“There's one thing certain,” said a historian of my acquaintance when he heard the title of this paper, “that's a problem which would never perturb a working-historian.” He was wrong: a working-historian first drew it to my attention; and in one form or another it raises its head whenever historians discuss the nature of their own inquiries. Yet in a way he was right. His mind had turned to the controversies of epistemologists, controversies about “the possibility of knowledge”; historians, he rightly felt, do not trouble their-heads about such matters.

Occasionally there has appeared in the history of philosophy a thinker who has become aware of the chaotic condition of philosophy and of the intellectual anarchy that exists in all of its branches, and has attempted to remedy the situation. Descartes cast about for a guiding principle, a compass which would show him the way through the treacherous terrain of philosophy. As is well known he devised the method of systematic doubt, by means of which he hoped to discover an axiom on which he could securely erect a system of basic and reassuring beliefs. Leibniz had before his mind the notion of an ideal language which would by calculation solve problems with certainty. With this he thought we “should be able to reason in metaphysics and morals in much the same way as in geometry and analysis.” Descartes' attempt was a failure; and nothing came of Leibniz's ideal, even with the development of modern symbolic logic. Russell's claim that “logic is the essence of philosophy” frightened many philosophers and gave new hope to others; but his claim was as empty as the proverbial political promise. With G. E. Moore we have a further attempt to introduce sobriety and certainty into philosophy and to make fruitful research possible in it. He has made prominent a method for obtaining results in philosophy; and he has also formulated a philosophical platform, i.e., set out a list of Common-sense propositions which he says are known to be true by everyone, philosopher as well as non-philosopher, and are not, therefore, open to debate. The method, which he used extensively and with great skill, is the method of analysing concepts.

There is an argument, well known in the history of philosophy, which makes all knowledge ultimately depend on some kind of intuitive or sensory immediacy. According to this argument, either the proposition itself is self–evident;2 or else it can be shown to follow, with the help of a chain of intermediate links, from other propositions which are self–evident. Moreover, it is this self–evidence of immediate knowledge and only this which, again speaking traditionally, sufficiently guarantees the truth of the affirmations of a science as opposed to those of various and fluctuating opinions.

I will begin by stating three theses which I present in this paper. The first is that it is not profitable for us at present to do moral philosophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psychology, in which we are conspicuously lacking. The second is that the concepts of obligation, and duty—moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say—and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of “ought,” ought to be jettisoned if this is psychologically possible; because they are survivals, or derivatives from survivals, from an earlier conception of ethics which no longer generally survives, and are only harmful without it. My third thesis is that the differences between the wellknown English writers on moral philosophy from Sidgwick to the present day are of little importance.

Among the manifold tendencies that contributed to the philosophical revolution of the seventeenth century was a revival of Greek atomism. The ancient particulate theories of nature had been rediscovered by way of Lucretius and Diogenes Laertius in the fifteenth century and later scholars explored the principles of Democritus and Epicurus.

THE PURPOSE of this paper is to clarify some of the logical problems raised by certain uses of the word “imply”which, although very familiar in ordinary language, have not been adequately investigated by philosophers. There have been numerous references to this type of implication in recent philosophical writings. Some of these are listed below.2 However, there does not exist, to my knowledge, any account of this concept in its own right; this deficiency I hope to remedy, in part, in the following remarks.

In this paper I wish to set forth as plainly and simply as possible a theory of the good which finds little modern vogue, but which nevertheless seems to me more plausible than any of those now current. The perfection theory of the good can claim weighty historical roots, especially in Plato and Aristotle; but I shall proceed systematically rather than historically. The exposition of the theory will be presented in three parts: first, a statement of a generic definition of perfection; second, an attempt to give more specific content to the definition; and third, an indication of my reasons for upholding the truth of the theory.

I believe that Moore's appeal to common sense has been misunder-stood both by his defenders and his critics. Besides the mistakes of the latter, there is one enormous howler which, in my opinion, the former have committed. This is to confuse or coalesce two quite distinct appeals which he made, namely the appeal to common sense and the appeal to ordinary language.

There is probably no student of modern philosophy, and certainly no listener to the Third Programme, who has never received the warning that he must on no account deduce an “ought” from an “is.” This prohibition, it is claimed, is securely based in established and unchallengeable principles of logic. Professor Flew was speaking for many others when he said, in the course of a broadcast entitled “Problems of Perspectives”, “I think it is very important indeed to make as clear as we can and to underline with all possible emphasis that this is a point of inexorable logic”. And Professor Popper, to take but one other example, has expressed himself no less trenchantly: “Perhaps the simplest and most important point about ethics is purely logical, I mean the impossibility to derive nontautological ethical rules—imperatives, principles of policy, aims or however we may describe them—from statements of fact”—a view that is fully endorsed by Mr. Hare in his Language of Morals.

Justification of beliefs can be spoken of from two points of view. In ordinary life it consists in giving reasons of a kind which will be accepted as good under normal circumstances. I know that my friend is still in the garden, because I was talking with him there a few moments ago, and I have not seen him come out. We can sometimes give reasons for our reasons, but there is a limit to this. For the most part we do not go beyond common-sense considerations.

The object of this paper is to review and examine some of the things which G. E. Moore says about the nature of intrinsic value, about the sort of objects which possess it, and about the method of ascertaining the intrinsic values of things. Most of the discussion will be based on Principia Ethica (1903): for in that work Moore stated the substance of his ethical theories once and for all. He explicitly changed his mind later on a few specific issues, which will be noted when they arerelevant: and I shall argue in my fourth section that he also changed his mind in one matter without acknowledging that he was doing so. With those exceptions, it seems to me that his later writings differ from Principia chiefly by their style of presentation and by the introduction of some new distinctions, and I shall think myself justified, on most points, in treating them as an aid to amplifying or refining the position which Moore adopted in Principia.The other works to be referred to are Ethics (1912); “The conception of intrinsic value”, written about 40 years ago and published in Philosophical Studies; “Is goodness a quality?” in Arist. Soc. Sup. Vol. 1932; and “A reply to my critics” in The Philosophy of G. E. Moore, edited by Schilpp (1942). The last work will be cited as Reply.

I SHALL develop, in this article, certain distinctions suggested by recent contributions to the philosophical discussion of punishment, which help to clarify the issues involved. Having separated out what I consider the four central philosophical questions, I shall suggest an approach to them, which, while mainly utilitarian, takes due account, I believe, of the retributivist case where it is strongest, and meets the main retributivist objections.

A newcomer to the writing of this survey quickly learns (though not quite quickly enough for his first venture) that they do not serve who only sit and wait. The expectation, in other words, that the year's major books of French philosophy will arrive unsolicited, is not fulfilled. Instead one is faced with a miscellaneous set of publications covering such varied topics as Jewish mysticism, cybernetics and a translation from Spanish of a primer of political economy. I must therefore beg readers to be indulgent enough to pay for my first lesson, promising them that henceforth I shall bestir myself and forage.

I begin with some elementary observations about assertion. In spite of recent criticisms of philosophers who have been too ready to take the subject-predicate indicative sentence as the standard form of assertion, there is no doubt that this form of sentence does represent something very fundamental about assertion. To put the matter in a rough-and-ready way: if we are to assert anything at all, it seems obvious that we must first draw our listener's attention to something that we propose to talk about, and then, when we have secured his attention, go on to say something about that to which we have drawn attention.

IN the right circumstances and the right frame of mind we are prepared to make aesthetic appraisals of almost anything, from hills, cottages and cars, to symphonies, people and poems. My problem is to try and set a boundary in at least one direction to the catholicity of this kind of judgement. I want to argue that when we use a word from our aesthetic vocabulary for appraising a theory in science or a proof in mathematics we are not properly to be described as making an aesthetic appraisal, though there are close parallels with our normal use of these words.

1. Object of this note. In his lively essay, “Between Analytic and Empirical,” (Philosophy, April 1957), Mr. J. W. N. Watkins challenges the empiricist identification of synthetic statements with empirical ones by arguing that there exists an important class of statements which are synthetic, i.e. not analytically true or false, and yet not empirical. I find Mr. Watkins's arguments very stimulating, but I do not think they provide a sound basis for his contention. In the present note, I wish to indicate what seem to me the principal flaws in Mr. Watkins's reasoning, and to make some additional comments on the issues raised by his discussion.

In his interesting discussion of Mr. C. B. Martin's Mind article “A Religious Way of Knowing,” Mr. W. D. Glasgow (PHILOSOPHY, July i957);“Knowledge of God”), agrees with Martin that emotions and feelings are part of what we call an aesthetic experience, and also that emotions and feelings are part of what we call a religious experience. “In this sense, at any rate,” Glasgow writes, “there is an analogy between aesthetic experience and religious experience. But...” he goes on, “are aesthetic statements more than statements about emotions and feelings? Are statements about religious experience anything more than statements about emotions and feelings? A person could accept the analogy and yet maintain that for him aesthetic judgments have an objective reference. In this case the analogy confirms rather than destroys the existential claim of the theologian.”

Object of this reply. A chap like myself, who struggles along with an amateur's box of logical tools, is bound to feel uneasy when his arguments are probed by the kind of logical precision-instruments which Professor Hempel manipulates so effortlessly. Yet after painstakingly working over his technical arguments, and after appealing for expert assistance on matters outside my competence,1 I have reached the surprising and agreeable conclusion that my argument stands intact and that Professor Hempel's criticisms reveal once more the hopelessness of the position he defends—or rather, of the position he now defends.

It is one of the objects of what is sometimes called “general theory of value” to study all sorts of value judgments or (what would be a better name for them) evaluational judgments. But what the sorts of evaluational judgment are is a question that has so far by no means been settled. There are only two kinds of evaluational judgment that are universally recognized and that have well–established names, the ethical or moral, and the aesthetic. Another pair that have sometimes been mentioned are the prudential and the economic. The object of this paper is to direct attention to still another, quite distinct, sort of evaluational judgment which we commonly make, to give judgments of this sort a name, and to characterize them in a provisional way.