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.

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.

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.

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.

In the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus Wittgenstein writes:

As F.P. Ramsey pointed out, in his insightful review of the Tractatus, it is evident:

1. [i] that Wittgenstein is here envisaging a multitude of possible worlds other than the real one;

2. [ii] that Wittgenstein is claiming that, notwithstanding their diversity, all such worlds have a common form; and

3. [iii] that Wittgenstein believes this form to be somehow 'constituted' by the simple objects that exist in these worlds.

There is still a relative paucity of discussion of the views on friendship that Aristotle presents in the Nicomachean Ethics, although some recent work may indicate a new trend. One suspects that this paucity reflects a belief that those views are not very interesting; if true, this witnesses to an unfortunate underestimation of Aristotle's account. This account is in fact quite surprising, for – I shall argue – Aristotle believes that one makes one's friends in the most literal sense of the verb.

Aristotle takes virtue-friendship, i.e., the friendship of virtuous people who are friends for virtue, as ‘friendship in the primary way.’ Other ‘friendships’ – for utility and for pleasure – are only so-called by way of similarity to friendship proper, i.e., virtue-friendship (1157a30ff). Accordingly, proper friendship must be non-instrumental, or, more carefully, not essentially instrumental, unlike the friendship-analogs that fall outside the scope of friendship proper (1157a17-20). While ‘friends of utility … were never friends of each other, but of what was expedient for them’ (1157a14ff), a true ‘friend is taken to be someone who wishes and does goods or apparent goods to his friend for the friend's own sake’ (1166a3). The theme of desiring and acting for the friend's own sake is repeated many times in the Ethics; in the Rhetoric it is explicitly taken as definitive of friendship (1361b35-40). Since the contrast between true friendship and mere friendship-analogs is that between the not essentially instrumental (for the sake of the friend) and the essentially instrumental (using the friend as a means to pleasure or utility), a successful account of Aristotle's views on friendship must preserve and explain this contrast in all its centrality.

The idea that a just political system must ignore or nullify socially caused initial advantages in competing for positions and other social benefits is as old as political philosophy itself. Plato called for social mobility among his classes so that all could gravitate toward the classes for which their temperaments naturally suited them. The idea that the system must take positive steps to correct for these differences among individuals is likewise as old as the concept of public education, the supposed great equalizer. But the claim that society must correct also for natural differences among individuals – differences in intelligence, talents, beauty, and physical prowess – is far more recent, having been articulated most forcefully by Rawls. The reasoning underlying this further step toward a more radical notion of equal opportunity appeals to the fact that natural differences are equally arbitrary from a moral point of view as a basis for differential rewards as are socially caused differences. A person no more deserves to be born smart than rich. Why then should the former but not the latter be allowed to influence future benefits and rewards? A negative answer, however, creates a tension within a liberal theory of justice between the demand to nullify natural differences, or to use them to the benefit of those least well endowed, and the demand to respect distinct individuals that supposedly grounds such a theory.

A highly controversial issue in criminal law theory has been the use of strict liability offenses, i.e., offenses which create liability ‘without fault.’ The collection of strict liability offenses is varied according to the element of the particular offense with respect to which liability is strict. For example, a statute prohibiting the filing of a false financial statement with the Secretary of State might impose liability despite a reasonable error as to the truth of the statement, or as to the financial nature of the statement, or as to the identity of the official in question. What all strict liability offenses have in common is the imposition of liability despite the possibility of reasonable mistake or due care regarding some important element of the offense. Generally, then, a strict liability offense is one to which a claim of no-negligence is not a defense. Indeed, such a claim will not even be heard. All that the prosecution need prove is the voluntary commission of the proscribed acts by the defendant; no other question concerning the defendant's efforts or opportunity to obey the law is relevant to liability or conviction.

The more you think about it, the more baffling Newcomb's Problem becomes. To most people, at first it is obvious which solution is correct (not that they agree on which one), but their confidence can be eroded easily. Only a puzzled few are torn between the two right from the start, and for years so was I. But at last, thanks to a certain metaargument, one solution came to seem obvious to me. And yet, imagining myself actually faced with Newcomb's choice, I started to worry that I might experience just enough last-minute ambivalence to unsettle my confidence in that argument. Fortunately, I have found a strategy to ensure making the right choice when the chips are down.

Not only is Newcomb's Problem puzzling in its own right, it is philosophically significant. The appeal of both solutions reflects a conflict between two plausible conceptions of rational choice. In making a decision, should one consider all of its probabilistic consequences or only its causal consequences? Each conception has its supporters, but some philosophers find them both defensible and see no hope of resolving the conflict. I think the conflict can be resolved, at least in the context of Newcomb's Problem, by properly assessing the relevant counterfactual conditionals.

In Reason, Truth, and History, Hilary Putnam addresses the notion that we might all be brains in a vat in a way that has been widely discussed.1 What follows is an attempt to get dear on Putnam's argument, more particularly, to determine how exactly that argument goes and what precisely it is supposed to establish. Putnam's presentation is not unambiguous on either count, nor is it always as dear as one might have wished.

I consider the contrast between Leibniz's relational concept of spacetime and Einstein's special and general theories of relativity. I suggest that there are two interpretations of Leibniz's view, which I call L1 and L2. L1 amounts to saying that there is no real inertial structure to spacetime, whereas in general relativity the inertial structure is dynamical or real in Lande's sense (see Popper, 46); i.e., it can be ‘kicked’ and ‘kicks back,’ causing gravitational effects. If there is no real inertial structure to space-time then, as Weyl points out (Weyl, 105), the concept of the relative motive of several bodies has no more foundation than the concept of absolute motion for a single body. Thus, L1 seems to be untenable. L2 is a more sophisticated view which rejects the geometrical aspect of Newtonian space-time as a container for events, but accepts the existence of a real structure which determines the inertial properties of matter.

In the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant refers often and with no apparent hesitation or sense of ambiguity to the mind (das Gemüt). He does so not only in his justly famous destruction of rationalist proofs of immaterialism, but throughout his own, positive, ‘transcendental’ account in the Transcendental Aesthetic and Transcendental Analytic. In the first edition of the Critique, he even proposed what he adventurously called a ‘transcendental psychology’ and, although this strange discipline seemed to disappear in the second edition, he left in that edition all his frequent references to forms ‘lying in the mind,’ and to the mind, or the self, or the subject of experience, or the ego, doing this or that. Curiously, though, despite an extensive secondary literature, there is in that literature relatively little discussion of what these expressions, in a proper, strictly Kantian sense, are supposed to refer to. There are two imaginative, extremely suggestive articles by Sellars, some hints at connections with eighteenth century psychology offered by Weldon, a tenebrous book by Heidemann, and some recent attention to the general issue of ‘Kant's theory of mind’ by Ameriks and Kitcher.