In 1983 the Royal Institute of Philosophy organized a conference for teachers of Liberal Studies, designed to help them to develop critical skills in their Sixth Form and Further Education pupils. The announcement said that the conference would ‘explore the competing claims of objectivity and relativism in different areas of inquiry, asking in each case to what extent there are objective ways of assessing competing views’. The event was innocently advertised under the title ‘Critical Thinking’. The innocence was in the intention more than in the effect. One transatlantic visitor, though he expressed himself with New World courtesy, accused the organ-isers of something between bad faith and false pretences. Unknown to Gordon Square, the phrase ‘critical thinking’ had by then (to speak with Old World candour) been hijacked by a new movement and taken out of the main current of its currency, like ‘peace’ and ‘gay’ and ‘anti-Nazi’ before it.

It is a curious thing about the philosophy of mind, that it includes surprisingly little about minds. In an average anthology on the subject, or a book like Ryle's, one finds discussions of thinking, imagining, believing, willing, remembering, and so on, but not of minds. It seems to be assumed that investigating these topics is investigating minds; but whether that is true is not itself made a topic for investigation.

The examples of which he complained were trivial in either or both of two ways. Some were examples of the minor perplexities of life, such as returning library books or annoying the neighbours with one's music; some were examples described only in outline rather than in depth; and some examples were both minor and schematic.

Courage is dangerous. If it is defined in traditional ways, as a set of dispositions to overcome fear, to oppose obstacles, to perform difficult or dangerous actions, its claim to be a virtue is questionable. Unlike the virtue of justice, or a sense of proportion, traditional courage does not itself determine what is to be done, let alone assure that it is worth doing. If we retain the traditional conception of courage and its military connotations–overcoming and combat–we should be suspicious of it. Instead of automatically classifying it as a virtue, attempting to develop and exercise it, we should become alert to its dangers. And yet and yet. There is an aspect of traditional courage that serves us: we require the capacities and traits that enable us to persist in acting well under stress, to endure hardships when following our judgments about what is best is difficult or dangerous. If courage is checked, redefined as the virtue that enables virtue–the various sets of dispositions, whatever they may be, that make us resolute in worthy, difficult action–then we need not fear the dangers of courage. We need rather to reform it by diversifying it, as a heterogeneous variety of traits that enable us to act well under stress, against the natural movements of self-protection.

It is characteristic of realists to separate ontology from epistemology and of idealists to mix the two things up. By ‘idealists’ here I am mainly referring to the British neo-Hegelians (‘objective idealists’) but the charge of mixing up ontology and epistemology can be made against at least one ‘subjective idealist’, namely Bishop Berkeley, as his wellknown dictum ‘esse ispercipi’ testifies. The objective idealists rejected the correspondence theory of truth and on the whole accepted a coherence theory. The qualification is needed here because H. H. Joachim, in The Nature of Truth, found the coherence theory unable to deal with the problem of error.

This paper is a defence of the combination of three theses. First, selfknowledge is a requirement of good lives, but it must include knowledge of our limitations. Second, these limitations are set by certain unavoidable conventions whose observance is another requirement of good lives. Third, Sophocles's Oedipus the King is a moral text of the highest significance, for it contains a profound account of why self-knowledge must include knowledge of unavoidable conventions limiting human aspirations.

(1) For much of this century, moral philosophy has been constrained by the supposed absolute gap between is and ought, and the consequent belief that the facts of life cannot of themselves yield an ethical blueprint for future action. For this reason, ethics has sustained an eerie existence largely apart from science. Its most respected interpreters still believe that reasoning about right and wrong can be successful without a knowledge of the brain, the human organ where all the decisions about right and wrong are made. Ethical premises are typically treated in the manner of mathematical propositions: directives supposedly independent of human evolution, with a claim to ideal, eternal truth.

Very often moral disagreements can be resolved by appealing to (nonmoral) factual considerations because in these cases the parties to the dispute agree as to which factual considerations are relevant. They agree, that is, with respect to their basic moral standards. Hence, when their disagreement about the non-moral facts is resolved, so is their moral disagreement. But sometimes moral disagreement persists in spite of agreement on factual considerations. When this happens, and when neither party is guilty of illogical thinking, we have a case of moral deadlock

We are morally perplexed about nuclear weapons. Popular debate oscillates tediously between an apparently impractical idealism which would have nothing to do with the things, and a military and political realism which insists that we have to use such means to attain our legitimate ends. The choice, it too often seems, is between laying down our nuclear arms–thus avoiding the moral odium of resting our defence policies on threats to vaporize millions of civilians–but leaving ourselves open to domination by those who do not feel such scruples, and on the other hand, retaining such weapons as long as our potential enemies possess them, constantly maintaining parity with the other side–in other words, proceeding with the arms race. The respective proponents of principle and of prudence typically fail to understand how others can possibly neglect the considerations which loom so large in their own minds. Each has at bottom a deeply held ethical view–that certain means (deployment of nuclear weapons) may not be used for any end, or that certain ends (defending our freedom and national sovereignty) are so important that they justify the use of almost any means. The disagreement is so irreconcilable that it spills out from TV studios and newspaper editorial pages on to the streets and the missile bases, and into the courts and the prisons.

Among moral attributes true virtue alone is sublime. … [I]t is only by means of this idea [of virtue] that any judgment as to moral worth or its opposite is possible. … Everything good that is not based on a morally good disposition … is nothing but pretence and glittering misery.1

For a long time theories of history of the speculative sort have been out of favour. Accounts of the whole sweep of human history, like Hegel's, or even of more limited historical cycles, like Spengler's or Toynbee's, have been found much too grand for the workaday historian and have smacked too much of apriorism for post-positivist philosophy. Consequently, few take them seriously or treat them as more than fanciful aberrations which may serve as useful examples of how not to proceed in history or philosophy.