Professor Braithwaite’s inaugural lecture, here published in book form,1 is a trial run at a Platonic definition of the concept of dianemetic justice; or, as he himself would put it, a rational reconstruction of the concept “sensible-prudent-and-fair”. Aristotle left it that dianemetic justice was an equality and a matter of ratios. A just distribution of őoα µεριστ? τoς κoινωνoσι τς πoλιτείαѕ2 (Greek for “Co-operators’ Surplus”) was one in which each had an equitable share, no one having either more or less than he should. Professor Braithwaite goes further and replaces Aristotle’s ordered scale of the-more-and-the-less in which only imprecise and unhelpful answers could be given, by a numerical scale in which he can frame the question “Exactly how much is a fair share?” and propound his s own solution.

In a pair of very important papers, namely “Space, Time and Individuals” (STI) in the Journal of Philosophy for October 1955 and “The Indestructibility and Immutability of Substances” (IIS) in Philosophical Studies for April 1956, Professor N. L. Wilson began something which badly needed beginning, namely the construction of a logically rigorous “substance-language” in which we talk about enduring and changing individuals as we do in common speech, as opposed to the “space-time” language favoured by very many mathematical logicians, perhaps most notably by Quine. This enterprise of Wilson's is one with which I could hardly sympathize more heartily than I do; and one wishes for this logically rigorous “substance-language” not only when one is reading Quine but also when one is reading many other people. How fantastic it is, for instance, that Kotarbinski1 should call his metaphysics “Reism” when the very last kind of entity it has room for is things—instead of them it just has the world-lines or life-histories of things; “fourdimensional worms”, as Wilson says. Wilson, moreover, has at least one point of superiority to another rebel against space-time talk, P. F. Strawson; namely he (Wilson) does seriously attempt to meet formalism with formalism—to show that logical rigour is not a monopoly of the other side. At another point, however, Strawson seems to me to see further than Wilson; he (Strawson) is aware that substance-talk cannot be carried on without tenses, whereas Wilson tries (vainly, as I hope to show) to do without them. Wilson, in short, has indeed brought us out of Egypt; but as yet has us still wandering about the Sinai Peninsula; the Promised Land is a little further on than he has taken us.

Sometimes we draw conclusions about a thing's existence or its value by considering what are thought to be its consequences. I shall say that an argument is pragmatic when it consists in estimating an action, or any event, or a rule, or whatever it may be, in terms of its favourable or unfavourable consequences; what happens in such cases is that all or part of the value of the consequences is transferred to whatever is regarded as causing or preventing them.

In the summer of 1953 a lecture-course organized by the British Council was given at Peterhouse, Cambridge. The Faculty of Moral Science were responsible for the programme of lectures and discussions, and Miss Margaret Master man and Dr. Theodore Red path were appointed by the Faculty as joint directors. The lectures must have been well received by the teachers of philosophy who attended and participated in the discussions— representatives from the Continent, the United States and even China were on hand; and the suggestion arose quite naturally that they be published in a single volume. However, some of the lecturers wished to redraft the papers they had read and hence the essays now presented, under the editorship of C. A. Mace, in the volume British Philosophy in the Mid-Century, A Cambridge Symposium (George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1957) are in a number of instances dressed up and greatly expanded versions of the lectures actually given. Further, it is worth noting that the essay by G. E. Moore was written specifically for this volume and is based on a discussion held with some students who attended the sessions at Peterhouse. Thus it is that the papers now published vary greatly in length from the welcome ten pages contributed by G. E. Moore to the seventy-nine pages from Miss Master man. This disparity is, of course, an anomaly in a volume explicitly designed to reflect trends in very recent British philosophy and to convey, to those relatively unfamiliar with it, some reliable picture of its condition at mid-century. But this volume records a present-day Cambridge symposium and as such it must in some measure reflect quite local interests and conditions. However, most of the contributors are very well known and the essays now presented to the public contain a good deal that will interest and profit the reader.

“The pattern is new,” T. S. Eliot has written, “at every moment”: for our past and the history of our culture forms a pattern for us, and each new step that we take implies a revaluation of all that has gone before. Professional philosophers are no longer much given to sayings of this sort; they leave it to poets to make them. Yet surely if these words apply anywhere they apply to the history of Philosophy. A new philosophy or a new position in Philosophy, genuinely new, involves the adoption of different categories, a new orientation; it involves the re-writing of its history and a changed outlook on a whole landscape of problems. The perspective is altered, we find; the masses re-group themselves and the relations fall differently into place.

In a recent broadcast talk it was said that philosophers commonly base arguments and theories on garbled versions of science. Professor Pass more's article in the April number of Philosophy seems to go some way to justifying this complaint. The article discusses the objectivity of history by a series of comparisons with science under various heads representing criteria of objectivity.

I agree with most of Mr. Kemp's paper, “Generalization in the Philosophy of Art” (Philosophy, XXXIII, 1958) but on his position at one point I should like briefly to comment.

In “Intrinsic value: some comments on the work of G. E. Moore” (Philosophy July 1958), I argued that Moore implies that intrinsic value is measurable, but has never suggested any method of measuring it. In this note I shall outline a method which is derived, but not exactly copied, from some of the analyses which economic theorists have given of “cardinal utility”. A survey of some of the economic discussions is given by S. A. Ozga in “Measurable utility and probability” (Econ. J. Sept. 1956).