Every age has its pet contradictions. Thirty years ago, we used to accept Marx and Freud together, and then wonder, like the chameleon on the tartan, why life was so confusing. Today there is similar trouble over the question whether there is, or is not, something called Human Nature. On the one hand, there has been an explosion of animal behaviour studies, and comparisons between animals and men have become immensely popular. People use evidence from animals to decide whether man is naturally aggressive, or naturally territorial; even whether he has an Aggressive or Territorial Instinct. On the other hand, many sociologists and psychologists still seem to hold the Behaviourist view that man is a creature entirely without instincts, and so do existentialist philosophers. If so, all comparison with animals must be irrelevant. (To save space, I have had to simplify both these party lines here, but if anyone thinks I am oversimplifying the behaviourist one, I can only ask him to keep on reading New Society). On that view, man is entirely the product of his culture. He starts off infinitely plastic, and is formed completely by the society in which he grows up.

I wish to ask what it is for something to be normal, what ‘normal’ means. In one sense we all know, since we freely use conceptions of normality in our everyday talk about things and people. Normality is what the conservative hopes to return to and the progressive hopes to establish. Normal weather is what we usually get at a given season; a normal day is one that is unrelieved by great strokes of either good or ill fortune. In some contexts, to be normal is to be upright; in others to be average or mean. A normal person is one who is not diseased or crooked or mad, can learn and may forget, sleeps well, performs some job of work adequately, is not unbearably sensitive or thick-skinned, and so on. Sometimes a normal person is one who doesn't stand out from the crowd. Often, normal is what I am, and what you are if you are lucky enough to resemble me in certain respects (for any value of ‘I’).

Fr. Bernard Lonergan's writings have not so far received much discussion in British philosophical journals, although they contain one of the most fully-developed contemporary presentations of Catholic Christianity and have a substantial and distinctive philosophical content. They have not lacked theological commentators, both in print and in conferencediscussions. The present article has three aims: to draw attention to Lonergan's work and its philosophical relevance; to notice the publication of his latest book, Method in Theology, and to venture some critical comments on certain arguments about the intelligibility of being, being and the good, and God, in his book Insight (published first in 1957). These arguments are central to Lonergan's account of theism, a theism which, in its orthodox Roman Catholic form, is presupposed by Method in Theology. The books are organically interrelated. One admirer of Lonergan described the newer book (before its appearance) as ‘the book [Lonergan] originally set out to write’.

Plato was the first feminist. In the Republic he puts forward the view that women are just the same as men, only not quite so good. It is a view which has often been expressed in recent years, and generates strong passions. Some of these have deep biological origins, which a philosopher can only hope to recognize and not to assuage. But much of the heat engendered is due to unnecessary friction between views which are certainly compatible and probably correct. And here a philosopher can help. If we can divide the issues neatly, at the joints, then we need not quarrel with one another for saying something, probably true, because what is being maintained is misconstrued and taken to mean something else, probably false.

‘… and he arranged it all. It's done me the world of good, I can tell you. And that's why I said that yesterday was both yesterday and two years ago.’

‘Well, it still sounds nonsense to me. I told you H. G. Wells would do you no good.’

Professor Hamlyn (in ‘Unconscious Intentions’, Philosophy, 1971) defen the idea of unconscious intentions independently of its place in Freudian theory. If successful, his argument would show that arguments such as Frederick Siegler's (in ‘Unconscious Intentions’, Inquiry, 1967), would not succeed in demonstrating the incoherence of the Freudian notion(s) of unconscious intention. Further, if Hamlyn is successful, he provides conceptual grounds from ordinary, non-psychoanalytic cases from which the Freudian notion of unconscious intention could be reconstructed.

Strawson's discussion of the concept of a person does seem to allow for the possibility of there being immaterial persons. Nevertheless his insistence that the concept of a person is the concept of a type of entity such that both predicates ascribing states of consciousness and predicates ascribing corporeal characteristics … are equally applicable to a single individual of that single type suggests that he is conflating the concept of a human being, in the technical sense of homo sapiens, and the concept of a person.

Mr Newton-Smith and Mr Boyce, in discussion notes in the January 1972 number of Philosophy, have raised a number of interesting points about my original paper. But I feel that they have not gone beyond a simple denial of the central argument, which is to be found on pp. 124–126 and 128–130 of the April 1971 number, and that much of what they say therefore fails by petitio.