Thomas Nagel has held that transcendence requires attaining a point of view stripped of features unique to our perspective. The aim of transcendence on this view is to get at reality as it is, independent of our contributions to it. I show this notion of transcendence to be incoherent, yet defend a contrasting notion of transcendence. As conceived here, transcendence does not require striving for an external, objective viewpoint on nature or looking at matters from someone else's or an impartial point of view. On my view, which builds on the work of Iris Murdoch, transcendence consists of a refinement of our concepts and sensibility to make them more adequate to the individuals we encounter.

The little boy who announced to a shocked court that the emperor was dressed in nothing but his birthday suit was no mean philosopher in the Wittgensteinian mode. Immune from bewitchment by language he followed blindly, figuratively speaking, the rule of ‘look and see’; any explanation being superfluous since everything lay exposed to view, he described what he saw in everyday words stripped of metaphysical gloss and used in a language-game they could happily call home. Such impeccable philosophical credentials and his fearless pursuit of the truth encourage me to follow his example, though I feel a certain trepidation at the enormity of what I am about to suggest: To my ingenuous gaze the body corporate of Wittgensteinian scholarship displays some startlingly naughty bits that really ought to be decently covered.

Mill's considered conception of happiness is as much stoic as hedonistic, actually more so, despite what he says in a number of places in Utilitarianism, and his considered conception of the workings of the principle of utility is pragmatic, in a sense developed years later by John Dewey. In this conception, it is a working principle, not for testing the rightness or wrongness of actions from the point of view of an uninvolved spectator, but for bringing about the sweeping changes in society that it actually requires. Mill's Utilitarianism is often cluttered up with attempts to defend the version of hedonistic utilitarianism he inherited from his father and Bentham. But it is not important whether Mill is consistent with traditional hedonism. He has much to say that is true and enlightening—this is what is important.

The phrase, ‘political obligation’, is far more popular in English than in other European languages. Whether this may be due to historical circumstances, or to a peculiar bent of the English mind, is a fascinating question; but it is not the one which I propose to discuss here today. I am mentioning it only to explain the choice of my subject, a subject which would probably sound rather uncommon to an Italian audience, but which, I am sure, has a familiar ring to English ears. My subject, I would like to emphasise, is the nature of political obligation; my approach will be analytical rather than historical; and indeed, let me say at once that this lecture is a kind of examen de conscience in which I am myself involved, since I feel personally responsible for having introduced the phrase into my own native language, and for having used it during a life-time as if its meaning were self-evident, without ever raising the questions which I want to raise today.

Consciousness and its relation to the unconscious mind have long been debated in philosophy. I develop the thesis that consciousness and its contents reflect the highest elaboration of a set of abilities to respond to the environment realized in more primitive organisms and brain circuits. The contents of the states lesser than consciousness are, however, intrinsically dubious and indeterminate as it is the role of the discursive skills we use to construct conscious contents that lends articulation and clarity to the mental acts which cumulatively make up our mental lives. I lay out a tripartite structure for the formation of mind in which the ongoing interaction between brain and world, the formative effect of socio-cultural context and the self production of a relatively coherent narrative all play an important part in making a mind. The latter two influences clearly transcend biological science and suggest that human minds have features which broadly align with certain Freudian insights but do not support the reification of the causally structured unconscious that Freud envisaged.

In Charles Renouvier we have one of the lone, stern, and indefatigable workers in philosophy in the nineteenth century. His powerful mind, moral earnestness, and intellectual vigour command respect and attention and place him high in the ranks of the philosophical thinkers of his century. He differed profoundly from his English contemporary Spencer and his German contemporary Lotze, both of whom have received more attention than Renouvier. His long and immensely active life fell into periods which coincide with, and partly reflect, the political and intellectual fortunes of his country from the Battle of Waterloo, through the Revolution of 1830, the Second Republic of 1848, the Second Empire, the War and the Commune of 1871, into the Third Republic, with its Dreyfus struggles and its Educational and Disestablishment problems in the early years of the present century.

1. The appearance of Islam upon the stage of international politics hasbeen greeted by some commentators as a return to the Middle Ages. Preciselywhat they mean by this is not very clear, to themselves no less than their readers perhaps. In part, no doubt, they refer to the kinds of punishment Islamic law requires, which have a brutality associated in the common mind with medieval Europe. In part too there is the feeling that the phenomena of religion in politics, inquisitions, holy wars, government by clergy, are things of the past and that the undesirability of theocracy is a question long since settled.

To be truly provocative and outrageous the superior philosophical sophistry will commonly possess four somewhat adventitious features. I shall rate it as classic if it has all four. First, and least adventitiously, the argument will be crisp and initially seductive. Second, by the standard the sophistry sets direct rebuttal will be laborious and diffuse. Third, the recipe for the latter will prescribe that we pick out some hitherto unarticulated logical principle (e.g. ‘Existence is not a real predicate’) such that if the principle be true then the sophistical argument must be invalid, and then, on the strength of that consequence assume the principle to be true. Consequently and fourth, as an antidote parody is supreme. With a persuasive absence of fuss and bias we can turn the tables if we show that, if the sophistical argument were really valid, then some structurally similar argument would prove just as consummately far too much. In short, from the rhetorical point of view at least, Gaunilo is more lethal than Kant. Even if the similarity is defective, the sophist will lose some of his adventitious and insufferable poise, if he ventures to show why.

Agents have aims. Any aim can be either simple or complex. If an aim is complex, then its different components make irreducibly different demands on the agent. The agent cannot rationally respond to all these demands by promoting all her different component aims at once. She must recognise a distinction between the rational response to any component aim of promoting it, and the rational response of respecting it.

If the goods are incommensurable, then rational agents have complex aims.

So if the goods are incommensurable, rational agents do not only promote whatever aims they recognise.

But consequentialism tells agents only to promote whatever aims they recognise.

So if the goods are incommensurable, consequentialism is wrong.

I note applications of this argument to the writings of Robert Nozick, Philip Pettit, and John Harris.

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.

The Purpose of this paper is to ask how far Locke can be said to have anticipated modern theories of number, particularly the intuitionist theory of Brouwer and Heyting. It has in mind Mr Edward E. Dawson's statement that Locke's account of number was not merely ‘a good effort in his own day’ but that ‘what Locke had to say really was quite fundamental, and a good deal of modern mathematics assumes his position, either explicitly or implicitly’. Mr Dawson thinks that some of the central notions of the intuitionist theory are already present in the Essay Concerning Human Understanding, II, xvi, ‘Of Number’. We should like to examine the view.

The idea that cybernetics can throw light on problems connected with thinking and learning is now a familiar one. Psychologists who are concerned with these problems often make use of cybernetic analogies, and some cyberneticians claim that their science provides an answer to philosophical problems about the nature of thought. On this last topic a great deal has been written recently; but it is comparatively seldom that it is suggested that cybernetics can be applied to problems of aesthetics. On the face of it, the mere idea of such an application might well seem absurd. Cybernetics, it will be said, is by definition the study of certain types of machines, and what light can possibly be thrown by such a study on questions which concern the nature of art? But even the strangest-sounding questions can prove enlightening, and in a recent broadcast talk Dr. F. H.George thought it worth while to ask whether a machine could create a work of art. This paper isdevoted to the development, and criticism, of some of the points which he made.

Wittgenstein's Private Language Argument has had an extraordinary influence, but examination reveals it to be nothing but multi-layered confusion. Section 1 argues that it is quite unclear what exactly Wittgenstein took to be his target, but one approach clearly leads to an infinite regress. Section 2 argues that his comments on the ‘private object’ commit him to the rejection of the principle ‘like cause, like effect’, with disastrous results, and to the absurdity that, although I may be woefully inept in identifying my sensations, the relation between the private object and the public world miraculously changes in such a way that this ineptitude is never discovered. Section 3 argues that Wittgenstein has nothing remotely acceptable to say about what it is to speak of sensations. Sections 4 and 5 argue that Wittgenstein's rejection of the notion of privileged access means that he cannot distinguish between genuine manifestations of consciousness and agency and mere mechanical or computerised happenings (‘mind the gap’; ‘doors closing’), a distinction which ultimately rests on the primacy of the first-person perspective.

Dear ‘Time Machine’ Research Group; if in order to travel to the past one has to have been there already, and if one can only do what has already been done, then why build a time machine in the first place? À quoi bon l'effort?

Biological theories about the nature and origin of ethics are important, j both because they may be largely true, and because distorted versions are sometimes effective in moulding people's ethical beliefs in curious i ways. The pernicious effects (real and supposed) which sometimes follow the application of biology to ethics stem from an assortment of misinterpretations, while, correctly interpreted, even the most extreme biological determinism need not be supposed to diminish the worth of conscious individuals, nor be incompatible with genuinely ethical behaviour.

Epicurus, though popularly and indeed nominally associated with a doctrine advocating the procurement of rather expensive pleasure, lived very simply in his garden with a circle of friends. The 14th of his Sovran Maxims or Cardinal Tenets (kuriai doxai), as collected by Diogenes Laertius, reads: ‘When tolerable security against our fellowmen is attained, then on a basis of power sufficient to afford support and of material prosperity arises in most genuine form the security of a quiet private life withdrawn from the multitude’ R. D. Hicks, the translator, gives, as an alternative to ‘power sufficient to afford support’, ‘power to expel’, but on either reading, we are to think of Epicurus's garden, both the real place and the conceptualized, or tropologized, topos of wisdom and earthly felicity, as enclosed and exclusive. This enclosure, exclusivity, and—what is also implied—abstention of its inmates from participation in the affairs of state are given apophthegmatic expression in ‘Live hidden!’ We contemplate this adage, or slogan, from an enormous cultural distance and, for most of us, ‘Live hidden!’ is much more likely to trigger secondary reflections about the relations between ethics and politics, private and public, perfection of self and improvement of the world, than it is to constitute an actual, or potential, piece of advice we might think about whether, and how, to follow.

That European and American philosophy at the opening of the twentieth century should have been sharply controversial was not an accident of politics, any more than it was accidental that persecutions and inquisitions should have attended the history of Christianity. The jealous God of Christianity was by definition an only god whose claims implies the rejection or subordination of every other god. Those who were not exclusively with him were counted against him. “ Christian “ and “ anti-Christian “ constituted a complete disjunction. Similarly, the effect of the philosophy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was to define sharp and conflicting antitheses. Its gods were jealous gods. Differences were irreconcilable oppositions, which could be overcome only through the conquest of one by another, or through their joint abdication in favour of a third party. But there are many signs of a changed temper of mind. The most recent philosophy seeks to escape such hostilities by avoiding the initial antitheses, or by bringing to light original communities and identities which have been lost sight of in the excessive sharpening of distinctions.