There has been a good deal of interest in recent years in what Franz Brentano had to say about the notion of ‘intentional objects’ and about intentionality as a criterion of the mental. There has been less interest in his classification of mental phenomena. In his Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint Brentano asserts and argues for the thesis that mental phenomena can be classified in terms of three kinds of mental act or activity, all of which are directed towards an immanent object. These are, respectively, presentation, judgment and what he calls the phenomena of love and hate. Once again, less interest has been shown in what he has to say about the last of these three than in what he says about the others. I wish to take Brentano's views as the point of departure for a discussion of love and hate, since these notions seem to me to have a good deal of philosophical interest, for at least two main reasons. First, I have recently had some concern with the part that personal relations play in our understanding of others and of ourselves, and love and hate seem to be very important elements in such relations. Second, love and hate have long seemed to me to provide important counter-examples to some prevalent philosophical theories about the emotions. I shall take this issue first.

Professor Körner's Experience and Conduct, like many other notable entities, is divided into three parts. Part I contains accounts of what Körner calls factual and constructive logic, some remarks on the logic of maxims and their consistency and adequacy, a chapter on probabilistic thinking, and another on preference theory. Part II contains chapters on the logic of action, on attitudes, upon the distinction between regulative and evaluative standards of conduct, on morality, justice, welfare, prudence, legality, and what Körner calls ‘idealizations’. Part III, on the epistemology and metaphysics of practical thinking, contains chapters on rationality, evidence, moral pluralism and a final chapter on moral guidance. The amount of guidance one gets from this last chapter is, as one might expect, small.

1. ‘“But aren't you saying that all that happens is that he moans, and that there is nothing behind it?” I am saying that there is nothing behind the moaning’ (‘Notes for Lectures on “Private Experience” and “Sense Data”’, The Philosophical Review, July 1968, 302). This passage seems to me to epitomize a conception of the mind and its relation to the body found in the later work of Wittgenstein. It will be convenient to write as if this is his view of the mind. He suggests elsewhere that he is not advancing philosophical theses in his later work; so maybe this view is not a philosophical thesis in some relevant sense; or maybe Wittgenstein is not wholly consistent; or maybe he puts it forward only dialectically, and in other philosophical contexts would have espoused other views of the mind as much as he espouses this one. In any case, what does this one amount to? ‘There is nothing behind the moaning.’ What does this mean?

A picture agrees with reality or fails to agree; it is correct or incorrect, true or false (Tractates Logico-Philosophicus, 2.21).

What does this agreement consist in, if not in the fact that what is evidence in these language games speaks for our proposition? (On Certainty, 203).

The purpose of this paper is to outline a constructivist account of the notion of sense and to indicate why such an account is to be preferred to that given by classical semantics.

What force has the Argument from Design—the attempt to argue to Design, and hence to God, from various alleged signs of it in Nature?

Some preliminary points. First: To establish the reality of God need not be to prove that there exists an actual person meriting that name. Many theologians, for example P. Tillich, have denied that God is any manner of existent. On a fairly simple and attractive interpretation, their view is that ‘God’ names the principle that ethical requirements are creatively powerful. In previous papers I tried to make sense of this principle: there is much that can be said for it. So when talking of ‘design’ I am not presupposing anything as specific as an actual designer.

It is obvious that two contingent statements, each of which denies the existence of something, can be inconsistent with one another: for example, ‘There are no non-black ravens, and there is at least one raven’, and ‘There are no black ravens’. But it is also obvious that these two statements are inconsistent only because one of them, as well as denying the existence of something, asserts the existence of something. The mere denials of existence, ‘There are no non-black ravens’ and ‘There are no black ravens’, are consistent with one another. (Both of them would be true if there were no ravens at all.) Indeed, it must hold quite generally that two contingent statements cannot be inconsistent, where each is a mere denial of existence in the sense that it denies existence and does not also assert existence. For in order to be inconsistent with a mere denial of existence, a second statement must assert existence, whatever else it may do; and if it asserts existence, it is not itself a mere denial of existence.

I cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. In every system of morality, which I have hitherto met with, I have always remark'd, that the author proceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs; when of a sudden I am surpriz'd to find, that instead of the usual copulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition that is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is imperceptible; but is, however, of the last consequence. For as this ought, or ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, 'tis necessary that it shou'd be observ'd and explain'd; and at the same time that a reason should be given, for what seems altogether inconceivable, how this new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am persuaded, that this small attention wou'd subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations of objects, nor is perceiv'd by reason.

Did Wittgenstein think that language-games have presuppositions? He sometimes speaks as if he thought that they do, at other times as though he thought that they do not. For examples, in On Certainty 110, after pointing out that the business of giving grounds for what we say has to come to an end sometime, he remarks, ‘but the end is not an ungrounded presupposition’; whereas, in 115, after warning us that if we try to doubt everything we shall not get as far as doubting anything, he gives as his reason ‘the game of doubting itself presupposes certainty’. It is of some importance for a correct understanding of Wittgenstein to clear up this apparent contradiction.

Mr. Hanink objects to my ‘Survival Lottery’ which would save Y and Z, who need new organs, by choosing and killing A at random to provide them. He believes the relevant difference between killing A and not saving Y and Z ‘might well be this: Y and Z can not have A killed without intentionally seeking A's death. But a physician can “not save” Y and Z without intentionally seeking their deaths’.

In his Essay Towards a New Theory of Vision Berkeley argues that it is only a happy accident that we are aware of space and objects in space by means of vision, and that the logically primary way in which we are aware of space is by touch. Berkeley's argument is that all connections between the visual and the spatial properties of things are contingent. Thus we may judge an object's distance from us by noting the number and size of intervening objects (3), by the sensations arising when we turn our eyes to it (16), from the confused appearance of the object (21), or from the straining of our eyes (27); but in each case there is only a contingent connection between the method used and the distance of the object from the observer (e.g. 3, 17, 20, 23). Similar considerations apply to the judgements we make by sight of magnitude (see 64) and situation (see 93–95). If this is so then clearly we must have some other way of making spatial judgements, for how else could we establish the various contingent links between what we see and space? This other method must, of course, be by touch, but then touch cannot be merely contingently related to space, for then we would need a third method and so on. Berkeley is therefore led to maintain that there are necessary connections between touch and space. For Berkeley, then, it is impossible for us to make spatial judgements, judgements of the distances between objects and of the magnitudes and positions of objects, by means of sight alone, whereas it is possible to make such judgements on the basis of information obtainable from touch alone. It is this joint claim that I wish to consider.

It is rarely, if at all, thought that Socrates committed suicide; but such was the case, or so I want to suggest. My suggestion turns not upon any new interpretation of ancient sources but rather upon seeking a determination of the concept of suicide itself.

In ‘Scientific Research and Moral Rectitude’ Robert Hoffman defends the scientific community against critics who maintain that ‘the researcher's claim to freedom of inquiry should be upheld only if his discovery does not adversely affect mankind….’ He uses two arguments in his defence, both of which purport to show that this sort of criticism is logically misconceived.

Robert Hoffman's note, ‘Scientific Research and Moral Rectitude’ (Philosophy, 50 (1975), 475–7), is a highly misleading introduction to this important topic. Hoffman points out (rightly) that there are some people who ‘believe that the researcher's claim to freedom of inquiry should be upheld only if his discovery does not adversely affect mankind or any significant segment thereof’ (475), and his aim is to reject this belief. But such people are right, as can be shown by some counter-arguments and examples. But first a slight qualification is necessary, for, as Hoffman points out, it is impossible before an inquiry to state categorically that its outcome will (or will not) adversely affect mankind. But it may be possible to estimate whether it is likely to affect mankind adversely, and it is surely reasonable to hold that a researcher's claim to freedom of inquiry should not be upheld if it is likely that the inquiry will adversely affect mankind. If a nuclear physicist interested in particle fusion wishes to carry out research which is likely to lead to an uncontrolled nuclear explosion, no one would seriously uphold his right to carry out this research in a laboratory situated in a densely populated area. And to reply that he still has a right to carry out this research alone on a desert island would be to concede, not to circumvent, the claim that scientific research ought to be under the critical eye of moral responsibility. The critic of science would not in any case accept this reply, since he believes not unreasonably that nuclear explosions adversely affect mankind wherever on earth they occur.