There is no problem more paradigmatically philosophical than the mind-body problem. Nevertheless, I will argue that the problem is empirical. I am not even suggesting that conceptual analysis of the various mind-body theories be abandoned – just as I could not suggest it be abandoned for theories in physics or biology. But unlike the question, ‘Is every even number greater than 2 equal to the sum of two primes?’ the mind-body problem cannot be solved a priori, by analysis alone; though I will not argue this thesis here, it is nearly obvious, since purported solutions must make matter of fact claims, heavy with existential import, about the real world. By contrast, an investigation of the sensitivity of the mind-body problem to empirical evidence will show that purported solutions to the problem are empirically testable, to a degree consistent with philosophy giving a clarified mind-body problem to the sciences. I offer the bold outlines of such an investigation here.

I have two aims in this paper. My wide one is to discuss what it is for philosophy to enlighten. I am using the same concept of enlightenment that Kant wrote about: It is what brings a rational outlook to social and political life, in opposition to superstition, self-deception and other forms of immaturity. If philosophy is to do this, it is not sufficient for it to have a rational theory about society, nor is having such a theory even necessary, since philosophers can try to make a community more reasonable without formulating a social philosophy. The Vienna Circle is an example. The point of enlightenment is to change society rather than to develop research programs. The difference is between involvement with real life on the one hand and an idle theory on the other.

My narrow aim is to display the self-image of the Vienna Circle as philosophers of enlightenment. They agreed that the important task of any philosophical school was to enlighten and that positivism did so because it expressed the scientific spirit. This is the second concept I discuss. I will show that what they meant by ‘the scientific spirit’ was a moral outlook present in socialism and hostile to fascism. This is not what people usually understand by it. I am also not giving the received historical view of the Circle. Rather the English and American idea is that positivism was entirely an academic movement. The social concerns of its advocates were incidental to its philosophical significance. The Frankfurt School's view is that it had a hidden alliance with technology. My purpose is to counter both these misinterpretations.

Although there may be many questions about the meaning of life that will ultimately prove intractable, I think that there are some questions that can be answered. Furthermore, I think that progress towards answering them can be made through work that has and will be done in moral philosophy. In support of this I shall articulate a set of questions that I think are often at issue when people ask about the meaningfulness of life. These questions give rise to a set of conditions that a fully adequate answer must satisfy. Among other things, these conditions explain why a familiar theological answer to the meaningfulness of life seems so attractive. However, they also create problems for this answer, as well as for an answer that has appeared attractive to a number of contemporary philosophers, that the meaning of life is created by the choices that people make and the desires that they have. I shall suggest that work in moral philosophy may provide an answer that falls between these two camps – that a moral life is a meaningful life. I shall sketch a theory of morality that satisfies the conditions that have been set out. H this sketch can be filled out, then a moral life will be at least part of what can make a life meaningful. Whether this account of the moral life leaves out anything important for the meaningfulness of life will be the subject of some concluding remarks.

Most of us, were we faced with a life threatening situation, would try to avoid it; we do not want to die. Yet Lucretius has argued that death can be ‘nothing to us,’ for when death has occurred we don't exist: we can't suffer something if we don't exist.

If death can be a misfortune, what is the misfortune suffered, and who suffers it? The misfortune must be suffered by the person who dies, before death has occurred, otherwise – as Lucretius points out – there is no subject to suffer the misfortune. But what kind of misfortune can the misfortune of death be, that a person can suffer it before he or she dies? This question provides the focus of the paper.

Our attitudes towards death and life are determined in part by beliefs we have about a variety of things, for example, whether or not there is a life after death. As I shall assume that life ceases at death the attitudes towards death for which I seek explanations will not be universally endorsed; nor are the attitudes towards life, in terms of which the explanations will be given, universally endorsed. My project is not to defend a set of attitudes but to show that the set of attitudes towards life that I consider provide an explanation of a set of attitudes that some people have towards death.

Much discussed but still unresolved is whether a subject's internal physical structure is a sufficient condition for his beliefs and desires. The question has sometimes been expressed as a question about microstructurally identical Doppelgänger. Imagine two subjects who are identical right down to the ions traversing the synapses. Their senses are stimulated in all the same ways, their bodies execute the same motions, and identical physical events mediate between the sensory inputs and the behavioral outputs. Must they have the very same beliefs and desires? Let us call the thesis that they must, internalism. The internalist may hold that a physical similarity less complete than this will also guarantee identity in beliefs and desires, but certainly, he holds, perfect identity of internal physical histories will suffice.

Internalism will be opposed by those who sense that the nature of mentality is closely tied to the nature of explanation in terms of mental states and that in explaining a subject's behavior we cannot abstract, even in principle, from the character of the environment in which the subject is embedded. This essay offers a partial articulation of this point of view and shows how it conflicts with internalism. A consequence of the view to be described is that our attributions of belief must reflect the probabilistic regularities in the subject's environment. As we shall see, this consequence conflicts with internalism in two ways. The first conflict turns on the fact that there is no limit on the possible variety of such regularities. The second conflict turns on the fact that two subjects might by chance have the same micro-structural history though different probabilistic regularities obtain in their respective environments.

While not paramount among Kant scholars, issues in the philosophy of mathematics have maintained a position of importance in writings about Kant’s philosophy, and recent years have witnessed a rejuvenation of interest and real progress in interpreting his views on the nature of mathematics. My hope here is to contribute to this recent progress by expanding upon the general tacks taken by Jaakko Hintikka concerning Kant’s writings on geometry.

Let me begin by making a vile suggestion: Kant did not have a philosophy of mathematics. When Kant was writing about mathematics, essentially he was reporting the views of others. The texts provide sufficient evidence to make this suggestion plausible. Generally, when Kant writes about mathematics in his mature works, he does so in order to illustrate or argue for a philosophical point. There are important references to mathematical method in the preface to the 1787 edition of Critique of Pure Reason; however, Kant’s purpose is to describe those basic features of a method that he intended to incorporate in his theory of philosophical method: ‘our new method of thought, namely, that we can know a priori of things only what we ourselves put into them.’ Indeed, Kant makes it clear in this preface that he thought there to be no extant problems to be solved in mathematical methodology; such was the state of the science, he thought. It was for this reason that Kant felt some confidence in borrowing from this method to improve the state of metaphysics; it is also for this reason that one should not expect to find Kant engaging in basic research in mathematical methodology. Similarly, the material on syntheticity added to the second edition Introduction to Critique of Pure Reason occurs in the context of a discussion of the syntheticity of metaphysical principles; that the propositions of both disciplines are synthetic a priori lends credence to the extrapolation of some features from the mathematical method for use in developing a metaphysics. Many writers find a philosophy of mathematics in the ‘Transcendental Aesthetic’; it is clear, however, that in this section his concern is to support his theory of the nature of space, time, and sensation. What is said about geometry, for example, is restricted to those of its features relevant to the subjectivity of space. The other major discussion of mathematics and its method is found in the section, ‘Doctrine of Method.’ Here we find Kant’s fullest account of the mathematical method and of constructions. It must be borne in mind, though, that his purpose is to argue against views that the proper methods of mathematics and metaphysics (philosophy generally) are identical, that the disciplines differ in subject matter alone. The result of the discussion is not a theory of mathematical method, but an account of the method proper to the philosopher.2 Kant simply is mentioning certain features of mathematical method sufficient to support the claim that the philosopher cannot incorporate it lock, stock, and barrel.’ In short, we do not find a systematic theory of mathematics or its method described by Kant in the first Critique, nor do we find discussions of mathematics other than in contexts where philosophical positions are being developed. This holds for Kant’s other works, too.

We all make decisions, sometimes dozens in the course of a day. This paper is about what is involved in this activity. It's my contention that the ability to deliberate, to weigh different courses of action, and then to decide on one of them, is a distinctively human activity, or at least an activity which sets man and the higher animals apart from other creatures. It is as much decisio as ratio that constitutes the distinguishing mark of human beings. Homo may not always be rationalis, but he is always decidens.

The paper is about practical decision, although there is also another important kind of decision that I won't discuss, namely cognitive decision. The difference is roughly that which distinguishes the function of a jury from that of a judge, at least in jury trials. The jury's job is to arrive at an answer to the question: guilty or not guilty? This is a cognitive decision, a decision that, on the basis of the evidence, such-and-such is the case. The judge, apprized of the jury's cognitive decision, makes the practical decision to sentence the guilty party to 20 years. On some other occasion, I hope to be able to say something about cognitive decision, as well as about a third kind of decision named value decision.

An account of desire as a species of belief may owe its appeal to the details of its proposal as to precisely what sort of beliefs desires are to be identified with, and its downfall may be due to those details it does provide. For example, it may be proposed that the desire that α is in fact the belief that it ought to be that α, or is morally good or desirable that it should be the case that α. Here the appeal might be that of forging a link between the holding of a moral belief and the acknowledgment that one has a reason for acting a certain way; and the shortcoming of the suggestion is its evident implausibility: even if the ‘necessity’ direction could be established, having a desire hardly seems sufficient for the holding of any such belief. Again: it might be proposed, perhaps simply to bring some order into the realm of propositional attitudes by reducing some to others, that the belief with which we should identify a’s desire that α is a’s belief that he will or would be happy if α. This proposed identification can be seen to be incorrect by consideration of examples such as the following, due to J. Gosling. An aging and ailing parent might forego numerous pleasures in order that his children should reap the benefits of his saving and have a good start in life – perhaps by receiving an expensive education – after his impending death. Oearly he may want that they should so benefit even if he does not believe in an after-death existence in which he might come to know of, and so take pleasure in, his children’s subsequent well-being. So his wanting that they should prosper cannot consist in his believing that he will be happy if/when they do, since he has no expectation of even being in existence in that eventuality. As Gosling puts it, there is a clear difference (illustrable with far less dramatic examples than this one) between thinking that something’s coming about will bring one pleasure, on the one hand, and viewing the prospect of its coming about with pleasure, on the other.

John Locke:

H.H. Price:

In De Interpretatione 9 Aristotle considers the proposition that everything that is or comes to be, is or comes to be of necessity. From the supposition that this is so, he draws the following consequence: ‘[In that case] there would be no need (ού δέοο) to deliberate or take trouble, [saying] that if we do this there will be so and so, and if we do not do this there will not be so and so’ (18b31-3). Finding this result absurd, he rejects the supposition and concludes that some events or states of affairs are contingent.

Criticism and sarcasm are interspersed with description and analysis throughout Marx's work. Most of the criticism is aimed at one or another side of a single target: what Marx sees as capitalism's pretensions of freedom, equality, and prosperity in the face of exploitation and recurrent crises. But the remarks on commodity fetishism in the first volume of Capital seem to be directed at a different target. Here Marx tells us that a commodity is ‘a queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties.’ But instead of going on to reveal the nature of commodites-the task that occupies him for the preceding 30 and subsequent 700 pages-Marx takes the opportunity to explore their ‘mystical’ character. The passage repays careful consideration. It is one of the few places in his mature writings in which Marx returns to the tone of his youthful works. It is also the passage in which commentators have claimed to find grounds for attributing a doctrine of ‘false consciousness’ to Marx.

We can understand much, perhaps most, of our thinking and speaking about persons’ powers, capabilities, capacities, skills, and competences to act as employing a particular concept of ability. This concept is so pervasive in discourse about these matters that it is appropriately called the ordinary notion of ability. However, the pervasiveness of this concept does not mean that we clearly comprehend its content or readily distinguish it from the many other senses of ability with which we can be concerned.

The ordinary notion of ability is properly distinguished by two features. First, one's performing an action intentionally at a certain time is sufficient for one's having the ordinary ability at that time to perform that action. The ordinary ability to do something is an ability to do it intentionally.

One argument often made in support of liberal political morality is that liberalism, both as a theory and as a practice, is neutral in regard to the question of the good life. In this essay, I shall criticize and reject this argument. Now this conclusion is anything but novel; one would have almost as much difficulty finding a critic, of whatever perspective, granting that liberalism is indeed neutral with regard to the good as one would have finding a liberal denying it. It is this phenomenon that I find especially interesting, and which serves to set the context of my discussion. If, as I aim to show, it is a relatively straightforward path of argument which leads to the conclusion that liberalism is not neutral with regard to the question of the good life, then why do so many liberals remain convinced that it is? Why, when liberals and their critics debate the issue of neutrality, do they so often seem to talk beyond one another? It seems to me that instances of these debates ought to come off better than they do, and so I shall attempt here to describe how they might.

Descartes thought he could suppose he was the victim of massive deception in regard to the external world. In fact he undertakes the supposing of it.

Seated comfortably by his fire, Descartes imagines a remote possibility. Perhaps he is just a mind in the clutches of a deceiving demon. If Descartes is this man lounging here in his dressing gown, he is not vastly deceived; but if he is that mind, he is deceived indeed. The two possibilities are taken to be experientially indiscernible; and Descartes is assuming that the contents of his beliefs and the senses of his claims remain the same in either case. Thus, for example, whether he is this man or that mind, he believes he has two hands. But, and this is crucial, his belief is false if he is that mind, and true if he is this man. We begin to see what is required of cartesian semantics, and cartesian theories of the content of belief.

Nations possessing nuclear weapons have seen them as useful for many purposes. These include classic nuclear deterrence (preventing a nuclear attack), extended nuclear deterrence (preventing a conventional attack on the nuclear nation or allied countries), the fighting of a nuclear war ‘if deterrence fails,’ and a ‘diplomatic’ use in which the weapons are seen as implements of coercive political power. Concerning all these uses profound ethical questions arise. It is the last use which will be the focus of attention in this paper.

I have chosen this subject partly because I believe that it has received insufficient attention from those reflecting on nuclear policies from an ethical point of view. Discussions tend to focus on the use, threat to use, or intention to use nuclear weapons in response to a nuclear attack or threat of nuclear attack. The retention of nuclear weapons for such a purpose is far easier to rationalize than is the development of such weapons for extended deterrence, nuclear ‘diplomacy,’ or the actual waging of a nuclear war. Historically, nuclear weapons have been held by nuclear states for all these purposes. In fact, there are natural relations between the functions. When a power possesses nuclear weapons, the ultimate token of military power in the modern world, it is natural that it will seek to use them for purposes less restricted than the sole one of deterring nuclear war. Hence there is a natural development from classic deterrence to extended deterrence and the coercive use of nuclear weapons in the pursuit of national interest. There is also a natural connection between classic deterrence and the development and deployment of nuclear weapons for the purpose of fighting and ‘prevailing’ in a nuclear war. An opposing state is to be prevented from attacking by the belief that an attack would be followed by retaliation. That requires that a nuclear state indicate the will and capacity to retaliate-that is, to use these weapons in a real war if necessary.

Capitalism is often defended by appeals to natural rights: only in a free market, it is said, are people protected from the illegitimate intrusions of others. Coercion, either to prevent exchanges or to redistribute wealth, violates people's rights. But much of the property people have acquired came not from their own effort or the efforts of those who gave them gifts, but instead was taken from nature. Thus the question I propose to discuss in this paper: How is it that an unowned natural resource (land, for example) can legitimately be acquired for private benefit? Much thought has been given by libertarian defenders of capitalism to justifying the claim that, once owned, property cannot be taken without its owner's consent. Relatively little attention has been paid, however, to how the original acquisition can be justified. Indeed, I argue here that if one approaches the problem of resource appropriation from the perspective of the Lockean ‘proviso,’ that enough and as good must be left in common, then the typical method of acquiring property under capitalism is unjust. Libertarians must either give up the individualistic, state of nature approach to economic justice or admit that appropriation of natural resources requires compensation of people who do not get a share of the resource.

By ‘Liberalism’ or ‘a liberal-democratic theory of justice’ I understand the thesis that a modern, affluent society is just only if it respects and enforces certain rights. Among these are rights to free speech, the liberty to make one's own self-regarding choices (free from excessive paternalistic meddling by the state), privacy, due process of law, participation in society's political decision-making, and private property in personal posessions. By a ‘justification’ of these core rights of liberalism I understand a moral theory (plus necessary empirical assumptions) from which they are derivable. A moral theory which justifies the core rights will, ipso facto, condemn slavery, totalitarianism, and other social arrangements incompatible with a liberal-democratic constitution. What shape that moral theory should have is a matter of some dispute. According to philosophers like Ronald Dworkin it must be ‘rights-based.’ The core rights of liberalism in his view are derivable from the fundamental human right to ‘equal respect and consideration.’ A widely held alternative view is that the core rights are simply social rules the existence of which promotes human welfare.

Since his article, ‘Outline for a Decision Procedure in Ethics,’ John Rawls has advocated a coherentist moral epistemology according to which moral and political theories are justified on the basis of their coherence with our other beliefs, both moral and nonmoral (1951: 56, 61). A moral theory which is maximally coherent with our other beliefs is in a state which Rawls calls ‘reflective equilibrium’ (1971: 20). In A Theory of Justice Rawls advanced two principles of justice and claimed that they are in reflective equilibrium. He defended this claim by appeal to a hypothetical contract; he argued that parties in a position satisfying certain informational and motivational criteria, which he called ‘the original position,’ would choose the following two principles of justice to govern the basic structure of their society.

Epistemologists have profited from studies of the ways in which ‘know’ is ambiguous. We can also profit by studying the ways in which ‘know’ is vague. After classifying sources of vagueness for ‘know,’ I spend the second section examining theories of vagueness. With the exception of the theory that vague predicates are incoherent, which I try to refute, we need not take a stand on a particular theory to show that the vagueness of knowledge has substantive epistemological implications. The third section supports the thesis through a survey of ways in which appeals to vagueness can be applied to the field's issues. First, I show how higher order vagueness is evidence against the KK thesis, the incorrigibility of sense data, and the completability of epistemology. An interesting resemblance between infinity and vagueness provides the point of departure for the next type of application. For this resemblance suggests a new way of handling apparently infinite belief structures. The approach is illustrated with an analysis of common knowledge. The third type of application concerns the ways in which disguised sorites creep into our thinking about knowledge. In addition to brief illustrations concerning naive holism, question begging, and an objection to incorrigibilism, I provide more detailed illustrations involving Jonathan Adler's sceptical appeal to epistemic universalizability, the prediction paradox, and William Lycan's objection to Gilbert Harman's social knowledge cases. I conclude with some general remarks on the lessons to be learned from the vagueness of knowledge.