I want to consider some difficulties which I have on rereading the passages on “common properties” or “common features” and “family resemblances” in The Blue Book (p. 17) and in Philosophical Investigations (§65 - §71 ). These passages are not as easy to read as they once were. Wittgenstein tells us that we think, or have a tendency to think, that all the things to which we apply a general word have some property or feature in common, and he tells us that we believe it is because of this common property or feature that we apply the same word to them. In The Blue Book the phrase is “common property”; in Philosophical Investigations it is “common feature.” Wittgenstein may have changed from the word “property” to the word “feature” because the word “property” is obviously too limited in its application. We speak of the properties of mercury or neoprene but not of the properties of barnowls or slatterns. The word “feature” also seems too limited in a way, but he may have chosen this word mainly because it fits his metaphor of family resemblances. I do not think that Wittgenstein wants to impose any special restriction at this point, so I shall use the word “feature” only where it is appropriate, and I shall use the less limiting word “characteristic” where it seems more appropriate than the word “feature.” Thus I assume that Wittgenstein means to examine our tendency to think that a general word is applied to things because those things have some features or features, characteristic or characteristics in common.

At the beginning of Book X of his last work The Laws Plato turns his attention from violent and outrageous actions in general to the particular case of undisciplined and presumptuous behaviour in matters of religion: “We have already stated summarily what the punishment should be for temple-robbing, whether by open force or secretly. But the punishments for the various sorts of insolence in speech or action with regard to the gods, which a man can show in word or deed, have to be proclaimed after we have provided an exordium. Let this be it: ‘No one believing, as the laws prescribe, in the existence of the gods has ever yet performed an impious action willingly, or uttered a lawless word. Anyone acting in such a way is in one of three conditions: either, first, he does not believe the proposition aforesaid; or, second, he believes that though the gods exist they have no concern about men; or, third, he believes that they can easily be won over by the bribery of prayer and sacrifice” (§ 885B).

Let us consider Flew’s main contention, that the onus of proof lies on the theist. The “proof” which is required of the theist involves (a) showing that his concept of God is such that the existence of God is theoretically possible and (b) providing sufficient reasons, though not necessarily a demonstration, to warrant believing that God exists. The “onus” which is on the theist does not preclude the possibility of a theistic proof. It is similar to the “onus” which is on the prosecutor in an English court: it is up to the prosecutor to prove guilt, but such proof is possible. And just as the prosecutor does not have to drop his personal conviction—if he has one—that the defendant is guilty, the theist does not have to drop his own theistic belief. What Flew is asking the theist to do is to accept a procedure. Like the affirmative side in a debate, the theist is asked to concede that if he has not provided grounds for what he affirms, he has lost the debate— whether or not the opposition says anything. If a theist moves, “Resolved that this house affirms the existence of God”, the presumption in the debate is atheistic; the theist has to prove his claim or lose the debate. He is like a prosecutor in a court where the procedural rule is that innocence is presumed; the prosecutor must prove guilt or lose his case. Flew holds that the presumption of atheism is a better procedure than the presumption of theism, where the atheist would affirm, “Resolved that this house affirms the non-existence of God”, and the atheist would have to prove his claim or lose the argument.

Quine and others have put many problems to quantified modal logic. Their purpose is to show the logic to be paradoxical or at least very peculiar. Many of these problems center around the interplay between modality, quantification and identity.

The title of this paper is misleading. I do not intend to defend pacifism against those who would contend that it is false. In point of fact, I agree that pacifism is false, and profoundly so, if any moral belief is. Yet pacifism’s critics sometimes believe it is false for inadequate reasons, and it is important to make the inadequacy of these reasons apparent whenever possible. Otherwise pacifism’s apologists are apt to suppose that they have overcome their critic’s strongest objections, when, in fact, in exposing the inadequacy of the grounds of certain objections, they have succeeded only in meeting the weaker ones. What I intend to defend, then, is not the truth of pacifism, but the very different claim that pacifism is not necessarily false. This objection to pacifism, which, if sound, would silence the debate over its possible merits, and which, therefore, if sound, would be a strong objection indeed, is set forth by Jan Narveson in his paper on pacifism. I hope to show that this objection is unfounded, and I shall, accordingly, direct my argument principally against Narveson’s. And yet it is with a certain degree of reluctance that I do so, since Narveson, himself, suggests that “most people” whose opinion he has solicited would agree with me that pacifism, although false, is not necessarily so. One runs a risk, in such a situation, of pouring old wine into new bottles.

In 385B-C of the Cratylus, Plato appears to be formulating a version of the correspondence theory of truth, in such a way that it applies not only to discourse, but to individual names as well. However commentators who have remarked on this passage, either take exception to the reasoning, or find it necessary to interpret the conclusion with qualifications that Plato never could have intended. Richard Robinson, for example, on p.328 of “A Criticism of Plato’s Cratylus”, sums up the argument thus:

and criticises it for involving a fallacy of division. Lorenz and Mittelstrasse, by contrast, construe the argument as validly proceeding from the true-false distinction of sentences to a corresponding true-false distinction of their parts.

Sometimes in THE CONCEPT OF MIND Gilbert Ryle describes what he is up to in a way which is quite unhelpful. The following passage will serve as an example of what I mean:

I call this passage unhelpful because it commits the fallacy of false alternatives. It would have us think that talk of a person's mind is either (1) talk of a special non-physical repository or else (2) talk of a person's abilities, liabilities, inclinations, etc.—but not both. Yet surely talk of the mind as a non-physical repository might be one way of talking about a person's abilities, liabilities, inclinations, etc.

Perhaps what Ryle should have said is that to speak of the mind as a non-physical repository that houses special, mental objects is a figurative way of putting what could be reported literally in talk of a person’s abilities, liabilities, inclinations, etc. Certainly that is a point Ryle tries to make in his book. Indeed it is a major burden of THE CONCEPT OF MIND to identify and analyze those figures of speech, or tropes, in which mental activities and capacities are commonly reported and described. The idea seems to be that we are misled philosophically by our failure to recognize the tropological character of what we commonly say about the mind and by our naivete as to how the tropes work.

The main aim of this paper is to revive interest among philosophers, and particularly philosophers of religion, in Descartes’ Fourth Meditation. Two recent works on Descartes1 make virtually no mention of it, and this omission seems to reflect a fairly general feeling that it is of relatively little philosophical significance. In philosophy of religion textbooks, the Fifth Meditation is often discussed in connection with the ontological proof, but in sections devoted to the problem of evil, no reference is made to the Fourth. Even in John Hick’s admirable study of the problem,2 Descartes’ contribution is relegated to a single sentence in a single footnote.

In the last two decades, there has been a great deal of interest in providing an intentional criterion of the psychological. Of the various ones proferred, it seems to me that the best was the earliest, which was Chisholm’s initial criterion in his 1955 essay “Sentences about Believing.” In this present paper I first single out a basic misconception pervading the recent literature on intentionality and suggest that a consequence of this misconception has been the futile attempt to use the notion of intentionality to provide a kind of definition of “mind”; that is, to use intentionality to provide a necessary and sufficient condition for the psychological. Secondly, I point out how intentionality as captured by my own criterion is indispensable in that it is an essential property of certain particulars (persons) which are basic to our conceptual scheme and apparently basic to any conceptual scheme whatsoever.

In his recent and suitably provocative book on The Object of Morality G. J. Warnock argues that the fundamental moral concern is with what he sums up as the ‘amelioration of the human predicament’, a predicament which is made even more pressing by the natural limitations of our human sympathies. The distinctively moral virtues, Warnock concludes, will be those dispositions which tend to countervail these natural limitations, especially non-maleficence, fairness, beneficence, and non-deception; and from these fundamental moral virtues we can derive, in turn, four fundamental moral standards or principles. The theory of morality—and it is thank heaven a theory of morality, not of moral language—which I have crudely summarised here seems to me correct as far as it goes, but it also seems to me that Warnock’s concentration on the predicament of the individual human being leads him to ignore what is at least as fundamental, the essentially social and interpersonal aspect of much morality.