When Reid wrote An Inquiry Into The Human Mind, On The Principles Of Common Sense the term ‘common sense’ had long been in use in something like its ordinary sense today. Prompted no doubt by Priestley’s criticism that he had “made an innovation in the received use” of the term he devoted a chapter of his Essays On The Intellectual Powers Of Man to the use of the term: “All that is intended in this chapter is to explain the meaning (...) of common sense, that it may not be treated, as it has been by some, as a new principle, or as a word without any meaning.” He cites what he calls “testimonies” from Berkeley, Hume and others. Pointedly, he even quotes Priestley, concluding “whatever censure is thrown upon those who have spoke of common sense as a principle of knowledge, or who have appealed to it in matters that are self-evident, will fall light, when there are so many to share in it”. Though he himself thought that his use of the term was not new, he developed an account—a theory, if you like—of common sense going clearly beyond ordinary conceptions. Unfortunately, many of his arguments against philosophical scepticism are missed owing to the distraction caused by this theory of common sense. I want to explore how far it is dispensable. (shrink)

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. (Published Online February 27 2006). (shrink)

The question, R. M. Hare concedes, “has assumed great importance in the thought of some philosophers, for example Cook Wilson and Collingwood.” A concession, because after a couple of sentences Hare concludes: “we need say no more about questions.” The implication is that in contrast with his two Oxford predecessors the topic has little importance in his philosophy. This isn’t quite so, it will be seen. But it is in line with a tendency among philosophers to relegate the topic, often (...) quite literally, to a footnote. They would be wiser to take questions more seriously; not least because any theory of meaning which connects meaning in some way to the concept of truth—as most do—has to explain how interrogative sentences, which cannot sensibly be said to express what is true or false, can yet have a meaning. Questions also present a challenge to the easy assumption that all thought is either true or false. Even to think of something, it can be argued, is to think that certain descriptions are true of it: to think of a cat is to think of something as having four legs, fur, and so forth. Collingwood’s way of meeting the challenge isn’t immediately apparent. In An Autobiography he does seem to reject the assumption. (shrink)

This title was first published in 2002.This book challenges prevalent assumptions regarding questions and enquiry. It argues that instead of trying to understand questions by reference to knowledge, knowledge can be conceived by reference to the distinctive logical form exhibited by questions. Interrogative logical form has not hitherto been recognised by logicians or philosophers generally. By providing an analysis which can serve as the basis for a fresh start in epistemology, this book breaks new ground.

Despite some talk of ‘erotetic logic’ and ‘the logic of interrogatives’, logicians have hitherto completely overlooked the peculiar logical form of questions, also shared by interrogative clauses generally. Of relevance to an understanding of time are those interrogative clauses that are janus-like: sometimes raising a question, sometimes answering it—which can then no longer arise. Since a closed question can no longer arise, it might seem that simply the passing of time turns an open into a closed question. Instead, the passing (...) of time itself can be understood as the closing or resolution of open questions, of the determination of what is not fixed but as yet in question. (shrink)

James McCosh considered his product of 'a labor of love', The Scottish Philosophy, Biographical, Expository, Critical, From Hutcheson To Hamilton to fall within 'what may be regarded as a new department of science, the history of thought'.' The value of the book lies, therefore, in not just its outlines of works of philosophers of the period with the views afforded of the academic life most of them led; but its sense-albeit unsure-that 'the Scottish school of philosophy' (1) after its rise (...) evolved into something less distinctive, more commonplace philosophically. McCosh could not admit that the school had declined. Noting the change, he barely hints at why it happened. The explanation, it will be argued, involves the central place assigned to belief in the doctrines of the school, so is of current interest given the undue prominence belief continues to be accorded by philosophers. (shrink)

The question, R. M. Hare concedes, “has assumed great importance in the thought of some philosophers, for example Cook Wilson and Collingwood.” A concession, because after a couple of sentences Hare concludes: “we need say no more about questions.” The implication is that in contrast with his two Oxford predecessors the topic has little importance in his philosophy. This isn’t quite so, it will be seen. But it is in line with a tendency among philosophers to relegate the topic, often (...) quite literally, to a footnote. They would be wiser to take questions more seriously; not least because any theory of meaning which connects meaning in some way to the concept of truth—as most do—has to explain how interrogative sentences, which cannot sensibly be said to express what is true or false, can yet have a meaning. Questions also present a challenge to the easy assumption that all thought is either true or false. Even to think of something, it can be argued, is to think that certain descriptions are true of it: to think of a cat is to think of something as having four legs, fur, and so forth. Collingwood’s way of meeting the challenge isn’t immediately apparent. In An Autobiography he does seem to reject the assumption. (shrink)