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.

I begin with some remarks on Christian Atheism and the Death of God Theology. These are not, as might be thought, identical movements. Rather, as I shall try to make clear, Christian Atheism is one form that the Death of God theology has assumed.

1. Introduction. In the chapter which he devotes to the applications of his principle of individual liberty, Mill considers the question ‘how far liberty may legitimately be invaded for the prevention of crime, or of accident’. On the latter topic, he writes:—‘… it is a proper office of public authority to guard against accidents. If either a public officer or anyone else saw a person attempting to cross a bridge which had been ascertained to be unsafe, and there were no time to warn him of his danger, they might seize him and turn him back, without any real infringement of his liberty; for liberty consists in doing what one desires, and he does not desire to fall into the river.” (Q1)

The word ‘dualism’ can be used to pick out at least four different theories concerning the relationship between mind and body.

(1) A mind and a body are two different entities and each is “had” by a man. A man is thus a composite being with two components, one “inner”, the other “outer”. You, for example, are a man and your mind is “inner” in the sense that you alone can reflectively experience yourself thinking, or feeling pain, or seeing colours (or at least that you alone can reflectively experience your own thoughts, feelings and visual experiences). I can in a sense observe you thinking, but only by observing you use your body in certain ways—e.g. to make certain sounds, write certain things, look at the pages of an open book and frown. My “experience” of you thinking (or of your thoughts) is thus not a reflective experience. Your body is “outer”, on the other hand, in the sense that you cannot experience it or its (non-relational) properties in any exclusive way. That is, in whatever sense you can be said to experience your body, someone else can equally be said to experience it.

In this paper I shall deal with a new form of Optimism. Rationalists once believed that it was mistaken to suppose that a world without God is a meaningless one; material progress along with the improvement of men and their institutions, indefinitely protracted, ensured that life was meaningful. More recently it has become fashionable to claim that the pessimist, the cosmic mourner, is not mistaken at all, but rather incoherent. It is not that there is no answer to his question but rather that no sensible question has been asked—at least in the terms in which he poses it. The latter qualification is necessary, for no one is denying that people's lives may either possess or lack meaning. Rather what is being denied is that life as a whole, tout court and without limitation, can be said either to have or not to have sense. One cannot, it is argued, regret what could not, logically, be otherwise, and since nothing could possibly count as endowing the cosmos as a whole with meaning it is not logically possible for the cosmos as a whole to have, or not to have, meaning. The regret evinced by the pessimist becomes, therefore, a pseudo-regret. ‘… it is perverse writes Ayer, ‘to see tragedy in what could not conceivably be otherwise.’ Just as a pseudo-problem is one for which there could, logically, be no solution, so a pseudo-regret is one in which there can be no assuagement of the regretted situation. None of this is to deny, of course, that a man can experience a state of mind which might be described as ‘cosmic anguish’, but such an experience has no cognitive value: it is a state of mind, no doubt painful for the possessor, which tells us nothing about the world beyond it. That people have confused this state of mind with a judgement about the world is understandable, but mistaken.

In this paper I attempt to explore the significance of the terms ‘accident’ and ‘chance’ when they are used in connection with events that are sometimes said to happen ‘by accident’ and sometimes ‘by chance’. The significance of these terms is not always made clear in everyday conversation, and here I shall try to discuss the distinction between them and the sorts of situation therefore to which they properly apply. Perhaps an example will show that these expressions are different. Thus ‘I met Smith in the library by chance’ is different from ‘I met Smith in the library by accident’, different because these statements reflect different interpretations of the events referred to. We see accidental and chance events in a different light. And this is the point; ‘accident’ and ‘chance’ are terms of interpretation, not of description. And I hope to show that the expression ‘by chance’ is appropriate in contexts which develop as a result of human decisions and intentions in a way in which the expression ‘by accident’ is not appropriate.

The question “What is humour?” has exercised in varying degrees such philosophers as Aristotle, Hobbes, Hume, Kant, Schopenhauer and Bergson and has traditionally been regarded as a philosophical question. And surely it must still be regarded as a philosophical question at least in so far as it is treated as a conceptual one. Traditionally the question has been regarded as a search for the essence of humour, whereas nowadays it has become almost a reflex response among some philosophers to dismiss the search for essences as misconceived. Humour, it will be said, is a family-resemblance concept: no one could hope to compile any short list of essential properties abstracted from all the many varieties of humour— human misfortune and clumsiness, obscenity, grotesqueness, veiled insult, nonsense, wordplay and puns, human misdemeanours and so on, as manifested in forms as varied as parody, satire, drama, clowning, music, farce and cartoons. Yet even if the search for the essence of humour seems at first sight unlikely to succeed, I do not see how we can be sure in advance of any conceptual investigation; and in any case we might do well to start with the old established theories purporting to give the essence of humour, for even if they are wrong they may be illuminatingly wrong and may help us to compile a list of typical characteristics.

Central to most religions are God and belief in God. But while this is so for nearly all religions, questions regarding the nature and existence of God have long been a welter for believer and nonbeliever alike. This is not purely a historical comment. Long enduring confusions about God's existence and nature persist and, it seems to me, have even deepened recently. Consider the spectrum of things contemporaneously said about God's existence.

Professor J. W. N. Watkins argues in his Hobbes' System of Ideas that Hobbes' theory of moral predicates must be interpreted in terms of Austinian performatives. In this paper I shall argue two points. First, that Watkins' thesis is false. Second, that Hobbes' own doctrine, which asserts that things are made good or just by being declared to be so by the sovereign, is inconsistent.

Watkins begins with brief exposition of Hobbes' theory of moral language as stated in the Leviathan.

But whatsoever is the object of any mans Appetite or Desire; that is if, which he for his part calleth Good: And the object of his Hate, and Aversion, Evill; And of his Contempt, Vile and Inconsiderable. For these words of Good, Evill, and Contemptible, are ever used with relation to the person that useth them: There being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any common Rule of Good and Evill, to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves; but from the Person of the man (where there is no Common-wealth;) or, (in a Common-wealth,) from the Person that representeth it; or from an Arbitrator or Judge, whom men disagreeing shall by consent set up, and make his sentence the Rule thereof.

What is it to be ‘morally serious’? In one sense, it is quite obvious that a man who stands by his moral principles with difficulty and in face of many obstacles, even to the extent of giving his life rather than denying these principles, is a morally serious person. He might be contrasted with a man who gives up or modifies his moral principles whenever their implementation becomes difficult, or threatens to harm his interests; and this person might be called morally frivolous. That is what moral seriousness is; but still, one might ask, what is it to be a morally serious man? What does it involve to be such a man? Is it just a sort of pathological obstinacy; even, perhaps, a misplaced conservatism in face of the facts, which clings to the principles it knows, whatever the cost? One cannot rule out such a possibility. But the martyr and the hero do not consider themselves to be merely obstinate. In the face of risk and even certain suffering, they typically regard it as of supreme importance to be obstinate in sustaining their principles. Something more is felt to be at stake than mere defence of the status quo.

In my argument in this paper I shall assume rather than try to prove the proposition, surely not on the face of it an unreasonable one, that the question of what actions, dispositions and circumstances are such as to frustrate human beings, and what are such as to make them comparatively happy and fulfilled, has a great deal of bearing on the question of what actions and dispositions are good or bad. I shall also assume that the way in which human persons or societies can achieve fulfilment, or fail to achieve it, is explicable largely on the basis of the way in which man as a species has evolved. Few people, except those strongly affected by philosophical fashion, will wish to deny the first of these propositions. What one might call the hard utilitarian thesis, that goodness is to be defined in terms of contribution to happiness or fulfilment, may involve the ‘naturalistic fallacy’, may be vulnerable to the arguments of Moore, Hare and others. But I shall not commit myself here to the hard utilitarian thesis, since I am not insisting that goodness may be defined in terms of contribution to human happiness or fulfilment, but only that the question of how far anything contributes to human happiness or fulfilment has a vital bearing on the question of whether and to what extent it is good. I do not think that many people really doubt the truth of this proposition, unless they confuse it with the hard utilitarian thesis.

Can a man intend to do the impossible? That is, can a man undertake to do some action, A—and not merely to come as close as possible to doing A with the hope that the doing of A will result—when he believes he has no chance of doing A?

Sir David Ross introduced and discussed his notion of prima facie duties in chapter 2 of The Right and the Good, and it is to this chapter that I shall devote most attention. I wish to show that the distinction between prima facie and “actual” duties, as expounded by Ross, entails that there are no “actual” duties; and I wish to show that this unfortunate consequence of the distinction arises from Ross's explicit epist-emological views. Writers such as Ewing, Baier and Frankena, who have quoted Ross's distinction with some degree of approval, force one to ask how, precisely, they interpreted it. In the first part of this paper I set out Ross's exposition in detail, since failure to do this has blinded adherents to its difficulties; in the second part I summarise my findings and indicate the problems Ross rightly poses for us; in the third part I suggest possible sources for Ross's views. Two points should be noted at the outset. Firstly, the distinction applies to acts, not actions; “act” refers to “the thing done, the initiation of change, and ‘action’ (to) the doing of it, the initiating of change, from a certain motive” (p. 7). Secondly, the term “right” is used throughout as synonymous with “what is my duty” (p. 6).

It first needs to be shown that this question raises a problem, for many people think it is answered, or at least dissolved, in the following way. There are two independent ways of answering the question “Why should I do X?”; one ultimately in terms of what I want to do, the other ultimately in terms of what I morally ought to do. Thus showing that I morally ought to do something is a final justification of a course of action. No answer can be given to the further question “Given that X is what I morally ought to do, why ought I to do X?”. No further moral reasons can be given as ex hypothese the final moral reasons have already been given. As it is denied that moral reasons can be reduced to reasons in terms of what I want to do, the only other possible kind of reason has been ruled out also. This, however, is said net to matter, because moral reasons are not in need cf any further justification. Moral considerations simply are reasons for action just as much as wanting to do something simply is a reason for doing it.

In his defence of the identity theory, Professor Smart has attempted to show that reports of mental states (for example, sensation reports) are strictly topic-neutral. If this were the case then it would follow that there is nothing logically wrong with the claim that the mind is the brain (and nothing more) or that mental states are really nothing but brain states. Some phillosophers have argued that a fundamental objection to any form of materialism is that the latter makes an obvious logical blunder in identifying the mental with the physical. This is the view that dualism is enshrined in our language. If this is true then of course statements such as ‘the mind is actually nothing but the brain’ and ‘mental states are really nothing but physical processes’ would be quite unacceptable on strictly logical grounds. Smart's claim that talk about mental states is topic-neutral, however, appears to exempt materialism from such objections. The question is, does it? That is to say, are sensation reports and the like topic-neutral in the required sense? Are they analogous in principle to statements of the form ‘someone is in the room’? Smart's point is that expressions such as ‘someone phoned: it was the doctor’ are logically similar to those of the form ‘I am having a red after-image: it is a brain process.’ ‘Someone’ is not logically equivalent to ‘the doctor’ (and it even sounds strange to say ‘someone is the doctor’), but it may, of course, be true that the doctor is the someone who phoned. Does this analogy hold and is it correct to say that sensation reports and mentalistic expressions in general are topic-neutral, that they refer only to experienced ‘somethings’? Smart's claim runs as follows:

When a person says, ‘I see a yellowish-orange after-image’, he is saying something like this: ‘There is something going on which is like what is going on when I have my eyes open, am awake, and there is an orange illuminated in good light in front of me, that is, when I really see an orange’. (And there is no reason why a person should not say the same thing when he is having a veridical sense-datum, so long as we construe the ‘like’ in the last sentence in such a sense that something can be like itself.) Notice that the italicised words, namely ‘there is something going on which is like what is going on when’, are all quasi logical or topic neutral words. This explains why the ancient Greek peasant's reports about his sensations can be neutral between dualistic metaphysics and my materialistic metaphysics. It explains how sensations can be brain processes and yet how a man who reports them need know nothing about brain processes. For he reports them only very abstractly as ‘something going on which is like what is going on when…’ Similarly, a person may say ‘someone is in the room’, thus reporting truly that the doctor is in the room, even though he has never heard of doctors.

The Object of this paper is the development of a view of punishment which incorporates what is of importance in retributive and utilitarian justifications of the practice of punishment. This proposed theory was noted and referred to as the plene esse, but not fully worked out, in the course of a discussion paper (‘Mr Quinton on “an odd sort of right”’) in which my concern was to offer an alternative view, to that of Mr Anthony Quinton, by construing ‘the right to punishment’ as meaning that ‘the offender has the right to be regarded as responsible for his actions’.

… once it be granted that the concept of a mental state is the concept of a state of the person apt for the production of certain sorts of behaviour, the identification of these states with physico-chemical states of the brain is, in the present state of knowledge, nearly as good a bet as the identification of the gene with the DNA molecule.

One of the most influential appeals in disputes concerning distributive justice is the appeal to the value of equality. However, the concept of equality is one of the vaguest concepts in social philosophy and philosophical discussions of equality are notorious for their ambiguity. The purpose of this paper is to formulate concisely and then to evaluate the adequacy of four egalitarian formulas and a four-step egalitarian position for achieving distributive justice.

In his book, Theory of Knowledge, Roderick Chisholm distinguishes very precisely between, amongst others, what he calls acceptable, reasonable and evident propositions. A proposition is acceptable if with-holding it is not more reasonable than believing it; a proposition is reasonable if believing it is more reasonable than with-holding it; and a proposition is evident for a person provided it is reasonable for him, and there is no other proposition such that the latter is more reasonable than the former. The notion of being more reasonable is obviously pivotal, and Chisholm explains what it is for an attitude to be more reasonable than another in the following words: “If the person in question were a rational being, if his concerns were purely intellectual, and if he were to choose between the two attitudes, then he would choose the more reasonable in preference to the less reasonable”. The wording of this conditional suggests that Chisholm does not think a person is necessarily rational, so it is imperative that we ask: When is a person rational?

My aim in this paper will be to show that the concept of desert remains an important and useful concept even if one supposes that the justification of praise, blame, punishment, and reward lies solely in their influence on behaviour. The argument will be incomplete, however. I will discuss only deserved legal punishment, the broader notion of deserved harm, and, briefly, deserved blame.