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.’

At the outset of his instructive and thought-provoking paper, ‘The Nature of Possibility,’ Professor David Armstrong gives a succinct description, in itself almost complete, of his ‘combinatorial theory’ of possibility. He says: ‘Such a view traces the very idea of possibility to the idea of the combinations - allthe combinations which respect certain simple form- of given, actual elements’ (575). We can perhaps start a bit further back than this. In explaining the idea of a ‘possible world,’ some philosophers begin with the idea of ‘things being a certain way’ or ‘the way things are.’ From this idea a leap is made to ‘things might have been a certain other way’ or ‘ways things could have been.’ And here we already have possible worlds, or so some philosophers assure us: David Lewis, for example, says his talk of possible worlds is nothing but a ‘permissible paraphrase’ of this familiar and innocent-sounding locution, ‘ways things could have been.'

One reasonably familiar argument for epistemological scepticism maintains that knowledge requires foundations and that we rarely, if ever, have such foundations. The conclusion of this argument is that we rarely, if ever, have knowledge. A second, less ambitious sceptical argument is that philosophers cannot justifiably say that they have knowledge unless their statement is based on foundations and that we never have such foundations. The conclusion of this argument is not that we never have knowledge, but that philosophers are never justified in saying that they have knowledge. The scepticism is Pyrrhonic, rather than Academic, and merely attempts to counter knowledge assertions, not establish that they are false. It tries to show that in most cases the best response we can give to ‘Do we have knowledge?’ is to remain indifferent.

In this discussion I consider one aesthetic issue which arises from certain intimate relationships between art and nature. The background to these relationships can be traced to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It includes factors of considerable importance in the history of the aesthetic appreciation of nature such as the eighteenth century infatuation with landscape gardening and the continuingly influential role of landscape painting. Here, however, I concentrate on these relationships only as exemplified in a contemporary phenomenon – environmental art. By environmental art I mean both the earthworks and earthmarks of artists such as Robert Smithson, Michael Heizer, and Dennis Oppenheim and certain structures on the land such as those of Robert Morris, Michael Singer, and Christo. Some paradigm cases are Smithson's Spiral Jetty (1970), Heizer's Double Negative (1969-70), Singer's Lily Pond Ritual Series (1975), and Christo's Running Fence (1972-76).

In common-sense morality, certain special obligations loom large. These are duties which are laid upon agents, be they individuals or groups, in virtue of their distinctive identities, relationships or histories: because of who they are, how they are linked to others or what they have done in the past. The particularistic basis of these obligations means that no one but the agent in question is engaged by such a duty. It is that agent's alone.

These special obligations include duties towards oneself, towards one's dependants and towards those to whom one has made certain commitments. In each case they prescribe partisan treatment. The beneficiary is to enjoy a benefit which may not be especially important in the global scheme of things, and which may even be obtained at the cost of others’ being deprived of benefits that are equally or more important in some cosmic sense.

Both the distinction between de re and de dicto beliefs, and the distinction between referential and attributive uses of definite descriptions have seemed, to some philosophers, to be of somewhat dubious status. While admitting that there is, in each case, some sort of distinction to be drawn, they have been inclined to think that these distinctions are not relevant to the philosophical questions being asked about beliefs and descriptions. Philosophers have, for example, been concerned with the structure of beliefs, where this can be understood to mean the structure of believed propositions; and they have been concerned with the analysis of sentences containing definite descriptions. But, it is thought, these two distinctions have no bearing on propositional structure or on sentence meaning. They have, in short, no semantic significance.

One commonly stated reason for thinking that there are abstract entities such as propositions is that they are needed to account for undeniable facts about propositional attitudes and the sentences reporting such attitudes. According to the propositional theory, belief, doubt, assertion and other attitudes are relations between individuals and propositions. In sentences reporting these relations the words in the content-sentence (e.g., ‘p’ in sentences of the form ‘S said that p’) refer to concepts or other abstract things and the entire ‘that-clause’ refers to a proposition. According to a common rival account, propositional attitudes are complex relations between individuals and sentences and each that-clause refers to the content-sentence it contains. The words in the content-sentence either fail to refer or refer to themselves. A striking implication of both the propositional theory and the sentential theory is that the words and phrases in the content-sentence of a sentence expressing a propositional attitude fail to refer to the familiar things to which they ordinarily refer.

The problem of why something exists rather than nothing is doubtless as old as human philosophising. Of comparable antiquity is the observation that one cannot hope to explain why something exists rather than nothing by appealing to the existence of something else, on pain of vicious circularity.

In this paper, I distinguish between the question of why anything exists, and the question of why particulars exist. These two questions are equivalent only if the only things that exist are particulars. Certainly many have held that universals as well as particulars exist. I take it here that there is a prima facie distinction between universals and particulars. It follows that the former question is prima facie more general than the latter. I will initially concentrate on the latter, taking a hint from some recent theorising about the physics of the Big Bang.

Whether John Locke's Two Treatises is a justification of revolution or a demand for revolution, it is a book about political revolution. Yet it is also a book about property. This is so not only because of the obviously central place that Locke's discussion of property holds in the Second Treatise but also because his account of when revolution is justified hinges, in three crucial respects, on his account of how private, or, exclusive, rights to property arise.

This paper is designed to reinterpret and clarify John Stuart Mill's ideas on science. Past discussions of these ideas strike me as unsatisfactory in two crucial respects. In the first place they have encouraged us to regard Mill's principal work on epistemology, A System of Logic, as fundamentally inductivist This is the received interpretation of Mill's Logic and one finds it summarized and affirmed in the remark of Laurens Laudan that 'by and large' Mill was 'a rather orthodox inductivist who saw science as the generalisation of observation and who argued that all scientific ideas (including those of mathematics) come directly from experience.

In 1844 Marx held that labor alienation was wholly eliminable, primarily through the abolition of private property . Work in the context of private property was alienating because it was performed for wages and the production of exchange-value. With such purposes, work was experienced as selfish and forced. With the abolition of private property, work would be performed for the production of use-¥alue, to satisfy human needs. With this human purpose, work would be experienced as a free and fulfilling expression of life.

In his highly interesting ‘Hume's Criterion of Significance,’ Michael Williams makes some references to my paper ‘Convention and Value.’ He writes that I am ‘on to something important,’ but, although he claims that my conclusion is not modest enough, he fails to make clear what modesty requires. As a result, our interpretations may seem further apart than they really are. I shall attempt to draw attention to some of our agreements and differences.

Michael Philips’ ‘Racist Acts and Racist Humor’ attempts to analyze the ethics of racism. At the heart of his discussion is the view that

Richter begins with a set of counter examples to a position that he acknowledges is not important to me. He goes on to produce counter examples to a position I do not hold. And he concludes by imputing a project to me that I nowhere endorse and by ridiculing that project. Part of his confusion is my fault since what I have done is not entirely consistent with what I claimed to have done. So let me try to clarify and to develop what I take to be valuable in my paper.

To begin with, it was not my main intent to offer an account of the ordinary use of the term ‘racist’ (although Richter admits this, he goes on for several pages as if he were ignorant of it). Indeed, for reasons that will be dear presently, I now think that the attempt to provide such an account is misguided. Whether I have offered an account of what Richter calls a ‘central use’ depends on what he means by ‘central use.’ Judging from his proposed counter examples, he seems to hold (roughly) that whatever satisfies the definition of a central use of some expression ‘e’ will be acknowledged by all competent speakers as a case of e.In this sense of ‘central use’ I have not offered an account of a central use of ‘racist’ either. What, then, have I done?