As a moral ideal, accepting the circumstances of one's life and its attendant miseries is, if not positively repugnant to modern ears, at least utterly puzzling.

Historians might attempt to trace this aversion to the French Rationalists and English Utilitarians who believed that once the laws of human behaviour were discovered all social problems would be solved and who even tried to establish communities in which unhappiness would simply be eradicated. In this optimistic climate of social engineering, when it began to appear as self-evident that each individual had a natural ‘right’ to happiness, accepting misery and social evil must have seemed perverse in contrast with striving to improve one's own and others’ condition in life.

Naturalism, the purported derivation of values from facts, is a fallacy which stubbornly persists despite all attempts to root it out. And nowadays the naturalists seem to be getting the upper hand. It has become a commonplace of contemporary thinking, both in ethics and the philosophy of science (social and even natural), that the fact-value distinction has ‘broken down’. As early as 1955, J. L. Austin spoke disparagingly of the ‘fact/value fetish’; three years later, Philippa Foot referred to the ‘disappearance’ of the logical gap between factual premises and moral conclusions. In the following decade, Jonathan Cohen baldly asserted that ‘the statement/evaluation dichotomy is erroneous’; and John Searle produced a famous paper which set out to demolish the ‘alleged’ and ‘not very useful’ distinction between descriptive and evaluative utterances. More recently we find Benjamin Gibbs telling us that the ‘positivist doctrine of a fact-value dichtomy’ is ‘only a sort of myth’; while Richard Rorty asserts that the ‘positivist distinction between facts and values’ is based on a ‘philosophical fiction’. Finally, Roy Bhaskar goes so far as to pronounce that ‘the transition from “is” to “ought”, factual to value statements, indicatives to imperatives’ is ‘not only acceptable but mandatory’ !

Liberalism, or at least twentieth century liberalism, is today out of fashion amongst the electorate of the United States and Britain. Even within the academy—often, contrary to liberalism itself, one of the last institutions to reflect major shifts in ideology—it appears to be losing its grip. The rise of neo-contractarianism in social and political philosophy and neo-conservatism in economics are only two pieces of evidence of its demise. Nevertheless, reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated in some quarters of social philosophy; in particular, it still thrives as the received opinion whenever the issue of paternalism is raised. And, of course, the single most important liberal standard-bearer here is John Stuart Mill.

Hume's sceptical arguments regarding induction have not yet been successfully answered. However, I shall not in this paper discuss the important attempts to answer Hume since that would be too lengthy a task. On the supposition that Hume's sceptical arguments have not been met, the empirical world is a place where, as the popular metaphor goes, all the glue has been removed. For the Humean sceptic, the only empirical knowledge that we can have is given to us in immediate perception. We have no reason to believe that the patterns of future events will in any way resemble patterns of events in the present or past. We have no reason to believe even that present events not observed resemble present events that are observed, or that knowledge of past and present can be any guide in making new discoveries about what took place in the past. What we have is an ideal setting for the calculation of a priori probabilities. We have a field of distinct events having no logical or evidential ties to one another. The attempt to justify induction that I wish to present is an appeal to a priori probability.

There is probably no subject in the philosophy of art which has prompted more impassioned theorizing than the question of the ‘cognitive value’ of works of art. ‘In the end’, one influential critic has stated, ‘I do not distinguish between science and art except as regards method. Both provide us with a view of reality and both are indispensable to a complete understanding of the universe.’ If a man is not prepared to distinguish between science and art one may well wonder what he is prepared to distinguish between, but in all fairness it should be pointed out that the writings of anti-cognitivists contain equally strenuous statements of doctrine. For I. A. Richards, poetry consists of ‘pseudo-statements’ which are ‘true’ if they ‘suit and serve some attitude or link together attitudes which on other grounds are desirable’.

This book is the fruit of well over thirty years' reflection on moral philj osophy. A complete appreciation of it requires reference to The Language of Morals (Oxford University Press, 1952) (LM), Freedom and Reason (Oxford University Press, 1962) (FR) and many of Hare's extensive shorter writings. To some, it will appear to represent a radical, if gradual, reversal of his early views. His early position was thought by some to be one similar, in certain respects, to that of certain existentialist thinkers: that the most fundamental moral attitudes must be the outcome of sheer choice, or commitment. Whereas in the latest book Hare argues that to think fully rationally about moral questions requires us to be Utilitarians (unless we are amoralists, as we shall see below).