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The mind. Sanctum sanctorum of subjectivity. Soundstage of the mental. Consciousness' cockpit. Romping-grounds of the intentional. A great deal, it would seem, rides on the notion of mind. It's not just that naughty children never do, or that people when irritated often claim to have half-a-one. Though perhaps telling in other ways, it isn't so important that while we all think we lose ours from time to time, we rarely-if ever-doubt that we had one to begin with. Solipsists are perfectly willing to doubt that anyone else actually possesses one, but no one suspects that everyone but herself has one. The reason seems clear and distinct as Cartesian water; it just makes sense, which is another thing that minds are rumored to be responsible for. One could go on and on-the idioms seem endless-but nevermind.



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