I use the word Moralist, somewhat after the French fashion, in the sense of a commentator on the human scene. I apologize for Contemporary, but there was another Camus, way back in the seventeenth century, who is being resuscitated now and who, according to the new Encyclopaedia of Literature, “wrote besides theological works some fifty novels which make him a pioneer of religious edification through popular fiction.” Our Camus is very much of our century and is still a comparatively young man. And he is contemporary not only in the accidental sense that he happens to be alive and writing in our generation. He has suffered in his own flesh with our generation. He is both of us and with us. Born to a working-class French Colonial family in 1913 he knew none of the douceurs de la vie which held the memory in the first World War; while in the second he took an active part in the French Resistance movement and after the liberation edited the periodical Combat. His novels-L'Étranger (1942) and La Peste (1947)-are not so much works of imaginative creation as fictional records of the events of our time. His plays-Le Malentendu (1943), Caligula (1945), L'État de siège (1948), Les justes (1950) -are studies or allegories of moral and political collapse in its various and varying moods. Like Actuelles, a collection of his current writing from 1944 to 1948, both novels and plays are testimonies of the anxieties through which our generation has passed.

Mill's Utilitarianism is widely used to introduce elementary students to Moral Philosophy. One reason for this, I trust, is a recognition that Mill's doctrines and interests have an immediate attraction for most people. But certainly another reason is the belief that Mill's arguments contain a number of obvious fallacies, which an elementary student can be led to detect, thereby learning to practise critical philosophy.

The traditional business of aestheticians has been to supply an answer to the question, “What is art?” A single question is put, and apparently it is assumed—though recently the assumption has been fairly widely challenged—that there is a single answer to be supplied; that there is one definition or one essence of art from which all its properties can be shown to derive. However the problem is also quite frequently reformulated: some theorists prefer to ask, “What is aesthetic experience?” Here we find a second assumption: it seems to be taken for granted that it is appropriate to put either one question or the other, but not both; aesthetic experience having been characterized, art can be denned in terms of it, or vice versa. And it is assumed here, as before, that there is one essential answer to give. It is supposed, that is to say, that all aesthetic experience— the experience of reading War and Peace or Herrick’s two lines Of Julia, Weeping, the experience of looking at York Minster or the pattern on the carpet, if by good fortune the carpet is well designed— has some one distinguishing characteristic in all instances, in virtue of which alone they are to be called aesthetic.

The phrase ‘evaluative inference’ was used by Toulmin (Reason in Ethics, p. 38) for ‘that form of inference by which we pass from factual reasons to an ethical conclusion’; and the phrase has been attacked by Hare in his review of Toulmin (Philosophical Quarterly, 1951) and in his book (The Language of Morals, pp. 45 ff.). I shall try to dig out some of the questions at issue in that discussion, but to do so without the help of this technical term, or of any other that I can avoid.

In the recent article Poetry, Language and Communication by Bernard Mayo, the author, intending to establish new distinctions between poetry and other uses of language, has overshot the mark, and arrived at a completely obscurantist view of poetry.