Bertrand Russell once said that philosophy was formed by “the residue,” which remained after “definite” answers had been given, and insisted that “philosophical contemplation” should be distinguished from natural science and men’s “practical” affairs. (Russell, Bertrand, “The Value of Philosophy,” from The Problems of Philosophy, Oxford University Press, 1969). The author of this book says philosophy is “like mathematics,” in that it is a “non-natural science;” but, unlike mathematics, is not yet “fully mature.” (p. 5) While both Russell and Williamson are respected logicians, their views diverge in fundamental ways. Williamson defines knowledge as “true belief” and focuses on what is “practically useful;” while Russell occasionally tends toward the mystical or speculative. In a disclaimer, Williamson acknowledges that some “will hate my picture of how to do philosophy.” (p. 5) Despite finding the term “hate” a bit too dramatic and wishing the old rivalry between continental and analytic traditions were dead, I will admit my own approach could best be described as phenomenological and that my strongest sympathies are with the former. Moreover, I too believe that philosophy’s value is to be found “largely in its very uncertainty” (Ibid). Nonetheless, Williamson’s breezily brief, but otherwise comprehensive account, is a pleasure to read and provides a perspective worth considering on its own terms.

Williamson claims that philosophical inquiry must begin with “common sense,” but quickly cautions that it should not end there. (p. 6, his italics) The Aristotle of the Nicomachean Ethics would agree—specifically, that any investigation must start with “what is known to us.” (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. by Martin Ostwald, MacMillan Publishing Co., 1962, p. 7 (my italics). See also Book VI.) Aristotle would also not object when Williamson says that it is, “shared and can be checked.” (p. 15) However, Williamson goes further when he equates it with knowledge itself claiming that, “Any theory inconsistent with common sense is false. For whatever is known is the case, so whatever it is inconsistent with is not the case.” (p. 11, his italics) Surprisingly, Williamson also attributes knowledge to leopards and impalas; insisting that, though they are at times subject to “false belief,” they are not “totally out of touch with reality.” (pp. 17-18) The animal-lover in me applauds but does not agree with this analogy. On the one hand, I appreciate the regard extended to non-human creatures. On the other, what I love most about our four-legged friends, whether wild or domestic, is just how much they are not like us. While we are plagued by doubts of how to distinguish true from false beliefs, appearance from reality, good from evil, etc., non-human animals remain blissfully ignorant of these questions and are utterly unself-conscious. Just as Nietzsche wistfully gazed at the grazing cattle, describing them as “enthralled by the moment…neither melancholy nor bored,” I watch my dogs at play and envy their immunity from existential anxiety. (Nietzsche, Friedrich, On the Advantage and Disadvantage of History for Life, Hackett, 1980, p. 8)

Emu epistemology or monkey metaphysics aside, if there are non-relative forms of knowledge common to all humans, questions as to what specifically that is, who decides and how, remain open. Regardless, Williamson has reduced knowledge to what is practical or useful and reality to shared experience or what can be observed. In this respect, his position appears to be circular. Circular, in that any sound philosophical theory must pass the “test” of common-sense and common sense is the only reliable ground for developing a sound philosophical theory; or, that the test of a “good” idea is whether it “works” and it only works if it is good. (pp. 18 and 107, respectively) Although circularity is not necessarily the kiss-of-death, it is still important to step outside the parameters. Don’t philosophers have something to say about things beyond physical survival or utilitarian practicality? What am I to make of aspects of human existence that are not clearly observable or shared, like consciousness or personal identity? Inquiring into matters like these is often the antithesis of a common-sense activity. After all, there is nothing common-sensical about entertaining Cartesian skepticism or examining the “not-self” doctrines of Buddhism. Nonetheless, Williamson seems to want clear and firm conclusions, not to explore possibilities or engage in dialectics. So, readers must be willing to accept these premises, at least provisionally, and set aside the questions above. What, then, are the strengths and weaknesses of Williamson’s approach?

To the extent that Williamson accomplishes his mission—namely, to “convey some of the pleasure and not too much of the frustration” of doing philosophy—he is successful. (p. 5, my italics) He is less so, when asking vague or intractable questions like, “Is philosophy history?” In these cases, he delves into areas more speculative than conclusive, more dialectical than binary. When he acknowledges that “historical texts are often hard to interpret,” or that “false theories as well as true ones have effects,” he has wandered into the subtleties of hermeneutics. (p. 103) Hermeneuticians not only grant “autonomy” to human (“non-natural”) sciences, they conceive of understanding as an “event” and consciousness as unavoidably “historical.” (Gadamer, Hans-Georg, Truth and Method, Continuum, 1994 ) So, it’s difficult to see how Williamson’s practical and logical method has any relevance here. He also goes astray when he invokes ideals of “creativity,” claiming that philosophy requires “combining ideas and knowledge from different areas.” (p. 111) Astray, because, although he agrees that anthropology, economics and psychology have something to contribute to philosophy, his view of these fields is relatively narrow. For example, there is no mention of Freud, Jung, Adler or Ellis—all of whom could be considered philosophers in their own right as well as experts in psychology. As for economics, he claims it overlaps “extensively” with philosophy because both examine “what makes a decision rational.” (p. 121) Why not just say economists, anthropologists and psychologists are “doing philosophy” too? In any event, where does “common sense” fit in?

On the other hand, Williamson’s approach to language is rich and nuanced. Here, he accepts the inevitability of problems like linguistic ambiguity and agrees that social, cultural and historical context have a role to play when it comes to defining terms. For instance, Williamson argues that vagueness may be reduced but can “never be eliminated.” (p. 42) Does this mean, then, that linguistics and semantics are legitimately philosophical? Williamson seems to allow for this but only insofar as he identifies particular men (Kripke, Davidson, Austin, Searle, et al) as “philosophers of language.” (p. 117, my italics) Equally refreshing are the sections on thought experiments and use of imagination, though the phenomenologist in me remains dissatisfied insofar as I believe truths of lived experience are more fruitful and fascinating than fiction. Yes, the discussion and photos of David Chalmers and his zombie twin are fun but, since I’m not a Walking Dead fan, I can’t go much further. (pp. 56-58). In other words, I don’t need to speculate or hypothesize about zombies to be captivated by problems of personal identity, when there is a plethora of real-life or actual mind-body mysteries to consider. The existence of identical twins who share the same DNA but not the same memories, compelling cases of amnesia or multiple personality disorder, and the somewhat less fantastic possibility of human cloning, provide plenty of food-for-thought. Although I agree that, “just vaguely wondering” about these things is not enough, do we really “need good reasons to give one answer rather than another” in the physicalism vs. dualism debate? (p. 68, my italics) What these chapters do make evident, however, is that philosophy would be sterile and lifeless without ambiguity and creative speculation, Williamson’s emphasis on “common sense” notwithstanding.

According to Williamson, “we need a positive theory to explain better how knowing, feeling, deciding, and doing fit into the world as described by natural science.” (p. 76) But…do we? When it comes to the human condition—what it means to love and live meaningfully, act righteously, be awed and humbled by beauty, etc.—can’t two or three or four things be true? Instead of acquiescing to a rivalry of “isms” or feeling compelled to choose, couldn’t philosophers simply embrace the absurd now and then? Williamson appears to make no room for paradox or incongruity, suggesting all forms of knowledge must meet standards of consistency and practicality. But maybe the principle of non-contradiction or rules of logic don’t always hold and conflating the factual with the real is neither wise nor prudent? Perhaps this yearning, “to understand the nature of everything, in a very general way…to understand our understanding itself,” is ultimately insatiable. (p. 3) On the other hand, what if we start with a premise Williamson characterizes as “crazy”? Specifically, that “a good imagination brings all sorts of practical rewards.” (p. 58, my italics)  He also encourages us to entertain “subjective idealism”—in spite of it being an “outrage to common sense”—because it allows us to “enjoy the experience of viewing things through its spectacles, and admire Berkeley’s skill in building an elegant and surprisingly robust edifice…” (p. 102) So, maybe there is space for aesthetic and paradoxical truths in Williamson’s philosophy after all, and analytic philosophers and phenomenologists, logicians and existentialists, are not that far apart.

In sum, though I consider this work an enjoyable and edifying read, I’m most sympathetic with Russell’s claim that one can become “imprisoned” by common sense. That, “even the most everyday things lead to problems to which only very incomplete answers can be given.” Russell, Bertrand, “The Value of Philosophy,” from The Problems of Philosophy, Oxford University Press, 1969), Doing philosophy means, among other things, learning to live with intractable questions, not insisting on ways to “reduce the incomprehension.” (p. 141) Of course, this merely underscores one of Williamson’s concluding points. Namely, that philosophy is “under constant pressure to be something else.” (p. 141) However, this assumes he knows precisely what philosophy is, which is yet another elusive question. Strange as it may sound, what I appreciate about philosophy is that it is often an exercise in failure. So, instead of describing philosophy as an immature “science,” perhaps it is merely a failed enterprise? And therein lies a strength, not a weakness. For doubt can be liberating, and uncertainty can put dogmatism in check.

© 2019 Camille Atkinson

Dr. Camille Atkinson, Coastal Bend College, TX.