The theme of this paper is that positivism, whether old or new, is a version of the doctrine of Protagoras, that man is the measure of things. Certain limitations of the human mind are mistaken for characteristics of the universe. I am not primarily concerned with the particular views of actual positivists, but with a general alternative of thought. If no one is in all respects a positivist in the sense criticized in this article, it is certainly true that there are many who would not accept what I suggest is the only satisfactory alternative to positivism; so that existent positivisms will, if my reasoning is correct, consist in more or less arbitrary compromises between the unmitigated form, and the real overcoming, of that anthropomorphic narrowness which all positivism (and some forms of so-called realism and naturalism) involves.

To bring clearly before the mind what is meant by class and to distinguish this notion from all the notions to which it is allied, is one of the most difficult and important problems of mathematical philosophy.”

When Russell wrote this in 1903, he could illustrate the difficulty of the problem by his own confusing attempt at a solution. He was able to demonstrate the importance of classes for mathematical philosophy in his later work: the definition of cardinal number as a class of classes similar to a given class served him as a cornerstone for the derivation of mathematics from logic.

As I understand it, you have asked me for an honest, introspective—personal—account of how I think about anthropological material, and if I am to be honest and personal about my thinking, then I must be impersonal about the results of that thinking. Even if I can banish both pride and shame for half an hour, honesty will still be difficult.

Let us invoke philosophic license for a moment to suppose you receive the following letter:

“Dear Sir:

I am taking the liberty of calling upon you to be the judge in a dispute between me and an acquaintance who is no longer a friend. The question at issue is this: Is my creation, umbrellaology, a science? Allow me to explain this situation. For the past eighteen years, assisted by a few faithful disciples, I have been collecting materials on a subject hitherto almost wholly neglected by scientists, the umbrella. The results of my investigations to date are embodied in the nine volumes which I am sending to you under separate cover. Pending their receipt, let me describe to you briefly the nature of their contents and the method I pursued in compiling them. I began on the Island of Manhattan. Proceeding block by block, house by house, family by family and individual by individual I ascertained 1) the number of umbrellas possessed, 2) their size, 3) their weight, 4) their color. Having covered Manhattan after many years, I eventually extended the survey to the other boroughs of the City of New York, and at length completed the entire city. Thus I was ready to carry forward the work to the rest of the state and indeed the rest of the United States and the whole known world.

Like the rest of us, scientists, theologians, and metaphysicians have grown worried about the political affairs of the world, and have set their wits to work to find ways of combating dangers abroad and at home. Some of them organized a Conference on Science, Philosophy and Religion in their Relation to the Democratic Way of Life, and met in the fall of 1940 to hear a number of papers about themselves and their work. They met in the hope of finding a common basis for endeavor, so that they might co-operate in maintaining that way of life which we commonly call ‘democracy’.

In a recent article Professor M. C. Nahm, defending what he characterizes as an amplified version of the James' theory of the emotions, argues that teleological principles are required in any adequate definition of the emotions. Mechanistic principles may account for the physiological basis of emotional experience, it is maintained, but if we are to define the total experience, which includes a certain conscious content, we must go beyond the mechanistic hypothesis and regard the emotions as directed toward certain ends. He proposes to reveal the “epistemological core” of the problem of the emotions with the evident intention of indicating the lines which the development of the theory of the emotions should follow. It is the aim of this paper to scrutinize the general problem of the emotions in the light of Mr. Nahm's arguments and to consider specifically: (1) the alleged teleological implications of the problem, (2) the statement of the problem of the emotions as it is given in Mr. Nahm's paper, and (3) the present state of research as it may be relevant to the question whether Mr. Nahm's presentation makes for philosophical clarity or methodological advancement in science.

The writer of this paper is not an expert on probability from either the mathematical or the philosophical side, but a theoretical physicist forced by the exigencies of work in his own field to make his peace with the concept of probability. The present contribution is a sequel to remarks on two different types of probability in a recent paper on the relation between statistical mechanics and thermodynamics.

The question as to the existence of laws in history has frequently been discussed. A new discussion may yet be useful, since some misconceptions based on incorrect comparisons with the natural sciences have been brought forward by both advocates and opponents of historical laws. We shall try to clarify the problem by applying a few ideas familiar to physicists and astronomers to the conditions peculiar to history. Physics is the most mature of all empirical sciences as to method. In physics the law-concept has been used for three hundred years. It may be assumed, therefore, that most of the difficulties in its application to other fields have their physical counterpart and can be clarified most easily with the help of physical concepts. A few preliminary examples of historical laws will be given towards the end of the article.

Psychoanalysis is the name of a practical psychology, which seeks to make intelligible the aberrant phenomena in the stream of human experience which often are coincident with suffering and ineffectuality. In addition, it has another distinguishing characteristic in that it seeks to create a teachable method for the systematic treatment of these disturbances in adaptation. The application of scientific method to a psychology with these objectives created problems which are unique. These problems stem from the nature of the subject matter with which it deals and the particular objectives of the scientific maneuvers. Its subject matter constitutes material which no other psychology has seen fit to deal with and the objective, namely, therapy, is one which imposes upon this scientific discipline a social responsibility.

The complexity of social data has been a barrier which sociology has seemingly been unable to surmount. Consequently sociology, like other social sciences, has tended to divide itself into groups advocating different emphases in approach, concerning themselves respectively with the “quantitative” or “qualitative” aspects of social data. These two camps may be seen to diverge along distinct lines, the former approaching material from what is conceived to be a “scientific” frame of reference, posing problems which—it is hoped—will be “explained” by the mathematical arrangement of materials; whereas the latter constructs questions the answer to which will make for “understanding”—ordinarily of behavior—through verbal symbolizations. Explanation usually is accomplished through the achievement of a formula—if couched in mathematical terms it is viewed as the highest order—and this group views the achievement of “understanding” a useless procedure, for—since “understanding” is not mathematically exposited—it is necessarily incapable of being validated. On the other hand, he of the group desirous to understand behavior, finds the problems posed by the “positivist” irrelevant to the larger problems in which his interest lies, and unenlightening for all of the devious steps taken to arrive at a solution; more in the manner than in the spirit of science.

Although it is difficult to exaggerate the similarities between the philosophical doctrines of contemporary scientific empiricists and those which were expounded by Sextus Empiricus, the Greek physician and sceptic of the third century A. D., Sextus seems to have been neglected by most historians of empiricism. An account of his position may be of some pertinence at the present time, for a striking parallel can be drawn without any distortion. His most significant contributions are: first, the positivistic and behavioristic theory of signs which he opposed to the metaphysical theory of the Stoics; secondly, his discussion of phenomenalism and its relation to common sense claims to knowledge; and, thirdly, his account of the controversy over the principle of extensionality in logic, where the anticipation of contemporary doctrines is perhaps most remarkable.

Meanings have an empirical genesis and status. This simple claim has often been denied or ignored. Some metaphysicians in their exaltation of the eternal have regarded meanings as essences, or eternal objects, or neutral entities, in a subsistential or supernatural realm that is changeless and has no roots in nature. Some logicians in their zest to manipulate meanings isolate them so completely as forms of reason, or as syntactical symbols that at no point is their connection with natural events made intelligible. Yet meanings, all meanings, have relation to mind. It is this empirical, psychological aspect of meaning that I shall analyze. The larger philosophic question as to what the relation of the psychological aspect is to the metaphysical or the logical will not concern us except indirectly.

About a decade ago Sir Frederick Soddy, a distinguished creative scientist, wrote: “The exploiters of the wealth of the world are not its creators. ... So far the pearls of science have been cast before swine, who have given us in return millionaires and slums, armaments and the desolation of war.” Today we see the end-product of this process: Unrealized democracies fighting desperately against a ruthless imperialism based on the most extensive functional exploitation of science and scientists the world has ever known.

The “determination to catch the world's multiplicity and variety in a single net appears to be an incurable bias of the learned mind.” The extremes to which a philosopher will go to make his net hold water should be nothing short of absurd to the literal minded who neglect “the climate of opinion” which shapes the very logic of the systems or who fail to sympathize with the deep underlying human needs which call forth the great philosophies. Most thinkers in this anthropological day make their bow to the fact of cultural conditioning and to the fact of personal and social surds in the thought of the past. We make our bow, and then proceed to forget that we are human individuals living in an historical period with its own unique strains and symphonies and discords: if only today's system can be shown to be scientific, it must then be beyond dispute.

The philosopher whose work best represents the type of thought and expresses the aspirations of the French writers of the eighteenth century is, beyond any doubt, Pierre Bayle (1647-1706). Not so well known as many of the others, it was he, nevertheless, who started the dialectic movement of philosophic thought which was very characteristic of that era. Furthermore, in his extensive writings, he accumulated material from which his successors could draw freely and copiously.

My interest is to examine the nature of mind in relation to value, for I suspect that the neglect by the psychologist of the true status of value has deterred his work in two respects: first, that it has prevented a genuine theory of mind's being arrived at, and secondly that it has prevented him in his clinical work from achieving for the individual the fuller expression of mind or self that makes for satisfaction or happiness.