Is the Examined Life Worth Living a Pyrrhonian Alternative

Is the Examined Life Worth Living?A Pyrrhonian AlternativeHarald Thorsrud

Among the conceptions of philosophical therapy common in the ancientGreek and Roman worlds, nearly all include a positive role for reason.1This is due, in large measure, to the various diagnoses of human unhap-piness and vice offered. For example, Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, and theStoics, all point to faulty processes of reasoning and the harmful beliefsthat are produced as a central element in psychological disorder. Thus,the philosophical therapies corresponding to these diagnoses employcareful reflection on one's beliefs and the various views available inorder to find the ones most conducive to the good life, however that maybe conceived. And here lie the roots of modern cognitive psychotherapy:

1 The Greek and Roman conceptions of the therapeutic potential of philosophy havereceived extensive and well-deserved attention in such works as J. Annas, TheMorality of Happiness (Oxford 1993), M. Nussbaum, The Therapy of Desire: Theory andPractice in Hellenistic Ethics (Princeton, NJ1994), P. Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life,tr. M. Chase (Oxford 1995), J. Sihvola and T. Engberg-Pedersen, eds., The Emotionsin Hellenistic Philosophy (Dordrecht 1998), and Richard Sorabji's recent GiffordLectures, Emotion and Peace of Mind: From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation(Oxford 2000). A useful chapter on the history of ancient psychotherapy is found inS. Jackson, Care of the Psyche: A History of Psychological Healing (New Haven, CT1999). A more detailed examination of the medical analogies employed by Plato andAristotle is found in D. Hutchinson, 'Doctrines of the Mean and the Debate Con-cerning Skills in Fourth-Century Medicine, Rhetoric and Ethics', in RJ. Hankinson,ed., Method, Medicine and Metaphysics (Edmonton, AB 1988) 17-52. See also C. GUI,'Ancient Psychotherapy', Journal of the History of Ideas 46 (1985) 307-25, and R.Chessick, 'Socrates: First Psychotherapist', American Journal of Psychoanalysis 42(1982) 71-83.

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230 Harald Thorsrud

the fundamental notion is that we may improve the quality of our livesby altering our beliefs. This view was, and continues to be, shared byproponents of very different conceptions of what a good life is.2

We may think of this shared presupposition in terms of the Socraticdoctrine mat the unexamined life is not worth living (Ap 38a). Thefamiliar goal of Socratic examination is to eliminate any poorly foundedpretences to knowledge and also, hopefully, to arrive at genuine knowl-edge regarding the proper evaluations of things. At the very least, theSocratic doctrine assures us that merely removing false pretences con-stitutes crucial moral progress, for it clears away the impediments to ourever actually arriving at knowledge and it engenders a virtuous, if ironic,humility with respect to our epistemic limitations.3

An intriguing exception to this approach to philosophical psychother-apy is Sextus Empiricus' version of Pyrrhonian skepticism. In his Out-lines of Pyrrhonism (Pyrrönewn Hypotypöseön [=PH]) we find a practical,therapeutic method for overcoming psychological disturbance and forliving a tranquil and even virtuous life (PH 117), but we do not find thesame positive role for reason as arbiter among competing views. Whatis unique about Sextus' diagnosis is that it identifies not merely falsebelief but belief itself as the source of psychological disturbance (PH l13-15,27-8,3 237). So the role of reason is not to guide us to better beliefsbut rather to enable us to shed our beliefs which, he claims, are produc-tive of disturbance. Thus, a consequence of Sextus' view is that theexamined life, insofar as it is aimed at acquiring better beliefs, is notworth living. His alternative is to live without belief (adoxastös, PH l 23,226, 2 254, 3 235). And this, we will find, requires an entirely differentsort of examination.

The primary aim of this paper is to argue for an interpretation of howthe skeptical life without belief may in fact be a tranquil, choiceworthyand even virtuous one. Sextus says very little, explicitly, about the sortof life the skeptic will live. And he never elaborates the sort of virtue that

2 See, for example, Monist (83.4) 2000 which was devoted to the topic of 'philosophyas a way of life'; Alexander Nehamas' Sather Lectures, The Art of Living: SocraticReflections from Plato to Foucault (Berkeley 1998); and Richard Shusterman's Practic-ing Philosophy: Pragmatism and the Philosophical Life (New York 1997).

3 See, for example: Ap 23ab, 38a, Crito 46bc, Tht 149a-150b, Soph 230ad, Charm 166cd,La 201ab, Prot 313d-314b, Meno 84ac.


is the Examined Life Worth Living? 231

may be attained in the absence of belief. The account of 'skeptical virtue'I will develop is thus speculative, but it is not arbitrary, for its elementsare discernible in earlier Greek philosophy, especially in Aristotle'saccount of ethical habituation.

I Living Without Belief

For most meanings of the term 'belief, a life without belief would be avery unusual one. But Sextus also claims that the skeptic lives in accord-ance with everyday observances (PH l 23-4, 2 246). A number of com-mentators have argued that such a life would certainly not be anordinary one, but would involve a pathological detachment of the skep-tic from his own conscious states; for he would be acting as if he were aspectator of his own life, neither accepting nor rejecting as true any ofthe impressions that reach him.4 If this is correct, then even if the skepticallife is tranquil, it is not choiceworthy, and Sextus' understanding ofhimself as a philanthropist (PH 3 280) is wrongheaded. On the otherhand, some have argued that Sextus does not target all beliefs, but onlythose typically defended by professional philosophers.5 Thus, since amore narrowly focused skepticism allows all sorts of everyday beliefs,this skeptic may very well live an ordinary life, for his tranquUity doesnot come at the cost of pathological detachment.

In this first section, I will argue that skeptical therapy is intended notmerely for the benefit of philosophers and theoreticians. I will also showthat the resulting lack of belief does not result in any pathologicaldetachment, but on the contrary that it promotes an intense involvementwith one's life.

For example: M. Bumyeat, 'Can the Sceptic Live His Scepticism?', in J. Barnes, et.al., eds., Doubt and Dogmatism (Oxford 1980), reprinted in Bumyeat and Frede, eds.,The Original Sceptics (Indianapolis 1997) 25-57; and J. Annas, (1993).

M. Frede, "The Skeptic's Beliefs', reprinted in Bumyeat and Frede, eds., (1997); andT. Brennan, 'Criterion and Appearance in Sextus Empiricus', in J. Sihvola, ed.,Ancient Scepticism and the Sceptical Tradition (Acta Philosophica Fennica 66 2000).


232 Harald Thorsrud

l The basic skeptical target — the Socratic doctrine

The initial step towards skep deism, according to Sextus, occurs whenone is troubled by the anomalies in his perceptions of the world. Amongthese are conflicting sense impressions and the seemingly endless dis-agreements among people regarding issues of fundamental importance.The proto-skeptic then sets out to investigate these competing claims andappearances in order to determine which are true and which are false,so that he may thereby become tranquil (PH 112, 26). It seems that thisinitial inclination should apply quite broadly to anyone who investigatessomething. For what other reason would one — anyone — begin toinvestigate conflicting appearances except to figure out which are trueand which are false?

Even if we disagree with Sextus' claim that the ultimate motivationfor truth-seeking is tranquility, we will still find some sort of benefitunderwriting the pursuit of truth. And we may think of this, once again,in terms of the Socratic doctrine — the unexamined life is not worthliving, because it is only by means of examination that one may acquiretrue, or even more probable beliefs, and we are better off with such beließ.Among the benefits that may be proposed are virtue, happiness, pleas-ure, freedom from suffering and even the mere satisfaction of intellectualcuriosity (as in the famous opening lines of Aristotle's Metaphysics).Whether one seeks the truth about the physical world or the truth aboutvalue, it is probably the case that he is motivated by some considerationthat would quality as a version of the Socratic doctrine.

For the Stoics, the good life is only attained with a comprehensivelytrue account of the world and our place in it. Similarly, for the Epicure-ans, the good life requires, at least, the knowledge that the world iscomposed entirely of atoms and void, along with a whole lot of allegedentailments of this view. Generally speaking, on the way to becomingfully virtuous, we must resolve the puzzles that our experience presentsus with and arrive at some relevant truths about ourselves and the world.Thus it makes good sense to accept the most plausible account we canfind and to risk being in error since the good life is taken to be a productof true beliefs, if not knowledge. Should we refrain from believingaltogether, we would thereby lose any chance at the good life.

By following this sort of reasoning however, we come to acquirebeliefs that are productive of disturbance according to Sextus. In particu-lar, we will acquire beliefs about what is genuinely, as opposed to onlyapparently, good and bad. It will not suffice to merely recognize thatsome things appear good and others appear bad, for this recognitionBrought to you by | University of Groningen

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Is the Examined Life Worth Living? 233

contributes to the anomalies that must, according to the Socratic doc-trine, be resolved — for example, that p appears good at one time, badat another, or always good to one person always bad to another, etc. Aslong as we stay at the level of appearances there is always the possibilityof encountering contradictions in the way things seem. So, to success-fully resolve the anomalies we must find rational, epistemic grounds forpreferring one appearance over another. This requires a move to a'deeper' level by maintaining that something is really good, despite thefact that it may appear bad to some people or in some circumstances.

Even relativized beliefs will be productive of disturbance, insofar asthe relative values attributed are still thought to be real.6 For everyone

6 One might argue, as Aenesidemus appears to have done, that things really do havethe properties they exhibit given the proper relativistic disclaimers — see P. Woo-druff, 'Aporetic Pyrrhonism', Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 6 (1988) 139-68,and R. Bett, Pyrrho, his Antecedents, and his Legacy (Oxford 2000), Ch. 4. For example,we might say that some object really is brown, rectangular and good to eat relativeto a hungry person whose senses are operating in a certain way and whoseemotional state is such and such, etc., but the object is not brown, rectangular andgood to eat in and of itself, or in its nature. Insofar as this sort of relativism stillinvolves a realistic commitment and insofar as it sanctions beliefs, it is not acceptableto Sextus, at least as I am interpreting him in PH. Bett argues convincingly in hiscommentary on Against the Ethiasts (Oxford 1997), that in M XI, which he placesearlier than PH, Sextus argues for an Aenesedimean relativism which he laterabandoned in PH. In PH, Sextus stresses the apparent unresolvability of anomalies,whereas relativism provides a modest resolution. For discussion of the difficultiessurrounding the notion of skeptical resolution and decidability, see J. Barnes, TheToils of Scepticism (Cambridge 1990). Even though the relativist will not claim anyultimate grounds for preferring one appearance to another, he may still claim tohave relativized, epistemic grounds for such a preference. And in general, he mayclaim to have explained why things seem to have incompatible properties.

More importantly, we can see the Socratic doctrine at work in Aenesidemus'view. The benefits of happiness and wisdom are offered as the rewards for thosewho philosophize in accordance with Aenesidemus' Ten Modes (Photius, Bib169b26-28). But if these Modes lead to relativistic beliefs of the sort described, thenhe is, in effect, saying that we are better off adopting such beliefs. We may also seesome of the epistemic modesty of Socrates in Aenesidemus' refutations of claims toknow the natures of things — Bert notes some of the influence Plato had onAenesidemus (2000,217). And here too we find a benefit: those who rid themselvesof such beliefs may avoid 'wearing themselves out uselessly and expending them-selves in ceaseless torments' (Bib 169b22-24) — Photius' summary of Aenesidemusis translated by Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, Vol. 1, (Cambridge1987) [=LS] sections 71C and 72L. It is clear from the context that this trouble arises


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who holds evaluative beliefs, including the relativist, will always eitherhave or not have what he believes to be good (or bad). Hence, such beliefswill always lead him to be troubled because he lacks good things, or tobe anxious about losing the good things he has, or to be troubled becausehe possesses bad things, or to be anxious about the possibility of encoun-tering bad things (PH l 27,3 237).

Sextus confirms the general applicability of this view by remarkingthat skeptics are better off than ordinary people who are not only afflictedby pain, for example, but also the belief that that experience is by naturebad (PH l 30). And, we might add, the skeptic is also better off than therelativist who believes that pain is only bad relative to specific circum-stances.

Even though ordinary people may not have any zealous commitmentto the Socratic doctrine, they will nonetheless be driven to philosophicalspeculation when faced with suffering. We can hardly help asking'Why?' when we encounter misfortune, deserved or otherwise. We arethen led in a variety of ways by this thought: sometimes to a perceivedinadequacy or malice on the part of the gods, and sometimes to aperceived inadequacy of our rational ability to discern what is best or topredict the future. Everyone, at some point in his life, experiencesanguish and the pull of regret and thus is led in the direction of theSocratic doctrine. The point is that ordinary people are not, in Sextus'view of things, immune to the disturbances that trouble philosophersand never in need of skeptical therapy. Even though non-philosophersare generally not in immediate need of such therapy, their tranquiliry iscontingent on not having any fresh misfortune to deal with.

Thus Sextus is not a champion of ordinary life in its undevelopedform. The skeptical life is an achievement and not merely the recoveringof a native innocence lost to philosophical speculation.

from endless theorizing. Aenesidemus would have us adopt relativized beliefs andthereby put an end to the futile attempt to understand the natures of things. It isonly by giving up the attempt to understand what (allegedly) can't be understoodand instead believing that things really are as they appear relative to the circum-stances that we may attain happiness. All of this is unacceptable to Sextus, at leastin PH.



2 The skeptical life, consistency, and detachment

But is the skeptical life a worthwhile achievement?As Sextus describes it, Pyrrhonism is not a set of beliefs that may or

may not cohere with one another and which we may call a doctrine orschool (hairesis),7 but rather an ability (dynamis) which we may or maynot develop and practice. This is a crucial point: skepticism is an abilityto engage in a practice that coheres with the account we find in PH; i.e.,skepticism is not the account, it is the practice described by the account.8In particular, it is the dialectical practice of articulating equally forcefularguments for and against any given claim.9 By virtue of this balancingact, the inclination to accept either of the opposed views is removed; onesuspends judgment and then finds tranquuity following fortuitously asa shadow follows a body (PH 126,29). This skeptical practice is engagedin without holding any beliefs about its goodness or its efficacy inachieving tranquility (PH 114-15).10

A common rejoinder is to claim that skeptical practice presupposesall sorts of beliefs. So despite what Sextus says or what he thinks ofskepticism, he holds some very definite beliefs about his practice. Hemust believe, it is alleged, that the practice of skepticism may plausiblylead to tranquility, and that it is good to be tranquil. These beliefs explainwhy the skeptic continues to seek tranquuity.

The skeptic will of course deny having such beliefs. He might pointout that these are attributed to him by the non-skeptic as an inferencefrom his behavior and in accordance with a theory of action. The foun-dation of this sort of theory is the claim that intelligible action alwaysindicates the presence of some belief in the agent. But it is not a foregoneconclusion that one must hold beliefs, at least occurrent beliefs, to engage

7 For discussion of the Hellenistic conceptions of hairesis (Latin: disciplina), see J.Glucker, Antiochus and the Late Academy (Gortingen 1978), Ch. 4.

8 This point is emphasized by B. Mates, The Skeptic Way (Oxford 1996), 6.

9 The expression 'equally forceful' should not be understood in any objective sense,but rather as 'equally persuasive'. The skeptic's balancing act thus involves merelydiscovering arguments that he, or his dogmatic 'patient' in fact will find plausible.This explains why the skeptic will gladly employ fallacious or weak arguments onoccasion (PH 3 280-1)

10 See also PH 1187-208 for Sextus' discussion of the properly skeptical use of languagein reporting what may appear to be beliefs.


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in coherent practices.11 We may easily imagine a tennis player who is soinvolved in her game that she has no occurrent beliefs regarding tennis,or anything else, while playing. She may, and probably will, rush the netwithout entertaining the belief that rushing the net is good or appropri-ate or likely to produce a winning shot. Indeed, as tennis players know,conscious reflection of this sort almost always interferes with the successof one's game.

But, one might insist, engaging in coherent, goal-directed activity stillpresupposes implicit or dispositional beliefs about the goodness of whatone is doing and about the specific strategies one adopts and possiblyeven about the reality of the objects one deals with. If we interpretdispositional belief merely as a tendency to behave in a certain way incertain situations, however, it need not be a problem for Sextus' claimthat the skeptic operates without belief. Indeed, Sextus allows that theskeptic yields appropriately to stimuli—when he feels thirst he will seekdrink, but this supposedly occurs without any beliefs regarding thirst ordrink. We are, inescapably, creatures of habit and we will inevitablydisplay tendencies to behave in certain ways. But habits are often incul-cated without belief. We almost always maintain that this is the case withour bad habits. For example, one might find himself seeking triplecheeseburgers for lunch everyday without ever having reflected on theenvironmental and health factors involved and without ever havingformed any explicit beliefs on the subject of cheeseburgers and gluttony.Even when the glutton has formed explicit beliefs about the evil ofgluttony, his menu selection may not reflect that. A similar sort of casecan be made for intellectual habits. No one, for example, sets out toacquire the disposition to make fallacious appeals to authority, yet somepeople habitually do. So in many cases, the tendency to behave, and tothink, in a certain way is not a function of belief, except in the minimal,dispositional sense mentioned above.

The distracting influence of occurrent beliefs is apparent in intellec-tual practices also. For example, too much reflection on the activity ofwriting while writing generally interferes with the process. It nearly

11 Plutarch responds on behalf of Arcesilaus to the objection that action presupposesassent, i.e., belief: There are three movements of the soul, impression, impulse andassent. All that is necessary for action are the first two movements. So one whosuspends judgments, i.e., withholds assent, may sail be active (LS 69A, Adv Col1122A-F).



always takes longer to produce a sentence if one is trying to edit it at thesame time. What's more, the result is often worse than if one merelyproduced the sentence without trying to get it absolutely right the firsttime. This can be seen also in a student's attempt to speak a foreignlanguage. If the speaker focuses his attention on the words he utters, andattempts to choose the right word to match his meaning, he will un-doubtedly stumble. On the other hand, if he allows himself to speakwithout simultaneous censorship, he is more likely to convey his mean-ing and learn to speak the language more fluently.

If Sextus has in mind the sort of activity I have been describing, thenthe skeptic would be able to practice skepticism, and engage in all of themore mundane tasks of life, without becoming consciously aware ofwhat he is doing, assuming he has acquired the right dispositions to doso. (I discuss the skeptical disposition further in section II, below.) Inparticular, he need not believe that finding equally powerful argumentsfor and against every view is a good thing, or that it will lead him tosuspend his judgment, or that suspending judgment is the proper intel-lectual response, etc.

But it might be objected that the skeptic must become aware of histheoretical commitments at certain crucial points. For example, let ussuppose that he has come upon a powerful argument that he is unableto effectively oppose. Sextus advises him not to accept the conclusionbecause there is probably another argument out there waiting to bediscovered that will succeed in counterbalancing the first one (PH 133-4,l 202-5).12 Let us call this the OC, for Opposition Claim'. If the skepticrefuses to accept the powerful argument because of the OC, it seems thathe must believe the OC. But if this refusal is not on account of the OC,what should we make of Sextus' advice at 1 33-4? For he seems to offerthe OC as a reason for not accepting the argument in question.

The sort of non-reflective activity described above allows us to seehow the skeptic could be acting in accordance with the OC withoutconsciously entertaining or endorsing it. When he reaches the dangerous

12 See R.J. Hankinson, The Sceptics (London 1995), and 'The End of Scepticism',Kriterien 96 (1997) 7-32. Hankinson calls this the 'Micawber Policy', and remarksthat 'far from being a desperate expedient to preserve an authentically Scepticalstance in the face of overwhelming evidence (as some think), there is actually muchto be said for it. After all, until 1543 (and in fact considerably thereafter) the vastpreponderance of evidence suggested that the earth was stationary' (1995:30).


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point of assenting to some powerful argument, he will merely hold offbecause of his habit of doing so. And, assuming that he eventually findsthe equally powerful counterargument, his habit of acting in accordancewith the OC will be reinforced. Nowhere in this process is he requiredto explicitly accept, and thus believe, the OC as a guiding principle ofhis dialectical practice. He need not ever have even formulated it as aprinciple. So Sextus does not offer the OC as a reason for suspendingjudgment.13 It should be seen, instead, as part of the descriptive accountof the skeptic's practice. His epocKe is not a policy he has adopted, butrather the result of having acquired the skeptical disposition.

This brings us to the question of detachment. Even if we grant theconsistency of the skeptic's dialectical practice, it still faces the objectionthat the consistency is bought at the price of pathological detachmentfrom one's own mental states. Bumyeat makes the case for this objectionforcefully.14 The flaw in his analysis, however, is in his interpretation ofSextus' remark that skeptics 'assent to the feelings forced upon them byappearances' (PH 113). According to Bumyeat, such an assent involvesacknowledgement of one's having the impression. Thus the skeptic maysay that it seems he is chilled or the tower appears square or the stickseems to be bent, without committing himself to whether these appear-ances in fact correspond to any real state of affairs. He merely acknow-ledges that that is how things seem. Bumyeat calls these skepticallyacceptable appearances 'non-epistemic' and grants that they do notresult in any belief. The problem arises when we allow the skeptic to usethis concept of non-epistemic appearance to apply to impressions ofthought. Thus he will say things like 'it seems to me that opposed toevery account is another one of equal persuasive force', but he will denythat he believes it. However, Bumyeat correctly points out that althoughassent and impression are logically independent in the case of perceptualexperience, they are not in the case of intellectual or philosophicalappearances. In these latter cases, saying 'it seems to me that p' is just the

13 Indeed, as we will see, there can be no reasons advanced in support of suspendingjudgment in the manner Sextus proposes. The act of suspending judgment is notitself a conscious decision or a conclusion to a skeptical meta-level argument aboutparticular arguments; rather epoctie occurs, when it occurs, of its own accord. Ratherlike grace, the best we can do is to put ourselves in a position to receive it.

14 Bumyeat (1980/1997), 42 ff.Brought to you by | University of Groningen



same thing as saying Ί believe p'. In these cases, impression and assentoccur simultaneously. So it would be disingenuous of the skeptic toacknowledge the impression that two opposed arguments appear tohave equal force and then to claim that he does not believe that they haveequal force. His acknowledgement of the impression amounts to anassent, and thus a belief.

This is also the source of the skeptic's alleged pathological detach-ment. For the only way he could acknowledge such an impression andnot believe it is to radically dissociate himself from his own mental states,perhaps splitting his personality into two: one person taking part in thephilosophical discussion and acknowledging that some argument ap-pears plausible and a second observing the mental states of the first butrefusing to go along with him.

The possibility Bumyeat overlooks, however, is that when the skepticassents to his seeming to be chilled, he does not thereby acknowledge theproposition, Ί seem to be chilled', but rather registers his assent byresponding in the appropriate way, e.g., shivering and seeking warmth.Similarly, when confronted with an argument he can not at that momenteffectively oppose, he assents to the OC by withholding judgment. Buthe need not acknowledge the OC as a principle. In this way he can receiveimpressions, both perceptual and philosophical, assent to them in thisquasi-behaviorist sense, and still avoid having any occurrent beliefs.This, I suggest, is what Sextus has in mind when he talks of the skeptic'sassent to feelings forced upon him (PH 113). To assent in this manner issimply a matter of shivering when cold, or seeking food when hungry(PH l 29). The experience of hunger does not require any intellectualacknowledgement. Similarly, the experience of encountering opposedand equally forceful arguments does not require any intellectual ac-knowledgement. In this latter case, the skeptic merely finds himselfinclined to suspend judgment. These appearances passively move theskeptic and lead necessarily to (skeptically appropriate) assent (PH 1193). The skeptic goes along with the appearances simply by not resistingthem (PH l 230). He does not separate himself as agent from his inten-tional objects by consciously attending to them as impressions or objectsof thought. Nevertheless, since it makes sense to say that he is respond-ing to them, it also makes sense to say that he has received them. And ifwe sought an explanation for his behavior it would be necessary to referto the relevant appearances.

Such appearances already contain some compulsion to action, theydo not require our conscious intervention, acknowledgement or ap-proval for them to spur us on (see n. 11). Thus we can say that theBrought to you by | University of Groningen


240 Harald Thorsrud

skeptic's goal-directed, purposive actions may indeed cohere with someaccount, but the propositions composing that account, including the OC,are not believed, in the sense of not being consciously attended to, by theskeptic — they merely describe his dispositional state.

We can imagine the budding skeptic tentatively adopting one viewafter another and finding that each one eventually fails to stand up tothe objections that are brought against it. The more he tries to figurethings out the more unhappy and worried he becomes. Finally, he onlyachieves the tranquility he seeks after giving up the attempt to achieveit; or at least after giving up the frustrating way in which he attempts toachieve it. The point is that tranquility is not attained by striving for it,but rather by placing oneself in the proper state to receive it.

Such an attitude would not result in pathological detachment butrather an intimate involvement with the activities that one engages in.The skeptic is involved with the practice of his skepticism just as amusician might lose himself in his music. And he may certainly carrythis involvement over to other aspects of his life. Whether he is aphysician or a craftsman, he may make his choices in accordance withthe expertise to which he has become habituated, i.e., by responding tothe way things seem to his trained eye. Were we to ask the skepticalcarpenter what beliefs he had while hanging a door he will tell us thathe was not aware of believing anything. In general, the skillful carpenterdoes not need to consult some theory about doors to succeed. Indeed, heis probably better off not doing so. Similarly, we should accept Sextus'claim that the skeptic engages in his dialectical practice without anybeliefs. His skeptical practice is coherent, but it does not require anyreflection on his practice. And crucially, Sextus steers clear of any versionof the Socratic doctrine.

II Skeptical Virtue and Conformism

Given the preceding analysis, we may say that the skeptic's indifferenceis not displayed in his behavior, but rather in his assessment of philo-sophical positions — i.e., he is indifferent with respect to which theoryis the right one or even with respect to what he should believe (cf. PH 3235). And he is indifferent to the imperative derived from the Socraticdoctrine that we must figure out which theory is the right one. But he iscertainly not indifferent to the demands of day to day life. The skeptic,according to Sextus, is guided by four sorts of observances.Brought to you by | University of Groningen



By nature's guidance we are naturally capable of perceiving and think-ing. By the necessitation of feelings, hunger conducts us to food andthirst to drink. By the handing down of customs and laws, we accept,from an everyday point of view, that piety is good and impiety bad. Byteaching of kinds of expertise [technai] we are not inactive in thosewhich we accept. (PH1 24, translated by Annas and Barnes, 1994).

The skeptic may take great interest in his occupation, his health, and thegeneral well-being of those around him. Indeed, Sextus himself, as aphysician and self-styled philanthropist must have had such interests.His pursuit of tranquility and metriopatheia need not lead to profoundboredom or utter indifference.15

As I noted earlier, Sextus also claims that his descriptive account ofthe skeptical persuasion shows how it is possible to live correctly, whichincludes living virtuously (PH 117)." In this section I will first sketch anaccount of virtue that requires neither knowledge nor belief (of the sortthat Sextus would have us avoid) and so would be consistent withSextus' descriptive account of the skeptic's life. Then I will offer a briefresponse to the objection that this sort of virtue would necessarily leadto an unacceptably uncritical life of conformity.

15 Annas and Barnes claim that Sextus' skeptical tranquility would probably beprofoundly boring and possibly even ignoble. On their view, the skeptic has optedout of life. He is a mere shell of a human being who has succeeded in warding offeven the possibility of disappointment, but only at the cost of becoming utterlyindifferent to life's vicissitudes. Thus, removing all anxiety and disappointmentfrom his life, he also removes the possibility of a robust happiness, the kind mostpeople seem to crave. (See The Modes of Scepticism: Ancient Texts and ModemInterpretations (Cambridge 1985), 169-171.) I believe, however, that their view seri-ously underestimates the extent to which the skeptic may actively pursue hisinterests.

16 I do not think this is merely an aberration on Sextus' part. First of all, he explicitlyoffers his Pyrrhonian skepticism as a kind of therapy, so this remark should comeas no surprise. Secondly, in his discussion of both Arcesilaus and Cameades, heclaims that after achieving their destructive skeptical aims they both needed toadvance a criterion for the conduct of life and the attainment of happiness (M 7158,166). He may well have thought the same necessity applied to himself and soadvanced, non-dogmatically, the life without belief in accordance with the fourobservances.


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l Virtue with neither knowledge nor belief— prying apartintellectual from moral virtue in Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics

That the skeptic is unwilling or unable to accept an account of virtue doesnot preclude him from performing morally praiseworthy actions, andeven consistently doing so. However, if we accept the Socratic doctrine,we would not be willing to consider such actions morally praiseworthy;for we might suppose, as Aristotle does, that in order for an action to bepraiseworthy the agent must have the proper intentional stance towardsthat action and this will include the knowledge (or at least belief) thatthe action is morally correct. In other words, if I don't know (or at leastbelieve) that the choice I am making is morally correct, then it seems tobe the case that I am getting it right by accident, and although this maybe good on strictly consequentialist grounds, it isn't praiseworthy onAristotelian grounds.

Aristotle begins the Nicomachean Ethics with the observation thatevery art and inquiry, as well as every action aims at some good. And ifthere were some good, for the sake of which we aim at every other good,then this must be the chief good. So, if there is such a good, Aristotlesupposes that knowledge of it will be tremendously important in ourpractical lives. What he literally says is that the knowledge of this goodwill have great weight with respect to life (megalen rhopen pros ton bion).The term rhope is generally used of the weight that tips the scale. Aristotlethen glosses the weighing metaphor, with the stochastic metaphor: justas archers who have a target to aim at, this knowledge (this weight) willmake us better able to attain what is appropriate (by means of makingthe proper judgment, EN 12,1094a23-5).

As we find out later in the Ethics, having such knowledge is noguarantee that we will in fact put it in on the scale in our practicaldecisions, or similarly, that we will aim at the target (EN VII3, also I 3,1095a9-12). But the possibility ofakrasia does not in any way detract fromthe importance of determining, to whatever extent we can, what thissupreme good is. For, without this knowledge, we will be like archerswithout a target, i.e., incapable of virtuous action. But on the other hand,even if we have the knowledge, we will still be incapable of virtuousaction without the inclination or disposition to make use of what weknow. Thus Aristotle insists that virtue is of two kinds, moral (ordispositional, ethike) and intellectual (dianoetike, EN 113,1103a5-6), bothnecessary for fully virtuous lives (EN VI13,1144bl4-17).

Aristotle's fundamental insight into the development of character isthat we become the sorts of people we are by means of repeated perform-Brought to you by | University of Groningen



ance of specific sorts of actions. This leads him to develop the famous'skill analogy': just as one becomes a skillful carpenter by repeatedlyworking with wood and a skillful lyre player by repeatedly playing thelyre, so too one becomes just and courageous by repeatedly performingjust and courageous actions (EN Π I).17 But it is not enough, on Aristotle'sview, to merely perform such actions. One must also perform them asthe just and courageous person does, i.e., knowing that they are just andcourageous (EN II 4) and for the sake of the actions themselves (EN VI12). If the moral novice merely acquires the proper moral disposition, hewill not be fully virtuous, for he will be unaware of the principles thatguide and justify his choices. Similarly, with the novice carpenter — hemay be able to follow the directions of his master and produce goodwork, but this success is not sufficient to qualify him as a skillfulcarpenter. It is not until he can provide the guidance for himself, andeven explain to others, e.g., why it would be best to choose this woodand use that tool, that he will be a skillful carpenter.18

Thus, grasping the correct moral principles and being able to providea justification or defense of some particular choice marks the completionof our ethical development. Moral habituation is necessarily prior in thisdevelopment. For one cannot grasp the correct moral principles prior toactually performing the corresponding moral action. We must do it first,and only then may we fully understand why and how it must be done.So it is possible that one could become an accomplished novice withoutever moving on to extract the moral principles that guide the fullyvirtuous person. Such a novice would have learned how to follow theorders of the virtuous guide but without being able to defend his actions.But we need not assume that he will be in constant need of his guide, forhe will have developed the proper moral disposition, he will have beentrained to respond appropriately to what the situation demands, even

17 There are a great many discussions of this analogy — see especially Annas, (1993),ch.2.

18 Annas, (1993), 67ff., develops this point in some detail. While I agree with Hutchin-son's view in (1988) that Aristotle rejects Plato's account of techne in favor of themore empirical sort of account we find in Isocrates, Aristotle nonetheless maintainsthat intellect plays a crucial role in all skills. What Aristotle (following Isocrates) andPlato differ on is the proper role of intellect, and the proper understanding ofpractical knowledge.


244 Harald Thorsrud

though he cannot articulate and defend the appropriateness of his re-sponse.19

This process of habituation, as I noted earlier, need not involve beliefin a manner that is unacceptable to the skeptic. This was most clearly thecase with our bad habits, but it is just as possible with the good ones.Even if one must have some initial beliefs and conscious motives to beginthe process of habituation, once the disposition takes hold, one mayengage in that practice without any occurrent beliefs. As I have inter-preted it, Sextus' skepticism is at least consistent with, if not amenableto, Aristotle's view of moral habituation. At the very least, this accountof habituation provides a possible explanation for how the skeptic mayacquire his professional training and maintain his lack of belief.20 But italso opens the conceptual space to see how the skeptical life withoutbelief could be a virtuous one. Such a life wouldn't qualify as a fullyvirtuous one on Aristotle's view, but no doubt Sextus would regard theAristotelian sage as an elaborate fantasy anyway.

It might be objected at this point that since Sextus firmly rejects thenotion that there is any art or skill of living (techne pen ton bion, PH 3239-79) my reliance on the skill analogy is inappropriate. This objectionis easily dispensed with, however, once we see that his attack on moralskills is aimed precisely at their epistemic elements and not the fact thatthey proceed from established dispositions.

Indeed, the first virtue he singles out for attack in this section is 'thecelebrated intelligence [phroriesis] which is dreamed up by the Stoics' (PH3 240). And he goes on to dismiss the possibility that this virtue couldconstitute the techne peri ton bion on the grounds that the Stoic account of

19 Bostock argues, similarly, that the ethical virtues described in EN II are those ofnormal people with good upbringing (Aristotle's Ethics, Oxford 2000). The highervirtue (kuna arete) of EN VI comes only with the acquisition of phronesis. Thus,Aristotle's overall position is that 'it is practical wisdom which determines whichdispositions are in fact virtuous dispositions, but nevertheless one can have such adisposition without oneself being practically wise' (45).

20 Relevant in this context is Sextus' curious remark that skepticism is more closelyakin to Medical Methodism than it is to the Empiricist school (PH 1 236-41). See M.Frede, "The Method of the So-Called Methodical School of Medicine', in ]. Barnes,et. al., eds.. Science and Speculation: Studies in Hellenistic Theory and Practice (Cam-bridge 1983), reprinted in Frede (1987) 261-78. Hankinson (1997) also discusses thiswith particular reference to the skeptical life without belief.



techne is itself untenable since it rests on Stoic epistemology, whichSextus thinks he has already demolished (PH 3 241-3). Next, he singlesout what appears to be Aristotle's intellectual condition on virtue that Ihave suggested we may pry apart from the account of moral habituation:

Nor shall we, as some say, recognize something as a product of intelli-gence from the fact that it appears to be done or produced by anintelligent person on the basis of an intelligent condition. For an intel-ligent condition is itself inapprehensible, being apparent neither simplyfrom itself and directly nor from its products, which are common toordinary people too. (PH 3 243-4, translated by Annas and Barnes,1994).

What Sextus aims to show in this argument is that even if there were anart of living, it is undiscoverable, or at least appears not to have beendiscovered so far because none of its proponents are able to convincehim that they can accurately distinguish between the actions proceedingfrom this art and those that don't. People may engage in all sorts ofapparently virtuous behavior without the intellectual component in-sisted upon by the dogmatists and Sextus is presumably not willing todemote such deeds on the grounds that they do not proceed from someindiscernible, and contested, intelligence.

He also provides arguments against the possibility of teaching andlearning such an art of living (PH 3 252-73). And here again it is theintellectual component that Sextus targets. Regardless of how convinc-ing these arguments are, they clearly do not exclude the possibility ofliving in accordance with the fourth of Sextus' observances, didaskaliatechnön (PH l 24).21 This is apparent even when he argues against thepossibility of teaching by means of what is evident (didaskalia enärgeia,PH 3 266). What is evident, Sextus claims, can be grasped by everyone.So if teaching is merely a matter of presenting evidence, then there wouldbe no difference between those who do so with the intent of teaching andthose who do so for other reasons. So the intellectual pretence that oneis teaching by means of presenting evidence adds nothing to the presen-tation of evidence. But this does not rule out the possibility that we may

21 I am indebted here to Jonathan Barnes' 'Scepticism and the Arts', in R.J. Hankinson,ed., (1988) 53-78; particularly the distinction he draws on behalf of Sextus betweenformal and informal didaskalia (61).


246 Harald Thorsrud

acquire technai and develop certain moral dispositions by means ofimitating what is evident.

Thus the virtue that I suggest the skeptic may attain is the result ofthe kind of habituation that he undergoes in acquiring his professionaltechrie. So, the Tyrrhenian alternative may be to conceive of virtuousaction just as one conceives of successful action in any other endeavor:just as we do not need to intellectually apprehend why a particular sortof wood would be the best choice in order to build successfully, we donot need to understand why some particular choice is the morally rightone in order to live correctly. Indeed, if Sextus is right, no one has so farbeen able to understand that their choices or moral principles are theright ones anyway. This is not to deny that there may be general princi-ples that describe how one succeeds at various tasks, or that there mayeven be true moral principles. What this account does deny is thatsuccess comes by means of conscious application of principles, or thatsuccess even requires knowledge of such principles, or that one mustendorse certain principles for his actions to count as virtuous. Skepticalvirtue is thus not dependant on knowing, or even believing, that one hasmade the right choice.

2 The skeptically examined life and revising one's priorities

One of the motivations for holding the Socratic doctrine is that there maybe a much better way of living my life than the way I am currently livingand there may be a much better, more virtuous, choice than the one I amcurrently inclined to make. There is always room for improvement, wemight say, and philosophy is ideally suited to enable us to think clearlyabout this and actually effect a change for the better. Again, Aristotle'smetaphors come into play: we can't consistently aim at the proper targetunless we know what that target is (or unless we have someone con-stantly nearby who knows and informs us).

Is the skeptic then consigned to a stagnant life without any ethicaldevelopment? Is he stuck with a purely conventional set of valuesabsorbed from his family or culture, enslaved to whatever ruling culturalor social norms are in place? Or is he able to revise his priorities inresponse to his experience of life?

The short answer is that the skeptic cannot revise his priorities insofaras he has none. If having priorities entails being aware of them andholding them as guiding principles, then clearly the skeptic will have nopriorities and thus nothing to revise. But we might also offer a descrip-tive account and allow that the skeptic's choices will exhibit priorities,Brought to you by | University of Groningen



even though he is unaware of them. This is not at all far fetched. The vastmajority of human beings exhibit such priorities in their lives withoutever reflecting on the commitments that supposedly inform these priori-ties. With this descriptive account, the notion of revision will be muchdifferent — it will simply be a matter of changing the pattern of one'schoices to exhibit a new set of principles. And surely this sort of processis possible for the skeptic. Although Sextus' presentation of the thirdobservance — living in accordance with custom and law — does notmake any allowances for such revisions, there are certainly factors otherthan law and custom that determine behavior. Furthermore, sometimeslaw and custom prescribes incompatible responses. In such cases, theskeptic cannot be guided merely by the prevailing conventions, if he isto be guided at all.

As long as he does not unwittingly buy into the Socratic doctrine, theskeptic may exchange one set of priorities or principles for another onthe basis that the latter have come to seem better and more conducive tohis happiness and tranquility than the former. I.e., as long as he stopsshort of preferring some principles to others on the basis that they aretrue or even more plausibly true than the others, he may continue to livenon-dogmatically. But if he does not prefer some new principles onepistemic grounds, then on what grounds does he prefer them? If it ismerely random or haphazard or preferred for no reason at all, then itwill not be quite right to even call it a preference. For by 'prefer' wegenerally mean to choose one thing over another because of some reasonthat the agent is aware of.

At this point, we may speak of the skillful agent preferring one courseof action over another on the basis of his training. Since he is able to seewhat the best response is, given the specific goals of his art, and since heis inclined to succeed whenever possible, he will prefer that response.The process by which one comes to consistently prefer the sorts ofresponse that succeed is just the acquisition of the skill. But as I haveshown, he need not articulate or acknowledge his preference or bewilling or even interested in defending it. It will still make sense to saythat he 'prefers' one course of action over another insofar as his behaviorexhibits that preference, not insofar as he becomes aware of some mentalstate that we wish to call his preference.

The difficulty of applying this solution to the case of moral habitu-ation is that successful moral behavior is not nearly so well defined as issuccessful action for writers, speakers, or tennis players. Insofar as it isdefined, as far as the skeptic is concerned, it is merely adherence to someconventional standards adopted by a community. If the skeptic has theBrought to you by | University of Groningen


248 Harald Thorsrud

misfortune to be brought up in what we would normally think of as athoroughly unjust, racist and cruel society, it may be objected that hewould have no impulse to reject these cultural norms. In such a case, howor why would some other set of norms come to seem better? Theobjection asserts that the only way he will be able to throw off therepressive norms is by means of becoming aware of their epistemicfailings — either because they are unjustified, or because they conflictwith other more epistemically secure principles.

I am not able to present a fully adequate response to this objectionhere, in part because I believe there may not be one. However, there aretwo sorts of response that are available. The first is rather pessimistic.We might say, horrible as it may seem, that whatever share we have ofhuman decency, kindness, or virtue in general is entirely the result offavorable socio-economic and cultural accidents. If so, no amount ofintellectual reflection on moral principles will have any positive (ornegative) effect on one's character. If this is correct, then no one is anybetter off than the skeptic with respect to his ability to revise the prioritieshe was bom into anyway; so the objection loses its force.

The second sort of response is to argue that there is some sort ofself-corrective mechanism in the skeptic's pursuit of tranquility thatwould lead him away from a life in accordance with cruel principles. Inother words, one could argue that the skeptic will in fact only achievetranquility by living in accordance with some set of moral principles wetypically consider noble and humane. But of course this would have tobe a fortunate byproduct of the skeptic's activity. He would act inaccordance with these principles not because of their moral or epistemicstanding, but rather because, as it turns out, these principles promotetranquility.

The problem with this response is that it seems open to fairly obviouscounterexamples. We need merely imagine the tranquility of the Naziguard who exemplifies Aryan 'virtue' and never feels any compulsionto revise his priorities. The banality of evil seems to tell strongly againstthe existence of the sort of self-corrective mechanism required by thisresponse. Thus it may be that the pessimism of the first response is themost plausible. And this is what we should expect given Sextus' defla-tionary attitude towards reason. For he is not only interested in arguingagainst every alleged objective evaluation, he is also committed toremoving our inclination to seek such evaluations. And this necessarilyremoves any ground on which we may rationally criticize or attempt tointentionally revise our evaluative commitments.



III Conclusion

If Sextus is right, we are all in need of Pyrrhonian therapy. And thiscontinues to be the case once the therapy takes hold. One cannot restintellectually as a Pyrrhonist for there is an ever present temptation toaccept the most plausible account and put an end, even temporarily, toinquiry. This is why skeptics exhort each other to continue to oppose oneaccount to another (PH l 203). The skeptic's tranquility as well as hisability to live correctly (i.e., virtuously) is the fruit of his examination butit is never attained or established once and for all. So it is in a sense verydifferent from the Socratic that we might say on behalf of the skeptic thatonly the examined life is worth living. In the end, however, the skepticcannot, or rather will not reflect on the possibility that the way he liveshis life is not worthy. For this will involve him in the Socratic doctrineand all the disturbances that are supposed to follow.

Department of PhilosophyNew Mexico State University

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Is the Examined Life Worth Living a Pyrrhonian Alternative