In the area of politics one is not surprised to encounter bias, prejudice, rationalization, special pleading; yet rarely does one encounter these phenomena so often, so blatantly, as in the area relating to equality. Indeed, even among those whose job it is to be impartial, rational, informed, namely, philosophers, one finds less objectivity, less evidence of a genuine search for the truth, and a greater concern to press preconceived views than elsewhere in their work. Among Western philosophers, there is a very widespread commitment to equality as a political value. So deep has been and is the commitment in theory at least, to this value, that concern for knowledge and truth have been subordinated to it by many — as in the refusal to allow or determination to discourage research into racial differences, for fear that the results of such research may lead to a lesser political commitment to equality. Yet, for all this professed concern for equality, a genuine lover of equality could be excused for being perplexed by the attitudes of those who profess such a concern for equality.

Yes, Aristotle was named ‘Aristotle’. I want to show that since ‘Aristotle’ is a proper name, this is true by definition. My theory of proper names is a version of Russell's, a theory that a name is equivalent in meaning to definite description(s) which single out the individual, if there is one, to which the name refers. (“When I say,e.g. ‘Homer existed’, I am meaning by ‘Homer’ some description, say ‘the author of the Homeric poems’ .”) Braithwaite at one time said that the proper name ‘Aristotle’ meant the description ‘the individual named “Aristotle” ’. This theory, which makes it contradictory to suppose that Aristotle was not (the individual) named ‘Aristotle’ I will argue is the correct one. This will involve some explanation of what naming is, which I will carry out in the first two sections. My contention is that naming is an activity that can be done either explicitly or non-explicitly. And names can be conferred either (a) on the basis of acquaintance or (b) by associating the name with descriptions.

One way of developing a sceptical position is to take some hypothesis (H) which entails the sceptical thesis (T) that nothing is known, and argue that since H is not known to be false, T cannot be known to be false either. That is, since His not known to be false, it is not known that anything is known. One may then argue convincingly that no one knows anything at all (T) on the grounds that it is not known that anything is known is virtually equivalent to nothing is known (sc. that knowing is virtually equivalent to knowing that one knows). Take, for example, the Cartesian sceptical hypothesis that there is an evil demon systematically deceiving everyone all of the time about everything. Instead of arguing that the hypothesis is true and that there actually is such a creature, it is much more plausible to suggest that no one knows for certain that there is not, so that in this sense it is possible that there is. What follows is not that no one knows anything, but that it is not known that anything is known.

Chapter III of Anselm's Proslogion is quite naturally interpreted as presenting a second version of the ontological argument (the first version having been presented in Chapter II). In recent discussions it has been so interpreted by Charles Hartshorne and by Norman Malcolm. Other writers, however, have rejected this interpretation, maintaining that Anselm intended Chapter Ill, not as a second proof of God's existence (by way of showing that it is necessary that God exist), but only as a demonstration that the kind of existence which God (already proved to exist in Chapter II) has is necessary existence. Perhaps the latter writers are correct on this exegetical point, but even so, it does not follow that there is anything improper about an inquiry into the character of the distinct, modal version of the ontological argument which can be derived from this passage.

In this paper I will suggest an interpretation of Spinoza's ontological argument on which (i) the argument, properly construed, is valid, and (ii) Spinoza, if granted the claim that it is possible that God exists, is successful in obtaining the conclusion of the argument. The interpretations given by H.A. Wolfson, G.H.R. Parkinson, and William A. Earle will then be argued to be deficient on textual and logical grounds. Leibniz’ assessment of the argument, namely that it “permits us only to conclude that God's existence follows if his possibility is already proven,” is thus held to be correct.

Discussing the influence of the coherence of our perceptions on our belief in the continued existence of objects when unperceived (in Part IV of Book I of the Treatise), Hume says:

What are mental images? Traditionally, philosophers have taken them to be representations of a certain kind. In common with all representations, they are seen as the kinds of thing that can be coloured, noisy, odorous, palpable or tasty, depending upon what they are representations of. But, in The Concept of Mind, Professor Ryle argues that this view of mental imagery is incoherent. Anything, he says, that really is coloured or noisy and so on, must, in principle, be locatable, which mental images are not. He concludes that they cannot be the kinds of thing that the traditional view asserts them to be. Indeed, he goes further: he maintains that everything that exists has at least one of the properties mentioned in the above list and that, since mental images fail in this regard, they do not exist.

Unfortunately, Professor Ryle's arguments in support of his contention that mental images are unlocatable are not conclusive. He assumes that if one can show that mental images are not locatable in ordinary space, they are not locatable in principle.

In “Divine Foreknowledge and Facts” Paul Helm defends a traditional argument to the incompatibility of foreknowledge and free will “against the attempts of Kenny and some other recent writers to provide a reconciliation.” I shall here set out a reconciliationist position similar to those he attacks, but innocent of the charges he makes against them.

The argument, discussed by St. Thomas in the Summa Theologiae, employs the doctrine of the necessity of the past to show that literally prior knowledge of a free action is impossible. Since prior knowledge of an action is past relative to the ·action, the fact of that knowledge is necessary. It is a past fact, and so cannot be undone. From this it follows that the action itself must be necessary; for necessity is transitive, and knowledge of p implies p. But only contingent actions can be free, and so no free action can be foreknown.

Professor Holt's comments fall into two parts. He begins by raising some objections to the tentative rejection, in my paper, of the distinction between ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ facts. He then goes on to offer an argument to show that my defence of the incompatibility of divine foreknowledge and human freedom fails, or is at least seriously questionable. For brevity I shall concentrate on his remarks on foreknowledge as I do not think that his interesting discussion of the distinction between ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ facts vitally affects the question about divine foreknowledge, the main point at issue.

So I shall deal with Holt's claim that one can have the power to undo the fact of foreknowledge retroactively and argue that one can no more retroactively bring it about that God did not know than one can retroactively bring it about that he did know.