On a hot sleepy summer day an old truck rattles along a dusty road. A turnip falls off the truck, the truck does not stop. Perhaps the old man who drives the truck does not know that the turnip fell off, or perhaps he does not care. He values his time or his ease more than he values the I turnip. We, who know not only that turnips are nourishing but that many people go hungry, may say that the man ought to have stopped to pick up the turnip.

In A paper called ‘The Responsibility of Psychopaths’, I think I succeeded in establishing that we cannot rule out a priori the possibility that psychopaths may be shown to be lacking in responsibility. I also examined some arguments that try to show the psychopathto be lacking in responsibility, but I concluded that these arguments were not very successful. In this paper I intend to make and examine some more attempts at showing the psychopath to be lacking in responsibility. But before I do that there is one point to keep in mind.

The title I have chosen naturally suggests the question: What are you saying omnipotence is irrelevant to? I reply: This doctrine is irrelevant to worthwhile discussion of the problem of evil. By this phrase I understand: the problem how the existence of a God with the attributes traditionally ascribed to him in Christian belief can be reconciled with the occurrence of the sorts of evil that we find in the world.

Mr Bennett in his interesting essay in the April 1974 issue of Philosophy claims that ‘… in a particular case sympathy and morality may pull in opposite directions. This can happen not just with bad moralities, but also with good ones like yours and mine.’ By sympathy he says he means ‘every sort of fellow-feeling’. Although a triumph of sympathy over morality may be a good thing, it also represents a triumph of irrationality over reason (p. 126).

First, I offer a solution to the metaphysical problem of the mind–body relation, drawing on the fact of its distinctness in kind. Secondly, I demonstrate how, contrary to what is denied, Descartes’ metaphysical commitments allow for the intellect's clear and distinct conception of the mind–body union. Central to my two-fold defence is a novel account of the metaphysics of Descartes’ Causal Principle: its neutrality, and the unanalysable, fundamental nature of causality. Without the presupposition, and uniqueness of the mind-body union there can be no mind-body interaction; this throws new light on current concerns in metaphysics and philosophy of mind.

Among the most elementary of moral truisms is the principle of universality: we apply to ourselves the same standards we do to others, more stringent ones if we are serious. A near-universal principle of intellectual culture is the rejection of this truism, sometimes explicitly. Rejection of this and similar moral truisms has severe human consequences, and yields what are regarded as “hard problems”—hard in no small measure because truisms are rejected. Illustrations range from establishment of “norms” for international behavior to practice and doctrine with regard.

It is not easy to see how self-deception is possible because the man who deceives himself seems to be required to play two incompatible roles, that of deceiver and that of deceived. This makes self-deception sound about as difficult as presiding at one's own funeral. Many attempts have been made to remove the air of paradox from self-deception. These attempts are all unsuccessful, and they are best seen as expressions of philosophical puzzlement rather than as actual solutions. In particular, the whole of the literature on self-deception is vitiated by two serious confusions. First, deception is confused with deceit; secondly, it is wrongly assumed that every case of deceiving oneself is automatically a case of self-deception and so self-deception proper becomes confused with other things.

Like Platonism in the philosophy of mathematics, or Communism in California, scepticism about the external world is a doctrine that maintains its health not by being held by many, but by being attacked often. Though there were actual sceptics in ancient times, in various degrees, the history of scepticism in medieval and modern times has been entirely a history of arguments, not of schools.

It would be interesting to speculate why particular lines of enquiry flourish and fade. The study of ‘character’ is a case in point. In the '20s and early '30s the study of ‘character’ was quite a flourishing branch of psychology. It then came to an abrupt halt and, until recent times, there has been almost nothing in the literature on the subject. Perhaps it was the notorious Hartshorne and May Character Education Enquiry, and the inferences that were mistakenly drawn from it, that killed it; perhaps it was the pre-occupation with something more general and amorphous called ‘personality’; perhaps it was the mixture of metaphysics and methodological neurosis centred around the rat. Who knows? Anyway, the study of character is very much with us again as is revealed not merely by Riesman's Lonely Crowd but also by the recent study by Peck and Havighurst called The Psychology of Character Development. The British Journal of Educational Psychology has also, for some time, been running a symposium on The Development of Moral Values in Children.

Throughout the history of philosophy there has been a sustained interest in the concepts of knowledge, truth and meaning; interest in the concepts of error, falsity and nonsense, on the other hand, has been intermittent and spasmodic. Error, for example, has suffered at the expense of knowledge to such an extent that sometimes its very existence has been denied, or it has been explained away as being merely the absence of or privation of knowledge; many theories of truth are so constructed that no place can be found for falsity, and theories about what constitutes making sense pay, on the whole, little heed to what constitutes nonsense. In this paper I hope to do something to redress the balance so far as error is concerned. My remarks are prompted by the hope that, just as we may best understand health through the study of disease, so a consideration of error or failure may throw light on knowledge or success. It is clearly not very informative to say of error, falsity and nonsense that they are merely the absence of knowledge, truth and sense; indeed it is just as laconic as a proposed medical definition of disease as the absence of health.

In Chapter 4 of his essay Utilitarianism, “Of what sort of Proof the Principle of Utility is susceptible,” J. S. Mill undertakes to prove, in some sense of that term, the principle of utility. It has very commonly been argued that in the course of this “proof” Mill commits two very obvious fallacies. The first is the naturalistic fallacy (the fallacy of holding that a value judgment follows deductively from a purely factual statement) which he is held to commit when he argues that since “the only proof capable of being given that an object is visible, is that people actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible is that people hear it: and so of the other sources of our experience. In like manner … the sole evidence it is possible to produce that anything is desirable, is that people do actually desire it.”1 Here Mill appears to hold that “X is desirable (=fit or worthy to be desired)”—a value judgment—follows deductively from “People desire x”—a factual statement. And the second is the fallacy of composition (i.e. an illicit transition from a statement about each several member of a collection to a statement about the collection as a whole) which seems to be involved in Mill'zs argument that since “each person's happiness is a good to that person … the general happiness (is), therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons.”2

The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a medium of expression for the world-view and mental habits proper to the devotees of Ingsoc, but to make all other modes of thought impossible.

Was there such a person as Lewis Carroll? An affirmative answer is suggested by the thought that Lewis Carroll was Charles Dodgson, and since there was certainly such a person as Charles Dodgson, there was such a person as Lewis Carroll. A negative answer is suggested by the thought that in arguing thus, the two names ‘Lewis Carroll’ and ‘Charles Dodgson’ are being inappropriately treated as though they were completely on a par: a pseudonym is, after all, a false or fictitious name. Perhaps we should say instead that there was really no such person as Lewis Carroll, but that when Charles Dodgson published under that name, he was pretending that there was, and further, pretending that the works in question formed part of the literary output of this pretendedly real individual. Whether or not this is correct for the case of ‘Lewis Carroll’, I will be suggesting that an account of this second style–a fictionalist account, for short–is appropriate for at least a good many pseudonyms. We shall get to reasons why it might nonetheless not be especially appropriate in the present case in due course: one advantage of the ‘Lewis Carroll’/‘Charles Dodgson’ example, such qualms notwithstanding, is that everyone (likely to be reading this) is familiar not only with both names but with which of them is the pseudonym. Another is that, as we shall have occasion to observe below, Dodgson himself had some interesting views on this particular case of pseudonym(it)y.

It is widely held that Locke propounded a theory of personal identity in terms of consciousness and memory. By ‘theory’ here is meant a set of necessary and sufficient conditions indicating what personal identity consists in. It is also held that this theory is open to obvious and damaging objections, so much so that it has to be supplemented in terms of bodily continuity, either because memory alone is not sufficient, or because the concept of memory is itself dependent upon considerations of bodily continuity. Alternatively it has been suggested that Locke's theory could be modified by allowing that for the purposes of personal identity ‘remember’ should be regarded as a transitive relation. So if A remembers the experiences of B but not those of C, and B remembers the experiences of C, then A, B and C can be regarded as belonging to the same unit of consciousness.