One idea that has been around for a long time is that ‘secondary’ qualities—colour, sound, temperature, taste and smell—are not really ‘in objects’ but only ‘in our minds’. If, however, one tries, without assuming any philosophical concepts, to argue for this view, he is likely to find it more difficult than he might have thought.

As philosophers of mind we seem to hold in common no very clear view about the relevance that work in psychology or the neurosciences may or may not have to our own favourite questions—even if we call the subject ‘philosophical psychology’. For example, in the literature we find articles on pain some of which do, some of which don't, rely more or less heavily on, for example, the work of Melzack and Wall; the puzzle cases used so extensively in discussions of personal identity are drawn sometimes from the pleasant exercise of scientific fantasy, at times from surprising reports of scientific fact; and there are those who deny, as well as those who affirm, the importance of the discovery of rapid-eye-movement sleep to the philosophical treatment of dreaming. A general account of the relation between scientific, and philosophical, psychology is long overdue and of the first importance. Here I shall limit myself to just one area where the two seem to connect, discussing one type of neuropsychological research and its relevance to questions in the philosophy of mind and the philosophy of psychology.

Professor Charles S. Chihara has criticized the views on the subject of inconsistency which Wittgenstein put forward in his recently published 1939 lectures. Chihara notes that these views are not peculiar to the 1939 lectures, and in fact they are to be found in all Wittgenstein's later writings on mathematics (e.g. WWK pp. 173ff., PR p. 189, PG pp. 303ff., RFM pp. 100ff.). So these ideas about inconsistency appear not to be just a momentary aberration on Wittgenstein's part. One would therefore expect that he had some good reasons for holding them. But Chihara justly complains that the kind of strong argumentation one would hope for is not forthcoming in these lectures. Instead Wittgenstein's usual procedure is to try to defend his views by producing series of rather unconvincing examples.

Freud seems to have been torn between a literary and a scientific model for his enterprises. On the one hand he stresses the scientific nature of his researches to an extent which makes the suspicious reader wonder whether he protests too much. On the other hand it is well known that he regarded many writers, though predominantly Shakespeare, as anticipating his findings on the unconscious. In one famous passage in the Introductory Lectures on Psycho-analysis he places his discovery of the unconscious on a par with the discoveries of Darwin and Copernicus in their effect upon man's picture of himself. He is justified, of course, and if we add Marx to this triumvirate we add a figure even closer to Freud in claiming a scientific status for his work, a scientific status which is, to the uncommitted, dubious. Theodore Mischel argues that Freud increasingly construes neurotic behaviour upon the model of ordinary intentional behaviour and, though he continued to show interest in the view that the unconscious impulses which are repressed are physiological in nature, this ideal of a reduction of the psychological to the physiological became a less active ingredient in his published work as his collaboration with Fliess receded into the past. So although he may have paid lip service to some form of psycho-physical identity, believing that mental phenomena are ultimately no more or less than physical happenings in the neurones of the brain, in mature Freud this seems to have been an idly spinning wheel. Roy Schafer has recently pointed out that many of Freud's followers use the concepts of natural science (force, energy and discharge, etc.), whilst simultaneously retaining traces of anthropomorphism in their metapsychology. For instance Heinz Hartmann emphasizes the concept of a ‘higher organizing function’ which resists formulation in the mechanistic metapsychology he favours. Similar difficulties obtrude in the work of Waelder and Kohut. The significance of these conflicts leads Schafer to frame basic Freudian insights in terms of the theory of action, stressing the manner in which an action may be described in differing ways and thus allowing us to present the fact that a patient's behaviour may both tell and not tell us of his deepest anxieties. Yet curiously Schafer denies that freedom plays any part in his account whereas we would have expected a concept so central to agency to have an equally central role in any recasting of psycho-analysis in terms of the theory of action.

Recent philosophy of religion, particularly neo-Wittgensteinian philosophy of religion, has reminded philosophers that there is more to religion than belief and, indeed, that there is more to religious belief than mere belief. D. Z. Phillips is among those who have made a contribution here. He has emphasized how religious belief is very different from the kind of belief that amounts to holding a hypothesis, even a God-hypothesis. However, perhaps because of his non-cognitivist tendencies, Phillips, unlike Kierkegaard to whom he often appeals, has failed to bring into relief another quintessential fact about belief in God, namely that it is for the believer an entered relationship with God. We do well to appreciate that belief in God is not identical with making a truth claim. But if the essential core of religious belief is construed as an attitudinal or affective response, as non-cognitivists tend to construe it, an important conceptual dimension of religious faith will all but be overlooked, as, paradoxically it seems it has been by the philosophical approach that strives to describe the religious ‘form of life’ in its own terms. In what follows I shall endeavour to bring into relief what I take to be an essential dimension of religious belief, one which presupposes that religious belief is an entered relationship for the believer. This I shall do by pursuing a contrast which, I think, at once clarifies and makes undeniable religious belief's essential nature as a relationship to God.

I want to discuss a view of punishment which stresses its ‘expressive’ character and seeks in that its justification. While I shall label this view ‘expressionism’, I should warn that most theorists who express an ‘expressionist’ view do not present it as an exhaustive account, but rather claim to be highlighting an aspect that tends to be neglected within the rationalist framework common to retributivism and utilitarianism. Among contemporary writings I shall focus on Joel Feinberg's article, ‘The Expressive Function of Punishment’ in The Monist 49, No. 4 (1965). While I accept that ‘expression’ usefully sums up much of what underlies punitive practices, I shall urge that the term conceals a variety of more or less amalgamated ingredients which need to be disentangled for critical inspection. I shall argue that under those aspects, punishment's justification continues to be elusive. I do not imagine that these arguments will deter my more punitive colleagues from continuing to seek such justification, but I hope they will search elsewhere. Feinberg writes:

Punishment is a conventional device for the expression of attitudes of resentment and indignation, and of judgments of disapproval and reprobation, either on the part of the punishing authority himself or of those ‘in whose name’ the punishment is inflicted. Punishment, in short, has a symbolic significance largely missing from other kinds of penalties.