usually mean that it does not offer a coherent system of philosophy—that it expresses an original outlook and a personal wisdom, but that the only systematic philosophy in it comes at second-hand from Hartley or Coleridge and contributes not at all to the poem. And this is largely true. But the mistake is, to identify philosophy with system, philosophizing with “a philosophy.” This is a mistake that has been repudiated again and again by many of the greatest philosophers, from Socrates and Plato to Locke and Kant and others.

I shall argue that The Prelude achieves philosophical poetry, because in it Wordsworth grapples with philosophical problems—problems which arise out of the story of his own early life—which are actually forced upon him by the poem itself; and because he tries to answer these problems in a way which would be possible only in poetry.

It is one of the unfortunate habits of great philosophers to leave behind them unclarified points of doctrine which give headaches to those anxious to view their systems as coherent wholes, and often lead to considerable confusion, or even contradiction, in attempts at critical exposition. An outstanding example of this is furnished by Descartes' treatment of “simple natures.”

To interpret what Descartes really meant by simple natures as described in the Regulae ad directionem ingenii, and to integrate this with what he said in his published works (where they are not mentioned as such) is by no means an easy task—as the differing views of various critics clearly indicate. One has only to compare, say, the expositions of Chevalier, Boyce Gibson and Keeling to see that there is little unanimity of opinion as to the actual connotation of simple natures, their proper role in the Cartesian metaphysic, their terminological equivalents in the Meditations and Principles, and their ontological as opposed to epistemological status. Many critics, as Dr. Keeling complains, have seen fit “to discuss them when treating of his (Descartes') method, and omit all reference to them thereafter.” To make any comprehensive attempt to sort out this critical Verwirrung, however, would require considerable space. What I shall do here, therefore, will be to state the problem as simply as I can and then offer a solution in the light of the evidence available—although I admit that short of recalling Descartes from his grave there can be no final solution.

Philosophy of history is not a subject which has hitherto attracted much attention in this country. Preoccupation with the methods and achievements of the natural sciences, and distaste for the sort of rationale of history as a whole which Hegel and others offered under the title in the early nineteenth century, have served to make most British philosophers accord its problems only the most casual recognition. It is therefore all the more interesting to find an English writer of unusual powers both of argument and expression, who was himself an historian of distinction in his special field, devoting a large part of his philosophical thinking to the problems of historical knowledge and their wider implications. Unfortunately, R. G. Collingwood was not able to begin the major work on philosophy of history, to writing which, as we are told in the introduction to the present book, he had looked forward for twenty-five years, until his powers were seriously affected by bad health, and he did not live to complete it. But though the full results of his thinking on the subject are lost, we are now able, thanks to the skilful work of his friend Professor T. M. Knox, to study what is in effect an extensive interim report on it. Professor Knox has produced The Idea of History largely on the basis of lectures which Collingwood prepared in 1936, supplemented by two essays already published which date from the same period and a certain amount of material from the unfinished Principles of History written in 1939.

The last survey of philosophy in France to appear in this journal was published in July 1939. Although the circumstances of the war do not seem to have prevented the publication of philosophical books in France to the extent that they have done so in this country, they have pretty effectively limited their transmission across the Channel until the last year or two. In consequence it is by no means easy to re-establish continuity between the publications of the pre-war period and the rather random trickle of new books now being received by the editor of Philosophy. Some useful information on the intervening period is contained in an article by Professor Lalande in the Philosophical Review for January 1946 (Vol. LV, No. 1). Readers of this article or of the files of the Revue Philosophique will find that in 1940 occurred the deaths of Abel Rey, known for his work on science in the ancient world, and of the philosopher and sociologist Célestin Bougié. In 1941 Bergson died. 1944 saw the death of Léon Brunschvicg, whose Descartes et Pascal lecteurs de Montaigne appeared that same year. Jean Cavaillfès, a logician known for his works published in 1938 on the axiomatic method and the theory of groups, was shot by the Germans for his part in the resistance movement. Maurice Halbwachs, for many years associated with the Année Sociologique died in Buchenwald in 1945. As for books that appeared during the war, I have not seen Professor Le Senne's Traité de Morale Générale, which appeared in 1942.