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.

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.

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.

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 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.”

The word “objective” is of course the trouble–maker here, Miss Smith assumes that if an aesthetic statement is held to be objective (or to have an objective reference) then it is the physical existence of the work of art (the picture or the sound of the music) that constitutes the objectivity: i.e. if a work of art is exteroceptively perceivable, then an aesthetic statement involving it is objective. Some writers, however (usually philosophical idealists) have held that in genuine works of art there is manifested an ultimate spiritual Reality (it might be called God) which we apprehend when we appreciate such works. On this theory, an aesthetic statement (“This picture is beautiful”) has an objective reference if the subject of it (the work of art) succeeds in expressing or communicating such a supersensible Reality: if it fails to do so, then the statement is subjective, i.e. it can be analysed completely into a statement about our feelings or emotions (e.g. “I like this picture”).

I would like to make some further clarifying remarks about the nature of learning machines, or finite automata as they are more generally known these days. It is clear from much that has recently been written on this subject that there are still many misunderstandings about their capacity and significance.