Susan Haack

To know Susan was to know a woman who could simultaneously unravel the most tangled knot of logic and then laugh until she cried over a perfectly timed pun. I’ll never forget her study, walls lined with books on Peirce and Wittgenstein, yet her desk always held a small, thriving succulent she’d named “Descartes.” She’d gesture with her tea cup, explaining a complex point about pragmatic truth, then pause to say, “But the real test is whether it helps you water the plants, isn’t it?” That was Susan: a brilliant mind that never lost touch with the tangible, joyful business of living. Her family was her anchor and her greatest joy. To her husband, she was fiercely loyal and his biggest champion. To her children, she was “Mum”—a patient guide through homework and heartbreaks, always ready with a story or a cup of cocoa, her advice wrapped in a pragmatist’s clarity and a mother’s endless love. Our holiday tables were legendary, filled with her sharp, warm conversation that could move from a new philosophical paper to the merits of a good tomato soup in a single breath. Her passions bloomed everywhere: the meticulously organized garden where she’