For a theist, a man's duty is to conform to the announced will of God. Yet a theist who makes this claim about duty is faced with a traditional dilemma first stated in Plato's Euthyphro—are actions which are obligatory, obligatory because God makes them so (e.g. by commanding men to do them), or does God urge us to do them because they are obligatory anyway? To take the first horn of this dilemma is to claim that God can of his free choice make any action obligatory or non-obligatory (or make it obligatory not to do some action). The critic claims that the theist cannot take this horn, for God cannot make bad actions good.

In his book, A Theory of Justice, John Rawls suggests that a theory of social justice is satisfactory only if it has both of two characteristics (pp. 182, 6). First, it must be capable of serving as the “public moral basis of society” (p. 182). That is, it must be reasonable to suppose that it would be strictly complied with while serving as the public conception of justice in a society which is in favourable circumstances—a society in which the people would strictly comply with any public conception of justice if the strains of commitment to it were not too great, given the general facts of psychology and moral learning (p. 145, cf. pp. 8, 175-83, 245-6). Second, a theory of justice must characterize “ … our considered judgements in reflective equilibrium” (p. 182).

John Rawls, in his distinguished revival and animation of the theory of the social contract, maintains that “the procedure of contract theories provides … a general analytic method for the comparative study of conceptions of justice ” (p. 121). As a corollary, he holds, secondly, that “if one interpretation [of the contractual situation] is philosophically most favoured, and if its principles characterize our considered judgments, we have a procedure for justification as well ” (p. 122). Finally, Rawls uses the social contract as a critical or polemic device; he is prepared to reject a conception of justice if the contractual situation associated with it contains objectionable features.

Hume maintained that “since all actions and sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, they must necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be what they appear.” Descartes maintained a very similar doctrine, and Locke and Berkeley held at least part of the doctrine. I shall not try to set out precisely what any of these philosophers thought about self-knowledge; I cite them simply as proponents of the general view which I shall be examining in this paper: namely, that each of us has a special epistemic authority about his own mental life. This view is still widely held, particularly in the form of the thesis that one's sincere avowals of current mental states are incorrigible, i.e., such that, necessarily, no one ever has overriding reason to think them false.

There appear to be a number of general things which can be said about forgiveness. If these are left sufficiently vague they seem to be applicable to all the situations in which the term is used.

First, there can be no question of forgiveness unless an injury has been inflicted on somebody by a moral agent. There must be something to forgive; and the injury that is to be forgiven must be one for which a moral agent can be held responsible. One cannot forgive a rock for falling on one's foot or a cougar for attacking one's child—even though a child might kick the rock and a father might shoot the cougar.

Is belief in God rational? Over a century ago, Hegel (following Kant) and Søren Kierkegaard established one set of parameters for discussing that question, but in a language that appears opaque to many philosophers today. Very recently, Alvin Plantinga, James Ross, and George Mavrodes have been debating similar issues in a modern analytic idiom. In this essay, I want to use this modern philosophical language in an attempt to clarify certain issues surrounding the relevant notion of “rationality” and related notions essential to the natural theologian, and in so doing attempt to make presentable the dispute between Hegel and Kierkegaard.

For our purposes here, I take “rationality” to be predicated of an epistemological concept of belief, even if, as I believe, any such notion would have to be a special case and a logical derivative of a more general notion of “rationality” as primarily practical.

In an examination of Ryle's distinction between knowing how and knowing that D. G. Brown is led to the conclusion that “All knowing how is knowing that.” The distinction (in the form that Ryle drew it) is improper, and these tags should be dropped. All knowledge is propositional, after all, though there is a legitimate way of retaining the essentials of Ryle's account. Knowledge for which the primary evidence is a person's performance replaces the category of knowing how in this reformulated version of the distinction. But to have this type of knowledge is to know the answers to questions concerning the way in which it can be done. And this is knowing that.

In “Divine Foreknowledge and Human Freedom” [6] Anthony Kenny returns to a ‘very old difficulty’ stated by Aquinas at Summa Theologiae Ia, 14, 3, 3. Kenny rejects the Thomistic strategy of treating God as an atemporal knower, Who grasps all events of history simultaneously in a timeless present. He takes this notion to be neither Biblical nor coherent. He hopes instead to reconcile a temporal God's literal foreknowledge with free action among men. I shall follow Kenny in treating the concept of God as a temporal being. But I shall argue against the attempts of Kenny and some other recent writers to provide a reconciliation.

Henry Sidgwick remarked in The Methods of Ethics regarding pleasure that the “distinctions of quality that Mill and others urge may … be admitted as grounds of preference, but only in so far as they can be resolved into distinctions of quantity.” Sidgwick had not believed that Mill intended that resolution and commented in his history that “it is hard to see in what sense a man who of two alternative pleasures chooses the less pleasant on the ground of its superiority in quality can be affirmed to take ‘greatest’ happiness or pleasure as his standard of preference.” Though Mill's view has been discussed rather often (especially in elementary texts), the state of the criticism has more or less stabilized with Sidgwick's conclusion.

Rights and duties to will to believe have too long been considered an embarrassing indulgence by philosophers who pride themselves on their methodological rigor. A fresh look at William James's work will show how a more robust, though no less analytically rigorous, ethics of belief is possible.

The history of James's ethics of belief is a stormy one, filled with mainly hostile criticisms on the part of others, with seminal suggestions, gropings, and retractions on the part of James himself. At various points in the development of this ethics of belief, one encounters such expressions as “duty to believe,” “will to believe,” and “right to believe,” the last gaining prominence (and the others dropping out of sight) as James grew older.

We wish to examine Hartshorne's ontological argument, as formulated in his discussion entitled “The Irreducibly Modal Structure of the Argument.“ The argument is as follows.

We wish to show that, if the above argument is to work, “q” (A perfect being exists“) must be analytic. If it is analytic, Hartshorne is saddled with a contradiction. Furthermore, if “q” is analytic, the argument is irrelevant. (One could take Baier's position on analyticity and argue that “q” is analytic, but tells us nothing about what, in fact, exists, but now the “proof” would not prove that a perfect being exists.)

Can one deny the intelligibility of “extramental nonbeing” in pure ontology while affirming its intelligibility in physics? When one sweeps the heavens clean of matter does one also necessarily affirm the existence of absolute nonbeing in those “clean” spaces? Does talking about space necessarily mean talking about nonbeing? How could there possibly be “space” which is not absolute nothingness? How, if at all, can statements about space be reconciled with such self-contradictory statements as “What is not, is“?

The purpose of this brief paper is not to argue, within the context of the physical sciences, about whether or not there exist voids or absolutely empty spaces in the universe. Neither is it to discuss the existence or nonexistence of the aether. And although I shall be using texts taken from several famous historical figures, my purpose is not primarily historical.

In his Generalization in Ethics, Marcus Singer distinguishes between individual and collective consequences. According to Singer, the collective consequences of everyone's acting in a certain way is for certain kinds of acts not the sum of—or, more exactly, is greater than the sum of—the individual consequences of each individual act. The point is put more straightforwardly by Sir Roy Harrod:

This article is a selective review of David Lewis's Counterfactuals (Cambridge, Mass., 1973), a challenging, provocative, absorbingly interesting attempt to analyze statements of the form “If it were the case that P, then it would be the case that Q.” I shall follow Lewis in calling these “counterfactuals,” and shall nearly follow him in abbreviating them to the form P→Q.

Chapter 1, which is nearly a third of the whole, gives the analysis and proves that it endows counterfactuals with some properties which they evidently do have. Chapter 2 presents some “alternative formulations” of the analysis—a logical jeu d'esprit which I shall not discuss except for the section ( § 2.6) about “cotenability.”