Sense-perception is a hackneyed topic, and I must therefore begin by craving your indulgence. I was moved to make it the subject of this evening's lecture by the fact that I have lately been reading the book in which the most important of the late Professor Prichard's scattered writings on Sense-perception have been collected by Sir W. D. Ross. Like everything that Prichard wrote, these essays are extremely acute, transparently honest, and admirably thorough. I shall not attempt here either to expound or to criticize Prichard, but he may be taken to be hovering, perhaps somewhat disapprovingly, in the background during the lecture.

The traditional business of Aesthetics has been the study of the aesthetic experience and activity of mankind, in order to show what it is and how it can be distinguished from other experiences and activities. The assumption commonly made is that we ourselves, like others before us, have had a specifically aesthetic experience in the enjoyment of art or the beauty of nature, or have been engaged in the making of something unquestionably artistic. This basic assumption has been challenged recently by I. A. Richards, who calls aesthetic experience “a phantom.” His view is shared by other contemporary philosophers, who also maintain that there is no appreciable difference between an aesthetic reaction and any other frame of mind, or between artistic behaviour and other forms of creative work. We can certainly appeal to experience for the support of a postulate usually taken for granted and say that most artists, authors, and ordinary people in fact regard their aesthetic experience as something entirely distinct from what they do or feel at other times. Analysis will show whether this common-sense opinion is illusory.

The first aim of this paper is to try and determine what St. Anselm meant in his original argument in the Proslogion (ch. 2). This needs to be done because not only are the writers who expound his demonstration divided in their interpretations of it, and these interpretations quite different, but, very strangely, one does not find that they mention that there is any ambiguity and that other writers construe Anselm's words differently from themselves. Since there are in fact two arguments in the classical formulation of his proof, I want to try and disentangle them, decide which of them Anselm intendedand what is its connection with the demonstration in the third chapter of the Proslogion, and thus to offer an opinion on what exactly the ontological argument of St. Anselm is. Then on the basis of the clarification, I hope to show what it was that Gaunilo and St. Thomas attacked, to touch briefly on the relation of the 17th century ontological argument to Anselm's, and in general to indicate the curious round-aboutness of the historical criticism of Anselm. Anselm argued and Gaunilo and Thomas refuted something, though not, I think, precisely what Anselm meant, or, at any rate, not all that he meant. Actually it was Descartes that Thomas refuted by refuting half of Anselm. Kant refuted the other half of Anselm in an irrelevant criticism of Descartes. So that it could properly be said that Anselm's proof has been broken by philosophers who were either only partly aware of what he was maintaining, or who never had him in mind at all. Finally, because the important thing about the ontological argument, in my opinion, is not whether it is a demonstration of God's existence, but whether its refutation is a demonstration of the impossibility of God's existence, and because this question seems to arise most sharply in connexion with Anselm's position, I want to say something about that.

Personality may be defined as “that aspect of human beings where by we are recognized by others, ” that is, “that which constitutes recog-nizability.” The term therefore implies a subject-object field in which the object is another person or persons. There exist as many criteria of personality assessment as there are significant viewpoints of human beings, but there seems little doubt that the human voice is that which impresses us most about our fellows, closely followed by facial expression. Both these convey that whereby we assess “purpose” which is a most important matter about which we habitually assess others.

I am grateful for the attention which Philosophy has given to my little book Essay in Physics. The review by Professor McCrea brings out clearly its essential point, and criticizes it in a manner so wellbalanced and fair, and at the same time so penetrating, that it calls for a reply.

“I am not mad, most noble Festus, but speak the words of truth and soberness.” In this cry of Paul's we hear the idealist in all ages making his agonized claim to realism in face of the Powers that Be. Festus and Agrippa represent the ex-officio history-makers in this scene. Paul is proclaiming fundamental facts and possibilities that those who have power fail to see. And so, in claiming to be sane, he becomes the spokesman for all who see the Not-Yet as stronger than the Now, and behold What is Meant to Be as more powerful than What Is.

It is not easy for an Englishman to acquire a competent knowledge of French philosophy. For one thing there are so many French philosophers writing so many books, and for another the multiplicity of men is matched by the variety of views. In a country where a knowledge of philosophy is expected of any cultivated man, and where the flourishing of philosophy in school and university curricula is regarded as a condition of intellectual freedom, this variety is accepted as part of the cultural background. Professor Bréhier's Transformation de la Philosophie Française (Flammarion, Paris, 1950) must, even so, be of great value to French readers, because of the author's capacity-so admirably shown already in a History of Philosophy that is unquestionably the best now obtainable-to pick out what is essential in a welter of theories, arguments, and mere pronouncements. To English readers, whose knowledge of the background is necessarily limited, this book is particularly valuable, not only for the clarification it brings, but also for a bibliography that is closely related to the text. M. Bréhier observes that French philosophers of the generation that followed and criticized Durkheim, Bergson and Brunschwicg showed themselves acutely conscious of the discontinuities of things, and puritanically averse to the construction of philosophical systems. (We may compare the roughly contemporaneous reaction in this country against the systems of Bosanquet and Alexander, though the arguments were for the most part very different.) M. Bréhier, however, does not take this anti-systematic, pluralist tendency at its own valuation. French philosophy, he thinks, is in a phase that makes it comparable to medieval philosophy. It was characteristic of medieval philosophy that it comprised no individually constructed systems like those, for example, of Descartes, Leibniz, Hegel, and Schopenhauer, which have grown up and died away in Europe since the Renaissance. The main reason for this was that Christianity itself provided a common system which was never to be questioned, so that philosophers concerned themselves not with systems, for that would have led to heresy, but with particular problems. Part of M. Bréhier's parallel with modern times is that some Christians and all Marxists aim to produce the same condition.

This is a subject of recurrent interest which calls for review from time to time; I believe the last word upon it can never be said. Several topical reasons might be cited for attempting to deal with it at the present time, but these could not be pursued to the relevant applications in such a short discussion. In fact the subject is obviously a difficult one to deal with at all briefly since it is so closely bound up with other large subjects—causality, space–time, and so on.