Heidegger says concerning the question of the possibility of a proof of the existence of an external world that ‘the “scandal of philosophy” (Kant's words) is not that this proof has yet to be given, but that such proofs are expected and attempted again and again’. Heidegger thinks this because our being (Dasein) is in the world, and this is something which Descartes for one failed to appreciate. I am not concerned here to answer the question whether Heidegger's own views on these matters will do, though I think that they will not. Indeed they might well be said to beg the question at issue, in that Heidegger starts from the presumption that we are actually in the world, even if we are not in it in the way in which the tree in the garden is (and does not this last point make a great difference to the situation?). Another way of reacting to Heidegger would be to say that he does not treat the fact and force of scepticism seriously enough when he makes that presumption. After all, it is possible for us to raise sceptical doubts about the existence of a world apart from ourselves, while it is not possible for the tree in the garden to act similarly. Hence, even if we make the presumption that we are in the world, as Heidegger insists, we are in it in a way that leaves untouched the possibility of sceptical doubts about what that world and our being in it are like. It might, logically, be the case, for example, that the world consists of just me and that my being in the world is no more than for me just to exist. In other words, my being in the world does not directly entail that there exists a world apart from me.

The phenomena of perception have been used by philosophers to kindle and fuel doubts about the reality of ‘the external world’, a phrase which points roughly in the direction of our natural environment. After grappling with problems, which trade under this title, one often discovers that the issues have less to do with the reality of anything which might be called ‘the external world’ and more to do with the reality of the problems themselves. In this paper I propose to examine three approaches to what might deserve to be labelled, ‘problems about theexternal world’.

The thought that it might be possible to develop a method of scientific discovery, a procedure of investigation and reasoning which, so long as its principles were studiously followed, would be guaranteed to result in scientific knowledge, has long been recognized to be a mere philosophers' dream, with no more possibility of fulfilment than the alchemists' dream of producing a philosophers' stone which would turn base metals into gold. Yet it remains the case that the authority of science (the deference given to scientific experts, the credence given to their theories) rests on claims made on behalf of its methods; they are regarded as somehow superior to, or more reliable than, any other means of acquiring beliefs about the world around us. To say that there is no scientific evidence that any of the food additives currently permitted in Britain have any harmful effects is a way of dismissing as groundless and irrational the fears of those who think that such additives do have harmful effects. Whereas to say that it is scientifically established that smoking causes lung cancer is a way of saying that this is something a smoker ought to worry about.

The claim of this paper is that only by adopting an approach to the analysis of theorizing based on the highlighting of analogy relations, that is on an analysis of the content of theories, can a defensible form of realism be found.

I expect every reader knows the hackneyed old joke: ‘What is matter? Never mind. What is mind? No matter.’ Antique as this joke is, it none the less points to an interesting question. For the so-called mind–body dichotomy, which has been raised to almost canonical status in post-Cartesian philosophy, is not in fact at all easy to draw or to defend. This of course means that ‘the mind–body problem’ is difficult both to describe and to solve—or rather, as I would prefer, to dissolve.

As a rule we treat people as responsible for what they do. We admonish them if they behave badly, praise them if they do well. We punish people. And we reward them.

There are exceptions, of course. For example, we do not punish someone for doing something he has been compelled to do, perhaps by having a gun in his back. And we even recognize such a thing as psychological compulsion, as in the case of kleptomania.

Professor Vesey poses the following question:

…philosophers talk of ‘free will’ with a view to justifying our engaging in the practice of treating people as responsible for what they do. But why do we feel the need for a justification? It is because they want, also, to engage in the practice of looking for (motor) causes of everything that happens, and feel that the two practices are somehow incompatible? If so, then it is very paradoxical that they should turn to Descartes, and his theory of willing. Descartes' answer to the question ‘What does a person do immediately?’, namely ‘He performs an act of will’, has what I call ‘the incompatibility feature’, whereas Aristotle's answer has not. Why are they not content to say, with Aristotle, that the two practices are compatible, and hence there is no need for a justification?

Arguments move from premises to conclusions. The premises state things taken temporally for granted; if the argument works, the premises provide grounds for affirming the conclusion. A valid deductive argument is one in which the premises necessitate, that is, entail, the conclusion. (It would involve a self-contradiction to assert the premises but deny the conclusion.) What I shall call a ‘correct’ inductive argument is one in which the premises in some degree probabilify the conclusion, but do not necessitate it. More precisely, in what I shall call a correct P-inductive argument the premises make the conclusion probable (i.e. more probable than not); in what I shall call a correct C-inductive argument, the premises add to the probability of the conclusion (i.e. confirm it, make it more probable than it was; but do not necessarily make it overall probable). Arguments only show their conclusions to be true if they start from true premises; arguments of the above types which work (i.e. are valid or correct) and do start from such premises I will call sound arguments. Arguments are only of use to show to an individual that the conclusion is true if he already knows the premises to be true. Most of what I shall have to say today concerns arguments with respect to which there is no doubt that the premises are true.

In the previous lecture Professor Swinburne discussed arguments for the existence of God. I do not propose to put forward arguments for the non-existence of God, precisely. Rather I want to discuss the view that the whole enterprise of putting forward arguments for the existence of God is misguided. Moreover, I hold that it distorts the nature of religious belief. This in turn raises the question of the rationality of religious belief. A belief that cannot be based on argument, however broadly understood, does not seem to be a rational belief. Is religious belief, therefore, irrational, contrary to reason? We shall see. This, at least, is my programme.

A person's values are what that person regards as or thinks important; a society's values are what that society regards as important. A society's values are expressed in laws and legislatively enacted policies, in its mores, social habits, and positive morality. Any body's values—an individual person's or a society's—are subject to change, and in our time especially. An individual manifests his or her values in expressions of approval or disapproval, of admiration or disdain, by seeking or avoidance behaviour, and by his or her characteristic activities. What one values one seeks for or tries to maintain. Sometimes attaining it leads to unexpected enlightenment—that isn't what one wanted after all. But a person's values are discovered most significantly in a reflective way by becoming aware of what one is willing to give up to attain or maintain one's values. This is the price one is willing to pay for it, and values are occasionally, and in the money and stock markets always, expressed in terms of price. This can be significant or it can be misleading; it depends on how it is interpreted. Not everything has a monetary equivalent, despite the attempts of the law to provide recovery for damages in monetary terms, and despite the cynical maxim, ‘Everyone has his price’.

When opinion polls are conducted on some urgent matter of the day (the character of Colonel Qaddafi, or the compatibility of some soon-to-be-married royal couple) those polled are permitted to declare themselves ‘Don't Knows’. It is usually a minority who are so ill-disposed as to forget their civic duty to have an opinion on each and every subject, and they can usually expect to be rebuked as fence-sitters or slugabeds. People confronted by the demand that they take sides can generally produce a ‘view’ which they maintain against all-comers without the slightest attempt to seek out confirmation or counter-evidence. Sometimes, no doubt, this view ‘bubbles up’ from the speaker's entrenched evaluations and opinions; sometimes it has simply been selected, off the cuff, from the available alternatives and entered in the speaker's ‘axiom set’, the things she'll say when asked, or which she may even ‘act on’ in some more material way—without any implication that the alternative opinion would not once have done as well.

Despite the emphasis on the state in the history of political philosophy, the twentieth century has been characterized by a remarkable lack of philosophical reflection on the concept. Until recently analytical philosophy had eschewed those evaluative arguments about political obligation and the limits of state authority that were typical of political theory in the past in favour of the explication of the meaning of the concept. However, even here the results have been disappointing. Logical Positivist attempts to locate some unique empirical phenomenon which the word state described proved unsuccessful, and indeed led to the odd conclusion that there was nothing about the state that distinguished it from some other social institutions. For example, its coercive power was said to be not unique: in some circumstances trade unions and Churches exercised similar power over their members. Ordinary language philosophers were far more interested in the complexities that surround words such as law, authority and power than in the state. In all this there was perhaps the fear that to concentrate attention on the state was implicitly to give credence to the discredited doctrine that it stood for some metaphysical entity; propositions about which could not be translated into propositions about the actions of individuals, and which represented higher values than those of ordinary human agents.

My discussion in this lecture is structured as follows. In section 1 I consider the nature of philosophical enquiry and its affinity to liberalism. In section 2 I lay out some of the basic components of liberal theory and explore their interrelations. In section 3 I discuss two challenges to liberalism: one concerning the conception of liberty which it involves and one concerning the way in which it introduces the idea of legitimate political authority. In section 4 I suggest that these problems, to do with the values of liberalism, arise on the basis of a prior conception of individuals which is in need of modification. In a brief concluding section 5 I indicate the need for a post-liberal political theory.