IGNORANCE (Lat. _ignorantia_, from _ignorare_, not to know), want of knowledge, a state of mind which in law has important consequences. A well-known legal maxim runs: _ignorantia juris non excusat_ ("ignorance of the law does not excuse"). With this is sometimes coupled another maxim: _ignorantia facti excusat_ ("ignorance of the fact excuses"). That every one who has capacity to understand the law is presumed to know it is a very necessary principle, for otherwise the courts would be continually occupied in endeavouring to solve problems which by their very impracticability would render the administration of justice next to impossible. It would be necessary for the court to engage in endless inquiries as to the true inwardness of a man's mind, whether his state of ignorance existed at the time of the commission of the offence, whether such a condition of mind was inevitable or brought about merely by indifference on his part. Therefore, in English, as in Roman law, ignorance of the law is no ground for avoiding the consequences of an act. So far as regards criminal offences, the maxim as to _ignorantia juris_ admits of no exception, even in the case of a foreigner temporarily in England, who is likely to be ignorant of English law. In Roman law the harshness of the rule was mitigated in the case of women, soldiers and persons under the age of twenty-five, unless they had good legal advice within reach (_Dig._ xxii. 6. 9). Ignorance of a matter of fact may in general be alleged in avoidance of the consequences of acts and agreements, but such ignorance cannot be pleaded where it is the duty of a person to know, or where, having the means of knowledge at his disposal, he wilfully or negligently fails to avail himself of it (see CONTRACT). Entry: IGNORANCE
A good chess problem exemplifies chess strategy idealized and concentrated. In examples of actual play there will necessarily remain on the board pieces immaterial to the issue (checkmate), whereas in problems the composer employs only _indispensable_ force so as to focus attention on the idea, avoiding all material which would tend to "obscure the issue." Hence the first object in a problem is to extract the maximum of _finesse_ with a sparing use of the pieces, but "economy of force" must be combined with "purity of the mate." A very common mistake, until comparatively recent years, was that of appraising the "economy" of a position according to the slenderness of the force used, but economy is not a question of absolute values. The true criterion is the ratio of the force employed to the skill demanded. The earliest composers strove to give their productions every appearance of real play, and indeed their compositions partook of the nature of ingenious end-games, in which it was usual to give Black a predominance of force, and to leave the White king in apparent jeopardy. From this predicament he was extricated by a series of checking moves, usually involving a number of brilliant sacrifices. The number of moves was rarely less than five. In the course of time the solutions were reduced to shorter limits and the beauty of quiet (non-checking) moves began to make itself felt. The early transition school, as it has been called, was the first to recognize the importance of economy, i.e. the representation of the main strategic point without any extraneous force. The mode of illustrating single-theme problems, often of depth and beauty, was being constantly improved, and the problems of C. Bayer, R. Willmers, S. Loyd, J.G. Campbell, F. Healey, "J.B." of Bridport, and W. Grimshaw are, of their kind, unsurpassed. In the year 1845 the "Indian" problem attracted much notice, and in 1861 appeared Healey's famous "Bristol" problem. To this period must be ascribed the discovery of most of those clever ideas which have been turned to such good account by the later school. In an article written in 1899 F.M. Teed mentions the fact that his _incomplete_ collection of "Indians" totalled over three hundred. Entry: A
Though, however, Socrates was the first to arrive at a proper conception of the problems of conduct, the general idea did not originate with him. The natural reaction against the metaphysical and ethical dogmatism of the early thinkers had reached its climax in the Sophists (q.v.). Gorgias and Protagoras are only representatives of what was really a universal tendency to abandon dogmatic theory and take refuge in practical matters, and especially, as was natural in the Greek city-state, in the civic relations of the citizen. The education given by the Sophists aimed at no general theory of life, but professed to expound the art of getting on in the world and of managing public affairs. In their eulogy of the virtues of the citizen, they pointed out the prudential character of justice and the like as a means of obtaining pleasure and avoiding pain. The Greek conception of society was such that the life of the free-born citizen consisted mainly of his public function, and, therefore, the pseudo-ethical disquisitions of the Sophists satisfied the requirements of the age. None thought of [Greek: aretê] (virtue or excellence) as a unique quality possessed of an intrinsic value, but as the virtue of the citizen, just as good flute-playing was the virtue of the flute-player. We see here, as in other activities of the age, a determination to acquire technical knowledge, and to apply it directly to the practical issue; just as music was being enriched by new technical knowledge, architecture by modern theories of plans and T-squares (sc. Hippodamus), the handling of soldiers by the new technique of "tactics" and "hoplitics," so citizenship must be analysed afresh, systematized and adapted in relation to modern requirements. The Sophists had studied these matters superficially indeed but with thoroughness as far as they went, and it is not remarkable that they should have taken the methods which were successful in rhetoric, and applied them to the "science and art" of civic virtues. Plato's _Protagoras_ claims, not unjustly, that in teaching virtue they simply did systematically what every one else was doing at haphazard. But in the true sense of the word, they had no ethical system at all, nor did they contribute save by contrast to ethical speculation. They merely analysed conventional formulae, much in the manner of certain modern so-called "scientific" moralists. Into this arena of hazy popular common sense Socrates brought a new critical spirit, showing that these popular lecturers, in spite of their fertile eloquence, could not defend their fundamental assumptions, nor even give rational definitions of what they professed to explain. Not only were they thus "ignorant," but they were also perpetually inconsistent with themselves in dealing with particular instances. Thus, by the aid of his famous "dialectic," Socrates arrived first at the negative result that the professed teachers of the people were as ignorant as he himself claimed to be, and in a measure justified the eulogy of Aristotle that he rendered to philosophy the service of "introducing induction and definitions." This description of his work is, however, both too technical and too positive, if we may judge from those earlier dialogues of Plato in which the real Socrates is found least modified. The pre-eminent wisdom which the Delphic oracle attributed to him was held by himself to consist in a unique consciousness of ignorance. Yet it is equally clear from Plato that there was a most important positive element in the teaching of Socrates in virtue of which it is just to say with Alexander Bain, "the first important name in ancient ethical philosophy is Socrates." The union of the negative and the positive elements in his work has caused historians no little perplexity, and we cannot quite save the philosopher's consistency unless we regard some of the doctrines attributed to him by Xenophon as merely tentative and provisional. Still the positions of Socrates that are most important in the history of ethical thought not only are easy to harmonize with his conviction of ignorance, but even render it easier to understand his unwearied cross-examination of common opinion. While he showed clearly the difficulty of acquiring knowledge, he was convinced that knowledge alone could be the source of a coherent system of virtue, as error of evil. Socrates, therefore, first in the history of thought, propounds a positive scientific law of conduct. Virtue is knowledge. This principle involved the paradox that no man, knowing good, would do evil. But it was a paradox derived from his unanswerable truisms, "Every one wishes for his own good, and would get it if he could," and "No one would deny that justice and virtue generally are goods, and of all goods the best." All virtues are, therefore, summed up in knowledge of the good. But this good is not, for Socrates, duty as distinct from interest. The force of the paradox depends upon a blending of duty and interest in the single notion of good, a blending which was dominant in the common thought of the age. This it is which forms the kernel of the positive thought of Socrates according to Xenophon. He could give no satisfactory account of Good in the abstract, and evaded all questions on this point by saying that he knew "no good that was not good _for something in particular_," but that good is consistent with itself. For himself he prized above all things the wisdom that is virtue, and in the task of producing it he endured the hardest penury, maintaining that such life was richer in enjoyment than a life of luxury. This many-sidedness of view is illustrated by the curious blending of noble and merely utilitarian sentiment in his account of friendship: a friend who can be of no service is valueless; yet the highest service that a friend can render is moral improvement. Entry: A