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.

It is commonly believed that there are, in the world, large numbers of objects which occupy three-dimensional space. It is also commonly believed that at least a large part of people's experience is of the surfaces of these material objects. Nevertheless, arguments have been adduced in favour of the view that we are never aware of such surfaces but only of distinct items called ‘sense-data’. It has also been suggested that if we couple the view that experience is limited to sense-data with an empiricist thesis to the effect that knowledge is limited by experience then we are forced to the conclusion that we cannot have any knowledge of material objects. There have been many attempts to reconcile the sense-data thesis with common beliefs about material objects. Among them have been representative realism and phenomenalism. However, a view which may have found favour recently is the Quinean one that ‘the myth of physical objects is epistemologically superior to most in that it has proved more efficacious than other myths as a device for working a manageable structure into the flux of experience’.1

The subject on which I am to address you this evening is one which, though it is of fundamental importance both for philosophy and for practice, cannot but present the gravest difficulties for such treatment as falls within the limits of this occasion. Philosophical problems are always difficult, but those of ultimate metaphysics are in this respect egregious. For the simplifications that are open to the scientific phenomenologist who can rest content with a spatiotemporal world, or to the analyst who concentrates on the objective content with which the human understanding most conspicuously concerns itself, are not open to the metaphysician. He must meet the full complexity of things: not limiting himself to their appearances as objects within human experience, nor to a reflective analysis of their objective content, but taking them as they must be in themselves in order that they may appear as they empirically and reflectively do appear for the special cognitive faculties of man. I ask, therefore, for your patience and attention as I try first of all to lead you into, and then, as I hope, out of, the metaphysical labyrinth. For what I have to describe is something of a metaphysical adventure, or, if you like, a metaphysical ghoststory, in which the ghosts assume such reality as to make the solid things “give up the ghost”—which is just as it should be in a good ghost-story!

Burke's Enquiry is one of those books that hovers, importantly but ineffectively, at the fringes of the attention of most modern readers of philosophy. It is something that they have always meant to read some time but yet which they all too seldom get around to actually reading. Its neglect, no doubt, is mainly to be accounted for as part of the generally rather forlorn position of aesthetics in our intellectual landscape. Students of literature disregard aesthetics as at once too schematic and abstract for their purposes and as too often the work of people inadequately equipped for and experienced in the direct criticism of literature and the arts. Although the dominant style of modern criticism had as one of its principal sources a fairly consciously philosophical inquiry into the nature of literature, namely Richard's Principles of Literary Criticism, in its prevailing form, as manifested in the writings of Dr. Leavis and his fol-lowers, it is hostile to any pretensions to critical relevance on the part of academic philosophy. If it rejects impressionism for determinedly intellectual analysis of the detail of literature, it still relies on philosophy only in the loosest and most colloquial sense of the word in so far as it embodies a definitely articulated point of view on questions of morality. (This is not true, it should be added, of the corresponding American New Criticism.) On the other hand, aesthetics has only figured in the most fitful and peripheral manner on the agenda of twentieth-century analytic philosophy.

The traditional business of Aesthetics has been the study of the aesthetic experience and activity of mankind, in order to show what it is and how it can be distinguished from other experiences and activities. The assumption commonly made is that we ourselves, like others before us, have had a specifically aesthetic experience in the enjoyment of art or the beauty of nature, or have been engaged in the making of something unquestionably artistic. This basic assumption has been challenged recently by I. A. Richards, who calls aesthetic experience “a phantom.” His view is shared by other contemporary philosophers, who also maintain that there is no appreciable difference between an aesthetic reaction and any other frame of mind, or between artistic behaviour and other forms of creative work. We can certainly appeal to experience for the support of a postulate usually taken for granted and say that most artists, authors, and ordinary people in fact regard their aesthetic experience as something entirely distinct from what they do or feel at other times. Analysis will show whether this common-sense opinion is illusory.

Several recent attempts to isolate the fallacy in the view that I am committed to particular moral principles merely by describing a man as having promised seem to me to have erred through excess of zeal. The argument which commits the fallacy is at its most explicit in an article by Professor Searle, and the attempted refutations with which I am concerned fasten upon the first step in his ‘deduction’, which moves from

(1) Jones uttered the words ‘I hereby promise to pay you, Smith, five dollars’

to

(2) Jones promised to pay Smith five dollars

by way of the ‘fact about English usage’ which Searle states as:

(1a) Under certain conditions C anyone who utters the words (sentence) ‘I hereby promise to pay you, Smith, five dollars’ promises to pay Smith five dollars (p. 44).

Wittgenstein's Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics was poorly received by the critics when it was first published, and only a few sympathetic commentators have made much of it since then. The book has not had a great success, because the majority of people interested in the philosophy of mathematics these days have a quite different approach to the subject from Wittgenstein. But not only that, they have a quite different logic from Wittgenstein. I believe one of the main sources of the antipathy felt towards the Remarks lies in the foreignness of the logic Wittgenstein develops there. I hope, in what follows, to make that logic more understandable, and with it the philosophy of mathematics it supports.