The general context of this writing is that of finding exits both from dualism and from reductive physicalism. Dualism—the attitude of seeing and taking things according to a fixed absolute distinction, with mind as invisible, conscious ‘containing’ the thought, feeling and sensation ‘hidden’ by body. Reductive physicalism—the attempt to grasp and be satisfied with body as left over by dualism's rape of its mentality, dualism's refusal to recognize the distinctiveness of point of view, as requiring a bodily mentality. Physicalism finally supplants an ‘inner life’ within the bodily vacancy after all, as in traditional dualist image, but now understands that ‘inner’, ‘conscious’ life in the terms pertaining to processes in the brain, rather than as deeds, passions, thoughts, reasoning as within the general ‘imaginary’ of our several minds.

The relation of philosophy to science, a problem of paramount importance for the future of philosophy, is reconsidered in this paper. Usually science has been accepted as the indubitable basis and philosophy has been made so dependent on it that it has become chiefly an investigation into the foundations, the results or the language of science. It has been wrongly assumed that science contains all possible material knowledge and that philosophy has but to analyse the language and grammar of science. Even where science has been criticized, as in the French Critique of Science, it has been accepted in its present form and restricted merely to the analysis of matter whereas the access to life has been claimed for philosophy (Boutroux, Bergson).

Hegel conceives of human beings as both natural and spirited. On Robert Pippin's influential reading, we are natural by being ‘ontologically’ like other animals, but spirited through a ‘social-historical achievement’. I contest both the coherence of this reading and its fidelity to Hegel's texts. For Hegel the human being is the truth of the animal. This means that spirit's self-production is not, as Pippin claims, an achievement that an animal confers on itself, but the realization of what the human being is. I end by specifying Aristotelian features of Hegel's account whose neglect by Pippin can help explain what goes wrong in his reading, and provide the outlines of a reading that is both coherent and faithful to Hegel's texts.

Not a day passes but we find ourselves indignant about something or other. When is our indignation justified, and when does it count as moral indignation rather than a legitimate but non-moral gripe? You might think that we should turn to moral theories – to the varieties of utilitarian, Kantian, virtue theories, etc – to answer this question. I shall try to convince you that this is a mistake, that moral theory – as it is ordinarily presently conceived and studied – does not have a specific subject matter, a specific aim, scope or boundaries. You might think that the difference between echt moral indignation and other forms of disapproval is their relative strength or the importance of their target; but moral indignation can be quite faint, directed to a relatively minor transgression and a strongly felt gripe may be directed to a serious but presumptively non-moral infraction. I shall try to persuade you that morality does not constitute an important and distinctive domain with a distinctive set of over-riding norms or a privileged mode of reasoning: morality is everywhere or nowhere in particular. Radical as this claim may sound, I am not a complete Luddite about the matter. Traditional moral theories nevertheless have important functions. But rather than being competing ‘winner takes all’ explanatory and normative theories, OldSpeak moral systems function heuristically. They offer a heterogeneous set of reminders, questions, advice, ideals, warnings, considerations for deliberation. While we try to integrate and systematize them, there is no single overarching organizational plan.

‘What is this thing called “love”?’, asks Cole Porter in his well known song, echoing our own doubts and confusions. Well, certain things can be said immediately in answer to his question: ‘Love’ is a four letter word but of the respectable variety describing a human emotion. Everybody wants it, seeks it, hopes for it but some are incapable of giving it; some doubt its existence, others are just confused, still others accept substitutes for the real thing. Often we find ourselves arguing about it, implying the possibility that love just means different things to different people. So while we all agree that love is desirable, very important, a good worth having and so on, our discussions of it reveal all kinds of inconsistencies in our understanding. This is a state of affairs which philosophers have tried to combat in various ways but always focusing on producing objective, general accounts of emotions which include love. Very few have concentrated on love independently of other emotions although love is a very popular example in general accounts. This practice, at the very least, tends to distort the importance of the concept and, at worst, kills dead its formidable significance.

This article is a sequel to ‘The Experience of Perceptual Familiarity’, published in Philosophy in January 1996. There it was argued that the experience of familiarity of appearance consists in awareness of ease of perception. A successful prediction of this hypothesis was that this experience will be absent if the familiar stimulus is perceptually simple. The new paper examines a series of experiments on recognition-memory for colours, often thought to confirm the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, that language influences fundamental cognitive and perceptual abilities. I argue that the hypothesis of Perceptual Familiarity provides a more plausible, non-Whorfian explanation of the results. Language is not influencing non-linguistic perception here, since, as the hypothesis is able to explain, recognition-memory for colours is itself invariably mediated by language.

The Behaviourist finds himself in rather a peculiar situation to-day. Denying mind, the philosophers will have nothing to do with him; denying consciousness and its sub-divisions (sensations, perceptions, images, and the like), the psychologist will have nothing to do with him. The further implication from all this, viz. that there is no unconscious, no sub-conscious, no conscious, leads the psychoanalyst to have nothing to do with him.

A quotation from Russell concedes that the immensity of real numbers (unending decimals) implied by the usual account of the continuum cannot mainly consist of ‘those whose digits procede according to some rule’. Russell concludes that the main body of real numbers ‘must be’ of the ‘lawless’ variety. The author scrutinises these so-called ‘lawless decimals’ and concludes that they are mythical. It follows that the totality of well-defined real numbers (existing and future) cannot be more than a countable whole. It is however clearly uncountable. An explanation is offered using the ‘greater lexicographic sequence’ (GLS).

February 21st will mark the two-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the death of Spinoza, which occurred on February 21st, 1677. The visitor to the Hague may still see, in the Paviljoensgragt, the small two-storied house in the top rooms of which Spinoza spent the last six years of his short life. A tablet placed under the top windows commemorates the fact. It was in these rooms that Spinoza completed his Ethica, which may perhaps be regarded as the greatest masterpiece in the history of Metaphysics. The house is in danger of being pulled down, and the Spinoza Society is endeavouring to secure it as a memorial to Spinoza, and a centre of philosophic studies. It is not so long since the house-breakers I had their way with the home of Erasmus in Rotterdam. It would be sad indeed if the abode of another of the greatest Humanists were to meet with a like fate. It is to be hoped that the revived I interest in Spinoza which we are witnessing now may take the I practical form of saving this precious relic, which may well serve to promote the peace and goodwill among men which Spinoza had so much at heart.

In Charles Renouvier we have one of the lone, stern, and indefatigable workers in philosophy in the nineteenth century. His powerful mind, moral earnestness, and intellectual vigour command respect and attention and place him high in the ranks of the philosophical thinkers of his century. He differed profoundly from his English contemporary Spencer and his German contemporary Lotze, both of whom have received more attention than Renouvier. His long and immensely active life fell into periods which coincide with, and partly reflect, the political and intellectual fortunes of his country from the Battle of Waterloo, through the Revolution of 1830, the Second Republic of 1848, the Second Empire, the War and the Commune of 1871, into the Third Republic, with its Dreyfus struggles and its Educational and Disestablishment problems in the early years of the present century.

Mill's considered conception of happiness is as much stoic as hedonistic, actually more so, despite what he says in a number of places in Utilitarianism, and his considered conception of the workings of the principle of utility is pragmatic, in a sense developed years later by John Dewey. In this conception, it is a working principle, not for testing the rightness or wrongness of actions from the point of view of an uninvolved spectator, but for bringing about the sweeping changes in society that it actually requires. Mill's Utilitarianism is often cluttered up with attempts to defend the version of hedonistic utilitarianism he inherited from his father and Bentham. But it is not important whether Mill is consistent with traditional hedonism. He has much to say that is true and enlightening—this is what is important.

Thomas Nagel has held that transcendence requires attaining a point of view stripped of features unique to our perspective. The aim of transcendence on this view is to get at reality as it is, independent of our contributions to it. I show this notion of transcendence to be incoherent, yet defend a contrasting notion of transcendence. As conceived here, transcendence does not require striving for an external, objective viewpoint on nature or looking at matters from someone else's or an impartial point of view. On my view, which builds on the work of Iris Murdoch, transcendence consists of a refinement of our concepts and sensibility to make them more adequate to the individuals we encounter.

Consciousness and its relation to the unconscious mind have long been debated in philosophy. I develop the thesis that consciousness and its contents reflect the highest elaboration of a set of abilities to respond to the environment realized in more primitive organisms and brain circuits. The contents of the states lesser than consciousness are, however, intrinsically dubious and indeterminate as it is the role of the discursive skills we use to construct conscious contents that lends articulation and clarity to the mental acts which cumulatively make up our mental lives. I lay out a tripartite structure for the formation of mind in which the ongoing interaction between brain and world, the formative effect of socio-cultural context and the self production of a relatively coherent narrative all play an important part in making a mind. The latter two influences clearly transcend biological science and suggest that human minds have features which broadly align with certain Freudian insights but do not support the reification of the causally structured unconscious that Freud envisaged.

It was news verging on sensational when A. J. Ayer came back from four minutes of heart death with a report of what he saw. Especially since the philosopher, who publicized his near-death experience [NDE] in 1988, in the Telegraph and the Spectator, was known for his lifelong rejection of religion and the supernatural. But, as will be seen, Ayer's beliefs on that head were substantially unchanged, if more ambivalently expressed, and the interest of his NDE lies elsewhere— in what it reveals about his philosophy.

If the commands of authority are peremptory and content-independent directives, it is a great puzzle why any rational autonomous agent should accept them as morally binding, as Robert Paul Wolff and others have argued. I analyse the peremptory and content-independent quality of authoritative directives and argue that all earthly authorities operate within a specified domain. I investigate three candidates for the role of universally applicable boundary conditions–morality, harm to self, and absurdity. I conclude that commands are authoritative only when intra vires, i.e. issued within the proper domain of the authority. Wolff's challenge is not met, hut it is shown to be less forbidding.

I compare three sorts of case in which philosophers have argued that we cannot assert the Law of Excluded Middle for statements of identity. Adherents of Smooth Infinitesimal Analysis deny that Excluded Middle holds for statements saying that an infinitesimal is identical with zero. Derek Parfit contended that, in certain sci-fi scenarios, the Law does not hold for some statements of personal identity. He also claimed that it fails for the statement ‘England in 1065 was the same nation as England in 1067’. I argue that none of these cases poses a serious threat to Excluded Middle. My analysis of the last example casts doubt on the principle of the Determinacy of Distinctness. While David Wiggins's ‘conceptualist realism’ provides a metaphysics which can dispense with that principle, it leaves no house-room for infinitesimals.

Many moral philosophers tend to construe the aims of ethics as the interpretation and critique of ‘common-sense morality’. This approach is defended by Henry Sidgwick in his influential The Methods of Ethics and presented as a development of a basically Socratic idea of philosophical method. However, Sidgwick's focus on our general beliefs about right and wrong action drew attention away from the Socratic insistence on treating beliefs as one expression of our wider dispositions.

Understanding the historical contingency of Sidgwick's approach to ethics can help us reflect on whether there are other ways in which modern ethics can be Socratic.

Wittgenstein's Private Language Argument has had an extraordinary influence, but examination reveals it to be nothing but multi-layered confusion. Section 1 argues that it is quite unclear what exactly Wittgenstein took to be his target, but one approach clearly leads to an infinite regress. Section 2 argues that his comments on the ‘private object’ commit him to the rejection of the principle ‘like cause, like effect’, with disastrous results, and to the absurdity that, although I may be woefully inept in identifying my sensations, the relation between the private object and the public world miraculously changes in such a way that this ineptitude is never discovered. Section 3 argues that Wittgenstein has nothing remotely acceptable to say about what it is to speak of sensations. Sections 4 and 5 argue that Wittgenstein's rejection of the notion of privileged access means that he cannot distinguish between genuine manifestations of consciousness and agency and mere mechanical or computerised happenings (‘mind the gap’; ‘doors closing’), a distinction which ultimately rests on the primacy of the first-person perspective.

Aristotle's ethical theory is often alleged to be inherently morally conservative — not only in the sense that it reflects the mores of a particular parochial form of society, but also in the sense that it lacks the resources to critically reflect upon the presuppositions of that form of society. Aristotle's ethical theory is thus charged with leaving no room for something upon which “we moderns” have learned to place a preeminent value: namely, the need to subject any merely inherited scheme of values to a process of rational criticism. This paper identifies two of the more compelling versions of this charge and, with respect to each, demonstrates that the charge turns on a misreading of Aristotle's text. The first misreading is shown to derive from a failure to appreciate Aristotle's distinction between virtue of character and practical wisdom. The second misreading is shown to derive from a failure to appreciate the differences between Aristotle's dialectical method and “The Method of Common Sense”. The discussion of these two misreadings occupies the first two sections of the paper. The third and final section tries to show that, far from being insensitive to the need for rational criticism, Aristotle, in fact, assigns to such criticism a fully adequate place in his ethical theory.

Dear ‘Time Machine’ Research Group; if in order to travel to the past one has to have been there already, and if one can only do what has already been done, then why build a time machine in the first place? À quoi bon l'effort?