In Word and Object Professor Quine formulated his Principle of Indeterminacy of Translation as follows:

Manuals for translating one language into another can be set up in divergent ways, all compatible with the totality of speech dispositions, yet incompatible with one another. In countless places they will diverge in giving, as their respective translations of a sentence of the one language, sentences of the other language which stand to each other in no plausible sort of equivalence however loose. The firmer the direct links of a sentence with non-verbal stimulation, of course, the less drastically its translations can diverge from one another from manual to manual.

In a famous text Descartes has written this:

Whenever the thought of God's supreme power occurs to me, I cannot help feeling that he might easily, if he so wished, make me go wrong even in what I think I see most clearly with my mind's eye. On the other hand, whenever I turn to the matters themselves which I think I perceive very clearly, I am so convinced by them that I burst out: ‘let who will deceive me, he can never bring it about that I should be nothing at the time of thinking that I am something, nor that it be true that I never existed if it is true that I exist now; nor even that two and three together make more or less than five, or any such thing in which I see manifest contradiction’ (AT VII, 36; HR I, 158–159).

The doctrine of a ‘state of nature’ is at best a metaphor. Nevertheless it enables us to describe with vividness the distinction between those goods which might precede, and those which can only result from, the formation of society. I suspect that the goods which establish our well-being as rational creatures (over and above whatever goods might benefit us as animals) belong exclusively to the latter class, so that a rational creature is necessarily a zōon politikon.

The topic of this paper is one more alluded to than actually studied, both in current philosophy of art and in the theory of criticism. There is a reason for this, which both clarifies the issue and suggests how it is to be approached. To suppose that the person responsible for a work of art has at least something interesting to say about it is only natural, and even commonplace. But granted this, the qualifications to be put on that assumption in individual and particular cases become of much greater interest. The major question would not then be whether or not, in an absolute sense, the artist is in a position to talk definitively about his own work, but rather on what basis or criteria a claim to that effect can be made to rest, and how far it extends in its implications.

The following beliefs can be ascribed to Hume on the basis of his writings:

(1) There is no more to our idea of cause and effect than constant conjunction and a resulting habit of mind.

(2) There is more to it than that, namely the interaction of bodies.

(3) Behind the constant conjunctions, including the interactions of bodies, there are ‘secret’ causes, not knowable by man.

(4) The principle of causality (nothing happens without a cause) is true.

(5) Our belief in the principle arises from experience.

(6) There is no justification for believing in the principle.

It is obvious that there are inconsistencies between these beliefs. (1) is contradicted by (2) and (3), and (3) appears to contradict (2). (4) and (5) are consistent, but (4) cannot be asserted consistently together with (6). There is apparently a contradiction between (5) and (6), although (as often happens when discussing Hume) the question arises whether ‘arising from experience’ is to be regarded as a justification. In the next section I shall offer support for ascribing these beliefs to Hume and in sections III-V I shall try to say why Hume wanted to hold all of them in one way or another and how they fit together in the context of his philosophy. What I shall say will I be broadly in line with Passmore's views about the diversity of Hume's intentions and Kemp Smith's thesis about Hume's primary interest in ethics.

Where a man foresaw that through its consequences his action would violate a law, is he for that reason to be judged responsible for the violation of the law? The principle that such a man is responsible, and thus that foresight is sufficient for responsibility, has long been accepted in both legal and moral theory. But in recent years anxieties about this principle have been expressed by both philosophers and lawyers. What one commonly finds in older books, both legal and ethical, is the thesis that foresight is proof of intention. Given that intention is sufficient for responsibility, this thesis has as consequence the principle that foresight is sufficient for responsibility, but it is only required by that principle if one wants to keep the view that intention is also necessary for responsibility in all cases where negligence is not involved. Miss Anscombe (op. cit., note i) made the extraordinary suggestion that this thesis that foresight is proof of intention originates with Sidgwick, and she took him severely to task on this account; indeed, she even implied that Sidgwick's introduction of this thesis is the source of the shallowness of ‘modern’ moral philosophy. While it is true that Sidgwick did endorse this thesis, in a somewhat qualified manner, he was only following an established tradition of utilitarian thought to which the thesis belongs (not because it is specifically utilitarian in content but because the utilitarians Bentham and Austin were among the first writers to try to articulate clearly the principles of responsibility). Thus this thesis occurs in John Austin's 1828 lectures on Jurisprudence (lecture XIX) and the best early discussion of it is to be found in Bentham's Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (Chs. VIII, IX). Bentham, it is true, introduces a distinction between ‘directly intentional consequences’ and ‘obliquely intentional consequences’ which we might describe as a distinction between consequences that are intended and those that are foreseen but not intended. But for Bentham, foresight is proof of intention, and thus for him obliquely intentional consequences are intended: ‘Advisedness with respect to the circumstances, if clear from the mis-supposal of any preventive circumstance, extends the intentionality from the act to its consequences’ (Ch. IX, 10).

Wittgenstein's Remarks on the Foundations of Mathematics was poorly received by the critics when it was first published, and only a few sympathetic commentators have made much of it since then. The book has not had a great success, because the majority of people interested in the philosophy of mathematics these days have a quite different approach to the subject from Wittgenstein. But not only that, they have a quite different logic from Wittgenstein. I believe one of the main sources of the antipathy felt towards the Remarks lies in the foreignness of the logic Wittgenstein develops there. I hope, in what follows, to make that logic more understandable, and with it the philosophy of mathematics it supports.

‘Every particular Thou is a glimpse through to the eternal Thou; by means of every particular Thou the primary word addresses the eternal Thou … the Thou that by its nature cannot become It.’

The most innovative and important parts of Bertrand Russell's Human Knowledge were the result of his first attempt in three decades to come to grips with the problem of induction, or, more generally, ‘non-demonstrative inference’. My purpose here is to argue that that work constituted giant progress on the problem; if I succeed, something will have been done to restore this work to its proper place in the history of philosophy and, correlatively, to rearrange that history.

If killing another human being is morally wrong on at least some occasions (as it clearly is), what precisely makes it wrong on those occasions? I have framed the question thus to indicate that I shall not be considering the view that killing another human being is always and everywhere morally wrong. I take it as read that there are at least some morally justifiable killings (for instance, in self-defence where no other means of disarming one's attacker is available). Once it is clear what is wrong with killing on some occasions it should become possible to explain why it is not wrong on others. My immediate concern is with the killing of another human being, and with applying my answer to cases of voluntary and non-voluntary euthanasia, but light will be shed on whether and, if so, why it is wrong to kill oneself, to kill unborn human beings, and to kill non-human animals especially those whose life has most in common with the life of human beings.

The following brief memoir of Wittgenstein needs a few preliminary words of explanation. Among those who attended his lectures and discussions in the years it covers was D. G. James, who later became Professor of English at Bristol University and then Vice-Chancellor of Southampton University. I met him both in Bristol and Southampton, and on one occasion suggested to him that some of us who had known Wittgenstein, but who had not become professional philosophers, might write down our recollections of him, and that he and I should start. What prompted the suggestion was, I think, the publication of Norman Malcolm's book, and a feeling that the non-professionals might have something to contribute to the assessment of Wittgenstein, particularly as a person. I wrote a preliminary draft and sent it to James; but he never responded, there was much else to do, I let the matter rest, and now James is dead. I wrote in about the year 1960 (my typescript bears no date) on holiday and away from any books of reference and from my own notes of Wittgenstein's lectures and conversations. I have shown the typescript to a few interested people, but because of its preliminary and unfinished nature have not previously thought of publication. It has recently been suggested to me that it might be of more general interest, and I publish it now as it was written, with one or two trifling alterations. I am well aware of its limitations. It was intended to give an impression of Wittgenstein as a person rather than as a philosopher, and the rather miscellaneous collection of remarks in section 3 have that in view rather than any more strictly ‘philosophical’ intention. Others may well question some of the detail and disagree with some of the opinions expressed. And there are some things which I might put rather differently today. But if the memoir has any interest it is best left as it was written.

If the world were wholly just, the following inductive definition would exhaustively cover the subject of justice in holdings.

1. A person who acquires a holding in accordance with the principle of justice in acquisition is entitled to that holding.

2. A person who acquires a holding in accordance with the principle of justice in transfer, from someone else entitled to the holding, is entitled to the holding.

3. No one is entitled to a holding except by (repeated) applications of i and 2.

The complete principle of distributive justice would say simply that a distribution is just if everyone is entitled to the holdings they possess under the distribution.

In a paper ‘Is it True What They Say About Tarski?’, Dr Susan Haack explicitly denies the truth of an implicit assertion of mine, by writing ‘… Tarski does not present his theory as a correspondence theory’. My reply is to quote two brief passages from Tarski's work.

In his article, ‘Milgram's Shocking Experiments’, in Philosophy 52 (1977), Professor Steven C. Patten rejects Milgram's evidence for a Hobbesian view of human nature on three grounds: that the claim that a large number of the subjects in the experiments were not deceived is not convincing, that there is a conceptual conflation by Milgram of two senses of obedience, and that a proper understanding of kinds of authority will explain in an acceptable way the behaviour of most of the small number of subjects who might remain to support Milgram's conclusions. Patten's arguments in support of all three grounds are unsatisfactory.

An attempt to vindicate Retributivism as a moral theory has been made by Professor Winch in the context of a discussion of punishment and reward as non-institutional concepts. His method is to divorce the concepts from the institutions of punishment and reward by considering them as they feature in the recipient's consciousness. It is in the area of the agent's awareness of his relation to his past actions that Retributivism can be made to flourish again and its moral content revealed. I am in sympathy with Winch's attempt to reinstate the theory but, whatever the strengths of his position, there seem to be insuperable difficulties for the approach that takes the recipient's state of mind as having priority over the institutions. I shall examine Winch's argument in order to show that the Utilitarian theory cannot be so easily jettisoned and that the truth would seem to lie in a compatibilism between the two.