IN L'Homme machine La Mettrie at one point discusses the possibility of teaching an ape to speak, and later he suggests that just as the inventor Vaucanson had made a mechanical flute player and a mechanical duck, it might be possible some day for ‘another Prometheus’ to make a mechanical man which could talk.

If he had not been discouraged by the opposition of the farmers, Mein Herr could surely have done better still. He could have made his map into a relief map, with mountains and valleys represented on the scale of one foot to the foot; he could have represented every blade of grass and every pool of water, every pillar box and every fence, every mouse and every man, by a full-scale model in the appropriate and authentic materials. And all the models could have been working models, programmed to represent exactly every waterfall and every thunderstorm, every birth, marriage anddeath, every renaissance and every reformation. If he had done all this the country would not simply do nearly as well, but just as well as the map. He could throw the country away, and still have the country. He could throw the map away, and still have all that he needed, unless for some reason he wanted to have two copies of his map.

Critics of the notion of Necessary Being, and critics of arguments for the existence of God, have often claimed to find flaws in the notion or the arguments, and to find flaws that are due to the presence of concealed tautologies. No theist who recalls the unfortunate ‘proof’ of St Anselm and its rejection by St Thomas would dare to claim, his hand on his heart, that tautology has never lurked like a serpent in the garden of natural theology. But the ways in which tautology and talk about God come together on occasion may or may not undermine natural theology in general. I for one am loath to abandon arguments for the existence of God, or give up talk of Necessary Being, since, unlike Professor Findlay, I am unwilling to reverence, much less to worship, a focus imaginarius and I want a real God, or none at all. One of the questions is, of course: does the religious believer want a God who must be too real to be real at all? Another question is: if one can sensibly talk of a God so real as to be Necessary, are there grounds for saying that this possible Necessary Being exists? Between them these questions cover a great part, though by no means all, of the ground of modern discussions on the matter of God.

Has a moral agent really done his duty when he has done what he wronglybelieves to be his duty? Is it right to act in accord with one's beliefs, even when they are mistaken? Or are we always obliged to perform that act which is objectively obligatory? In some such ways as these the problem as to whether one's ‘objective duty’ or one's ‘subjective duty’ is one's real duty has been posed. It might be argued that the objective view is plainly right and that there appears to be a problem only because moral language is here being misused; that the problem is seen to be no problem once we accurately and fully describe acts based on erroneous beliefs. But this is like arguing that there is no problem as to whether the killing of innocent persons is intrinsically wrong, since we can describe each act involving killing in a long-hand way which circumvents the problem concerning the principle.

My chief purpose in this paper is to direct attention towards a problem which has received little attention from philosophers, but which I think has a greater claim to importance than any other problem that would naturally arise from a consideration of robots and cybernetic machines: both because it seems of greater intrinsic philosophical interest, and because it represents more nearly than any other problem the kind of worry that afflicts ordinary people. This problem may be roughly formulated in the question ‘What can men do that machines can't ?’

The fact of evil has worried theists for a long time. The earliest clear statement of this worry is perhaps to be found in the book of Habbakuk: ‘Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity: wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he?’ (i, 13). More precisely formulated, it comes to this: if God is good and omnipotent, why evil ? From his goodness it would follow necessarily that he does not will evil and from his omnipotence that he could prevent it; why then should it occur? Theists have attempted to escape from this dilemma by means of an argument which turns on the claim that human beings are, to some degree at any rate, free to choose and act as they will. They are free to do good or evil; frequently they choose the latter and that is why evils, or at least many of them, occur. This human freedom, however, is a necessary condition of personality and, as such, a great good; so it is perfectly consistent with the goodness of God that he should will it. But what of his omnipotence? The point of the argument is that God has to allow those evils which result from men making evil choices, and this certainlylooks, at first blush, like a limitation of his power. But, we are assured,it is not really a limitation because all it amounts to is that God cannot do the logically impossible, viz., make beings who, at one and the same time, are both free to do what they will and pre-determined to do good.To deny that God can do the logically impossible, of course, is not to den his omnipotence; it is merely to point out that there are some things which it would not make sense to say that he had done.

A Great deal of contemporary French philosophy is phenomenology. Phenomenology, roughly speaking, rejects the positivistic view of objective reality, and puts forward an ‘intentional’ reality, brought about tosome extent by our own purposes, individual and collective. Merleau-Ponty starts from the phenomenological position, and assigns to objective thinkingits origin and place within phenomenological thinking. My references will be almost exclusively to the Phenomenology of Perception, which is really a phenomenology of consciousness, starting from the problem of perception. Perception, according to Merleau-Ponty, is one way of ‘being conscious’, which is not essentially different from any other way of being conscious.

An Important distinction between statements of fact and statements of value is widely recognised. Some philosophers are now saying that the distinction has been treated as more determinate than it is, but most philosophers would agree that the distinction is definite and important. The major contributions to Anglo-Saxon moral philosophy of this century have set out to illuminate the nature of this distinction. Ethical statements have been thevalue statements mainly at issue, but on the whole the aim has not been to show wherein they differ from other value statements, but to show what distinguishes them in common with other value statements from factual statements. The characterisations of ethical statements which have become famous areones which if they apply to ethical statements at all apply equally to many(or all) other value statements as well.

The concept of moral responsibility has many applications. We speak, for example, of a person's responsibilities, and mean his professional or domestic commitments. In this sense a person can be said to have too many responsibilities, or none at all, and he can be said to be responsible to or for another person. Again, we can speak of the person himself as being responsible or irresponsible, and mean that he is conscientious and trustworthy in the performance of his duties or that he has a sense of responsibility. Finally, we can speak of a person as accepting responsibility for an action or another person. A thorough analysis of these complexities of usage would require the investigation of a number of background concepts, but in this paper I have the more limited object of classifying some of the usages. I propose to do this by constructing three analytical models based on the concept of a social role.

Positivists have always objected to people talking about God.

Their objection rests on quite general logical grounds. They have discovered a simple, formal test by which to tell significant remarks from nonsensical collections of words. There must, they say, be some minimal conditions of intelligibility. From these we can construct a Principle of Meaning. Now religiousremarks, on any positivist Principle, are demonstrable nonsense.

What are these conditions of intelligibility ? Speaker and hearer, we suppose, must use the same language; must possess a rather similar background of information; must both have some interest or other in communication.… Such matters of ‘more and less’ will vary with the topic, the parties, and the occasion.

In A paper called ‘The Responsibility of Psychopaths’, I think I succeeded in establishing that we cannot rule out a priori the possibility that psychopaths may be shown to be lacking in responsibility. I also examined some arguments that try to show the psychopathto be lacking in responsibility, but I concluded that these arguments were not very successful. In this paper I intend to make and examine some more attempts at showing the psychopath to be lacking in responsibility. But before I do that there is one point to keep in mind.

The classical determinist argument is that every event has a cause, that every event in the universe is an effect whose sufficient and necessary conditions are the state of the universe immediately preceding it. For this reason we could not have done otherwise than we did. We do not have free-wills and hence we are not morally responsible for our thoughts and actions. The classical deterministmay, however, modify his position and agree that not every event inthe world has a cause, but only that every human activity—our thoughts and our actions—are causally determined. Butit would still follow that we could not have done otherwise than wedid. As the first formulation entails the second formulation, and is more usual, we shall adopt that one.

It should be well known that the philosophy of soren Kierkegaard exerted considerable inflence upon Ibsen the playwright, despite the latter's reluctance to admit as much. When Ibsen's play Brand was first published in Copenhagen, in 1866, it was hailed as a dramatic representation of Kierkegaar's philosophy, and subsequent critics have also indicated in a general way the Kierkegaardian concepts with which this play abounds. The earlier Love's comedy is also vibrant with Kierkegaardian undertones, and the fact that something of this same quality is echoed and re-echoed throughout the playwrite's entire corpus suggest something more than a merely literary influences: it indicates a temperamental affinity between the two authors.

I Take ‘meaning’ and ‘understanding’ as correlative terms: to say of words or other symbols that they have meaning is to say that they are understood, or could be understood, by some interpreter. To specify a meaning fully, one must specify the interpreter or class of interpreters who do or might understand the symbols in a given way. There aretwo ways of doing this for a given utterance of words: we can take the interpretation which the utterer intended (‘meant’) the words to receive, or the interpretation which would be given to them by the majority of speakers of the language to which they belong (or a specially qualified group of such speakers). In the vast majority of cases these interpretationswill coincide; in a small minority of cases they will not. Sometimes a speaker will coin a new word, or use an old word in a new sense. Sometimes he will ignorantly or carelessly intend his words to be interpreted in a way inwhich they would not be interpreted by most understanders of his language. In cases of this kind, we have to distinguish between ‘what the words mean’ and ‘what he meant by the words’. (English judges, in interpreting statutes, are supposed to consider only the former, ignoring the latter; but usually it is rather the latter which matters.) Normally,however, an utterer of words uses them with meanings already determined independently of his use of them (though not, of course, independently of the totality of uses of them).

For the general terms in which the scientists have set their problem of mind and body, we philosophers have been chiefly to blame …The legend that we have told and sold runs like this. A person consists of two theatres, one bodily and one non-bodily. In his Theatre A go on the incidents which we can explore by eye and instrument.But a person also incorporates a second theatre, Theatre B. Here there go on incidents which are totally unlike, though synchronised with those that go on in Theatre A. These Theatre B episodes are changes in the states, not of bits of flesh, but of something called ‘consciousness’, which occupies no space. Only the proprietor of Theatre B has firsthand knowledge of what goes on in it. It is a secret theatre … No, what prevents us from examining Theatre B is not that it has no doors and windows but that there is no such theatre.

One of the most characteristic (and certainly most original) claims of the dominant movement in contemporary British philosophy, to which we shall refer as the philosophy of ordinary language, is that traditional philosophical discourse has usually been logically improper because it has depended upon systematic misuses of certain expressions in ordinary language and that philosophy is a legitimate cognitive discipline only if it is concerned with the description of the actual use of language. To substantiate this claim, the philosopher of ordinary language has had to establish at least the following two general philosophical theses, which together seem to constitute the hard core of original doctrine in the philosophy of ordinary language. First, that the meaning of an expression is its use and not its referent or what it corresponds to. Second, that the description of the uses of certain expressions in language is not merely a study of words but genuinely solves the same problems which traditional philosophy had tried to solve through other methods.

The construction of models plays a vital part in scientific thought.And many questions about the characteristics demanded of a good model, and the implications of using models are often asked by philosophers of science. Although models are frequently and successfully used in scientific explanation, this does not imply that they are a necessary feature of such explanation, though it does provide some justification for their use. However, any attempt to provide a model for a scientific theory undoubtedly leads to a clearer understanding of that theory. Models and theories are often considered as separate features in a scientific explanation, but a theory is not usually devised and then consciously provided with a model.

James Frederick Ferrier was born in Edinburgh on June 16th, 1808. He was educated privately and at the Royal High School, Edinburgh. After spending two sessions at Edinburgh University, he entered Magdalen College, Oxford, where he graduated in 1831. Returning to Edinburgh, he qualified as an advocate in 1832, but devoted himself to philosophical studies, largely as a result of his close friendship with Sir William Hamilton. In 1838-9, he published An Introduction to the Philosophy of Consciousness in Blackwood's Magazine. This was followed by a number of interesting articles and reviews, chiefly on sense-perception. In 1844, Ferrier deputised for SirWilliam Hamilton in the Chair of Logic and Metaphysics at Edinburgh, and, in the following year, he became Professor of Moral Philosophy and Politica Economy in St Andrews. In 1854, he published The Institutes of Metaphysics. He died in 1864, leaving behind him a valuable course of Lectures on Greek Philosophy, which was published posthumously.