La réflexion philosophique sur le phénomène de la contrainte a été fortement marquée par l'analyse qu'en ont donné Aristote et saint Thomas. Cette analyse classique établit un critère très général de la contrainte mais n'aborde pas des questions plus spécifiques, telles que la distinction entre une tentative de contrainte et un avertissement ou la différence entre une offre et une tentative de contrainte. Ces distinctions, qui sont loin d'être évidentes (pour autant que I'on creuse quelque peu le sujet), présentent un intérêt non négligeable pour quiconque est amené à réfléchir sur des matières impliquant les relations humaines, tel le philosophe moral, le théoricien du droit, le sociologue ou l'économiste. Par exemple, peut-on dire que l'administration des contributions exerce une contrainte sur les contribuables en leur envoyant leur note d'imposition comportant un avertissement de payer dans les dix jours qui suivent la reception? Le détenteur d'un monopole — une société de distribution d'eau par exemple — contraint-il ses clients lorsqu'il augmente ses prix ou bien ne fait-il que changer les termes de son offre? Ce genre de questions ne peut pas recevoir de réponse dans l'analyse classique vu le niveau trap général de celle-ci.

La linguistique saussurienne paraît avoir exercé, spécialement au cours des années 1951 à 1954, une influence assez considérable sur la pensée de Merleau-Ponty. Un travail de portée plus générale nous ayant amené à mesurer l'importance de la chose pour Pensemble de l'œuvre de ce philosophe, nous allons seulement essayer ici de prećiser un peu le rôle d'une telle influence en nous appuyant sur une analyse de l'interprétation de Saussure par Merleau-Ponty.

Dans la Phénoménologie de la Perception, celui-ci avait déjà consacré un chapitre à l'étude de la parole conçue comme gesticulation ou expression corporelle. Quand, en 1953–54, il abordera le Problème de la Parole, dans un cours au Collège de France, c'est à Saussure lui-même qu'il attribuera des vues assez voisines: “Le cours cherchait à illustrer et é étendre cette notion saussurienne de la parole comme fonction positive et conquérante.

In the Symposium Socrates shows how Diotima initiated him into the mysteries of love in two stages. Yet, at first sight, the teachings offered at the two stages seem divergent and discontinuous. In this article I argue that we can understand the continuity between them if we regard Diotima's notions of spiritual pregnancy and birth-giving as metaphors suggesting that the metaphysical horizon looming in the background of her teaching is that of Plato's theory of recollection.

The distinction between crimes that involve wrongs in themselves and crimes that are wrong because the law makes them so has long puzzled theorists. This essay argues that the distinction, while getting at something real, is based on a mistake. That mistake is made both by those who see moral wrongness as a necessary condition for criminality and by those who believe merely making something illegal is sufficient to make it criminal. Neither is correct. Rather, what makes something a criminal wrong is that it involves a violation of a law that has been justified in terms of “public reason.”

The relation of will to belief is an issue of perennial philosophical and religious interest. Most of the classical accounts of religious belief, both ancient and modern, have accorded the will an important, if not the decisive, role. In the philosophy of mind, the issue has traditionally been one of the major dividing lines, some philosophers arguing a position near that of Descartes, that the will is a constituent element of belief, others siding with Spinoza and Hume, arguing that it is not. But what really is the issue? Much recent discussion of belief and will has been devoted to the question whether we can believe at will apart from any sort of evidence—what has been called belief by fiat. While it may be that this is the most natural interpretation of the claim that belief is based on will, it is certainly not the only one. What is more, most of those who have argued for the importance of the will in belief have never really asserted it. No doubt, one can glean statements from their writings that seem to suggest it; but with due allowance for rhetorical excess, a careful reading of their positions will, I think, show that they were really dealing with other issues. What I hope to accomplish in raising again the issue of will and belief is to advance and defend a set of claims that gets at these other issues. Throughout, my concern will be primarily with religious beliefs, and this not simply out of personal and professional interest, but because the issues I want to discuss arise more clearly (though by no means exclusively) in relation to beliefs of this sort.

Four years ago, the Association of Universities and Colleges of Canada asked Professor T.H.B. Symons, an historian and a former President of Trent University, to undertake a study of “the state of teaching and research in various fields of study relating to Canada at Canadian Universities.” The first two volumes of his report have now been published under the title To Know Ourselves. In his Preface, the President of the AUCC observes that few reports commissioned by his organization have been more eagerly awaited by the university community. That is the ideology of Cloudcuckooland. In reality that community, except that part of it that comprises deans and their assistants and the assistants to the assistants of deans, awaits no report of any body with eagerness: it awaits them rather as our forefathers looked forward to the annual descent of the passenger pigeon, and believes that reading and writing reports unfits a person for teaching and scholarship. But this report is one that takes notice of what we are doing and not doing and urges us to change our ways, and the aspects of our practice it considers are ones which in any case a responsible teacher will from time to time pass under review. Others will read the report, if we do not, and will ask themselves and us how we stand on it: it will become part of the background against which we are judged. So it seems fitting to use this occasion to say something about the report, “Though for no other cause, yet for this: that posterity may know we have not loosely through silence permitted things to pass away as in a dream…”. It is the occasion, and no skill or interest of the speaker, that determines the subject; for by an unhappy accident the office that goes with this address is filled this year by one who has concerned himself less with public policy than any of his recent predecessors. But if the occasion thus leads the speaker to mouth ignorant and disconnected platitudes instead of philosophizing to some purpose, that in itself may serve either to point Professor Symons' moral or to exemplify the bad effects of reports on academic life.

In her recent paper, “Belief, Values and the Will,” Trudy Govier raises several interesting and challenging points. Most interesting is her conclusion that it is at least logically possible for a person to believe something “simply in virtue of having taken that decision,” i.e., by fiat. In otherwords, it is possible to believe something by an act of will.

Bogen has written an excellent book, packed with sensible and suggestive things about Wittgenstein's philosophy of language and about the problems that exercised him. Bogen treads successfully a narrow ridge few others have been able to tread. He has a very clear grasp of what both the earlier and the later Wittgenstein were up to, but he can stand back from Wittgenstein's work and present a lucid and dispassionate account of its philosophical strengths and weaknesses. He is not the kind of unsympathetic and unilluminating critic who regards the Wittgensteinian corpus as aphoristic, obscure and disorganized trivia. Nor is he the kind of acolyte who regards it as sufficient simply to refer his colleagues to the appropriate section of the Investigationswithout further explanation. Whatever thesis Bogen wants to find in Wittgenstein he documents fairly and carefully. Whatever view held by Wittgenstein Bogen wants to regard as penetrating or (even) correct, he usually defends himself independently of its being Wittgenstein's view and also of Wittgenstein's own arguments. Bogen also, in true Wittgensteinian fashion, makes throughout the book masterly use of the happy example. The net result is a book which can be read most profitably both by those interested in Wittgenstein and by those interested in the philosophy of language.

My final aim in this paper is to show that Descartes is not guilty, as is so often maintained, of circular argumentation in the Meditations. But first it is important to uncover and remove certain tenacious misconceptions and confusions concerning what goes on in the Meditations which lend credence to the charge of circular argumentation. In this connection Mr. Harry Frankfurt's recent article, “Memory and the Cartesian Circle,” is peculiarly instructive; for it presents not only a completely untenable defence of Descartes but one that, implicitly at least, rests on the very misconceptions that give substance to the notion of a Cartesian Circle. With the intention, then, of clearing the ground for the construction of my own defence of Descartes, I shall spend the first part of this paper examining Frankfurt's central thesis, the errors contained in it, and their sources. This thesis is contained in his statement, which I shall henceforth designate by the letter “J,” “Descartes did not attempt to justify present clear and distinct perceptions.”

Twardowski's On the Content and Object of Presentations (1894) is one of the most influential works that Austrian philosophy has left to posterity. The manuscript Logik (1894–1895) supplements that work and allows us to reconstruct Twardowski's theory of judgement. These texts raise several issues, in particular whether Twardowski accepts propositions and states of affairs in his theory of judgement and whether his theory is acceptable. This article presents Twardowski's theory, shows that he accepts states of affairs, that he has a notion of proposition, and that his theory is interesting and sophisticated.

ABSTRACT: In this paper I argue that John McDowell’s objections to Philipa Foot’s ethical naturalism do not justify a rejection of her views, but only clarifies what we can defensibly take from her position. Moreover, his comments suggest a way in which Foot’s naturalism may help to secure the realism McDowell defends in his own work. In seeing how Foot’s naturalism can reassure us of the reality of ethical reasons, we can understand how McDowell needs something like Foot’s naturalism in order to redeem his own realist aspirations for ethics.

One of the main problems that Paul Horwich’s Minimalist theory of truth must face is the generalization problem, which shows that Minimalism is too weak to have the fundamental explanatory role Horwich claims it has. In this paper, I defend Horwich’s response to the generalization problem from an objection raised by Bradley Armour-Garb. I also argue that, given my response to Armour-Garb, Horwich’s proposal to cope with the generalization problem can be simplified.

I Shall offer a realist theory of perception which in an important sense is neither direct nor representational nor causal.

Let us say that we directly perceive something if perceiving it enables us to know of its existence without having evidence of its existence. In this sense, direct perception allows us to have “direct knowledge” of what we perceive. For example, I see after-images directly, since I can know of their existence without having visual evidence of their existence. I do not have to look at them with my eyes. Granted, I do need evidence in order to know that they are after-images; but not in order to know of their existence as colours or shapes. Also, I do have to see them in order to know that they exist. But this is not a condition of having evidence. It is only a condition of their existence, which in turn is a truth condition of my knowing.

La connaissance est traditionnellement envisagée comme un processus mettant en rapport un sujet et un objet. Le processus peut être doublement orienté selon que l'on considère la réception de l'information par l e sujet, ou la représentation de l'objet qui peut avoir différentes modalités, parmi lesquelles je compte l'assertion de quelque chose quant à l'objet. Je schématise ces deux orientations de la façon suivante:

(1) I (O,S) = K1

(2) R (S,O) = K2

Prendre connaissance d'un manuel de mathématiques, être ébloui par une lumière vive, n'est pas identique à résoudre un problème de mathématiques, ou à savoir que la voiture qui vient en face n'a pas mis ses feux de croisement. Il y a bien lieu de distinguer deux types de connaissances: K1 et K2; je ne me préoccuperai pas de la question générale de l'identité des éléments de chacune et j'utiliserai les mêmes symboles S et O.

One of the striking characteristics of contemporary moral philosophy is the speed with which philosophers in the English-speaking world have jettisoned their reluctance to address concrete ethical problems and dilemmas and have plunged into the field of applied ethics. No less interesting is the impact that the work of some of the more noted of them has had outside of strictly philosophical circles. One need only to mention John Rawls or H. L. A. Hart to make the point. It is no longer difficult to prove that these same trends are deeply entrenched amongst Canadian philosophers. A further parallel is suggested by the fact that a Canadian philosopher, George Grant, has also had a substantial impact on recent Canadian thought. The appearance of a parallel, however, is illusory. For while applied ethics certainly has its practitioners in Canada today, and while it is widely recognized that both American and British philosophers have had a substantial and philosophically respectable impact on their respective societies, there seems widespread resistance to the idea that philosophical reflection has a role to play in the development of a distinctive understanding of Canadian society. And there is widespread scepticism in professional philosophical circles in Canada that the work of George Grant is of genuine philosophical interest, whatever his popular reputation.

Berkeley's Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge was published in 1710, when he was only twenty-five. The public silence that greeted it stunned him. Even the ridicule that he had anticipated was initially confined to private circles. No doubt this mortifying experience reinforced his belief “that whatever doctrine contradicts vulgar and settled opinion” must “be introduced with great caution into the world”. It had, indeed, been for this reason that he had “omitted all mention of the non-existence of matter in the title-page, dedication, preface, and introduction to” his performance. In this way he hoped that “the notion of [immaterialism] might steal unawares on the reader, who possibly would never have meddled with a book that he had known contained such paradoxes”.

Motivations can often conflict. Suppose it is six o'clock and I want a drink; suppose also that I know that it would be unwise or inappropriate in my present circumstances to drink. In cases like this I feel a struggle inside me. For Plato and for Aristotle, such struggles were an important part of moral experience, and on their description and analysis depends much of Plato's and Aristotle's moral psychology. It is not well enough appreciated that, in this respect, Aristotle was an uncritical follower of Plato. If we understand Plato's theory and how little Aristotle departed from it, we will be able to make better sense of some difficult passages, especially De Anima III.11, and we will even be able to solve the conundrum of the ‘sphere’ which has teased scholars for two thousand years.