Let us begin with a piece of intellectual history. The story begins in a period encapsulating the second world war – say the ‘40’s, give and take a bit. Around then, it began to be argued with force that an expression – e.g., an English one – while it well might mean something, does not say anything, and notably (in typical cases at least) no one thing in particular. The principal behind the argument was surely J.L. Austin, though, I would claim, the same point was argued in a somewhat different way by Wittgenstein. The intended point was not merely a grammatical one: we say of an expression that it means such and such, but not that it says such and such. Be that as it may, the main point was quite substantive: typically, an (e.g.) English expression is such that, with its meaning (unambiguously) fixed, there are a variety of distinct (perhaps better: distinguishable) things to be said in using it on some production of it or other.

Since the international community has offered their nearly unanimous condemnation of the system of apartheid in the Republic of South Africa, the topic of this essay might seem moot. However, the involvement and cooperation with the South African government of numerous governments, businesses, and other institutions suggest that those condemnations do not constitute the final word - certainly not politically, nor, perhaps, morally.

In recent years work on the topic of personal identity has flourished. Much of it is ingenious and some of it is quite dazzling. Despite the brilliance of the literature, however, the topic itself continues to be wrapped in darkness and its capacity to baffle and perplex is as great as ever. In the present paper, I will attempt to make clear that and why this is so. I shall begin by showing why the most recent virtuoso performance in the area leaves everything as obscure as before. I shall then develop a version of what appears to me to be the most viable alternative to both the bankrupt view just unmasked and its equally bankrupt congeners, and indicate why it too is less than fully satisfactory. The upshot will be that we seem to be faced with three possible conclusions, each moderately compelling, but none obviously correct or altogether happy.

The problem of natural kinds forms the busy crossroads where a number of larger problems meet: the problem of universals, the problem of induction and projectibility, the problem of natural laws and de re modalities, the problem of meaning and reference, the problem of intertheoretic reduction, the question of the aim of science, and the problem of scientific realism in general. Nor do these exhaust the list. Not surprisingly then, different writers confront a different ‘problem of natural kinds,’ depending on which background issue is for them the principal issue at stake. The issues of essentialism, meaning, and reference, for example, have tended to dominate recent discussions of natural kinds (Kripke [1972], Putnam [1975], [1981], Mellor [1977], Churchland [1979], Shapere [1982]). But evidently these are only part of the puzzle.

It is becoming popular among contemporary philosophers to view liberalism as a political morality which rests on a fundamental moral requirement that persons are to be treated equally according to a certain conception of equal respect and concern. On this view, the liberal conception of equal respect and concern requires that conflicts of interests must be decided by appeal to principles which are rationally justifiable on grounds that are neutral or impartial between persons and their competing conceptions of the good life. Ronald Dworkin has expressed this view by contrasting liberalism with political moralities that are founded on conceptions of what constitutes treating persons equally which are ‘at least partly determined by some conception of the good life.‘

A starting point for this paper is that there is at least one concept of probability, call it epistemic probability, which can be identified with belief or some sort of idealised belief (e.g., rational belief). If this identification is to be of any significance, then it needs to be shown that epistemic probability is a ‘true’ probability concept and is subject to those restrictions and requirements which relate and govern probabilities, which we call the probability calculus.

The most rehearsed argument to establish the probability calculus for epistemic probabilities is the Dutch Book Argument (DBA). There are two intuitions behind the DBA. The first is that if we can find some fine-grained behavioural measure of epistemic probability, then we may be able to show that epistemic probabilities obey the probability calculus by showing that the behaviour is of a kind which is, as a matter of necessity, subject to certain limitations and restrictions.

Frege's definition of the natural number n in terms of the set of n-membered sets has been treated rudely by history. It has suffered not one but two crippling blows. The discovery of Russell's Paradox revealed a fatal flaw in the ‘naive’ conception of set. In spite of its intuitive appeal, Frege's Basic Law V (in the context of the rest of his theory) turned out to be impermissible, leaving us only with the etiolated concept of set that survives in the axiomatic treatments initiated by Zermelo. The independence results, however, of Godel and Cohen, concerning Cantor's Continuum Hypothesis, have left us adrift in choosing between Cantorian and non-Cantorian set theories, which has induced in some logicians a skepticism in regard to the very idea of set-theoretic platonism.

Consider a language SL having as its primitive signs one or more atomic statements, the two connectives ‘∼’ and ‘&,’ and the two parentheses ‘(’ and ‘)’; and presume the extra connectives ‘V’ and ‘≡’ defined in the customary manner. With the statements of SL substituting for sets, and the three connectives ‘∼,’ ‘&,’and ‘V’ substituting for the complementation, intersection, and union signs, the constraints that Kolmogorov places in [1] on (unary) probability functions come to read:

K1. 0 ≤ P(A),

K2. P(∼(A & ∼A)) = 1,

K3. If ⊦ ∼(A & B), then P(A ∨ B) = P(A) + P(B),

K4. If ⊦ A ≡ B, then P(A) = P(B).2

Kant was very proud of his Copernican revolution. So it is a bit ironical that the exact nature of this revolution should have turned out to be as obscure and controversial as it has. In the present paper I will try to provide a new way of looking at the issue. It is my hope that this new perspective will prove not only historically but also theoretically valuable; in particular, that it will present Kant's revolution as one that we might want to take seriously, and maybe even think we still need.

A good historian often can assess the relative likelihood of competing historical claims more reliably on implicit grounds - intuitively, if you like - than in any other available way. This idea has been a persistent theme of Verstehen-theorists. It is, in essence, the old saw that there is no substitute for the brewmaster's nose, adapted to the art of producing historical brew. If true, it augments the importance of the historian relative to that of his arguments, and thereby gives him a dignity that he might otherwise lack. And some have thought that it marks an important methodological difference between historical studies and the natural sciences. It is, in its way, a humane idea. But is it true?

Ian Hacking's [6] is a spirited romp though a broad field of metaphysics, touching on a variety of important questions, and appealing to deep results in mathematical logic while remaining free of logical pedantry. Philosophical journals might be more fun to read if others could write in his style. It is an essay in applying the theory of logic expounded in more detail in his very interesting [7]. (Goran Sundholm, in [15], has raised grave difficulties for Hacking's notion of a ‘do-it-yourself’ semantics, but the overall project remains attractive. In particular, I find Hacking's contention that he has captured the notion of logic that Whitehead and Russell were working with both convincing and intriguing.) Unfortunately, despite my sympathy for his project, I have a number of criticisms to make of his argument. Some of them are picky logical points, but the major conclusions of [6] are affected.

Muddles can be instructive. The clarifying confusion to be examined in this paper is Isaiah Berlin's intelligent vacillation on the issue of whether or not the extent of a person's freedom depends on his desires. Is the amount of freedom an agent possesses determined solely by his objective circumstances or is it also partly a function of his subjective tastes and preferences? In clarifying this question I shall suggest that Berlin has trouble answering it because he almost perceives that interpersonal cardinal measurement of freedom, if possible at all, is possible only on a subjective basis. Yet as Berlin eloquently reminds us measuring freedom according to a subjective metric generates paradox. Whether commonsense ideas of freedom are consistent and reasonable is not purely an academic issue, for we do often make political judgments to the effect that one or another policy, or a movement to one or another form of society, can be expected to reduce or enlarge human freedom. If freedom is not measurable these judgments are merely hortatory.

It is widely held that we can obtain beliefs and withhold believing propositions directly by performing an act of will. This thesis is sometimes identified with the view that believing is a basic act, an act which is under our direct control. Descartes holds that the will is limitless in relation to belief acquisition and that we must be directly responsible for our beliefs, especially our false beliefs, for otherwise we could draw the blasphemous conclusion that God is responsible for them. For Descartes and his followers judgment and assent are acts of the will which may be made both when they ought and when they ought not to be made. They are expressions of freedom of the will and as such we are directly responsible for the beliefs we acquire. Other philosophers who seem to espouse volitionalism include Aquinas, Locke, Kierkegaard, Newman, James, Pieper, Chisholm and Meiland.

In Book II of Plato's Republic, Glaucon, after putting on the mantle of Thrasymachus, concludes that in order for Socrates to show that justice is to be valued for its own sake, he must show that the just man who appears to be unjust is happier than the unjust man who appears to be just. In other words, according to Glaucon, Socrates must show that the just man who as a result of appearing to be unjust is thrown in prison, scoured and racked, has his eyes burned out and is finally impaled, presumably on a spear, is happier than the unjust man who through appearing to be just is rewarded with high office, wealth and is permitted to marry into the best of families. Adiemantus it will be noticed reaches a similar conclusion.

‘Ifs’ come washed or unwashed. The washed ifs are embedded in precise theories: the constantly strict implication of deductive inference, the variably strict implication of ‘nearness’ conditionals, and statements of conditional probability. By a nearness conditional I mean the common part of Stalnaker's and D. Lewis's theory of counterfactual conditionals, which depends on a notion that possible worlds are more or less near to each other, as a measure of their over-all similarity to each other.

I

There are various ways of being a sceptic. Most obviously, perhaps, versions of scepticism can differ with respect to scope. Scepticism can be universal; it can be directed against beliefs belonging to certain broad kinds, say beliefs having to do with the external world; or it can be quite focussed, as in the case of religious scepticism. But there is also the question of force. Some philosophers treat scepticism as a purely theoretical affair, defining it as the thesis that knowledge is impossible. This kind of scepticism, theoretical scepticism, has no essential connection with any particular sceptical practice. A theoretical sceptic does not necessarily entertain doubts or suspend judgment about any particular matter of fact or theory. He may think that the problem of induction is insoluble yet not be seriously concerned that the sun will not rise tomorrow. But in other versions, the force of scepticism is taken to be practical, in which case to be a sceptic is to entertain doubts or suspend judgment, and not just to take a certain theoretical position in epistemology.