My discussion of this theme falls into two parts. In the first part, starting from the assumption that we do in fact tend to respond favourably to the idea, vague though it may be, that “persons are to be respected, simply as persons”, I endeavour to clear my mind a little about our warrant for speaking in this way; and to do this is at the same time to clarify in some measure our understanding of what such language means. But of course, since it is the language of practical principle, or precept, there can be no full understanding of its meaning without a grasp of its “working value”, of its significance as a clue to the proper directing and assessing of conduct. The second, and briefer, part of the discussion, accordingly, which is reserved for a subsequent article, is devoted to the question of the practical import of the principle of respect, the sort of guidance that it may provide in the actual business of life.

Can we ever know that something—some state of affairs, or some action taken or contemplated—is evil or wrong, or is it always at best a matter of opinion? It is curious that analytic philosophers, despite their preoccupation with the issue of scepticism and their many discussions of sceptical doubts, have given so little attention to this question. If we look, for example, at Professor Ayer's recent volume The Problem of Knowledge, which consists in effect of a prolonged consideration of various sceptical arguments, we find no reference to the problem of scepticism in moral matters; and this is the more surprising when we reflect that an explicit comparison between this sort of scepticism and scepticism about knowledge generally had been made in a celebrated essay by an earlier philosopher which is now widely thought to have broken fresh ground both in ethics and in theory of knowledge. I refer, of course, to H. A. Prichard's “Does Moral Philosophy rest on a Mistake?” contributed to Mind in 1912. There Prichard claimed to know that something was his duty, in a particular instance, as surely as he knew that seven times four are twenty-eight; in each case, he said, the knowledge is immediate and underivative. To think the contrary was, he argued, to embark on a hopeless quest; for if you cannot claim to know something until you produce criteria for knowing, you can be asked in turn what makes you think the criteria valid, and this will generate a vicious infinite regress. This is not in principle unlike the argument put forward by linguistic philosophers that, unless we allow that the word “know” is properly used in certain paradigm cases, which we take as in order without further questioning, it will lose all application. The interesting thing about Prichard is that he thought the argument applied to morals as readily as to the topics covered by traditional theory of knowledge. But here, as I say, he has not been explicitly followed by his successors.

In this paper, I am trying to show that antithetic political positions appear to imply different moral attitudes not only accidentally but essentially, yet in a peculiar, limited and ambiguous fashion; and that political relativism or pluralism is far from implying moral relativism or pluralism in a corresponding and co-extensive sense. In other words, the gist of my contention is that men may be agreed about the basic universal laws of morality and none the less (or, indeed, all the more significantly) differ in their response to various moral requirements and points of view as emerging in specified contexts of human practice. Political positions are not as such derived from moral demands, nor consequent upon moral errors; nor do they, as such, determine the moral convictions of those who hold them; but they tend to be associated with distinct kinds of dominant moral emphases rather than simply to respect or to disregard morality.

In his essay “Logical Empiricism”, in the anthology Twentieth Century Philosophy, Professor Feigl writes: “All forms of empiricism agree in repudiating the existence of synthetic a priori knowledge.” 2 Schlick makes the same point even more forcibly: “The empiricism which I represent believes itself to be clear on the point that, as a matter of principle, all propositions are either synthetic a posteriori or tautologous; synthetic a priori propositions seem to it to be a logical impossibility.”3 The denial of synthetic a prioris is a major thesis of the logical empiricist position, being found in the writings of most of the leaders of the movement.4 The reason for its importance is fairly clear. It provides a formula on which the empiricists can base their critique of traditional philosophy. To use Ayer's phrase, denial of the synthetic a priori results in “the elimination of metaphysics”. The philosophical tradition to which the empiricists are opposed and whose “metaphysics” they wish to eliminate can be called, somewhat loosely, rationalism.

Only one volume has reached us to mark the centenary of Bergson's birth. Is this significant? If a writer lives to an advanced age his centenary usually falls at a time when fashion has turned against him, and the consequent attitudes are perhaps more interestingly gleaned from comparitively informal assessments than from carefully timed publications. In the Nouvelles Littéraires of October 22,1959, there appeared, almost a hundred years to the day after Bergson's birth, a reported discussion on his philosophy between Gaston Berger, Gabriel Marcel, Henri Gouhier, Jean Brun and a young “normalien” Dominique Janicaud.The talk, presumably more or less spontaneous, was naturally desultory. The older participants could always compensate for implicit misgivings by falling back on affectionate personal recollections, and the youngest would perhaps have preferred not to have to say anything at all. The most cogent general estimate was probably M. Jean Brun's, when he described Bergson as in effect making a stand against the danger of specialist appropriation of the dismembered fragments of philosophy by the various branches of science. We have seen this very nearly come about in England, where a fairly narrow linguistic and logical sector alone has been held with any feeling of conviction. What is here exemplified is the difference of outlook on any question that the English Channel makes. I once heard an English professor of English literature say that when reading Emile Legouis' History of English Literature he had some difficulty in persuading himself that his own professional speciality was being dealt with. It is not difficult to see how this comes about. What one nation takes for granted appears to another as excitingly significant.