In this paper I shall be principally concerned with three points arising from Professor Austin's British Academy Lecture on ‘Ifs and Cans’.1 These points only concern that use of ‘can’ where it is used in the general sense of ‘to be able’ and applied to human beings in respect of actual or possible actions.2 To some extent, of course, the basic problem is simply what sense of ‘can’ it is which is involved when we talk of possible but not actual human actions, i.e. when we say that a person could do or could have done what he does not or did not do (this was Moore's original problem).

Professor Frankena finds himself in a state of bewilderment about my opinions, particularly about those expressed in two recent articles, ‘Morality and Art’ and ‘Morality as a System of Hypothetical Imperatives’, which he discusses in an article pointedly entitled ‘The Philosopher's Attack on Morality’. To say, as he himself does, that he finds these articles ‘somewhat unclear’ seems on the internal evidence to be something of an understatement; he finds them full of uncertainties, contradictions, ambiguities and qualifications, and I do not know how he thinks anyone could have written such stuff.

Perhaps no other aspect of Hans-Georg Gadamer's Wahrheit und Methode has generated more controversy and caustic criticism than his attempt to defend the role of ‘prejudice’ (Vorurteil) in human understanding. Gadamer's goal in challenging what he calls ‘the Enlightenment's prejudice against prejudice’ is not to defend irresponsible, idiosyncratic, parochial or otherwise self-willed understanding in the human sciences, but to argue that all human cognition is ‘finite’ and ‘limited’ in the sense that it always involves, to borrow Polanyi's phrase, a ‘tacit dimension’ of implicit judgments, concerns, or commitments which shape definitively our grasp of the subject matter in ways we cannot anticipate or control. This implies a ‘finite’ or ‘limited’ view of human understanding in at least two ways. First, Gadamer seems to use the word ‘finite’ in conscious opposition to Hegel's notion of an ‘infinite’ intellect. For Hegel the ‘infinite’ was the ‘unconditioned’ and ‘self-determining’. An ‘infinite’ intellect would be its own master, an autonomous, spontaneous source of all its essential activities and contents.

John Rawls's A Theory of Justice (Oxford, 1972) is an extremely long and elaborate work. But despite the length and the elaboration there is at the heart of the work a crucial set of unargued assumptions which need to be challenged. When this is done we are in a position to provide additional support for the critical conclusions of several other commentators who concentrate on other features of Rawls's system.

The problem of the relation of ideals to practice comes with a new urgency at the present time. Ought we to put our ideal into practice here and now without compromise, or should we follow it as far as we are able, making concessions to human weakness? Or does it rather stand before us as an end to be achieved, so that our main task is to discover by what practicable steps we can work towards it?

This paper claims as erroneous the current widespread representation of the Doctrine of Double Effect (DDE) as primarily condemning as intrinsically bad actions involving intentional harm. The DDE's Four Conditions are in fact used solely for justifying certain intrinsically good actions with both intended good and unintended bad effects. Though contemporary writers assign a minor justificatory role to the DDE this is incompatible with their attribution to it of a primary prohibitive role. Not only is the conduct cited by these writers as justifiable under the DDE so morally innocuous as to require no justification, but any attempt to justify it by appeal to the DDE leads to incoherence. We finally suggest reasons for this misinterpretation in current concerns with the structure of deontological moral theories.

Protecting science from politicization is an ongoing concern in contemporary society. Yet some political influences on science (e.g., setting public funding amounts) are fully legitimate. We need to have a clear account of when a political influence is politicization (an illegitimate political influence) in order to properly detect and address the problem. I argue in this paper that understanding how the space of scientific inquiry is distinctive from democratic politics can be the basis for defining politicization. Similarities between inquiry and democratic politics have long been noted, but there are important differences as well. I describe four norms that are importantly distinct for inquiry when compared with democratic politics, even if they can be seen as roughly similar. Although there are parallels between democratic political norms and norms for scientific inquiry, there are crucial differences as well. Eliding these differences creates politicization of inquiry. Even as we understand scientific inquiry as pursued within society and responsible to society, we pursue it in a distinctive space, guided by distinctive norms and practices.

Philosophy of history is not a subject which has hitherto attracted much attention in this country. Preoccupation with the methods and achievements of the natural sciences, and distaste for the sort of rationale of history as a whole which Hegel and others offered under the title in the early nineteenth century, have served to make most British philosophers accord its problems only the most casual recognition. It is therefore all the more interesting to find an English writer of unusual powers both of argument and expression, who was himself an historian of distinction in his special field, devoting a large part of his philosophical thinking to the problems of historical knowledge and their wider implications. Unfortunately, R. G. Collingwood was not able to begin the major work on philosophy of history, to writing which, as we are told in the introduction to the present book, he had looked forward for twenty-five years, until his powers were seriously affected by bad health, and he did not live to complete it. But though the full results of his thinking on the subject are lost, we are now able, thanks to the skilful work of his friend Professor T. M. Knox, to study what is in effect an extensive interim report on it. Professor Knox has produced The Idea of History largely on the basis of lectures which Collingwood prepared in 1936, supplemented by two essays already published which date from the same period and a certain amount of material from the unfinished Principles of History written in 1939.

This article discusses Elizabeth Anscombe's faith and her concept of faith, and the bearing of this on what it is for belief to be reasonable. Reasonableness requires that we make a rough distinction between what can and cannot be taken seriously. At the margin we will rightly be influenced by thinkers such as Anscombe who were well able to appreciate the philosophical consensus but were also prepared to disturb it. She disturbed it in a particular way: by asserting Christian teachings robustly inimical to peace of mind. However she rejected many traditional defences of these teachings as presupposing a faulty understanding of rationality. The article attempts to assess what a more adequate understanding might be.

The argument of J. M. E. McTaggart in ‘The Unreality of Time’ (Mind 1908) fails logically. There is no A series as such, but there is a shifting past-present-future arrangement within and consistent with the earlier-later B series, past being always earlier, future always later, present always a position earlier or later. An exactly similar logical structure is constructible within the number series, by making each number as one goes up it in turn (it does not matter what ‘it’, or ‘present’, means, ontologically). The subsequent argument that past-present-future time falls into contradiction then fails also, and proves to be equivocal.

Many philosophers have supposed that while most of the objects in our immediate experience are composed of parts, at some point we must come down to those fundamental impartite objects out of which all partite things are composed: the metaphysical simples (usually conceived of as enduring, even eternal, entities). I consider what reason we have to believe that there really are simples, then we also have good reason to believe in their momentariness.

This paper provides a philosophical assessment of leading theory-based, evidence-based and coherentist approaches to the definition and the measurement of well-being. It then builds on this assessment to articulate a reformed division of labor for the science of well-being and argues that this reformed division of labor can improve on the proffered approaches by combining the most plausible tenets of theory-based approaches with the most plausible tenets of coherentist approaches. This result does not per se exclude the possibility that theory-based and coherentist approaches may be independently improved or amended in the years to come. Still, together with the challenges that affect these approaches, it strengthens the case for combining the most plausible tenets of those approaches.

Dummett in his recent paper in Philosophy replies in the negative to the question, “Is time a continuum of instants?” But Dummett seems to think that this negative reply entails giving an alternative theoretical account; he nowhere canvasses the possibility that there is something amiss with the question. In other words, Dummett thinks that he still has to reply to the question, “What (then) is time?”

I offer no answer whatsover to such ‘questions’. Rather, I ask what it could possibly mean to say that time is (e.g.) a continuum of instants (and by extension, whether it can mean anything at all to assert that it isn't).

In the course of doing so, I suggest that Dummett's ‘Anti-Realism’ is invariably a form of Realism, just a subtly inconsistent form. Anti-Realism keeps the fundamental metaphysical picture of Realism intact. Anti-Realism still thinks that there is a Reality...settling whether Realism or Anti-Realism is correct! ‘Anti-Realism’ is never anti-Realist enough.

There is both theoretical and experimental reason to suppose that no-one could ever have learned to speak without an environment of language-users. How then did the first language-users learn? Animal communication systems provide no help, since human languages aren't constituted as a natural system of signs, and are essentially recursive and syntactic. Such languages aren't demanded by evolution, since most creatures, even intelligent creatures, manage very well without them. I propose that representations, and even public representations like sculptures, precede full languages, which were devised by the first human children as secret tongues to create fantasy realms inaccessible to their proto-human parents. Language, in brief, is not required for truth-telling or for the convenience of hunters. It is a peculiar modification of public representation, which permits us to construct new public worlds.

Protagoras and his pupil Euthalos argued against one another in paradoxical fashion regarding the fulfilment of a contract. Protagoras was a Sophist, the first European inventors of logical puzzles who also argued that there cannot be false thinking. A paradox, however, does not say anything, and there is no solution to the question as to who is right in the exchange between Protagoras and Euthalos. On the other hand there is a real question as to how it is that a false proposition makes sense, and the Sophists were right in as much as a false proposition, while it does say something does not, being believed, tell its believer anything. The exclusion of paradoxical propositions is not to be achieved, as Russell supposed, by applying some general principle; rather matters need arguing through in particular cases as they arise.