These then are the four main strands in Aristotle's thought concerning the law, or in other words, the four elements he might have distinguished in his conception of law. The analysis I have attempted seems to me to reflect both Aristotle's view of the complex nature of law and also what he would look upon as the different grounds for its validity. I think that the several elements in his doctrine are fundamentally independent of one another, and similarly that they do not compete with one another since they embody answers to different questions concerning law. Also the recurrent theme of my own comments has been the assumption that 'law' is a complex term, comprising in its application a number of different definitions concerning rules and validity, authority and obligation, sources of law, and the like. In my opinion it is the merit of Aristotle's conception of law that he appears to recognise the multiple meaning of the word ‘law’ and, accordingly, the need for a multiple definition.

Wittgenstein did not write on the philosophy of religion. But certain strands of his later thought readily lend themselves to what I call Wittgensteinian Fideism. There is no text that I can turn to for an extended statement of this position, but certain remarks made by Winch, Hughes, Malcolm, Geach, Cavell, Cameron and Coburn can either serve as partial statements of this position, or can be easily used in service of such a statement. Some of their contentions will serve as targets for my argumentation, for as much as I admire Wittgenstein, it seems to me that the fideistic conclusions drawn by these philosophers from his thought are often absurd. This leads me back to an inspection of their arguments and the premisses in these arguments.

I propose to enquire here into the way we endow our speech with meaning and into the way by which we make sense of speech that we hear spoken. I shall show that, notwithstanding their informal character, these acts possess a characteristic pattern, a pattern that I shall call the structure of tacit knowing; I shall show that to form such a structure is to create meaning. Both the way we endow our own utterances with meaning and our attribution of meaning to the utterances of others are acts of tacit knowing. They represent sense-giving and sense-reading with in the structure of tacit knowing. My enquiry shall outline the total structure of language, comprising both its formal patterns successfully established by modern linguistics and its informal semantic structure, studied so far mainly by philosophy.

I have appropriated the terms ‘descriptive’ and ‘revisionary’ metaphysics from P.F. Strawson's Individuals. In the Introduction to that work he draws a broad general distinction between two types of metaphysics. Descriptive metaphysics is concerned to ‘describe the actual structure of our thought about the world’ while revisionary metaphysics is ‘concerned to produce a better structure’. They also differ in that revisionary metaphysics requires justification of some sort whereas descriptive metaphysics does not. Strawson makes this point when he says, ‘Revisionary metaphysics is at the service of descriptive metaphysics’. Thus, the descriptivist has the sober, scientific task of elucidating our extant conceptual schema while the revisionist has the speculative, slightly literary job of inventing a new conceptual schema.

Some words enter the language with an uncommon aptitude both for uniting things already observed but formerly severed by separate terms and for fostering the recognition of things unnoticed before. Indeed, they often unite things that ought still to be left discrete; and even among those properly united, clarity may require the acknowledgment of many distinctions. I shall here consider such a term and the various kinds of things to which it can and cannot (in the same sense) refer: projection.

Do I ever directly raise my arm? Before dealing with this question we must make clear that the corresponding affirmation is to be taken as a way of rejecting one interpretation of the question, ‘In doing or by doing what do I raise my arm?’ On the interpretation of the question I have in mind the appropriate reply, if the question were not rejected, would be, ‘I raise my arm in or by doing something internal’. The way we are employing the phrase ‘doing something internal’ will, I think, become clear when we consider candidates for the description ‘doing something internal’. But it is important to remember that to affirm that I directly raise my arm is to reject the question, ‘In doing or by doing what do I raise my arm?’ on our interpretation of the question.

In his Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein introduces the notion of a ‘family resemblance’ to deal with certain problems. Talking of games and what they seem to have in common, he points out that there are no common features (or no common feature) in virtue of which we call all games ‘games’. Instead there are, he claims, many different similarities and relationships; he says ‘we see a complicated network of similarities overlapping and criss-crossing: sometimes overall similarities, sometimes similarities of detail’. (§ 66.) He then goes on to add: ‘I can think of no better expression to characterise these similarities than “family resemblances”; for the various resemblances between members of a family: build, features, colour of eyes, gait, temperament, etc. etc. overlap and criss-cross in the same way,—And I shall say: “games form a family”.’ (§ 67.) Wittgenstein also instances numbers as forming a ‘family’ in the same manner. This notion of a ‘family resemblance’ has come to be used by many philosophers to deal with a range of situations where there appears to be a difficulty in finding a single definite common property and yet there exists a desire to call some set of things by the same name. I myself have succumbed to this temptation. Perhaps the widest claim for the use of this device is that made by Mr Bambrough in an article entitled ‘Universals and Family Resemblances’ (Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1960–61, pp. 207–222). This begins with the words ‘I believe that Wittgenstein solved what is known as “the problem of universals”’.

It is frequently said that words like ‘now’, ‘then’, ‘ago’, ‘present’, ‘past’, ‘future’ and the various indications of tense, are ‘egocentric’ or ‘token-reflexive’ in character. I want to suggest, on the contrary, that the apparent egocentricity or token-reflexiveness of this class of expression is deceptive. It is perhaps not easy to see how on a point of this sort deception is possible, but a parallel case may make the position clearer.

I have no comment to make on the aesthetic merits of these verses. I have put them at the head of my discussion because they happen to introduce a cluster of concepts connected with forgiveness: pride, love, hate, God, friendship, goodwill, eternity, offence, condemnation, resentment, blame. We may think that some, but not all, of these have essential connections with the concept in which we are interested. And we may, of course, think that the list is incomplete. Other obvious candidates spring to mind: pity, for example, repentance, compassion, punishment and pardoning.

We are little accustomed in modern times to think of philosophy in terms of play. With few exceptions, philosophers in the last few centuries are conspicuous for their gravity. If a lighter touch enters their writings it is rather as a douceur with which to punctuate argument. To charge a philosopher with playing games is to condemn his activity as trivial and futile.

Just before the second world war, in a paper read to the British Association, Morris Ginsberg talked about the failure of social philosophy and the social sciences to work together in the universities ‘toward the rational ordering of society’. Some time after the war Alexander Macbeath complained to British sociologists of his own vain search for a social philosopher who could teach in a course on public administration. Then a few years later A. E. Teale told an inter-professional conference at Keele that people who teach and train teachers, those who train social workers of all kinds, were disappointed when philosophers professed themselves unable to help those who had to ‘equip students with the skill to change prevailing moral attitudes and standards’.

In ‘Scientific Materialism and the Identity Theory’ Malcolm argues that Smart's brain-mind identity theory is not even false, but is unintelligible. I want to comment on his arguments.

Historically there have been two main freewill problems, the problem of freedom versus predestination, which is mainly theological, and the problem of freedom versus determinism, which has exercised the minds of many of the great modern philosophers. The latter problem is seldom stated in full detail, for its elements are taken as so obvious that they do not need to be stated. The problem is seen as an attempt to reconcile the belief in human freedom, which is essential if men are to be able to act morally, with determinism, the belief that every event is fully determined in all its details by the sum of its precedent causes. But even the meticulous Moore does not trouble to explore at length what is meant by determinism. He devotes one very short paragraph to the matter, and sums it up immediately afterwards as the view that ‘everything … has a cause’.

The Question of punishment and its justification has been a major preoccupation in recent philosophy of law. The reasons for this growing concern are not difficult to discover. Both philosophers and jurists have become increasingly sceptical of traditional theories of legal punishment. Each of these inherited theories was designed to establish criteria for the recognition and appraisal of punishment as a legal institution. However, alternative theories emphasised different and often conflicting criteria. Some theories emphasised moral desert and retribution, while others appealed to the social utilities of punishment. Failure to reconcile these diverse philosophical viewpoints, through sustained debate over two centuries, has been a major source of intellectual dissatisfaction.

Psychological time—as distinct from physical time—divides the past from the future by means of the experienced present and serves as a frame of reference for objects, events, actions, and persons. There are cases when our understanding of objects and events gains in depth with every additional time dimension, until we are able to arrange all the data in a meaningful sequence ranging from the past through the present to the future across time. A description of city traffic when confined to the present is one step towards analysing special problems and understanding congestion in certain areas. The historical development of the city offers additional insight into the evolution of bottlenecks, while current changes, made by the municipal authorities, can only be understood in connection with a long-term development plan. A lecturer on town planning will, therefore, offer his audience a more profound understanding of the subject by combining a description of the visible present with a causal explanation of the past and a teleological account of future projects.

It is neither possible, nor desirable, to have a system of dealing with criminals that does away with norms. But Lady Wootton sometimes talks as if it is possible and desirable to do away with norms. And she claims that in her pragmatic system norms have been done away with. She believes her pragmatic system of dealing with criminals is, unlike our present system, scientific. There are at least two respects (though Lady Wootton does not seem to distinguish these two respects) in which she seems to be claiming that her system is scientific, unlike the present system. Firstly, she seems to think that her system is scientific in the sense of being a workable system; she believes that in her system, leaving aside the moral and other limitations that she mentions, the last word ‘is always with the statistician’. Under the present system, on the other hand, she argues, we are asked to answer questions—such as ‘could he have helped what he did?’—which are inherently insoluble. (We shall see in Section 2 how far Lady Wootton is justified in saying this.)

Mr A. Quinton has attempted to show that the Kantian doctrine of the necessary unity of space rests ultimately on very general contingencies (Philosophy, 1962). More recently, Mr Swinburne has tried to argue the same point for time; and thus he asserts that ‘Kant's unity of time is no more an unalterable necessity of thought than his unity of space’ (Analysis, June, 1965). I wish to defend Kant against both charges, by showing that the charming stories which Quinton and Swinburne tell, in order to show that there are conceivable circumstances in which space and time would not be unitary, do not succeed in showing this at all.

‘Actions are by their very nature temporary and perishing; and where they proceed not from some cause in the characters and disposition of the person, who perform'd them, they infix not themselves upon him, and can neither redound to his honour, if good, nor infamy, if evil. The action itself may be blameable; it may be contrary to all the rules of morality and religion: But the person is not responsible for it; and as it proceeded from nothing in him, that is durable or constant, and leaves nothing of that nature behind it, 'tis impossible he can, upon its account, become the object of punishment or vengeance.'