Contemporary readers of Descartes can hardly fail to notice that the author uses the word pensée, or cogitatio, in a much broader sense than French speakers use pensée nowadays, or we use the closest English word, thought. He consistently maintains that feelings, sensations, as well as the products of one's fancy, are one and all modes of thought.

Yet, clearly, according to the normal use of the word, sensations of light, of sound, of hunger, and so forth, are not regarded as part of one's thinking, nor do we so regard the spontaneous flight of the imagination one might experience in daydreams or real dreams, or while thinking about unrelated matters. Some of these sensations, notably aches, pains, pangs of hunger, blinding light, and strong noise, are not only not counted among our thoughts, but they are apt to interfere with our thinking, and, in extreme cases, might stop it altogether. In a similar way, the lascivious play of St. Antony's imagination did not embellish his meditations on the holy mysteries; he had to overcome or ignore it to be able to pursue the train of his thought.

In answering the question, “How is the concept of a person possible?”, Strawson (Individuals. London: Methuen, 1959) lays great stress upon a particular class of predicate.

He says, “They are predicates, roughly, which involve doing something, which clearly imply intention or a state of mind or at least consciousness in general, and which indicate a characteristic pattern, or range of patterns, of bodily movement, while not indicating at all precisely any very definite sensation or experience … . Such predicates have the interesting characteristic of many P-predicates, that one does not, in general, ascribe them to oneself on the strength of observation, whereas one does ascribe them to others on the strength of observations. But, in the case of these predicates, one feels minimal reluctance to concede that what is ascribed in these two different ways is the same. This is because of the marked dominance of a fairly definite pattern of bodily movement in what they describe, and the marked absence of any distinctive experience.

In the early chapters of Mind and the World Order, Lewis develops a theory of meaning which has interesting points of similarity with that mentalistic or propositional theory of meaning which has been rejected by Quine, in Word and Object and elsewhere. There are also interesting similarities, however, between Lewis’ theory and Quine's own naturalistic theory. In this paper, I shall concentrate on one such similarity: namely, the analogy, noticed by Quine, between the predicament formulated in his own thesis of the indeterminacy of translation, and the “predicament of private worlds” in which Lewis’ theory of meaning is involved.

These analogous predicaments have a bearing on the problems of the commensurability of scientific theories and of objectivity in science in general; in fact, my primary motivation in attempting to explicate the analogy between Quine's theory of meaning and Lewis’ theory is to clear the way for an assessment of Quine's position on the problem of the objectivity of theories in science.

Recent metaphysical theories, which stress the importance of an agent as a sort of cause, raise again the question of where and how in the chain of events involved in voluntary motion the human agent “immediately” exerts his influence. The matter is still every bit as mystifying as Hume suggests. We know that when a human being moves voluntarily, there are events in his central nervous system which are causes of the motion. Of course, nothing whatever need be known about these events in order to move voluntarily. Either human agents produce these events or they do not.

A common complaint of biologists is that their subject receives poor treatment from philosophers—it gets but a fraction of the attention accorded to physics and chemistry, and what little it does receive, is usually of the type where ‘All swans are white’ is taken to be a paradigmatic example of the state of biological thinking. It cannot be denied that this complaint is, to a great extent, justified; however, there are some notable breaches in the wall of ignorance and silence, amongst which must be numbered The Ascent of Life by T.A. Goudge. In this book, starting from what is obviously a very wide knowledge of biology, Goudge attempts a careful and thorough analysis of one of the major achievements of biological thought, evolutionary theory. The conclusions that Goudge draws are many; nevertheless, one can discern running through them a common theme, namely that whilst evolutionary theory is indeed a legitimate branch of science, to assume that it is a science of the same nature as physics and chemistry would be a grave error. Goudge argues that, despite certain similarities to other branches of science, the essential aims, methods and results of evolutionary theory are peculiar unto itself.

One smiles and tells the expert chef how good the sauce béarnaise is, not so much to inform him about the sauce (he knows better than we do how good it is) as to assure him that we are enjoying it and that we appreciate his efforts. But when a man kneels in his pew and repeats a litany of thanksgiving it is not, it seems, that he means to be informing God of anything—not even of his thankfulness. For God, unlike the chef, has no need of information.

Along with more customary claims, Richard Taylor advances a new argument against a straightforward indeterministic analysis of free will. The analysis at issue is straightforward in the sense that it considers an occurrence to be a freely performed action, for which someone is fully responsible, if and only if it is causally contingent (i.e. causally possible but not necessary) in a particular way. Since Taylor's assumptions lead him to regard this position as a non-starter, the new part of his argument is not expressly designed as anti-indeterministic. He assumes that if an action were merely causally contingent relative to its antecedent conditions, then it would be random in a sense which involves that no-one could be responsible for it. Unlike the determinists who assume this too, he believes, however, that causal contingency is a necessary, though not sufficient, feature of any freely performed action, for which someone is fully responsible. The new part of his argument is expressly designed to support this intermediate position by establishing the existence of some further factor in agency which in one of its roles supplements the contingency of any action that is freely performed.

The account of belief adumbrated by Ryle in The Concept of Mind is, I think, a very tempting one despite its relative vagueness. According to this account, a belief that such and such is the case is a disposition of a certain kind. More specifically, it is a tendency or a propensity to behave and to react in more or less definite ways under certain circumstances. Thus “to believe that the ice is dangerously thin,” Ryle writes, “is to be unhesitant in telling oneself and others that it is thin, in acquiescing in other people's assertions to that effect, in objecting to statements to the contrary, in drawing consequences from the original proposition,. and so forth.” Moreover, he continues, “it is also to be prone to skate warily, to shudder, to dwell in imagination on possible disasters and to warn other skaters.” In short, to believe that p is to have “a propensity not only to make certain theoretical moves but also to make certain executive and imaginative moves, as well as to have certain feelings.”

The principle of legal paternalism justifies state coercion to protect individuals from self-inflicted harm, or in its extreme version, to guide them, whether they like it or not, toward their own good. Parents can be expected to justify their interference in the lives of their children (e.g. telling them what they must eat and when they must sleep) on the ground that “daddy knows best.” legal paternalism seems to imply that since the state often can know the interests of individual citizens better than the citizens know them themselves, it stands as a permanent guardian of those interests in loco parentis. Put in this blunt way, paternalism seems a preposterous doctrine. If adults are treated as children they will come in time to be like children. Deprived of the right to choose for themselves, they will soon lose the power of rational judgment and decision. Even children, after a certain point, had better not be “treated as children,” else they will never acquire the outlook and capability of responsible adults.