When philosophers call something "circular," they generally are making a logical characterization--it means that someone has somehow assumed the truth of what he or she is supposed to be proving, and thus "derives" the conclusion only by having the proposition expressed in the conclusion already present (and underived) within the premises of their argument. An example might help. Suppose you asked me if there was any "proof" that God existed, and I produced the following argument: (1) God says He exists. (2) Because He is God, He would not lie. (3) Hence, God exists. I doubt that you would find this very compelling as a "proof," because both premisses (1) and (2) assume the existence of God, when that is the very thing I was supposed to prove to you. Here's the circle, briefly: How do I know that God exists? Because He said so. How do I know there is a God who could say such a thing? Because He exists. Feel like we're not getting anywhere here? It's because we're not--we're going...

I'm inclined to think that there are differences of opinion about this, but my own view (for what it is worth) is that what counts as vulgar and obscene are a matter of cultural (and perhaps even situational) context. For one thing, the origin of the word "vulgar" simply associates a thing with the masses, or the common people--so identifying a term as "vulgar" really only associates that term with a certain social class. Only if we think of that class as a whole as somehow morally debased would vulgarity (in this sense) count as a kind of evil. But I understand that "vulgar" has lost its "classist" bias and now means something like "dirty" or "obscene." At any rate, the word "fuck" doesn't seem to me to have some intrinsic feature that makes it obscene. What it does have is a kind of resonance or set of connotations, which are culture-bound, that make its uses rude in "polite company." Now, some might object to the connections between the word "fuck" and the sex act to which it...

It really depends upon what it is that one is supposed to come to know this way--and it will also depend upon just what one takes the requirements of knowledge to consist in. Some epistemologists have argued that we have a kind of privileged access to knowledge of our own mental (including emotional states) themselves. These philosophers would think that at least one sort of knowledge we could attain through emotions was knowledge of those emotions themselves--knowledge that we were in such-and-such a state at a given time (for example, knowledge that I am angry right now, or sad). But others do not think that we necessarily know our own states in any privileged way--we might really be angry, but not know that we are, or we might think we are angry, but actually not really be. As for other sorts of knowledge, such as knowledge of the world outside of our own consciousness, I am inclined to think that we cannot "acquire knowledge through emotions only." As important as the emotions are in...

I would certainly like to know these questions...and the three-year-old child who has such wisdom! Surely this question is a joke...?

There are forms of determinism (called "compatibilism" or "soft determinism") in which determinism and things like choice or personal responsibility are regarded as compatible. But the more traditional versions of determinism ("hard determinism") and solipsism seem to be philosophical positions that are not "livable." In other words, one cannot sensibly choose to be a determinist, or decide to live in accordance with the principle that we cannot really choose or decide anything, just as one cannot sensibly try to convince someone else that solipsism is true. Notice that the problem of being unlivable is not the same as being logically incoherent or inherently senseless. The idea that no one else in the world has consciousness or mental states isn't incoherent, but it would make what I am doing right now (trying to answer your question) weird, at best. But even if these positions were in some sense formally incoherent, that does not at all mean that they could not affect someone's behavior....

The advice, "Act; don't think!" would be good advice if thoughtless action was likely to be good action. Since I see no reason to suppose that people would reliably act well when they fail to deliberate, I think the advice to act thoughtlessly is bad advice. There are several problems here, in fact. One is that good action can sometimes be somewhat difficult to discern, and may engage somewhat conflicting impulses. Take a case that happens often these days: One is approached by a sad-looking homeless person, who asks for some money. One's first impulse might be to give the person some money, because one feels sorry for the person. But then, one might (not unreasonably) suspect that the money would not actually serve any real benefit--it might simply go to feeding an alcohol or drug addiction, which is a major part of why the person is in such bad shape. Should one then refuse, but make a donation to the local homeless shelter? Or perhaps some other charity? Or...? Acting simply on impulse here...

It may be that two distinct properties (in your example, the property of being a spinach-eater and the property of being strong, if your mother were right--which, I fear, she is not!) have the same extensions--that is, may apply to all and only the same things in the world. In this case, the set of all spinach-eaters would be identical to the set of all strong things, since as you say, the identity of sets is determined wholly by membership. But that does not mean that the property of being a spinach-eater is the same as the property of being strong. One reason for thinking that it is not is the two properties would appear to have different causal or explanatory relations--one becomes strong by eating spinach (eating spinach is what explains becoming strong) , but one does not become a spinach-eater by (first) becoming strong (becoming strong is not what explains becoming a spinach-eater). Another famous example from philosophy: assuming there is an omniscient and omnibenevolent God, then it...

I don't understand your friend's answer any better than you do, so I'm afraid I can't help you on that one! As for the Chinese Room, the case as I understand it is supposed to show that something could pass the Turing test--that is, it could provide correct outputs to given inputs--without understanding/intelligence. A string of Chinese symbols would go into the box, and the one inside (knowing no Chinese, but simply guided by the shapes of the characters in the input) would simply match these mechanically to others in a pre-established list, which he would then send out again. To the one reading the outputs (one who knows Chinese), it would look as if the outputs were the result of understanding...but they would not be. Hence, passing the Turning test for knowledge of Chinese would be no indication of actually understanding Chinese, and so the test is itself inadequate.

You're right to suspect that the idea of function is somewhat unclear--at least in most uses. In one sense, a thing may be said to "perform a function" just in case it does whatever it is that is within the description of the function. So, a highball glass can "perform the function" of an ashtray, because it can do what we ordinarily associate with the ashtray--that is, serve as a receptacle for ashes. Something made to be an ashtray would be an object for which serving as a receptacle for ashes would be its "intended function." The intended function of a highball glass (whose intended function was to be a drink container of a certain size and shape) is not to be a receptacle of ashes. So the object whose intended function was X may end up performing some other function. Now one way in which things can shift functions is because beings capable of forming intentions can decide to change the functions the objects serve, either temporarily or permanently. So we can turn an old tire into a...

I think adults can be held responsible for their emotions, on the ground that we have good evidence to think that people can learn to feel the right emotions at the right times for such emotions (and not to feel the wrong emotions, when it is inappropriate to feel those emotions). Few of us are masters of this, of course, but that doesn't mean that we can't (or shouldn't) be faulted when we feel inappropriate emotions, or don't feel appropriate ones.