Sense-perception is a hackneyed topic, and I must therefore begin by craving your indulgence. I was moved to make it the subject of this evening's lecture by the fact that I have lately been reading the book in which the most important of the late Professor Prichard's scattered writings on Sense-perception have been collected by Sir W. D. Ross. Like everything that Prichard wrote, these essays are extremely acute, transparently honest, and admirably thorough. I shall not attempt here either to expound or to criticize Prichard, but he may be taken to be hovering, perhaps somewhat disapprovingly, in the background during the lecture.

This idea of time travel has long given philosophers difficulties. Most recently, in his paper ‘Troubles with Time Travel’ William Grey presents a number of objections to time travel, some well known in the philosophical literature, others quite novel. In particular Grey's ‘no destinations’ and ‘double occupation’ objections I take to be original, while what I will call the ‘times paradox’ and the ‘possibility restriction argument’ are versions of well known objections. I show how each of these can be answered, thereby defending the plausibility of time travel.

First a word about my title: ‘Happiness’ is ground upon which so many angels have feared to tread that it seemed not inappropriate for me to rush in. It is a subject to which we all do give thought, not only with the force majeure of professional philosophising, but in our personal lives; however, in trying to sort the subject out a little, and it is one about which both our literature and our thinking are notoriously muddled, I fear I may rather have generated confusion than diminished it. In attempting by a somewhat roundabout method to clarify a little the sort of question, though scarcely, I am afraid, the sort of answer, that is appropriate to such thought, it has, perhaps inevitably, seemed necessary to consider in almost as much detail the more fashionable subject of Pleasure; and here too, with less excuse, the points I wish to make are abbreviated and unashamedly oversimplified. An Aunt Sally, however, has its uses, and my neck is not so precious that it cannot afford to be stuck out.

The central task to which contemporary moral philosophers have addressed themselves is that of listing the distinctive characteristics of moral utterances. In this paper I am concerned to propound an entirely negative thesis about these characteristics. It is widely held that it is of the essence of moral valuations that they are universalisable and prescriptive. This is the contention which I wish to deny. I shall proceed by first examining the thesis that moral judgments are necessarily and essentially universalisable and then the thesis that their distinctive function is a prescriptive one. But as the argument proceeds I shall be unable to separate the discussion of the latter thesis from that of the former.

In recent years philosophers have given much attention to the ‘ontological problem’ of events. Donald Davidson puts the matter thus: ‘the assumption, ontological and metaphysical, that there are events is one without which we cannot make sense of much of our common talk; or so, at any rate, I have been arguing. I do not know of any better, or further, way of showing what there is’. It might be thought bizarre to assign to philosophers the task of ‘showing what there is’. They have not distinguished themselves by the discovery of new elements, new species or new continents, nor even of new categories, although there has often been more dreamt of in their philosophies than can be found in heaven or earth. It might appear even stranger to think that one can show what there actually is by arguing that the existence of something needs to be assumed in order for certain sentences to make sense. More than anything, the sober reader will doubtlessly be amazed that we need to assume, after lengthy argument, ‘that there are events’.

Hume's doctrine of natural belief allows that certain beliefs are justifiably held by all men without regard to the quality of the evidence which may be produced in their favour. Examples are belief in an external world and belief in the veracity of our senses. According to R. J. Butler, Hume argues in the Dialogues that belief in God is of this sort. More recently John Hick has argued that for some people it is as natural (and as rational) to believe in God as to believe in an external world. I shall first inquire what Hume understands by reasonable belief and by natural belief. I shall then use the results of this investigation to argue, against Butler, that belief in God is not a natural belief; and against Hick, more briefly, that his thesis is not viable in as far as it depends upon Hume's doctrine of natural belief. These discussions are important to the philosophy of religion since by means of natural beliefs it could be urged that belief in God is something justifiable without reference to reason or evidence: a position which would be of immense value to the theist.

In ‘Wittgenstein on Language and Rules’, Professor N. Malcolm took us to task for misinterpreting Wittgenstein's arguments on the relationship between the concept of following a rule and the concept of community agreement on what counts as following a given rule. Not that we denied that there are any grammatical connections between these concepts. On the contrary, we emphasized that a rule and an act in accord with it make contact in language. Moreover we argued that agreement in judgments and in definitions is indeed necessary for a shared language. But we denied that the concept of a language is so tightly interwoven with the concept of a community of speakers (and hence with actual agreement) as to preclude its applicabilty to someone whose use of signs is not shared by others. Malcolm holds that ‘This is an unwitting reduction of Wittgenstein's originality. That human agreement is necessary for “shared” language is not so striking a thought as that it is essential for language simpliciter.’ Though less striking, we believe that it has the merit of being a true thought. We shall once more try to show both that it is correct, and that it is a correct account of Wittgenstein's arguments.

In order to entertain the argument to be presented here, you have to begin by casting away a presupposition. The ultimate aim will be to restore it again as a presupposition, but the immediate aim will be to test for and make clear its undoubted worth and usefulness by imagining what happens to our knowledge-system when we remove it.

Besides its intrinsic interest, the definition of ‘game’ is important for three reasons. Firstly, in Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations ‘game’ is the paradigm family resemblance concept. If he is wrong in thinking that ‘game’ cannot be defined, then the persuasive force of his argument against definition generally will be considerably weakened. This, in its turn, will have important consequences for our understanding of concepts and philosophical method. Secondly, Wittgenstein's later writings are full of analogies drawn from games—chess alone is mentioned scores of times—and a proper understanding of ‘game’ can lead us to exercise more caution when considering the parallels between games and non-games. Thirdly, games and play are intriguingly and closely related to art and ritual, and an analysis of games can throw considerable light on both of the latter.

Justice has always been regarded as one of the fundamental political virtues. No association of human individuals could subsist, says Hume, “were no regard paid to the laws of equity and justice”, and nearly every thinker who has turned to consider human society, has reached the same conclusion. Yet we are not at all clear what justice is, nor why it is so important. There are many other ideals which a society may cherish, and often reformers have felt impatient of having to compromise their aims merely for the sake of justice, and have not seen why the claims of justice should in any way override other political goods. I shall try to show why justice is, along with liberty, a peculiarly fundamental ideal, which is not merely co-ordinate with other ideals a society may value; but also that this notwithstanding, considerations of justice are not all-sufficient, and do not, and should not, always override all other political ideals.

Darwinism is ‘much more than a theory’, said the German botanist Albert Wigand in 1875; ‘it is a frame of mind which dominates thought, a resuscitated “Naturphilosophie”, in which the terms “Polarity”, “Totality”, “Subject”, “Object” are replaced by terms such as “Struggle for Existence”, “Inheritance”, “Selection”, and so on.’ Subsequent events have indicated that Wigand had a point. But it is not clear to us yet what exactly the point is. Interest in Man's Place in Nature, and in his alleged biological uniqueness as a language-user and tool-maker, is as great now as it was in 1871 when Darwin's Descent of Man was first published. We now have access to well over a hundred years' worth of material sparked off by The Origin of Species, linking Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection to almost every field under the sun. Yet the precise status of his theory is still the subject of vigorous controversy in philosophy of science.

The influence of Goethe on Wittgenstein is just beginning to be appreciated. Hacker and Baker, Westphal, Monk, and Haller have all drawn attention to significant affinities between the two men's work, and the number of explicit citations of Goethe in Wittgenstein's texts supports the idea that we are not dealing simply with a matter of deeplying similarities of aim and method, but of direct and major influence. These scholarly developments are encouraging because they help to place Wittgenstein's work within an important tradition of German letters which goes far beyond his contemporaries and immediate forebears in Vienna; and they show that Wittgenstein's profound interest in literature and music is ceasing to be merely a matter of biographical anecdote, and is being used to illuminate some of the most central areas of his work.

In the following paper, I will be operating within the framework of moral concepts set out by R. M. Hare in his Language of Morals and Freedom and Reason. Using this framework, I shall attempt to show that (a) if we claim that certain attitudes we have toward animals are moral, then the application of the consequences of these principles leads us into a rather bizarre, if not outlandish, position, which few would accept as prima facie moral; and (b) if we adopt what can be accepted as a truly moral position with respect to animals, this will turn out to be indistinguishable in kind, if not in degree, from our morality with respect to humans.

It is persons who are ontologically committed. But a person is not ontologically committed by virtue of his character, his height, his social standing or whatever, but by virtue of the sentences he assents to. Hence we should look to sentences for a criterion of ontological commitment. This is precisely what is done by advocates of what I will call the Referential theory. In this paper I argue that the Referential theory faces serious objections related to the role paraphrase must play in it. I then present a modified Referential theory and go on to discuss certain implications of the modified theory. More precisely, the paper divides up as follows. In §1 I present the Referential theory. In §2 I argue that it is in trouble over paraphrase. In §3 I consider a general objection to the arguments of §2. In §4 I present the modified theory. In §5 I consider the implications of the modified theory for polemic over what there is and for the existence of properties or universals.

Language based criticisms of the intelligibility of the programme of neuropsychology have made use of the principle that words the meaning of which is established in the context of descriptions of aspects of whole persons cannot be used in that sense to ascribe properties to parts of human bodies. In particular neither human brains nor their parts think, are conscious, imagine, suffer and so on. Recently, Bennett and Hacker have presented the error as a mereological fallacy, because brains are parts of persons. However, while brains are parts of human bodies it is not clear that they are parts of persons. I restyle the argument in terms of fields of family resemblances, in such a way that it makes sense to describe the hippocampus as an organ for remembering, but does not support the claim that neuroscience is core psychology. Such fields are networks of meanings linked by two principles. (1) Taxonomies of relevant body parts are determined by the psychological role they play in everyday human life. (2) Many body parts are also identified by the role they play as tools in human activities including psychological tasks. Arguments are developed to show that objections to the idea that brains and their constituent organs are tools are misplaced. Hybrid psychologies are possible.

In L. Frank Baum's story, Ozma of Oz, which is a sequel to Baum's much more famous story, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Dorothy and her companion come upon a wound-down mechanical man bearing a label on which are printed the following words:

Smith and Tinker's

Patent Double-Action, Extra-Responsive, Thought-Creating

Perfect-Talking

MECHANICAL MAN

Fitted with our Special Clock-Work Attachment Thinks, Speaks, Acts, and Does Everything but Live

(Ozma of Oz, Chicago, 1907, p. 43)

As Dorothy and her companion are made to discover when they wind up this man (‘Tik-Tok’ is his name), he is indeed capable of doing all the things of which his label boasts—acting, speaking and even thinking. But as Tik-Tok himself insists, and no one in the story casts doubt on the matter, he is not alive.

In one of the Theological Tractates, Boethius wrote ‘ we have found the definition of Person, viz: “The individual substance of a rational nature”’. He justifies the definition partly by a consideration of Latin and Greek etymologies and partly by stating ‘what Person cannot be affirmed of’. Person cannot be affirmed of Universals, accidents, relations, lifeless bodies, living bodies without sense (e.g. trees), nor of ‘that which is bereft of mind and reason’.

My discussion of this theme falls into two parts. In the first part, starting from the assumption that we do in fact tend to respond favourably to the idea, vague though it may be, that “persons are to be respected, simply as persons”, I endeavour to clear my mind a little about our warrant for speaking in this way; and to do this is at the same time to clarify in some measure our understanding of what such language means. But of course, since it is the language of practical principle, or precept, there can be no full understanding of its meaning without a grasp of its “working value”, of its significance as a clue to the proper directing and assessing of conduct. The second, and briefer, part of the discussion, accordingly, which is reserved for a subsequent article, is devoted to the question of the practical import of the principle of respect, the sort of guidance that it may provide in the actual business of life.