Philosophical change, if not progress, may be measured by the nature and frequency of its embarrassments. An earlier age in Anglo-American thought was dominated by a passion for the Absolute. Questions concerning the nature of Man, the Cosmos, Life, and Death were familiar and valid. Even those, like William James, who thumbed their noses with pluralistic fingers were at home with big issues. Today the scene has changed. Anyone who went about the smoker of the American Philosophical Association asking members what their philosophy was would be considered a crank, a fool, or at best, someone who wasn't interested in a job. If some extraordinarily considerate philosopher were to venture an answer, it would probably be something of this sort: "If you mean by "my philosophy' some grand metaphysical system, I'm afraid I don't have one. But I can tell you something about the way in which I approach what I take to be the issues of philosophy." And what would follow would be an inquiry into the rather strange question posed in asking about "your philosophy." It would not be surprising if the questioner were told that his question was a misformulated one, or even a meaningless one.