H. A. Prichard ascribed to Aristotle a form of closeted hedonism. Aristotle allegedly misunderstood his own task: while his avowed goal in Nicomachean Ethics is to give an account of the nature of happiness, his real goal must be to offer an account of the factors most efficiently generating happiness. The reason is that the nature of happiness is enjoyment, and this fact is supposed to have been recognised by Aristotle and his audience. While later writers judged Prichard's view obviously mistaken, I argue that the issue is more complex. In the process of reconstructing the logical skeleton of Prichard's argument I show that Aristotle may have had to endorse the identification of the subject's good with that subject's psychological satisfaction. But I also argue that, while making prior assumptions about the meaning of ‘eudaimonia’, Aristotle made no such assumptions about the nature of eudaimonia.

It is clear that natural entities can be preserved – they can be preserved because they can be harmed or destroyed, or in various other ways adversely affected. I argue that in light of the rise of scientism and other forms of philistinism, the political, religious, mythic, personal and historical meanings that people find in those entities can also be preserved. Against those who impugn disciplines such as fine arts, philosophy and sociology, I contend that this sort of preservation requires the efforts of those whose work exemplifies the core values of the arts, the humanities and the qualitative social sciences.

In the twenty-five years since philosophers began to bemoan ‘the dreariness of aesthetics’, students in Wittgenstein's wake have done a great deal to eliminate the grounds of the complaint. Unfruitful essentialist theories have been largely displaced by the vigorous, if somewhat uncontrolled, growth of an enterprise which attempts to characterize and explicate aesthetic phenomena outside the desert of definition. The resulting view portrays typically aesthetic concepts as being indivisibly characterizing and evaluative, relativistic in application, necessarily linked to human attitudes, irreducible to non-aesthetic concepts, and yet as having social conditions which make them capable of intersubjective comparison and test. These characteristics are usefully summarized in saying that aesthetic concepts are concepts of appraisal. The theory of aesthetic appraisal discussed here is clearly incompatible with views which postulate dichotomies between objectivity and subjectivity, fact and value, and it is quite analogous to ‘descriptivist’ theories in ethics which reject these absolute distinctions. Moral examples are thus often useful for explicating the notion of aesthetic appraisal and the theory embodying that notion likewise has an important bearing on contemporary controversies in ethics.

Plato's thought on the question of the immortality of the soul, in the sense of the existence after death of an individual personality, is stated by Constantin Ritter in his book on The Essence of Plato's Philosophy as follows: “I must admit that for Plato personal immortality was a serious problem and that his whole exposition and especially the trend of his argument in the Phaedo, urges us to accept it” (page 119); and again—“The notion of immortality in the sense that we understand it, viz. the survival of personality beyond the limits of earthly existence, was for Plato a serious problem; but it never became a dogma with him, even though he gives us a strong hint in the Phaedo to affirm this notion” (page 301).

Professor Charles S. Chihara has criticized the views on the subject of inconsistency which Wittgenstein put forward in his recently published 1939 lectures. Chihara notes that these views are not peculiar to the 1939 lectures, and in fact they are to be found in all Wittgenstein's later writings on mathematics (e.g. WWK pp. 173ff., PR p. 189, PG pp. 303ff., RFM pp. 100ff.). So these ideas about inconsistency appear not to be just a momentary aberration on Wittgenstein's part. One would therefore expect that he had some good reasons for holding them. But Chihara justly complains that the kind of strong argumentation one would hope for is not forthcoming in these lectures. Instead Wittgenstein's usual procedure is to try to defend his views by producing series of rather unconvincing examples.

The thesis recently advanced by Mr J. P. Day that ‘Desire (or Will) is irrelevant to Freedom’ is an arresting, even contrary one. And one's first reaction to it may not be unlike Hobbes's on first reading Euclid: ‘“By G—”, sayd he (he would now and then sweare an emphaticall oath by way of emphasis) “This is impossible”’. However, it is hoped to give reason for finding several of Day's propositions somewhat less compelling than Hobbes was to find the propositions of Euclidean geometry. His thesis has and intends implications of ‘great practical importance’. He is concerned with the threat posed to individual liberty by collectivist legislation— though one may be allowed to share this concern without accepting his characterization of the threat. He is also concerned to rebut the claim of tyrannical regimes that they ‘do not really diminish liberty, because they do not really prevent people from doing anything they really want to do’— though again, one may share the concern without finding the rebuttal adequate. Finally, his thesis is intended to offer the possibility of resolving in a ‘higher synthesis’ the contradiction between an ‘Empiricist and Positivist thesis’ and a ‘Rationalist and Idealist antithesis’—but the would-be synthesis succumbs to its own antithesis, taking the form of an anachronistic laissez faire metaphysic. The criticisms to be advanced in this paper stem in part from Day's use of defective argument, and of assertion in place of argument; in part from uneasiness with the assimilation of ‘Desire’ and ‘Will’; but above all from a conviction that a satisfactory account of ‘freedom’ and ‘wanting’ cannot be given without close acquaintance with the various ‘behaviours’ with which the language of ‘freedom’ and ‘wanting’ is actually associated. The basic objection is to Day's employment of a still prevalent semantic procedure which permits the content of behavioural concepts to be arbitrarily determined and treats them as if they were autonomous mental constructs: failings often associated with logical atomism and methodological individualism. The result is to erode and distort the connexion between language and life, and place conceptual content at the mercy of a logic rendered capricious by the inadequacy of the material at its disposal and by misplaced confidence in what it can expect to achieve.

Jean-Paul Sartre, in describing the realization of his freedom, was often inclined to say mysterious things like ‘I am what I am not’, ‘I am not what I am’ (‘as I am already what I will be …, I am the self which I will be, in the mode of not being it’, ‘I make myself not to be the past … which I am’.) He was therefore plainly contradicting himself, but was this merely a playful literary figure (paradox), or was he really being incoherent? By the latter judgment I do not mean to reject his statements entirely (like many of his Anglo-Saxon contemporaries); for I believe there is an intimate link between contradiction and freedom, as I shall explain in this paper. But a minor thing we must first have out of the way is the suggestion that Sartre's language was just a rhetorical trope, designed merely to express some banal platitude in a bemusing way: ‘I am not yet what I will be’, ‘I am no longer what I was’ are sane and sensible, for instance, but cannot be the meant content of Sartre's sayings, since, while they would indeed describe the reform of some character, they would be appropriate only before or after some metamorphosis, not, as Sartre clearly intended, in the midst of some process of riddance and conversion, whether radical or otherwise. Yet, in the turmoil of such a change, ‘I am not what I am’ (or the everyday ‘I am not myself’) still, surely, cannot be true, and if that is the case, Sartre must be being inocherent, and therefore, obfuscating and deliberately obscure, and hence, it seems, must properly be rejected by all right and clear thinking men.

Alfred North Whitehead is rightly considered a Cambridge philosopher. His intellectual life falls into three periods, of which the first (1880-1910) was in Cambridge, the second (1910-1924) in London, and the third (1924-1947) in Cambridge, Mass. But he always saw himself as a Cambridge person, and was a Life Fellow of Trinity College. Moreover, though each of these periods is associated with a different kind of philosophy, some ideas and concerns from the Cambridge period carry right through.