This paper contains the substance of a lecture delivered to the Institute under the title “World Peace and World Morals” in November 1947. It is now published in Philosophyon the suggestion of members of the audience at that lecture.

I Take it that my part in this series is not to set forward some particular world outlook, or even to describe different kinds of world outlook. That will have been done already much more adequately by the lecturers who precede me. My part is to discuss what in general is meant by world outlooks, why it is so difficult to arrive at agreement on them, and what kind of considerations should be taken into account in deciding for one rather than another.

The title of this lecture, as it stands now, is “Psychology and the Moral Problems of Our Time.” When I received the extremely flattering invitation to address you, the proposed title was “Light from Psychology on the Moral Problems of Our Time,” and as I am not by any means sure that Psychology throws a very clear light upon our problems, I begged that the title might be toned down. I say this at the outset, because I am afraid that you may be disappointed by the emptiness of the psychological cupboards—at any rate so far as illumination upon the moral problems of our times is concerned, and if I were to appear before you claiming to be a torchbearer, you would be justified in accusing me of false pretences.

Professor Ayer's lecture is not only a most auspicious inauguration; it is also an important contribution to philosophy. It is perhaps the best and the most exciting work he has written, and that is saying a good deal. There is a certain theory about thought and its objects which is often hinted at in the utterances and the writings of contemporary empiricist philosophers, but so far as I know it has never before been stated in print. Mr. Ayer has stated it, clearly and in detail, with all his well-known force and felicity of style. It is a strange and rather shocking theory, very different (in appearance at any rate) from the one which most philosophers hitherto have believed. But if we are shocked by it, the shock will be salutary. The dragon has at last come clearly into view. If we resolve to accustom ourselves to it and treat it kindly, we may hope that it will transform itself by degrees into a nice gentle domestic pet, as other philosophical dragons have before.

“ ‘Tell me, Protagoras,’ he said, ‘does a single grain of millet or the ten-thousandth part of a grain make any sound when it falls?’ And when Protagoras said it did not, ‘Then,’ asked Zeno, ‘does a bushel of millet make any sound when it falls or not?’ Protagoras answered that it did, whereupon Zeno replied, ‘But surely there is some ratio between a bushel of millet and a single grain or even the ten-thousandth part of a grain'; and when this was admitted, ‘But then surely,’ Zeno said, ‘the ratios of the corresponding sounds to each other will be the same: for as the bodies which make the sounds are to one another, so will the sounds be to one another. And if this is so, and if the bushel of millet makes a sound, then the single grain of millet and the ten-thousandth part of a grain will make a sound.’ This was the way Zeno used to put his questions”