Between 1900 and 1960, academic philosophy underwent a significant transformation in the United Kingdom. This was a time when mathematical logic gained prominence. Sensible language itself was analyzed into its formal logical structure. The very possibility of truth-claims was given an appropriate logical basis. And then most of that was set aside, except for the careful attention placed on language and language games. So much, so Cambridge. What on earth was going on at Oxford while the centre of British philosophy had so clearly shifted to the fens? The answer, as laid out here by Nikhil Krishnan, is that a fair bit was happening, even if much of it was catching up to those people at the other place.

Oxford, like Cambridge, had to first throw off the yoke of 19th century British idealism. It probably did take something like logical positivism, as represented by A.J. Ayer’s youthful book, to sweep out the attic. Fortunately Ayer’s aggressive verification principle yielded the ground eventually to more subtle investigations of the language, both ordinary and philosophical, that held us all in its sway. First Gilbert Ryle reformed the philosophical treatment of mind and action, and then J.L. Austin showed how much could be learned simply by attending to what we actually do with words. Neither were exactly aping their Cambridge cousins. This was new and exciting stuff. Later, despite Ayer’s dismissal of ethical claims as nonsense or mere partisanship, a collection of fine women philosophers (Foot, Anscombe, Midgley, Murdoch) found that there was indeed a great deal that could be said about ethical claims. And that, perhaps more than anything else, gave Oxford the edge in the late running.

Krishnan tells his tale with enthusiasm and verve. He doesn’t gloss over the challenges of the philosophical positions being explored. And, for the most part, I think he presents them fairly. Of course there is a natural tendency in such an account to slip teleology into one’s description. Academic philosophy, no matter which 60 year period one examines, might just be a bit more non-linear. And failing teleology there is always the salacious anecdote. Not, I think, very illuminating about the philosophical ideas in play. But I suppose a bit of spice makes the meal more appealing.

Is there anything distinctive about philosophy at Oxford in those years? Yes and no. As ever, individuals such as Ryle or Austin or Anscombe have a huge influence on what counts as philosophy, at least locally. And in Ryle’s case, since he was instrumental in introducing the B.Phil. degree to Oxford, that influence went far beyond his philosophical ideas. Krishnan might wish there to be something else at play, such as the tutorial system of pedagogy, but that is not unique to philosophy at Oxford, nor to Oxford (in Cambridge a tutorial is called a session). Rather what holds this group of philosophers together is that they, more or less, were focussed on a small set of issues and that they, more or less, thought the only people worth responding to were other Oxford philosophers. Twas ever thus.

Gently recommended for those with a taste for such things. ( )

This is one of the clearest, most readable and enjoyable books on philosophy I’ve encountered for a very long time. It’s a history of linguistic/analytic philosophy at its hub, the Oxford of roughly the first sixty years of the twentieth century. What sets it apart is not just Krishnan’s ability to relate ideas, issues and debates clearly but the way he captures atmosphere and character. And these people were characters! So if you want, read it as a sociological study of a sort of intellectual hothouse populated by some very er individual individuals. At whatever level you choose to digest this book, you will learn something ( )

A lively, well-written intellectual history of philosophy at Oxford in the first half of the 20th century. Maybe I liked this book so much because it wasn't philosophical enough! Who knows? It does leave me wondering whether the philosophers portrayed very often got a peaceful night's sleep.

Some comments:

(1) I confess that one factor leading me to purchase this book was finding the name of C. S. Lewis in the index. In fact, Lewis is mainly mentioned just as a famous person who studied philosophy as an undergrad at Oxford during this time. We have to turn to Lewis's Collected Letters to learn why he switched from philosophy to English: "I have not the brain and nerves for a life in pure philosophy. A continued search among the abstract root of things, a perpetual questioning of all that plain men take for granted, a chewing the cud for fifty years over inevitable ignorance . . . Is this the best life for temperaments such as ours? Is it the way of health or even sanity?"
(2) This book's account of Elizabeth Anscombe's oral exam in Roman history is hilarious: "To question after question, she responded with stony silence. Eventually, one examiner lowered the bar to the floor: 'Miss Anscombe, can you name a governor or procruator of a Roman province? Any Roman province?'--perhaps hoping that a recent convert would at least be able to volunteer the name of Pontius Pilate. She said, 'No.' 'Miss Anscombe,' he continued, 'is there any fact at all about the history of Rome which you would like to comment on?' And again she said, 'No.' Somehow, and in spite of her refusal to give them material to work with" they awarded her a first.
(3) As for President Truman's decision to use nuclear weapons against Japan, Anscombe apparently said: "Choosing to kill the innocent as a means to your ends is always murder." The book doesn't address whether she was aware of Allied leaders' other choices to kill the innocent: fire-bombing Tokyo, targeting German civilian centers, even killing over 60,000 French civilians in order to get at the Nazis. Even "the good war" was pretty ugly. ( )