The idea that all the entities in the world may be, for legal and moral purposes, divided into the two categories of ‘persons’ and ‘things’ comes down to us from the tradition of Roman law. In the law, a ‘person’ is essentially the subject of rights and obligations, while a thing may be owned as property. In ethics, a person is an object of respect, to be valued for her own sake, and never to be used as a mere means to an end, while a thing has only a derivative value, and may be used as a means to some person's ends. This bifurcation is unfortunate because it seems to leave us with no alternative but to categorize everything as either a person or a thing. Yet some of the entities that give rise to the most vexing ethical problems are exactly the ones that do not seem to fit comfortably into either category. For various, different, kinds of reasons, it seems inappropriate to categorize a fetus, a non-human animal, the environment, or an object of great beauty, as a person, but neither does it seem right to say of such things that they are to be valued only as means.

This essay is about liberal and conservative views of marriage. I'll begin by mentioning that I would really, really like to avoid use of the terms ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’, but when push comes to shove, I know of no better labels for the positions that will be discussed in what follows. I would like to avoid these labels for a simple reason: many people strongly self-identify as liberals or as conservatives, and this can undermine our ability to investigate the topic in a sane, rational way. Politics, at least in the contemporary English-speaking world, functions a lot like the world of sports. Many people have a particular team to which their allegiance has been pledged, and the team's successes and failures on the field are shared in the hearts and minds of its loyal followers. In my own case – and here, I ask for your pity – I am a fan of the National Football League's Cleveland Browns. As much as I might wish things were otherwise, I rejoice in the Browns' (rare) triumphs and suffer when they lose (which happens frequently). I do not wait to see what happens in the game before I decide which team to cheer for; if it's an NFL game, and I see orange and brown, I know where my allegiance lies. Furthermore, I identify with my fellow Browns fans in a way that I cannot identify with followers of, say, the Pittsburgh Steelers. Clevelanders are my people. We share something, and what we share unites us in opposition to Steeler Nation. Their victories are our defeats. It is a zero-sum game: for one of us to win, the other must lose.

In this paper I will put forward a brief argument against abortion rights. The argument concerns itself with the two main ways in which defenders of abortion rights develop their position. The first strategy through which they tend to do this is by arguing against the personhood of the fetus. The second strategy, made famous by Judith Jarvis Thomson, is to argue that, even if the fetus were a person, its right to life would not entail the right to draw upon the resources of the woman in pregnancy, and so the pregnancy can be terminated (even if the fetus loses its life in the process). My argument will provide reasons to suspect that attacks on fetal personhood are based on a questionable notion of personhood, and that the most common attempts to show that the fetus does not have the right to draw on the resources of the woman in pregnancy also have considerable problems. This will buttress the case for the view that the fetus is a person and that it has the right to draw on the resources of the woman in pregnancy.

On 28th September 2008, Frank McGarahan was viciously attacked, receiving fatal injuries, after intervening when he saw two homeless people being attacked in Norwich city centre. He had been out with friends and relatives and was waiting to go home when the incident occurred. A relative said later: ‘Frank was a fair- minded person. He wouldn't see anyone treated unfairly.’ There have, tragically, been several other incidents of a similar kind in recent years. The case of Jamie Mizen springs to mind – the teenager who was fatally stabbed in the throat with a broken plate for refusing to fight outside the shop where he had gone to buy his first lottery ticket on his 16th birthday. Many of us are profoundly moved to pity and sorrow when we learn of such incidents; frequently we are horrified.

The logical Law of Non-contradiction – that a proposition cannot be both true and false – enjoys a special, perhaps uniquely privileged, status in philosophy. Most philosophers think that finding a contradiction – the assertion of both P and not-P – in one's reasoning is the best possible evidence that something has gone wrong, the ultimate refutation of a position. But why should this be so? What reason do we have to believe it?

Philosophers and others with inquisitive minds have busied their brains for millennia with questions such as: ‘Does god exist? What is the meaning of life? Are we free or determined? What is truth? Is there any knowledge which is so certain that no reasonable person could doubt it? What is reality? What is good? What is beautiful? Why exist? What is “to be”? What is justice? What did Kant mean by the categorical imperative?’ Are all these topics equally (un)important or is there a ranking of philosophical problems? If there is such a ranking, is there a need to set priorities? What philosophical problem is most urgent?

Damaris Masham has been described as the first woman philosopher of her Age. Her best known works, published anonymously, were ‘A Discourse Concerning the Love of God’, 1696, and ‘Occasional Thoughts in Reference to a Vertuous or Christian Life’, 1705. To some scholars her ideas, radical for her time, are the ideas of an early feminist. Her correspondents besides Locke, included Leibniz. Damaris was 23 years old and Locke 49 when they first met in 1681.

Philosophers write essays. Nowadays most of them are highly technical and argumentative. They have titles like ‘A Rejoinder to So and So’ or ‘A Critique of Such and Such’. This is somewhat understandable. Like others in my field, as a philosopher, my work is predicated on having interlocutors – all of whom, with a few exceptions, I have never met. This is the beauty of the written word combined with public libraries. Because of printing I can engage the ideas of others from a different time or place; because of libraries I am not excluded from the conversation because of social or economic class.