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Home , Aenesidemus, Arcesilaus, Ataraxia, Myles Burnyeat, Philo of Larissa

ANCIENT SCEPTICISM

Richard Bett, Johns Hopkins University

I

The term “scepticism” has meant a number of different things in the history of . In recent times J.L. Mackie referred to the thesis that there are no objective values as a species of moral scepticism1. For this he was taken to task by, among others,

Bernard Williams, who maintained that “Scepticism is basically concerned with doubt, and not necessarily with (the denial of) knowledge”2. But this seems to go wrong in two ways. First, Mackie’s use of the term did not appear to have as its focus an issue about knowledge or its absence; his moral scepticism was, as he said, an ontological thesis, and the reason for calling it a form of scepticism appeared to be, roughly, that it was (as he saw it) a rejection of an important and widely shared everyday belief about the status of . (The arguments for the thesis were in part epistemological in character, but the thesis itself was not.) And second, given the variety of usage in the term historically, it is hard to see that there is anything wrong with this3. Still, it is true that, in modern philosophy, the term “scepticism” has more commonly been used in than in ethics, referring to positions according to which the possibility of knowledge – concerning the existence of the external world, for example, or of other minds – is denied

1 Mackie 1977, chapter 1. 2 Williams 1985, at 204. 3 The OED gives as one (albeit loose) sense of “sceptic” “an unbeliever in Christianity, an infidel”. If denial of the existence of the Christian God can count as a form of scepticism, why not also denial of the existence of objective values? 2 or put in doubt. Of course, there is also a place where epistemology and ethics intersect, and hence there can also be sceptical theses about the epistemology of moral beliefs4.

One thing these observations bring out is that scepticism as it is now understood in philosophy is a piecemeal affair; one can be interested in or inclined towards scepticism on one topic without this interest or inclination extended to other topics.

Scepticism nowadays is, as Julia Annas has put it, “local” as opposed to generalized or global5. In philosophy, however, it was not like this; instead, scepticism was an outlook that extended over all subject-matters – one could not pick and choose what one was going to be sceptical about. Hence there was no such thing as scepticism purely about ethics; scepticism about ethics went along with scepticism about lots of other things, and the route to scepticism was essentially the same regardless of topic.

It can also be said, however, that in the ancient context there is an ethical aspect to scepticism as a whole. For ancient scepticism was not something merely to be studied or discussed (as scepticism in contemporary philosophy, whether of an epistemological or a moral variety, often seems to be); it was also something to be put into practice. In this respect scepticism is no different from any other . Pierre Hadot in particular has emphasized the ancient conception of “philosophy as a way of life”, by contrast with more abstract, theoretical conceptions of the subject that in his view have largely (though not entirely) superseded it, for a variety of reasons, since the middle

4 This is the particular focus of Sinnott-Armstrong 2006. But note also the many non- epistemological varieties of moral scepticism that he introduces in a preliminary classification (chapter 1.3); again, scepticism at least in the area of ethics is not always about either doubt or the denial of knowledge. 5 Annas 1986/1998. This essay remains an extremely valuable point of entry into many of the issues with which my contribution deals. 3 ages6. And as Hadot is well aware, the Greek sceptics were no exception to this general tendency in ancient thought.

A philosophy, in this period, is not just a way of life; according to the usual picture, at least, there need to be doctrines underpinning the way of life, and arguments supporting those doctrines. This is why Diogenes Laertius records a disagreement about whether , a movement with a highly distinctive life-style, but minimalist in its doctrines and even more so in its use of argument7, should be considered a philosophy at all, as opposed to a (mere) way of life (enstasin biou, 6.103). And that is why the

Pyrrhonist sceptic has to give a highly nuanced answer to the question whether scepticism is a hairesis – literally “choice”, but used of philosophical schools

(PH 1.16-17); the answer is “no” if a hairesis involves accepting definite beliefs, but

“yes” if it simply involves going along, at least provisionally, with an account () that shows how a certain way of life is possible. However, as this passage nicely illustrates, a certain way of life is at any rate a crucial component of the story; a set of arguments and conclusions, or an “account”, that had no consequences for one’s life would simply not count as a philosophy.

Ancient Greek scepticism, then, is a comprehensive outlook. It discusses ethical topics, but many other topics besides; and the ways in which it treats ethical topics are fundamentally no different from the ways it treats any other topic. And since the discussion of all these topics is supposed to have a practical effect on one’s life, one may speak of ancient scepticism quite generally as in a sense ethical, regardless of the topics

6 See especially Hadot 1995. For some reservations about Hadot’s thesis – which do not, however, affect the picture I am about to sketch – see Cooper 2007. 7 Or at any rate, arguments in the usual sense. But some of the Cynics’ performances – such as Diogenes’ display of a plucked chicken, in response to ’s definition of human being as a featherless biped (DL 6.40) – can be considered arguments of a kind. See Sluiter 2005. 4 under discussion at any given time. All of this is in sharp contrast with how we now tend to see scepticism, ethics, and the intersection between them.

Nonetheless, it is in their discussions of ethical topics specifically that the ancient sceptics are most likely to be relevant to contemporary concerns in ethics (including the kinds of scepticism in ethics that I mentioned at the outset). So my survey of the ancient

Greek sceptics, while giving some sense of their general orientation, will focus especially on this side of the subject. I will devote the most attention to Sextus Empiricus; as the only Greek sceptic whose writings have survived in bulk, but perhaps for other reasons as well, he is far more philosophically accessible than any of the others. Still, it will be worthwhile to begin with a look at the other important sceptical figures (all of whom preceded him), both for their intrinsic interest and to set the context for Sextus’ work.

II

The hallmark of ancient Greek scepticism, most generally, is suspension of judgement; one withdraws from definite claims concerning how things really are. The differences among the sceptics have to do largely with how, precisely, this suspension of judgement is conceived, and what consequences, if any, are supposed to result from it. There are two traditions of ancient Greek thought that are now standardly recognized as sceptical: the Pyrrhonists, stemming in some loose sense from of Elis, and, for a certain extended period of its existence, the founded by Plato. The Pyrrhonists were the ones who actually called themselves skeptikoi, “inquirers”. But from antiquity onwards, the Academics in question have generally been seen as having enough in common with them to warrant the label. 5

The thought of Pyrrho himself (c.360-270 BC) is, to put it mildly, difficult to pin down. Only one short text survives that purports to provide a general picture of Pyrrho’s philosophical attitudes, and this is very far from first-hand; it is a summary by the

Peripatetic Aristocles (late 1st century BC or early 1st century AD) of an account by

Timon, Pyrrho’s most assiduous disciple, itself surviving only as a quotation in the work of , the fourth-century bishop of Caesarea ( 14.18.1-5).

The passage speaks of , freedom from worry, as the outcome, according to

Pyrrho, of reflection about the nature of things and about the attitude one should take towards them. Scholarly opinion is sharply divided as to whether Pyrrho’s answer to the question “What is the nature of things?” is “their nature is unknowable” or “their nature is indeterminate” – in other words, whether their true qualities are beyond our cognitive reach or whether, in reality, they have no definite qualities8. But either way, the result is that one should avoid saying or thinking anything about them that would attribute to them any definite qualities. And it is this refraining from definite views or assertions that is said to yield ataraxia. Whatever the precise relation between Pyrrho and the later thinkers that called themselves Pyrrhonists – and this too is a matter of much dispute – it is this connection between a withdrawal from definite claims and the attainment of ataraxia that is the obvious common thread between them; more on this later.

Why ceasing to hold such definite opinions should yield ataraxia is not explained in the passage from Aristocles. But a passage in Diogenes Laertius’ life of Pyrrho suggests that prominent among the definite claims that one ceases to make, if one follows the recommended program, are ethical or evaluative ones. “He said that nothing was

8 For a brief exploration of these two options, see Bett 2006. The first option is advocated in Stopper 1983 and Brennan 1998, the second in Long and Sedley 1987, section 1, and Bett 2000, chapter 1. 6 either fine (kalon) or foul (aischron), just or unjust; and similarly in all cases nothing is the case in reality, but humans do everything by convention and habit; for each things is no more this than that” (9.61). Our actions, then, are not based on a response to real qualities inherent in the nature of things, and, especially, not on a response to real values, such as fineness or justice, inherent in the nature of things (either because these qualities do not exist or because they are inaccessible to us). Now, if one ceases to hold any opinions to the effect that things really have value (or disvalue), it is natural to assume that one will care a great deal less about what happens than one would if one did hold such opinions. And this may be why the practical outcome of adopting this attitude will be ataraxia: one is tranquil because one has much less of a stake in any particular course of events than one used to9. As we shall see, Sextus explains the sceptic’s attainment of ataraxia in similar terms, and this may be another point of contact between Pyrrho and the later Pyrrhonist tradition. Certainly a large part of the evidence we have about

Pyrrho, from Diogenes Laertius and elsewhere, consists of anecdotes that illustrate his extraordinary lack of concern about what he did and what happened to him. These stories are, of course, not necessarily to be taken as reliable reports; but they do show that

Pyrrho’s image, at least, was of someone who really did not see genuine differences of value among different objects or courses of action – an attitude referred to in some sources as adiaphoria, “indifference”.

Cicero, indeed, seems to regard Pyrrho as entirely an ethical thinker, with this message of blanket “indifference” as his central tenet. But also ascribes to Pyrrho

– along with the extremist Stoic – two crucial exceptions: virtue is not

9 For further exploration of this possibility, see Bett 2000, chapter 2.3; or, more briefly, Bett 2006, section 5. 7 indifferent but good, and vice is not indifferent but bad. There is good reason to think that Cicero is mistaken about this latter point10. None of the other evidence on Pyrrho suggests such an orientation towards virtue and vice (and the Diogenes passage emphasizing his evaluative neutrality points against it). But we know from elsewhere that Aristo did believe in the special status of virtue and vice, while also holding that everything else was indifferent. Cicero’s knowledge of Pyrrho seems to derive from a source in which a taxonomy of ethical positions was offered, and in which Pyrrho and

Aristo were treated together; he has no inkling of Pyrrho as a sceptical thinker, and virtually no sense of Pyrrho as an individual. Concerning the indifference of everything other than virtue and vice, Pyrrho and Aristo can indeed be placed together; Cicero (or perhaps his source) seems to have made the unwarranted inference that they agreed as well about the special status of virtue and vice. However, in his emphasis on the ethical or practical dimension of Pyrrho’s thought as primary, Cicero does seem to be on target.

We are told that Pyrrho traveled in Alexander’s expedition to India and encountered

“naked wise men” (gumnosophistai, DL 9.61), and it is suggested that this was actually the source of his philosophy. This east-west connection is fascinating to speculate about; and clearly there is some similarity between Pyrrho’s “indifference” and the quietist aspect of much ancient Indian thought. But speculation on the topic is really all that is possible.

Pyrrho seems to have attracted a considerable following in his own lifetime, but his immediate influence appears to have been short-lived; although Timon’s writings certainly celebrated him, he himself wrote nothing, and it may be that his lived practical

10 For further detail on this, see Bett 2000, chapter 2.6. 8 demeanor was the main thing that attracted people to him. In any case, scepticism next makes its appearance in the Academy. Diogenes Laertius tells us that of

Pitane (316/5-241/0 BC), the fifth head of the Academy after Plato himself, was the first to “suspend his assertions because of the oppositions of arguments” (4.28). In the same place Diogenes says that Arcesilaus was the first to disrupt the type of discussion (logos) initiated in the Academy by Plato and “make it more argumentative by means of question and answer”. It may well be true that Arcesilaus changed what had been standard practice since Plato; but of course, as was noticed in antiquity, the description given here of Arcesilaus does answer to aspects of the portrait of in a number of Plato’s dialogues. In any case, the exercise of inducing suspension of judgement by generating equally powerful opposing arguments – either from one’s own argumentative resources or by juxtaposing the competing arguments of others, or both – became the center of

Academic practice for close to two centuries, the other leading figure in this movement being of Cyrene (214-129/8 BC).

Like Pyrrho, both Arcesilaus and Carneades wrote nothing, and this is one reason why a secure reconstruction of their thought is very difficult. Our main evidence about them comes from Sextus and Cicero, but both of these have an axe to grind; Sextus wants to make their approach look as different as possible from his own Pyrrhonist scepticism, and Cicero is a party to debates about the true nature of the Academy – debates that indeed led to its collapse as a single institution – in which the correct understanding of the earlier sceptical Academics, especially Carneades, was a central issue. One particularly difficult question is whether we should understand the Academics as aiming for, or claiming to attain, suspension of judgement in their own persons, or whether their 9 sceptical argumentation is purely critical or dialectical in character, directed against the proponents of positive philosophical doctrines and designed to show that, on their own showing, they should be sceptics. That many of the Academics’ arguments are targeted at others, especially the Stoics, is undeniable. On the other hand, this is not incompatible with their having themselves been sceptics. And Arcesilaus is reported by both Sextus and Cicero as enthusiastically recommending suspension of judgement, not just claiming to have forced others into it (PH 1.232-233, Acad. 2.76-77), while Carneades is reported to have accomplished a Herculean task in ridding our minds of that “wild and savage monster”, assent (this being the opposite of suspension of judgement – Acad. 2.108).

This latter report, though, comes from Carneades’ associate Clitomachus, and does not purport to reproduce Carneades’ own words; it is hard to find anywhere in the evidence a direct indication of Carneades’ own attitude to suspension of judgement, and

Clitomachus’ florid language may be his own embellishment11.

One thing that is clear is that the Academics have nothing to say about ataraxia as the supposed outcome of suspension of judgement. But they nonetheless take an interest in the question what it would be like to live while suspending judgement (whether this is for their own benefit, or for the opponents whom they take themselves to have forced into this position). Arcesilaus is credited with the puzzling remark that one is still left with the option of deciding and acting on the basis of “the reasonable” (Sextus, M 7.158), while Carneades offers a much more elaborate account of various levels of “persuasive impressions” (M 7.166-189). But while the latter, at least, looks like a relatively detailed

11 John Cooper has recently argued against a purely dialectical reading of Arcesilaus; see Cooper 2004. But Cooper does not suggest the same about Carneades. The most recent substantial article on Carneades does not even attempt to resolve the issue in his case, calling it “completely unclear”; see Obdrzalek 2006 (quoted phrase on p.243). For more on the issue, see Brittain 2005 (Arcesilaus) and Allen 2004 (Carneades). 10 picture of how practical reasoning might be feasible in the absence of any commitment to definite , it operates at a purely formal level; there is no suggestion in the surviving evidence as to what decisions might seem “persuasive” to a sceptic at any given time.

But then, perhaps there is nothing informative to say about this; the answer may simply depend on whatever factors had shaped the sceptic’s particular mind-set up to that point.

We do have evidence of arguments from Carneades about several ethical or ethically relevant topics – justice, the telos (that is, the end or goal of life), freedom and determinism (or its opposite), divination and the existence of the gods12. Again, these arguments tell us nothing about Carneades’ own views on the topics in question; the aim is not to convince the audience of any particular position, but to induce suspension of judgement on the topic. The arguments are frequently negative in character; for example,

Carneades argues that divination is a fiction and that the gods do not exist. The point, however, is not to get us to accept these conclusions, but rather to undermine the positive beliefs of non-sceptics on these subjects, leaving us holding no definite position either way. Sometimes Carneades himself argues on both sides of the case; while on a visit to

Rome as an ambassador, he shocked the Romans by arguing first in favor of justice and then against it. And sometimes he devises a whole taxonomy of dogmatic positions, including positions of his own invention; here the goal seems to be to show how they undermine one another. His “division” of views on the telos (Cicero, De finibus 5.16-20) is perhaps the most famous example of this13, but his engagement with both the

Epicureans and the Stoics on how our actions can be free (Cicero, De fato 23-33) seems

12 E.g., Lactantius Divinae institutiones 5.14.3-5=LS 68M (justice), Cicero De finibus 5.16-20 (the telos), Cicero De fato 20-33 (free will), Cicero De divinatione 2.9-10 (divination), Sextus M 9.139-141, 182-184 (the gods). 13 On Carneades’ “division”, its possible purposes in Carneades’ own hands, and the uses made of it by later authors, see Annas 2007. 11 to be another. His arguments on the latter subject are highly suggestive and acute; among other things, he asserts (against the Epicureans) that randomness is no more favorable to freedom than determinism is, and (against both the Stoics and the Epicureans) that accepting the principle of bivalence does not mean accepting that everything is fated.

The position he advances, relying on the insight – derived perhaps from the basic experience of agency – that “something is in our power” (31), looks like a serious alternative to its Stoic and Epicurean rivals, and seems to anticipate some modern views on the subject. But, to repeat, a serious alternative, subverting assent away from the other views on offer, is all it is attempting to be – not a replacement for, or improvement on, those views.

We do not hear of Arcesilaus specifically discussing ethical topics. But there is no reason not to think that he did so; the subjects about which he was prepared to argue are said to have been quite unrestricted (e.g., Cicero, De finibus 5.10). On the other hand, there is no reason to think that this would have allowed us any more of a glimpse into his own practical attitudes than Carneades’ engagement with ethics allows us with respect to his. And there is no reason in his case any more than in that of Carneades to think that ethical topics were approached in any different spirit from other topics.

In sharp contrast to this, we are told that the later Academic of Larissa devised his own ethical system (Stob. 2.39,20-41,25). But this too is in keeping with

Philo’s approach more generally; unlike the earlier Academics, he often appears to put forward positions of his own, albeit explicitly tentative and revisable ones. The system appears to have contained many of the components of standard dogmatic ethical theory: a specification of the telos, a delineation of what things are genuinely good and bad, and so 12 on. The details are difficult to reconstruct, although an excellent attempt is made by

Charles Brittain in his book on Philo14. But although Brittain has a point in calling Philo

(in the book’s subtitle) “the last of the Academic sceptics”, it is clear that his scepticism – if that is what we should call it15 – is of a highly mitigated kind, and his willingness to develop a positive ethical position is a striking symptom of this. Indeed, it was precisely not qua proponent of a sceptical outlook that he had concrete things to say about how to act – even if the mitigated variety of scepticism that he adopted was consistent with his saying these things.

The Academy ceased to exist as an organized school after the period of Philo.

But Philo’s mitigated scepticism, and the wholesale abandonment of scepticism by his

Academic rival Antiochus, seems to have led to a reaction. At some point in the early first century BC of Cnossos, apparently for a time himself a member of the

Academy, started a new movement of thought, claiming inspiration from Pyrrho and self- consciously directed against what he considered the watered-down scepticism of the

Academy – especially the Academy of his own day. The evidence for these various points comes from a summary of Aenesidemus’ work Pyrrhonist Discourses (Purrôneioi

Logoi) by Photius, the ninth-century patriarch of Constantinople (Bibliotheca 169b18-

171a4). Unfortunately the summary is very brief, and the work itself is lost; Photius gives us a page or two on the first book, which appears to have explained the Pyrrhonist outlook in general terms, followed by thumbnail sketches, just a sentence or two for each,

14 Brittain 2001, ch.6. 15 Brittain reconstructs three distinct, and progressively less sceptical, Philonian positions. In Brittain 2001 he seems to be willing to call even the last position (with which he is inclined to associate Philo’s ethical thought, 276-277) scepticism; explicit statements on the question are rare, but see 165-166. However, in the Introduction to Brittain 2006, Philo’s last position is characterized as no longer sceptical (xiv, xxx-xxxi). The issues are too complex for us to engage with here; but they do not affect the central claims in this paragraph. 13 of the remaining seven books, which addressed more specific topics. One thing suggested by the general summary is that Aenesidemus took from Pyrrho the idea that a sceptical attitude results in ataraxia, or something closely resembling it; the non-

Pyrrhonist is described as being in the grip of “continuous torments” (169b24), whereas the Pyrrhonist is said to be happy in his withdrawal from claims to know things (169b26-

9). The last three of the specific books were devoted to topics in ethics. Book 6 was about the good and the bad and related topics, and Photius says that Aenesidemus “closed these things off from our apprehension and knowledge” (170b25-6); he also says that this was done by means of “the same tomfoolery” (170b24-5) as was employed in connection with other topics (Photius is far from an admirer), and the sketch of Aenesidemus’ procedure in other cases seems to confirm that it was essentially the same whatever the subject-matter. Book 7 was about the virtues; in this case Photius simply says that

Aenesidemus claimed to undermine the pretensions of those who took themselves to have achieved a solid theory on the subject (170b27-30).

So far – except for the payoff in terms of ataraxia, which is a distinctively

Pyrrhonist move – the picture, while not developed in any detail in Photius’ summary, seems consistent with the strategy of inducing suspension of judgement that we have seen with Arcesilaus and Carneades. But Photius’ report on the eighth and final book, about the telos, points in a different direction; here Aenesidemus’ approach consisted of

“allowing neither that happiness nor nor practical wisdom, nor anything else that one of the philosophical schools would believe in, is a telos, but saying that the telos they all celebrate simply does not exist” (170b31-5). The assertion that there is no such thing as a telos sounds rather different from suspension of judgement, at least as we have 14 considered it so far. However, this too is something Photius attributes to Aenesidemus in other cases; the summary also includes the claims that there is no such thing as a sign and no such thing as a cause (170b12-14, 18-19). In addition, Aenesidemus’ general method, as explained in the first book, seems to have included a willingness to make relativized assertions of the form “X is F at some times but not at others” or “X is F for one person but not for another”; these are contrasted with what Photius (perhaps reproducing

Aenesidemus’ language) calls “unambiguous” assertions (169b40, 170aa29), which he attributes to the Academics of his day and treats as a key instance of their failure to maintain a sceptical outlook. As with the negative existential claims, the question arises how assertions of relativities can be considered consistent with suspension of judgement.

The answers to these questions will be easiest to address in the context of Sextus’ work. As we shall see, Sextus (sometimes, at least) makes precisely the same kinds of assertions about the good and the bad; but in his case we have the advantage of extended original texts to work with. As for the remainder of the Pyrrhonist tradition besides

Aenesidemus and Sextus (who appears to have lived in the second century AD), we know very little more than the names of a few leading practitioners, and nothing of particular relevance to ethics. From now on, then, I concentrate on what is by far the richest of those records, the surviving works of Sextus Empiricus.

III

In what is probably the most important sentence from his best-known work Outlines of

Pyrrhonism (PH), Sextus says “The sceptical ability is one of placing in opposition things that appear and are thought in any way at all, an ability from which, because of the equal strength in the objects and arguments that stand in opposition, we come first to 15 suspension of judgement, and then after that to freedom from worry” (1.8). Again, as with Pyrrho and Aenesidemus, we have ataraxia as the result of a withdrawal from definite claims. And again, as with Arcesilaus and Carneades, we have suspension of judgement produced by means of oppositions. The items opposed are not only arguments, but also include “things that appear”; this need not refer only to sensory impressions, but may also refer to any way in which things strike us pre-reflectively and non-philosophically. And the phrase “in any way at all” indicates that these common- sense “appearances” may be juxtaposed either with other, conflicting common-sense appearances or with countervailing philosophical arguments; Sextus’ writings give us plenty of examples of both. What is, if not new, at least more explicit in Sextus’ statement than in our evidence from earlier sceptics is that suspension of judgement is the result of the “equal strength” of the items opposed; and the same may be said of the claim that scepticism is an “ability”. Both points indicate the Pyrrhonist’s lack of theoretical commitment. “Equal strength” is a psychological notion. It is not that one comes to the conclusion that suspension of judgement is rationally required. Rather, one simply finds oneself equally drawn to – or perhaps, equally repelled by – the two or more alternatives presented; and so, since one cannot help but see these alternatives as mutually exclusive

(this too being viewed as simply a fact about one’s psychological make-up, not anything with a grounding in logical theory), one cannot help but withdraw from definite commitment to either (or any) of them. And scepticism is characterized as an “ability” rather than a theory or doctrine; the sceptic is not someone who holds certain views, but someone who engages rather successfully in a certain type of activity – the activity of generating oppositions. This latter point also underscores the practical character of 16

Pyrrhonism. It is not just that there is a practical consequence, ataraxia. Scepticism itself consists of doing something on an ongoing basis (as Sextus’ own works illustrate at length); it is not a conclusion, and it is not achieved once and for all. Rather, suspension of judgement is maintained by a constant flow of opposing arguments and impressions, and the sceptic’s way of life centers around ensuring the continuation of that flow.

This raises an obvious question, one that non-sceptics in antiquity did not hesitate to press: how is such a life even possible? There has to be more to life than just generating oppositions. Living also requires such mundane things as food, shelter and interaction with those around one; and these things require one to act in certain ways, and also to choose between alternatives, which seems on the face of it incompatible with suspension of judgement. Sextus would reply that one is not, in fact, required to make choices, if by that is meant decisions concerning the superior rational basis for one course of action over others. The sceptic does indeed act, and does indeed in a sense opt for some courses of action over others; but this “opting”, again, is not matter of what he judges as the best or the most rational course of action, but simply of which course of action he in fact, because of the particular repertoire of dispositions that has developed in him, happens to be drawn to. As Sextus puts it, the sceptic follows the appearances (PH

1.22), without taking any stand on whether things actually are as they appear. That things appear to one a certain way is not itself up for dispute (and is not what one suspends judgement about); but whether they are really that way is another issue altogether. And how things do appear to one, he says, is due to various factors, some of which we might call natural and some cultural (PH 1.23-4). On the natural side, it is just a brute fact that we are built in such a way as to have certain types of sense-perceptions and certain types 17 of thoughts; under the latter heading would come the tendency, mentioned in the previous paragraph, to see some propositions as incompatible with others. It is also a brute fact that we experience hunger, thirst, pain (etc.), and that these feelings spur us to eat, drink and take evasive action (etc.). On the cultural side, each of us is raised in a certain society, and this society reinforces certain patterns of behavior and suppresses others.

The sceptic, then, will conform to the laws and customs of his society – not because he thinks this is the right thing to do, but simply because he was raised that way (the

“because” here being purely causal or explanatory, not justificatory). And the sceptic will make a living by developing (and passing on to his successors) certain kinds of expertise; virtually the only thing we know about Sextus is that he was a doctor, and this is an obvious example.

A modern medical student would find this last point incredible. Learning to be a doctor, the student would object, is not just a matter of learning how to perform surgeries, administer drugs, and so on; it also involves an understanding of how the body works and hence of why these procedures can be expected to help the patient. But this is precisely what Sextus is denying, and he was not alone. The Empiric school of medicine claimed to practice medicine simply by learning and exercising a set of routines (routines developed historically through the experience of what succeeds in given circumstances – hence the name), without holding any theory about the underlying workings of the body that would justify those routines. We are told (e.g., DL 9.116) that Sextus was an

Empiric, as his name (or title) would suggest16, and he was not the only Pyrrhonist of

16 In one puzzling chapter (PH 1.236-41) Sextus addresses the question whether medical Empiricism is the same as scepticism, and answers “no: another medical school, Methodism, is closer”. But it is at least possible to read this as expressing opposition to one form of Empiricism, rather than to any thought or practice that might deserve the label. 18 whom this was true; given the common features just mentioned, this is not surprising17.

Learning to be a doctor, then, is like learning to ride a bicycle; it is know-how, with no propositional knowledge supporting it. And this is of a piece with Sextus’ conception of the sceptic’s life as a whole. One acts in given ways in given circumstances because one has a whole set of dispositions, both natural and culturally induced, that incline one in those directions in those circumstances. In no case does one act in a certain way because one thinks one ought to act that way, or that this is the best way to act – whether the

“ought” is moral, prudential or of any other kind; one acts that way because one’s dispositions push one in that direction – end of story. In the moral case, at least, non- sceptics clearly found this unacceptable. Sextus at one point considers an objection: what if a tyrant forces you to commit some atrocious act, or you will be tortured and killed (M

11.163-166)? The point of the objection, as Sextus makes quite clear, is that such a choice is impossible without making a principled (and hence non-sceptical) decision about what things are really important18. And Sextus’ answer is simply – no, it isn’t; the sceptic will act as his complex of dispositions inclines him to act, and no issue of principle need enter the picture. We shall return to this example; but for now the point is that the sceptic’s practice, as Sextus portrays it, is in this respect quite consistent across the board.

That practice, as we have seen, includes no commitment to certain things being genuinely good or bad. Now, given the centrality of the concepts good and bad in ancient

Greek ethics generally, it is not surprising that they figure among the topics that Sextus

17 On connections between the Pyrrhonists and the Empiricists, see Allen 2010. 18 The point is not that the sceptic will not do the right thing (by the objector’s lights) – although this may well be true, and I return to this point below. The point is that whatever the sceptic does, this must be the result of a principled decision, and hence the sceptic will be convicted of inconsistency. 19 explicitly addresses. What is surprising, however, is the way this subject is treated in at least one of the works that address it. One would expect Sextus to produce a series of opposing arguments and impressions designed to lead us to suspension of judgement about whether anything is in reality good or bad, or about what things, if any , are in reality good or bad. This is indeed what happens in the portion of Outlines of

Pyrrhonism that deals with ethics (PH 3.235). But in Against the Ethicists, which covers much of the same ground at somewhat greater length, Sextus instead argues for the conclusion that nothing is in reality (or “by nature”) either good or bad (M 11.78, 89, 95).

Of course, a sceptic can argue for anything he likes, so long as this is balanced by something of “equal strength” on the other side. But Sextus offers no such balancing considerations, nor does he expect us to bring them to bear from our own preexisting ethical consciousness or from our knowledge of opposing, non-sceptical positions. For he several times makes clear that the sceptic’s goal of ataraxia is to be attained not by suspending judgement about the topic, but by coming to accept the conclusion of his arguments. We will attain ataraxia, he says, “when reason has established that none of these things is by nature good or bad” (M 11.130); that there is nothing good or bad by nature is also referred to as the sceptic’s “teaching” (M 11.140). But while the sceptic, according to this picture, is willing to deny the existence of anything good or bad by nature, he is also willing to call things good or bad (or at least, “to be chosen” and “to be avoided”, which apparently amount to the same thing) in a relative or qualified way – that is, at certain times (but not others) or in relation to certain persons (but not others) (M

11.114, 118). These relativized assertions are, then, compatible with, indeed part and parcel of, the denial of things being good or bad by nature. 20

This is the closest we get among the ancient sceptics to modern moral scepticism

à la Mackie. “By nature good and bad” functions as a rough equivalent to Mackie’s

“objective values”; and one of Mackie’s arguments for the thesis turns on considerations of relativity. I return briefly to Mackie below. For now, though, I want to return to the oddity of this argument in the context of Sextus’ other writings; it is by no means what one would expect from Sextus’ central description of what scepticism is, with which I began this section. Instead, it looks like an instance of the same pattern of thought as we observed in passing at the end of the previous section in connection with Aenesidemus; there too there were negative existential claims coupled with a willingness to make relativized assertions. But here we get a little more detail about how this is supposed to work.

The key point is a particular conception of what it is for something to be a certain way by nature, or in reality. For anything to be good or bad by nature, Sextus says, its goodness or badness would have to be “common to all” (M 11.69-71), not – as turns out to be the case, according to the argument that follows – restricted only to some people.

The reason for believing that there are, as Sextus puts it, only “private goods” (78) is simply that people have different conceptions of the good; apparently, then, if something does not strike a person as good, it is not good for that person – the idea of someone’s being mistaken about what is in fact good does not seem to enter the picture. Subsequent discussion (114, 118) makes clear that the relativity is not only to persons, but to circumstances. Thus, for something to be by nature good, its goodness would have to be apparent to everyone and applicable in all circumstances; to say that nothing is by nature good is simply to say that nothing meets that standard. And if this is the standard, then of 21 course relativized assertions are not even in the running for being about the nature of things; for universal applicability is precisely what they avoid.

Yet Sextus does say in Against the Ethicists that the sceptic suspends judgement.

How is this possible if these assertions are permitted? Though Sextus never explicitly says so, the answer must be that suspension of judgement means something different here from what it means in his official statement of what scepticism is. Rather than a withdrawal from any definite claims about how things are, it must here consist in a withdrawal from any attempt at a positive specification of the characteristics things possess by nature – that is, invariably. To deny that anything is by nature good or bad is not by itself to offer any such positive specification; for “not by nature (that is, invariably) good” does not imply “by nature (that is, invariably) not good” or “by nature

(that is, invariably)” anything else. This form of Pyrrhonism, apparently derived from

Aenesidemus, is not the same as Sextus’ usual and official variety; but it is nonetheless understandable as a form of scepticism, in the ancient sense of the term. It does, however, have in common with Mackie’s moral scepticism a focus on the question what things would have to be like in order for there to be things good or bad by nature (or in

Mackie’s case, objective values), leading to the conclusion that nothing can be like that; this is the function of Mackie’s “argument from queerness”. But the argument from queerness is clearly very different from Sextus’ line of thinking. For Sextus, it is not that the idea of things being invariably a certain way is inherently peculiar; it is just that, as it happens, nothing measures up to that standard, at least as regards goodness and badness.

Where Sextus and Mackie have more in common, as suggested earlier, is in the notion of relativity as counting against things being a certain way in reality. But again, the 22 approaches differ considerably in the details. For Mackie, relativity – understood as the fact of differences in moral codes – is a phenomenon best explained by the hypothesis that there are no objective values. For Sextus, relativity – understood the same way – appears to entail the conclusion that nothing is by nature good or bad, given the very strong conditions for being by nature a certain way.

Against the Ethicists is the most explicit and unadulterated instance of this style of argument in Sextus; but there are other examples, both in ethics and in other fields. As noted earlier, the parallel treatment of good and bad in Outlines of Pyrrhonism proceeds as one would normally expect Sextus to proceed. But it is interesting that there are traces in this discussion, too, of the approach apparently inspired by Aenesidemus. Although

Sextus does here suspend judgement about the existence of anything by nature good or bad, he also includes a shortened version of the very same argument as appears in the

Against the Ethicists (PH 3.179-182), which he then somewhat unconvincingly tries to convert from an argument for nothing’s being by nature good (which it what it is) into a set of considerations leading to suspension of judgement about that question (182). It looks as if his goal is to adapt this inherited material to suit his own official, post-

Aenesidemus variety of Pyrrhonism, but he has not been entirely successful.

What both approaches have in common is that one is freed from beliefs to the effect that things are by nature good or bad. And this, according to Sextus in both works, is where the distinctive payoff of scepticism is to be found. As we have seen, Sextus claims that ataraxia is the result of suspension of judgement. He also says that ataraxia

(at least as regards matters of opinion – that is, the things on which sceptical argument can make a difference) is the sceptic’s telos (PH 1.25). It may seem surprising that 23

Sextus would even mention a telos – especially since, as we saw, Aenesidemus had argued that there was no such thing. But Sextus makes very clear that he does not think of his telos in a dogmatic fashion, as something that all human should, or by nature do, aim towards (which was presumably what Aenesidemus attacked). Instead, it is simply a description of what he and his fellow sceptics in fact aim towards. There is no element of prescription, and there is a clear signal that this is merely a provisional, not necessarily a fixed, aim on their part; Sextus says that this is the sceptic’s aim “up to now”, which is a standard device he uses to avoid seeming to claim anything universally.

How exactly is the sceptic’s procedure supposed to yield ataraxia? Although

Sextus’ general characterization of scepticism makes ataraxia out to be the result of suspension of judgement in general, it is striking that whenever he specifically addresses this question – as he does in several places – it is always freedom from beliefs about good and bad that takes center stage (PH 1.25-30, 3.235-238, M 11.110-167). The general idea is that these beliefs bring the believer immense turmoil. One is constantly attempting to get or keep the good things and to get rid of or keep away from the bad things; and since one thinks these things are good or bad by nature, one thinks it is really important to succeed in these endeavors. The only way to be free from this obsessive mindset is to abandon the beliefs themselves; that way, the stakes become a great deal lower, and one can stop worrying. Sextus does allow that the sceptic feels pain, hunger, etc.; these are things over which we have no control, and here the goal is said to be not ataraxia, but moderate (as opposed to excessive) feeling (PH 1.25). But even here the sceptic is better off than other people, because the sceptic does not have the additional belief that what he is experiencing is really a bad thing (30). 24

This idea of the sceptic as better off than other people is perhaps one of the elements most surprising to those familiar with scepticism only in its modern guise

(whether in ethics or epistemology or both). I mentioned at the outset the much clearer practical orientation of the ancient sceptic. But even aside from that contrast, scepticism nowadays – in fact, at least since Descartes – has typically been seen as a threat to be contended with, rather than a welcome source of relief. The goal is usually to show that, contrary to appearances, we do not need to worry about scepticism (because it is incoherent, or true but harmless, or whatever); scepticism is rarely seen as something to be embraced. And even if it is, this is to be understood at a rarefied intellectual level; again, the notion of practical advantages from scepticism is, from a contemporary perspective, absolutely alien19.

It must be admitted that the considerations Sextus uses to show that the sceptic is better off are less than compelling. The notion that belief that things are in reality good or bad is a source of disturbance, and freedom from such belief a source of calm, seems to be plausible in some cases, but not in others; often, on the contrary, firm moral beliefs are themselves a comfort in difficult situations, whereas the lack of a clear moral compass causes anxiety. The precise mix of these factors would surely also vary from person to person. Sextus’ blanket assertion that believers in things by nature good and bad are afflicted by constant worry, and that sceptics are simply free from all of that, seems excessively one-sided – and also excessively dogmatic.

19 Walter Sinnott-Armstrong 2006 espouses what he calls “moderate moral Pyrrhonism” and calls it “attractive” (131). But he is talking about (as we would now put it) purely philosophical attractiveness; there is no suggestion of anything like ataraxia as the outcome. Note also Myles Burnyeat’s comment on the “insulation” of Mackie’s scepticism from first-order ethical issues in Burnyeat and Frede 1997, 112. 25

Other questions can be raised about the practical attitude Sextus describes. I mentioned his response to the tyrant example: when faced with an appalling choice, the sceptic will simply do whatever his upbringing has disposed him to do, without having any convictions either way about the rightness or wrongness of his action. One might wonder, first, whether this is really possible; could anyone in such a crisis be expected to remain as detached from his own reactions as Sextus says the sceptic is? No doubt automatic responses shaped by habit can and do govern much of our lives; but a case like this does seem to force a conscious and deliberate choice, in which one identifies with certain values and rejects others, and in which one is invested as a self, not merely as a bundle of dispositions the unfolding of which one observes as if from afar. In other words, the objection to which Sextus is responding seems to have a lot more intuitive appeal than he allows. Second, supposing such detachment is after all possible, it seems very implausible that which way the sceptic reacts to the tyrant’s demand is really, as he presents it, an open question; if habitual dispositions are what determines the sceptic’s response, it is overwhelmingly more likely that he will take the easier course – that is, submit to the tyrant’s demand rather than stand up to him. Nor is it open to Sextus to suggest that which decision counts as easier is itself relative to one’s societally induced dispositions. Thwarting the tyrant, in this example, will result in torture, and Sextus concedes that the sceptic is affected by pain, regardless of what dispositions his society has inculcated in him. In such situations it is difficult to imagine that these dispositions – absent the extra motivational force that they would have if (contrary to the sceptical outlook) they took the form of definite moral commitments – would prove stronger than the sceptic’s natural inclinations to avoid hardship. 26

Quite apart from the fraught circumstances of the tyrant’s challenge, the more general conformism of the sceptic, as Sextus portrays him, is another unattractive feature.

It is not that Sextus wholly identifies with the ordinary person in moral matters (as he claims to do in some other contexts). For he is quite explicit – and in this he is surely right – that the ordinary person believes in things that are by nature good and bad (PH

1.30); in this respect the ordinary person and the non-sceptical are in the same boat. But the sceptic does do the same kinds of things as the ordinary conventional member of his society does, and this is no accident. Challenging the status quo would require one to have some dispositions at odds with the prevailing norms; but, as we saw,

Sextus cites the prevailing norms of one’s society as precisely one of the central influences on the character of the sceptic’s dispositions. Besides, even if we depart from the letter of Sextus’ account, and allow that other factors (such as very unconventional parents) might compete with those prevailing norms in shaping the sceptic’s dispositions20, it is still unlikely that the sceptic will step far outside the status quo if (as will surely often be the case) that would be difficult or unpopular. This is because, again, the attitude that the sceptic has towards his own dispositions is peculiarly passive and unengaged; and this makes them far more liable to be overridden by the natural inclinations towards safety, absence of pain, etc. than they would be if they were convictions about which he cared deeply.

A full-fledged self, genuinely moral motivations, autonomy in anything like the sense we normally understand it – these things all go together in our conception of a

20 The possibilities here were no doubt more limited in Sextus’ time than they would be in ours, given the much more homogeneous nature of ancient society. But Sextus’ picture of the factors influencing the sceptic’s dispositions is perhaps still excessively limited. 27 robust and responsible human agency21. And, although he does not speak of these things directly (but rather of beliefs concerning the good and the bad by nature), it is fundamentally these things from which Sextus is delighted that the sceptic is free22. He is no doubt right that the passive, stand-offish attitude he describes would relieve one of a great many concerns (although, as noted earlier, the matter may not be as clear-cut as he suggests). But the question is whether this is worth what one would have to give up in order to achieve it. If ataraxia, tranquility, is what one values above all else, then the answer may be yes. But most of us care a good deal about some other things as well.

And this is no doubt one reason why scepticism was never a very widespread movement in the ancient world.

21 I have discussed the sceptic’s pared-down self in Bett 2008. 22 Consider an existentialist, who would be on Sextus’ side in doing without objective values, but who nonetheless places a great deal of value on personal commitment. From Sextus’ perspective this would be no improvement. He connects deep commitments with a belief in things by nature good and bad, and in the ancient context this is understandable. But if we imagine these two elements apart from one another, as we now can, it becomes clear that deep commitments are what he is at bottom trying to get away from. 28

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