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This is a reply to Willem Lemmens’ discussion of my interpretation of the Dialogues on Natural Religion in my 2000 collection Themes from Hume: Self, Will, Religion. I use Lemmens’ careful textual analysis to clarify my considered position and to further the reading of Part 12 of the Dialogues.
Jane McIntyre's authoritative presentation of the changes Hume makes in the Second Enquiry and the Dissertation on the Passions to the role of sympathy show that he has there left behind the centrality of the idea of the self in the Treatise, and made his philosophy less systematic but more comprehensive.
This is a reply to Donald Ainslie's discussion of Terence Penelhum's work on Hume, Locke and the nature of consciousness; although agree on many points about the differences between Locke and Hume, I take issue with Ainslie's views about the epistemic status Hume accords to introspective acts.
This article reflects critically on some of the claims of J. L. Schellenberg's trilogy and on the fundamental decisions lying behind them. Some of the latter are found to be tied to his earlier work on atheism in ways that can be questioned.
This paper is in two parts. I begin the first part by presenting a brief resume of an account of Hume's Section “Of Personal Identity” which I offered at length in a paper first published twenty years ago. I shall then try to respond to some criticisms of my interpretation of that Section. The authors of these criticisms consider that Hume's account of personal identity is less sceptical and more defensible than I suggested it is. The purpose of responding to these criticisms is not, I trust, that of protecting an ego: this would be an objective that would be uniquely inappropriate in such a context. It is rather to look again at some difficult but important problems in Humean exegesis. In the second part of the paper I turn to some criticisms that are commonly levelled against Hume, and which I have been inclined to subscribe to myself in the past. I do not think that a proper assessment of these criticisms depends upon accepting or rejecting the reading of Hume that I have tried to defend in the first part, so the two parts of the paper are largely independent of each other. I now incline to believe, however, that the criticisms I shall deal with in the second part are criticisms to which Hume has, or could find, quite plausible answers.
These comments are a response to Professor John King-Farlow's criticism of three of my essays that have recently been reprinted in the volume Analytical Philosophy of Religion in Canada, edited by Mostafa Faghfoury. I shall try to present them in a way that is intelligible to those not familiar with the book; but, inevitably, the choice of topics will be determined by the particular disagreements between King-Farlow and myself that emerged there, and will not deal with the many questions on which we have similar views.
Norman Kemp Smith began his famous work on Hume by reminding us how difficult Hume is: not difficult to follow paragraph by paragraph, but difficult to interpret as a whole. He then went on to try to remedy this situation by offering an overall interpretation that essentially reversed the dominant reading of Hume as a sceptic, and argued instead that he is a naturalist—a thinker who views our beliefs, as well as our moral commitments, as products of the instinctive and passionate natures with which we are endowed. On this view, the key Humean text is the famous pronouncement that reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions; for it is in his account of the passions that we must find the basis of the natural history of our cognitive and moral commitments. This lends a systematic unity to Hume's thought, by making his epistemology and his ethics offshoots of his psychology of the emotions. It also allows Kemp Smith to emphasize the importance of the influence on Hume of the work of his older contemporary Francis Hutcheson.
In 1927 A. E. Taylor concluded his Leslie Stephen Lecture on “David Hume and the Miraculous” with a judgment of Hume's attitude to his philosophical work that has been held by many other readers of Hume:
What kind of response one makes to life will, no doubt, for better or worse, depend on the sort of man one is for good or bad. . . . But we can all make it our purpose that our philosophy, if we have one, shall be no mere affair of surface opinions, but the genuine expression of a whole personality. Because I can never feel that Hume's own philosophy was that, I have to own to a haunting uncertainty whether Hume was really a great philosopher, or only a “very clever man.
Taylor is here expressing an attitude to Hume that many of us have felt: that his philosophy does not deserve to be taken too much to heart, because for all his intellectual vitality and the disturbing character of much that he says, there is a streak of frivolity in him that leads him to follow arguments to outrageous conclusions without serious consideration of the effect such conclusions may have on those who are driven to them; and that the love of literary reputation that he openly expressed was of far greater personal importance to him than philosophical truth.
The purpose of this paper is not to offer any solution to the problem of evil, or to declare it insoluble. It is rather the more modest one of deciding on its nature. Many writers assume that the problem of evil is one that poses a logical challenge to the theist, rather than a challenge of a moral or scientific sort. If this assumption is correct, and the challenge cannot be met, Christian theism can be shown to be untenable on grounds of inconsistency. This in turn means that it is refutable by philosophers, even if their task is interpreted in the most narrowly analytical fashion. It has recently been argued that the challenge of the problem of evil can be met on logical grounds, and that if the existence of evil is damaging to theism it is not because the recognition of its existence is inconsistent with some essential part of it. I take two examples of this position. The first is in the paper ‘Hume on Evil’ by Nelson Pike; the second I owe to Professor R. M. Chisholm.
My intent in this paper is to give an account of Aquinas' analysis of the nature of Christian faith, to indicate some difficulties to which it seems to me, and has seemed to others, to give rise, to try to evaluate the degree to which his analysis can suggest answers to those difficulties, and then to conclude with some general comments about the sources of those perplexities that still remain.*