Psychological egoism is, I suppose, regarded by most philosophers as one of the more simple-minded fallacies in the history of philosophy, and dangerous and seductive too, contriving as it does to combine cynicism about human ideals and a vague sense of scientific method, both of which make the ordinary reader feel sophisticated, with conceptual confusion, which he cannot resist. For all of these reasons it springs eternal, in one form or another, in the breasts of first-year students, and offers excellent material for their philosophy instructors, who like nothing better than an edifice of sturdy appearance but with rotten foundations on which to display their skill as demolition experts.

Berkeley wrote of ‘the absolute existence of unthinking things’ as being, ‘words which are without meaning and including a contradiction’. There are few philosophers today who do not regard Berkeley as having been mistaken in this view, in that it is regarded as clearly not meaningless to suppose that there might be many objects about which no one happens to be thinking. Nor is it the aim of this paper entirely to resurrect such a view, though it is my purpose to try to show the subtlety of the logical and ontological issues involved in the problem of independent things.

In a recent article In Mind, called A Religious Way of Knowing, Mr. C. B. Martin considers the claim made by some theologians to know the existence of God on the basis of direct experience of God. His paper is, he says, “an attempt to indicate how statements concerning a certain alleged religious way of knowing betray a logic extraordinarily like that of statements concerning introspective and subjective ways of knowing. It is not my wish (he continues) to go from a correct suggestion that the logic is very, very like to the incorrect suggestion that the logic is just like.”

A sharp contrast had recently been drawn by one of our Cambridge Professors between Bertrand Russell and Broad1 in respect of their characters and their intellectual and moral careers. We have been told that Russell was several times in prison, married and divorced several times, had several mistresses, was frequently short of money, and very unstable in changing his philosophical views. As far as I know Broad was never in prison for anything. Again, so far from marrying several times, he tells us with some satisfaction in his Autobiography that there was ‘never any risk’ of his ‘catching his foot in the man-trap of matrimony.’ This was one of the reasons why, in contrast with Russell, he was never short of money. Other reasons were that his tastes were simple, and that like his West Country philosophical forerunner, John Locke, and evidently like his Director of Studies, McTaggart, he paid great attention to investment. He was determined to save and invest enough to make himself ‘as soon as possible independent of the vicissitudes of employment’.

It is one of the unfortunate habits of great philosophers to leave behind them unclarified points of doctrine which give headaches to those anxious to view their systems as coherent wholes, and often lead to considerable confusion, or even contradiction, in attempts at critical exposition. An outstanding example of this is furnished by Descartes' treatment of “simple natures.”

To interpret what Descartes really meant by simple natures as described in the Regulae ad directionem ingenii, and to integrate this with what he said in his published works (where they are not mentioned as such) is by no means an easy task—as the differing views of various critics clearly indicate. One has only to compare, say, the expositions of Chevalier, Boyce Gibson and Keeling to see that there is little unanimity of opinion as to the actual connotation of simple natures, their proper role in the Cartesian metaphysic, their terminological equivalents in the Meditations and Principles, and their ontological as opposed to epistemological status. Many critics, as Dr. Keeling complains, have seen fit “to discuss them when treating of his (Descartes') method, and omit all reference to them thereafter.” To make any comprehensive attempt to sort out this critical Verwirrung, however, would require considerable space. What I shall do here, therefore, will be to state the problem as simply as I can and then offer a solution in the light of the evidence available—although I admit that short of recalling Descartes from his grave there can be no final solution.

1. ‘Reason is and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can pretend to no other office, but to serve and obey them.’ (Hume, Treatise of Human Nature (THN) 2.3.3) Unfortunately, Hume uses ‘reason’ to mean ‘discovery of truth or falsehood‘ (THN 3.1.1) as well as discovery of logical relations. So suppose we avoid, as Hume I think does not, prejudging the question of how many ingredients are requisite for action, by separating these two claims out:

A. Reason (= logical powers) is and ought only to be the slave of the passions.

B. Reason (= belief(s)) is and ought only to be the slave of the passions.

I summarize and criticize Derek Parfit's impressive attempt to reconcile the Kantian and the Consequentialist approaches to moral thinking, and argue that his ‘cognitive non-naturalism’ fails to do justice to the roots of moral sentiment in personal relations. I outline the destructive effect of ‘trolley problems’ on ethical reasoning, and mount a case for seeing moral reasoning as a consequence of ‘reactive’ attitudes, arising from the attempt to reach a rational consensus in the things that we praise and blame.

John Rawls’ gamification of justice leads him – along with many other monist political philosophers, not least Ronald Dworkin – to fail to take politics seriously enough. I begin with why we consider games frivolous and then show how Rawls’ theory of justice is not merely analogous to a game, as he himself seems to claim, but is in fact a kind of game. As such, it is harmful to political practice in two ways: one as regards the citizens who participate directly in it, and the other as regards those who do no more than follow it.

The paper is a tribute to the late Stuart Hampshire's investigations of the ramifying role of intention in our conceptual scheme. It surveys the central argument of Thought and Action and the third chapter of Freedom of the Individual. Emphasis is placed upon Hampshire's constructive account of human agency and consequent description of the manner in which perception and action are interwoven. His analysis of the character of intentional action, self-knowledge and autonomy is described. Various lacunae in Hampshire's account are identified and an attempt is made to fill them in in a manner consistent with Hampshire's insights.

In my book The Comprehensibility of the Universe (OUP, 1998), I argue for a new conception of science that construes science as adopting a hierarchy of increasingly contentless cosmological assumptions about the comprehensibility and knowability of the universe. This view, I argue, solves outstanding problems about science, such as problems of induction, simplicity and verisimilitude. In his essay review of my book (Philosophy75, 2000, 296–309) Friedel Weinert criticizes me for defending a number of views about science. But, as I make clear from quotations from the book, I do not defend the views that Weinert attributes to me.