In his little book on D.H.Lawrence Frank Kermode says that Lawrence's novels do not have a design on us. There are, to be sure, dogmas in them, the dogmas of Lawrence's treatises and letters; but, says Kermode, in the novels the ideas are made to submit to life. Lawrence himself said that the novel is the highest form of human experience precisely because the novel is ‘so incapable of the absolute... in a novel there is always a tom-cat, a black tom-cat which pounces on the white dove of the Word’.

Iris Murdoch, philosopher and novelist, said this (in a novel): ‘If a truth is complicated, you have to be an artist not to utter it as a lie’.

There is certainly a strong feeling against the use of drugs in sport, even though many sportsmen and women use them and many more undoubtedly would if they thought they could get away with it. In face of what actually goes on in far too many locker rooms, the efforts of sports authorities to stem the use of drugs can seem futile as well as all too often petty and misguided in practice.

A great deal is made by commentators of educational decline in the modern world, and a similar amount of effort is expended by those running the educational system to show that there has really been no decline. It is not our intention to take up a position on either side of this dispute, but rather to draw attention to one fact which is incontrovertible. It is the decline of classical learning in our schools.

This paper effectively inverts the argument of an earlier paper of mine, “The Particularisation of Attributes”, to argue that there are no necessarily particularised and unshareable attributes of the sort that contemporary metaphysics calls tropes. In that earlier paper I distinguished two kinds of attributes, namely, properties and qualities, and argued that if there were tropes they could only be particularised qualities, i.e. particularisations of, say, redness, rather than particularisations of, say, being red. While continuing to hold that there cannot be particularised properties—that the very notion is oxymoronic—I now hold, further, that the supposition of qualities (that is, abstract stuffs) in addition to properties (that is, conditions or ways of being) is both ontologically extravagant and conceptually outlandish. Hence there are no qualities, and thus no tropes either.

‘What is philosophy?’ is a question that every professional philosopher must ask themself sometimes. In a sense, of course, they know: they spend much time doing it. But in another sense, the answer to the question is not at all obvious. In the same way, any person knows by acquaintance what breathing is; but this does not mean that they know the nature of breathing: its mechanism and function. The nature of breathing, in this sense, is now well understood; the nature of philosophy, by contrast, is still very much an open question. One of the reasons this is so is that the nature of philosophy is itself a philosophical question, so uncontentious answers are not to be expected—if philosophers ever ceased disagreeing with one another our profession would be done for. (More of this anon.) Moreover, it is a hard philosophical question. Many great philosophers, including Plato, Hegel, and others, have suggested answers to it. But their answers would now be given little credence. In the thirty or so years that I have been doing philosophy there have been two views about the nature of philosophy which have had wide acceptance. These are the views of the later Wittgenstein and of Derrida. In the first two parts of this paper I will describe these views and explain why I find them unsatisfactory. I will then go on, in the final part of paper, to outline a view that inspires more confidence in me.

To understand death, you need to compare mortality with immortality. I am here to help. In addition to my personal testimony, I present highlights from a survey of immortal species and a survey of infinitistic varieties of mortality. These field studies rebut Fredrich Nietzsche’s thesis that immortality is inevitably repetitious, Bernard Williams’ allegation that immortality is inevitably boring, and Epicurus’ thesis that death cannot be bad for you. On the positive side, the study shows that the main difference between immortality and mortality are quantitative. Attention is also given to some striking qualitative differences.

An analysis of the doctrine of the sanctity of life, and a defence of that doctrine against some trends in current ‘bioethics’, particularly as exemplified in Jeff McMahan's book ‘The Ethics of Killing’.

Governments and international bodies continue to praise the family for its service to the good of individuals and of society. Among its important contributions are the rearing of children and the care of the elderly. So far as the former is concerned, however, the family is subject to increasing criticism and suggestions are made for further state intervention, particularly in the area of education. In response to this challenge I consider the natural operation of the family in relation to the development of children, and examine the implications of this for the role of the state in promoting, protecting or interfering with family life. Relating this to the issue of autonomy I argue that the sort of liberalism that lies behind the increasing criticism of parental authority is unable to find a place for the common good of family because of its commitment to neutrality between life-shaping values. I conclude that the best advice that philosophers might offer to policy makers is to make it possible for families to flourish in the ways they themselves recognise to be best.

Matthew Arnold, writing sadly of the receding Sea of Faith, gave his image a vast and deadly application —

… The world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain—

(emphasis mine)

This article argues for a distinction between reticence and lying on the basis of what Kant says about reticence in his correspondence with Maria von Herbert and in his other ethical writings, and defends this distinction against the objections of Rae Langton (‘Duty and Desolation’, Philosophy 67, No. 262 (October 1992), 481–505). Lying is necessarily deceptive, whereas reticence is not necessarily deceptive. Allowing another person to remain ignorant of some matter is a form of reticence that is not deceptive. This form of reticence may be ethically permissible.

The argument presented on behalf of ‘the slightest philosophy’ by Hume that ‘The table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther from it: But the real table, which exists independent of us, suffers no alteration’, in contrasting the seen with the real table requires the first relative clause to be defining; but the possibility of identifying tables independently of being seen requires the clause to be non-defining. John P. Wright's objection to Reid's rejoinder is rebutted. A similarly worded argument in Alciphron avoids confusion since Berkeley denies that things like tables can be said in any unqualified sense to be seen.

Wittgenstein made numerous pronouncements about philosophical method. But did he practice what he preached? Cook addresses this question by studying Wittgenstein’s treatment of the problem of other minds, tracing a line of argument that runs through his writings and lectures from the early 1930s to the 1950s. Cook finds that there is an inconsistency between Wittgenstein’s methodological advice and his actual practice. Instead of bringing words back from their metaphysical to their everyday use, he allows himself to use uncritically words whose provenance is clearly metaphysical.

Naturalism, it has been said, is the distinctive development in philosophy over the last thirty years. There has been a naturalistic turn away from the a priori methods of traditional philosophy to a conception of philosophy as continuous with natural science. The doctrine has been extensively discussed and has won considerable following in the USA. This is, on the whole, not true of Britain and continental Europe, where the pragmatist tradition never took root, and the temptations of scientism in philosophy were less alluring.

Sacred music expresses and evokes emotional attitudes of distinctive kinds. Even people who are irreligious in their beliefs can find themselves moved by it in these ways. It has been suggested that for an unbeliever to cherish the experience of sacred music may actually constitute a form of sentimentality. This paper considers just what the appeal of this sort of music is, to believers as well as to unbelievers. There are non-religious musical works that have similar emotional content Everyday life prevents many important emotions from being experienced as consummately as they could be. Art can allow this to happen, can be a vehicle for emotion of the last instance. Indeed, a religious belief system is in part a similar vehicle. In art, where there is no gesture at belief, the risk of sentimentality is, if anything, less.

Aristotelian virtue ethics is often charged with counseling a self-centred approach to the moral life. Reviewing some influential responses made by defenders of virtue ethics, I argue that none of them goes far enough. I begin my own response by evaluating two common targets of the objection, Aristotle and Aquinas, and based on my findings sketch the outlines of a clearly non-self-centred version of virtue ethics, according to which the ‘center’ is instead located in the agent’s right relation to others and ultimately to the Good. I conclude that while some species of virtue ethics may be self-centred, the objection cannot be used to indict the whole genus.

The paper presents goodness and truth as analogous formal concepts. I first argue that saying something is true of something and saying it is false of it are basic ways of speaking truly or falsely. I then consider thinking a property a good one for something to acquire and thinking it a bad, equate this with having something as a positive or negative objective, an object of desire or aversion, and argue that these are basic ways of thinking rightly or wrongly. Finally I discuss the notions of a way of speaking or thinking, making special reference to Frege’s ‘Negation’ and ‘The Thought.’

I consider the argument, thought to clinch the moral case for use of a human embryo solely as a means, that (i) only a human individual can be a person, (ii) because it can happen at any time before formation of the primitive streak that an embryo splits into monozygotic twins, no embryo in which the primitive streak has not formed is a human individual, and therefore (iii) no embryo in which the primitive streak has not formed is a person. I explore the following proffered arguments for (ii): (a) indivisibility is a necessary condition of individuality, (b) nonidentity of an embryo with successor twins impugns the embryo’s individuality, and (c) totipotency of an embryo’s constituents is inconsistent with the embryo’s being a human individual. These arguments are tested and found wanting; so too is an alternative to (a), the argument that indivisibility is intrinsic to personhood. Whereupon (ii) is unsustained. In search of ways to rehabilitate the nonindividuation argument, I canvass alternative metaphysical views and inquire further into biological individuality, but find that the argument cannot be saved. I conclude by analyzing where this leaves matters concerning the morality of embryo use.

Following observations of Aristotle, Kant, Newton, Leibniz and Einstein (on space), we can devise a means of showing how the ontology of time supports the precedes-succeeds logic, which the temporal series shares with those of space and number, and how the past-present-future account is consistent with that.Time, by a relativist, not absolutist, account, turns out to be the existence and nonexistence of exactly the same thing in exactly the same respect.Both A and not-A can be the case, but not at the same time.On the relativist view their both being the case constitutes time.This turns out to be, in the most general sense, a causal theory of time.

More than twenty years ago the late Bernard Williams published a paper under the oxymoronic title of ‘Moral Luck’, which claimed that chance shapes moral standing, and that moral standing, like social or professional standing, has its winners and losers, successes and failures. Williams’ final book, Truth and Truthfulness: An Essay in Genealogy, offered as a ‘fiction’ a sociobiological genealogy of moral standing, and worked to free some of the virtues associated with it—such as integrity, Accuracy, and Sincerity—from the taint of these presumed primitive origins. Whatever the proceeds of this exercise in saving reductionism from itself, it seemed that ‘moral luck’—the earlier category—had come through it essentially undamaged.