Our main focus in this paper is Herman Cappelen’s claim, defended in Fixing Language, that reference is radically inscrutable. We argue that Cappelen’s inscrutability thesis should be rejected. We also highlight how rejecting inscrutability undermines Cappelen’s most radical conclusions about conceptual engineering. In addition, we raise a worry about his positive account of topic continuity through inquiry and debate.

For nearly forty years now, Frankfurt cases have served as one of the major contributors to the compatibilist's cause with respect to moral responsibility. These cases typically involve a causally preempted condition that is supposed to guarantee a choice without causing it. This has had the effect of softening up some to the idea that determinism does not exclude moral responsibility simply in virtue of guaranteeing a unique future. I believe that these traditional Frankfurt cases adequately support this cause. But I also believe that the traditional versions of Frankfurt cases suffer from some rhetorical defects.

My strategy is as follows. First, I want to respond to a dilemma that has been raised by some libertarians against arguments utilizing Frankfurt cases. This dilemma has the effect of raising a question-begging charge against such arguments. Part of my response is to draw attention to the relevant principle that I think Frankfurt cases should really target, a principle slightly different from Harry Frankfurt's original Principle of Alternate Possibilities. Second, I elaborate and defend the claim that traditional Frankfurt cases involve causal preemption.

If a catalogue were made of terms commonly used to affirm the adequacy of critical interpretations of works of art, one word certain to be included would be “plausible.” Yet this term is one which has received precious little attention in the literature of aesthetics. This is odd, inasmuch as I find the notion of plausibility central to an understanding of the nature of criticism. “Plausible” is a perplexing term because it can have radically different meanings depending on the circumstances of its employment. ln the following discussion, I will make some observations about the logic of this concept in connection with its uses in two rather different contexts: the context of scientific inquiry on the one hand, and that of aesthetic interpretation on the other. In distinguishing separate senses of “plausible,” I shall provide reason to resist the temptation to imagine that because logical aspects of two different types of inquiry—science and criticism—happen to be designated by the same term, they may to that extent be considered to have similar logical structures.

This paper explores the debate between perfectionists and anti-perfectionists in the context of children. It suggests that the most influential and compelling arguments in favour of anti-perfectionism are adult-centric. It does this by considering four leading reasons given in favour of anti-perfectionism and shows that none apply in the case of children. In so doing, the paper defends a perfectionist account of upbringing from the attacks made against perfectionism more generally. Furthermore, because the refutation of the various anti-perfectionist arguments are made exclusively dealing with children, the paper suggests that the perfectionist view of upbringing is compatible with anti-perfectionist restrictions on dealing with adults. This dual view combining perfectionism for children and anti-perfectionism for adults is referred to as restricted perfectionism.

John Stuart Mill wrote in the opening chapter of Utilitarianism, ‘A test of right and wrong must be the means, one would think, of ascertaining what is right or wrong,’ thus explaining why he thought the work to follow was practically important. In Chapter 3, ‘On the Ultimate Sanction of the Principle of Utility,’ he answers the question, ‘What are the motives to obey the principle of utility?’ This principle is presented as a morality to be adopted. Yet before the nineteenth century was over Henry Sidgwick was proposing that it may well be best, from a utilitarian view, that the utilitarian doctrine is not too widely adopted. Perhaps it should be an esoteric morality.

Moreover, Sidgwick argues, it seems contrary to self interest to adhere to an impartially benevolent morality. Devotion to utilitarian duty seems to require that the agent sacrifice his or her own happiness in a devotion to the relief of others that can only ‘partially mitigate’ their distress (502-3). Such a morality seems impossibly demanding. Sidgwick’s argument challenges Mill's claim that there is an adequate sanction for adoption of utilitarian morality.

A defence of the idea that an agent's knowledge that he is intentionally doing such-and-such is not ‘based on’ or ‘derived from’ any ‘experience’ of the agent or any item or state he is aware of in acting as he does. The explanation of agents' knowing, in general, what they are intentionally doing lies in the capacity for self-ascription and self-knowledge that is a required for being a subject of any intentional attitudes, and so for competent intentional agency.

Introduction

It is standard practice in philosophical inquiry to test a general thesis (of the form ‘F iff G’ or ‘F only if G’) by attempting to construct a counterexample to it. If we can imagine or conceive of an F that isn't a G, then we have evidence that there could be an F that isn't a G — and thus evidence against the thesis in question; if not, then the thesis is (at least temporarily) secure. Or so it is standardly claimed.

But there is increasing skepticism about how seriously to take what we can imagine or conceive as evidence for (or against) a priori philosophical theses, given the many historical examples of now-questionable theses that once seemed impossible to doubt — and also the recent experimental research suggesting that our verdicts on Gettier cases, trolley cases, and the scenarios depicted in other familiar thought-experiments may be affected by cultural, situational, and other adventitious factors.

I was dreaming about Delores when the phone interrupted us. It was the Chief, or ‘Stress,’ as we liked to call him, telling me to get part of my anatomy down to Shakey’s Funeral Parlor. My head ached. I thought I must be the only sucker who gets a hangover from being drunk on life. I got up, put two eggs, a spoonful of wheatgerm, the remains of the scotch, and the phonebill into the blender and fed the whole lot to the cat. It helped, but not as much as Delores would have. I should have married her even if she was a Hubot. At least she could play chess. I was still Rumanating over Delores as I hit the curb outside Shakey’s.

I had the notion that Shakey’s was once a pizza joint but I could have been wrong. I found Stress, disheveled as usual, in the lobby.

‘You’re late,’ he said. I wasn’t, but he’s thatkinda guy. He says ‘Jump!’ and you say ‘With or without my legs?’ We got our free Cokes from Shakey himself, who led us down the hall.

Throughout his mature writings, Berkeley speaks of minds as substances that underlie or support ideas. After initially flirting with a Humean account, according to which minds are nothing but ‘congeries of Perceptions’ (PC 580), Berkeley went on to claim that a mind is a ‘perceiving, active being … entirely distinct’ from its ideas (P 2). Despite his immaterialism, Berkeley retains the traditional category of substance and gives it pride of place in his ontology. Ideas, by contrast, are ‘fleeting and dependent beings’ (P 89) that must be supported by a mental substance. There is no doubt that Berkeley's conception of the relationship between minds and ideas is non-traditional, but that fact does not undercut his commitment to the traditional conception of substance.

Ambiguous terms (e.g., ‘bank,’ ‘pen’) are applicable to different kinds of things, but so are general terms, since a general kind (e.g., ‘animal’) may include various species. Thus a bank may be the side of a river or a certain kind of financial institution, and an animal may be a dog or a cat. Similarly, an ambiguous sentence is true in different kinds of situations, and so is a general sentence in that different specific situations may make the same general sentence true. Thus the sentence, The bank collapsed yesterday,’ can be true of different varieties of banks, and the sentence, The animal is untrained,’ can be true of different varieties of animals. These similarities of ambiguity and generality have led many linguists and philosophers to confuse the two. Basic to this confusion is a failure to notice a difference in the scopes of disjunctions involved in ambiguity and generality.

I want to defend a Combinatorialtheory of possibility. Such a view traces the very idea of possibility to the idea of the combinations – all the combinations which respect a certain simple form – of given, actual, elements. Combination is to be understood widely enough to cover the notions of expansion and contraction. (My central metaphysical hypothesis is that all there is is the world of space and time. It is this world which is to supply the actual elements for the totality of combinations. So what is proposed is a Naturalistic form of a combinatorial theory.)

The combinatorial idea is not new, of course. Wittgenstein gave a classical exposition of it in the Tractatus. Perhaps its charter is 3.4: ‘A proposition determines a place in logical space. The existence of this logical place is guaranteed by the mere existence of the constituents’ (my italics). There is a small additional combinatorial literature. I myself was converted to a combinatorial view by Brian Skyrms’ brief but fascinating article ‘Tractarian Nominalism.’

In the lengthy debate over the question of scientific realism one of the least discussed positions is structural realism. However, this position ought to attract critical attention because it purports to preserve the central insights of the best arguments for both realism and anti-realism. John Worrall has in fact described it as being ‘the best of both worlds’ that recognizes the discontinuous nature of scientific change as well as the ‘no-miracles’ argument for scientific realism. However, the validity of this claim has been called into question by Stathis Psillos. He questions its ability to correctly account for the examples of scientific change that its supporters, like Worrall (following Poincaré), claim ought to be understood in a structural realist light.

In this paper I examine these arguments for and against structural realism and demonstrate that neither Worrall nor Psillos is fully correct. I agree with Psillos’ claim that realism with regards to a theory ought not to be ‘all or nothing,’ that one should not always take the whole of a theory to be true or else commit only to the belief in its directly empirical content.

I advance a novel interpretation of Kant’s argument that our original representation of space must be intuitive, according to which the intuitive status of spatial representation is secured by its infinitary structure. I defend a conception of intuitive representation as what must be given to the mind in order to be thought at all. Discursive representation, as modelled on the specific division of a highest genus into species, cannot account for infinite complexity. Because we represent space as infinitely complex, the spatial manifold cannot be generated discursively and must therefore be given to the mind, i.e. represented in intuition.

Despite the popularity of equality as a political value, egalitarianism as a political theory has never, I think, been fully or successfully defended. I aim in this paper to begin the defense of such a view. The egalitarianism I have in mind has as its ideal a condition of equal wellbeing for all persons at the highest possible level of well-being, i.e. maximum equal well-being. Egalitarianism holds that society should be arranged so as to promote and maintain this state. Defending such a view involves, as I see it, three tasks. First, the ideal I have Just mentioned must be made clearer and more specific and its implications for the distribution of particular goods such as material possessions and liberty must be revealed. Second, positive arguments must be given in support of an equal distribution of well-being as a requirement of morality and Justice. And, thirdly, arguments to the effect that there are Just or Justified inequalities which seriously outweigh the claims of equality must be rebutted.

A widespread view in the philosophy of mind and action holds that intentions are propositional attitudes. Call this view ‘Propositionalism about Intention’. The key alternative holds that intentions have acts, or do-ables, as their contents. Propositionalism is typically accepted by default, rather than argued for in any detail. By appealing to a key metaphysical constraint on any account of intention, I argue that on the contrary, it is the Do-ables View which deserves the status of the default position, and Propositionalism which bears the burden of proof. I go on to show that this burden has not been met in the literature.

Suppose we live in a very advanced age of neurosurgical skills. We have a patient, Jones, with intractable pain. We have a second patient, Smith, with a long history of unintentional self-injury due to congenital absence of pain centres. So we decide to do double service by transplanting Jones's pain centres into Smith's brain.

It has long been believed that if man had a special function appropriate to him, and that if we could discover what it was, then we would be in a perfect position to solve all of the basic problems of ethics. For if we were, for example, shovels, and knew ourselves to be shovels, then we would also know that to spend our lives in digging would best serve our fundamental interests, realize our highest aspirations, and be in every respect the correct thing to do. Or so the theory goes; a theory which is shared, interestingly enough, by Aristotle and Sartre, even though they share little else, and even though one of them believes that man has a function and the other does not.

To many atheists the existence of evil seems to provide a conclusive argument against the existence of God. God is by definition omnipotent and perfectly good; a perfectly good being will remove evil in so far as he can, an omnipotent being can remove any evil he chooses, so if there is a God there will be no evil, but there is evil, hence there is no God. Theists normally challenge this argument by challenging the premiss that a perfectly good being will remove evil in so far as he can. The theistic defence is usually put as the defence that many evils are logically necessary conditions of greater goods, and hence a perfectly good being may allow them to occur in order to bring about the greater good; so a perfectly good being may well allow some evils to occur.

There are a number of semantic predicates which we intuitively employ when we talk about pictures. Pictures which illustrate episodes from the life of Jesus refer to him. An illustration of a Tasmanian Tiger in a zoological catalogue denotes the class of Tasmanian Tigers. Some of the things we say concerning pictures are true in them; e.g., it is true in Rembrandt’s ‘Changing of the Night Watch’ that a guard wears a helmet; it is false in Rembrandt’s painting that one of the guards is female; and it is neither true nor false in the painting that the guards had eggs for breakfast. Rather than talk of what is true I false in paintings, we can speak of what they depict; e.g., Rembrandt’s painting depicts a man wearing a helmet, and it does not depict a female guard. Nor does it depict what the guards had for breakfast. In order to distinguish between what is excluded by a painting’s content — e.g., the presence of a female guard — from what is just not depicted by it — e.g., what the guards had for breakfast — it is important to be able to speak of what is true or false in pictures. Such presystematic talk is both intelligible and useful. Nevertheless, there are pitfalls associated with it. The concept of truth belongs to a family of semantic concepts which also includes entailment. Are the logical consequences of propositions which are ‘true in’ a picture also ‘true in’ it? An affirmative answer to this question conflicts with intuition. That a guard wears a helmet entails that a guard wears a helmet or the moon is made of cheese. Intuitively, this latter proposition is not ‘true in’ Rembrandt’s picture. Further, propositions have infinitely many equivalent formulations. That a guard wears a helmet is equivalent to the proposition that either a guard wears a helmet and the moon is made of cheese or a guard wears a helmet and the moon is not made of cheese. Is this latter formulation of the proposition that a guard wears a helmet ‘true in’ Rembrandt’s picture? Such questions suggest that the concept of ‘true in,’ while sharing some properties of the concept of truth, needs to be distinguished from it. In addition to talk of what pictures refer to/ denote, and propositions which are true/false/neither in them, we classify some pictures by reference to their semantic properties. ]as trow’s duck-rabbit which Wittgenstein cites is an example of an ambiguous picture. Robert Stevens’ picture of a tidal pool which looks like a detailed study of part of the human anatomy is a visual pun.

Many utilitarians accept Bentham's view that to argue for the principle of utility is as ‘impossible as it is needless'. They take utilitarianism as a first principle which one either accepts or does not. They do, of course, defend utilitarianism against objections, and make objections to other ethical positions; but the principle of utility itself, they hold, must stand on its own merits. In this article we use a different approach. We introduce a principle, which we call ‘Weak Majority Preference', which we believe likely to be accepted by many who do not consider themselves utilitarians. We then show that from this principle it is possible to derive the general principle of utility.