A misleading and apparently addictive practice is now prevalent in discussions of philosophy in general, and moral philosophy in particular. This is the habit of dichotomizing. We are led to believe that we have to choose between reason and sentiment as the basis of morality, that facts and values are to be found on either side of an unbridgeable gulf, and so on. This practice is harmful because it leads philosophers to take sides in unnecessary conflicts which cannot be won by either side, and thus prevents progress in the discussion of extremely important issues.

An argument is a conceptual instrument through which a certain logical f order between propositions can be seen to exist. But does an argument show that a proposition is true? It does, if by ‘that’ you mean that the proposition can be seen to follow through the instrument of a valid argument which employs true premises. But when we wonder whether to believe that a proposition is true we do not always wonder whether or not the proposition follows logically from other propositions. We want to know f whether the proposition is in itself true, whether or not it follows from another proposition or series of propositions. That a proposition is true f may be a fact, whether or not the machinery of reason has succeeded in focusing our attention on its truth by extracting its truth from other true premises.

Philosophy has often been represented by its detractors, and even sometimes by its practitioners, as a subject which, unlike the natural sciences, exhibits a degree of progress far from commensurate with its long history. Many of the questions entertained by the ancients are still very much alive: answers proffered are put forward very tentatively, seldom meet with universal acceptance, and frequently give rise to controversy even more prolific than that which they were intended to lay low.

The inspectability of after-images has been denied. A typical claim is Ilham Dilman's: ‘I cannot say my apprehension of the after-image I see has changed but not the after-image itself’, for, he says, appearance and reality are one as regards the after-image. His reason is that this is a logical consequence of the fact that other people have no possible basis for correcting what I say about the after-image I see.

Collingwood was hardly in danger. In 1939, when he wrote that, Festschrift volumes for British scholars were rare; for philosophers they were virtually non-existent. Whitehead had been given two, but then he had put himself at risk by going to America. Recently things have changed, and it is no longer safe to stay at home: half a dozen such volumes—at least—were published in honour of British philosophers between 1977 and 1980. But are they really a Bad Thing?