Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought: A New Pan-American Dialogue [233, 1 ed.] 9783030553616, 9783030553623

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International Archives of the History of Ideas 233 Archives internationales d'histoire des idées

Vicente Raga Rosaleny Plínio Junqueira Smith   Editors

Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought A New Pan-American Dialogue

Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought

INTERNATIONAL ARCHIVES OF THE HISTORY OF IDEAS ARCHIVES INTERNATIONALES D’HISTOIRE DES IDÉES 233

SCEPTICAL DOUBT AND DISBELIEF IN MODERN EUROPEAN THOUGHT Vicente Raga Rosaleny Plínio Junqueira Smith

Board of Directors: Founding Editors: Paul Dibon† and  Richard H. Popkin† Director: Sarah Hutton, University of York, United Kingdom Associate Directors: J. C. Laursen, University of California, Riverside, USA Guido Giglioni, University of Macerata, Italy Editorial Board: K. Vermeir, Paris; J. R. Maia Neto, Belo Horizonte; M. J. B. Allen, Los Angeles; J.-R. Armogathe, Paris; S. Clucas, London; P. Harrison, Oxford; J. Henry, Edinburgh; M. Mulsow, Erfurt; G. Paganini, Vercelli; J. Popkin, Lexington; J. Robertson, Cambridge; G. A. J. Rogers, Keele; J. F. Sebastian, Bilbao; A. Thomson, Paris; Th. Verbeek, Utrecht More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/5640

Vicente Raga Rosaleny  •  Plínio Junqueira Smith Editors

Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought A New Pan-American Dialogue

Editors Vicente Raga Rosaleny National University of Colombia Bogotá D. C., Colombia

Plínio Junqueira Smith Federal University of São Paulo São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil

ISSN 0066-6610     ISSN 2215-0307 (electronic) International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées ISBN 978-3-030-55361-6    ISBN 978-3-030-55362-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3 © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

1 Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������    1 Plínio Junqueira Smith and Vicente Raga Rosaleny 2 “What a Foolish Project He Had to Paint His Own Portrait!”: The Influence of Montaigne’s “Straightforward Pyrrhonism” in the Rise of Pascal’s Self����������������   19 Vicente Raga Rosaleny 3 On the Possibility of Knowledge: Skeptical Arguments and Baconian Idols����������������������������������������������������������������������������������   41 Plínio Junqueira Smith 4 Augustine’s and Montaigne’s Deployments of Skepticism Against Religious Rationalism����������������������������������������   63 José R. Maia Neto 5 Descartes and the Problem of the Criterion������������������������������������������   77 Mauricio Zuluaga 6 Modern Skeptical Disturbances and their Remedies���������������������������   87 Catalina González 7 Skepticism and Clandestine Literature: Doutes des Pyrrhoniens����������������������������������������������������������������������������  105 Fernando Bahr 8 Doubt, Disbelief, and Irreligion: From Montaigne’s Skepticism to Meslier’s Atheism ������������������������������������������������������������  123 Manuel Tizziani 9 Reading Bayle, Again: A Survey of the Interpretive Landscape and A Defense of the Academic-Moral Knowledge Reading ��������������������������������������������������������������������������������  143 Kristen Irwin

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Contents

10 The Role of Skepticism in Bayle’s Theory of Toleration����������������������  161 Michael W. Hickson 11 Hume’s Teresic Politics����������������������������������������������������������������������������  177 Peter S. Fosl 12 “True Religion” and Hume’s Practical Atheism ����������������������������������  191 Paul Russell 13 The Critical Target of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason: Humean Skepticism or Spinozistic Naturalism?����������������������������������  227 Anders Kraal 14 Disciplining Skepticism through Kant’s Critique, Fichte’s Idealism, and Hegel’s Negations����������������������������������������������  247 Meghant Sudan 15 Skepticism and Negation in the Young Hegel: Schulze, Fichte and Nihilism������������������������������������������������������������������  273 Eduardo Brandão 16 Nietzsche: Experimental Skepticism and the Question of Values��������  283 Kathia Hanza 17 The Missing End of the Threefold Cord in the Transmission of Ancient Skepticism into Modernity: The Lives by Diogenes Laertius��������������������������������������������������������������  301 Jorge Ornelas Bibliography ����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  319 Name Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  341 Subject Index����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  347

Chapter 1

Introduction Plínio Junqueira Smith and Vicente Raga Rosaleny

Abstract  The introduction begins presenting the two axes of the book. On the one hand, the book is concerned with both modern skeptical doubt and religious disbelief in European thought. On the other, all authors live in the same geographical area: the Americas. There are three main traditions. First, a North-American one, inaugurated by Richard Popkin; in South America, Ezequiel de Olaso, an Argentinian scholar, under the influence of Popkin, and Oswaldo Porchat, a Brazilian philosopher, under the influence of French structuralism, but also of ancient Pyrrhonism, were the founding fathers of skeptical studies not only in their respective countries but in many others. These three traditions were in contact with each other for the decades, but not as much as one would like. Again, Popkin, Olaso and Porchat were decisive in the exchanges between these traditions. Finally, the chapters which are a representative sample of current research on modern skepticism are presented one by one.

Since its first occurrence, skepticism has assumed a variety of forms, though always as a movement critical of certain philosophical, scientific, or religious orthodoxies dominant in its time. Dogmatic thinkers have taken up skeptical challenges, responding to them in their different contexts of reappearance or rediscovery; and, in turn, skeptics have had to reshape their skepticism in light of new forms of dogmatism. This dialectic between dogmatism and skepticism pervades the history of P. J. Smith (*) Federal University of São Paulo, São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] V. Raga Rosaleny National University of Colombia, Bogotá D. C., Colombia e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_1

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philosophy and is one of the main engines that drives philosophical investigation forward. But skepticism has not always presented the same features. Variety and change are the constants of the skeptical tradition. This is particularly true in the case of skepticism in modernity. The 1960 publication of the classic work by Richard H.  Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes, opened up a huge field of research. It has become increasingly clear in the intervening decades not only that skepticism played an important role in the development of modern experimental science, by raising serious doubts about traditions inherited from antiquity, but also that it was entwined with various social, cultural, and religious disputes. Together with the rediscovery of Cicero’s Academica and the works of Sextus Empiricus, modern novelties in these areas brought about a new kind of skepticism, a kind of skepsis that classical thinkers had barely thought of. Thus, we can talk, on the one hand, of skeptical doubt as a modern phenomenon, with its global character and its methodological role for knowledge, distinct from the suspension of judgment, which is always about a particular issue and is the means for attaining ataraxia (their goal), and, on the other hand, of skeptical disbelief in the religious sphere, which has a more critical impact on society in the modern period, joining other types of skeptical questioning in philosophical, moral, or scientific fields. In that sense, doubt and disbelief were closely associated like never before in the modern European world. This is the first axis around which this book is organized: skeptical doubt and disbelief in modern European thought. The second axis concerns the geographical area in which the authors of this book reside: the Americas, particularly South America. On this continent, studies of modern skepticism are rich, complex, and widespread. It is impossible, of course, to describe this field of study in all its detail, but we can perhaps boil it down to three main traditions. The most important and well-known one is that which begins with Popkin’s work. Despite Popkin’s huge influence all over the world, during the 1960s two distinct traditions emerged to a certain extent independently of his work. In Argentina, Ezequiel de Olaso discovered an unknown text written by Leibniz on ancient skepticism. Popkin, whom Olaso met in 1965, encouraged him to write his Ph.D. thesis on this topic, and in 1969, with José Ferrater Mora as his supervisor, Olaso defended it. The Argentinian tradition, then, is clearly influenced by Popkin. In Brazil, however, things were different. There, Oswaldo Porchat’s interest in skepticism was initially prompted (around 1967–1968) by his work in ancient philosophy and, above all, his French structuralist outlook; only in the 1980s did modern skepticism become the focus of his studies. These three traditions were in touch with one another from the start, and from them other traditions arose. Popkin’s and Olaso’s influence was decisive in arousing interest in skepticism in Mexico: notably, Laura Benitez, who worked on Descartes, and José Antonio Robles, who worked on Berkeley, and both worked on modern science, also devoted some attention to modern skepticism. And all three (Popkin, Olaso, and Porchat) were important in the emergence of skeptical studies in Colombia, as attested by a special issue of Cuadernos de Filosofía y Letras (1989), edited by Carlos B. Gutierrez. In this issue, besides a translation of the first book of

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Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism, one finds papers by Popkin, Porchat, and Olaso (as well as the erudite Italian Giorgio Tonelli). One of Popkin’s important contributions to the study of the history of skepticism is usually overlooked: he helped to bring together scholars of the history of skepticism in the Americas in an attempt to integrate their work. This effort culminated in one of the lesser known books he edited, Scepticism in the History of Philosophy: A Pan-American Dialogue (1996), published by Kluwer (which later merged with Springer). This present book resumes Popkin’s efforts to integrate scholarship on skepticism throughout the Americas. One of its goals, then, is to foster a new Pan-­ American dialogue on skepticism among scholars of all three of the aforementioned traditions. Before introducing each chapter of this book, we would like to make a few general comments on the two axes around which the book is structured. The publication in 1960 of Popkin’s The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes was the starting point for contemporary research into modern European skepticism. The North American researcher was the first to recognize the importance of the Pyrrhonism of Sextus Empiricus in early-modern Europe. He opened up a large field of study, one that, even after sixty years, continues to bear fruit. Of course, that field has changed a lot since then. First, it became increasingly clear that skepticism was an important issue before Erasmus and lasted up to the Enlightenment. Popkin was sensible of this, and he was also in part responsible for it, for his book was augmented and revised in two later editions: the second is called The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza; and its definitive version, published in 2003, is called The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. At first, Popkin thought that skepticism was not very important in the Enlightenment (with Hume being a conspicuous exception), but under the influence of Olaso and Tonelli, he revised his opinion and came to think exactly the opposite.1 Recent studies, however, seem to point to an intermediate position, according to which one should not downplay nor exaggerate the importance of skepticism in the Enlightenment, highlighting instead its novel features in relation to the skepticism of early modernity.2 Though many scholars on German Idealism know that debate on skepticism was crucial to its development, the role played by it in this period still deserves to be studied in greater detail. In this book, we paid special attention to this problem and tried to improve this situation. Popkin stressed the role played by Pyrrhonism in early-modern skepticism. Recent scholarship has shown that Academic skepticism also played an important role. In fact, an explanation more complex than Popkin’s began to take shape long ago, with the 1972 publication of Charles B. Schmitt’s book Cicero Scepticus: A Study of the Influence of the Academica in the Renaissance. Cicero 2006 had an enormous impact on modernity, one that had gone largely unnoticed prior to the publication of Schmitt’s research. The work of Popkin, Schmitt, Olaso, and others

 See Olaso et al. (1997). For a discussion of the evolution of Popkin’s views, see Charles (2013).  See Charles and Smith (2013).

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brought about a flowering of historiographic studies on the impact of skepticism on modernity. Perhaps the most important contemporary contribution in this area is that of the Brazilian scholar José Raimundo Maia Neto. Popkin was well aware of this new line of research, for Maia Neto worked with him for many years. One now finds not only numerous individually published papers on Academic skepticism in early-modern philosophy, but also a collection devoted to the topic.3 Popkin’s classic work deals with a variety of topics, such as metaphysics, morals, religion, and science, but he did not pay enough attention to politics. It was left to John Christian Laursen, a North American professor at the University of California, Riverside, to explore this field.4 As with so many others, he worked under Popkin’s direct guidance. Together with the Italian scholar Gianni Paganini, Laursen edited a book on skepticism and politics.5 At least in Brazil, there have been some studies concerning skepticism and politics.6 We hope these remarks are enough to show how fruitful Popkin’s works were, and how the field he opened up has continued to be explored. But, of course, with these developments new views and opinions have emerged, not only regarding this or that philosopher, but also with respect to general lines of interpretation. Popkin’s interpretation of particular philosophers has been challenged by the many papers his work helped inspire. Our knowledge of the details of the history of modern skepticism continues to expand, seemingly without limit. More importantly, some fundamental theses of earlier works have been called into question and often rejected. For instance, Popkin’s idea of a “fideistic skepticism” and the role he attributed to it in the development of early-modern skepticism has been reassessed. It now appears that, though religious thinkers used skeptical arguments, skeptics themselves were hardly “fideistic.” Moreover, Popkin was working with too general a notion of “fideistic skepticism,” one would embrace thinkers as different from each other as Montaigne, Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Tolstoy. Pascal, for instance, despite his admiration for Montaigne, criticized him explicitly; whereas Montaigne is still a philosopher, Pascal wants to supersede philosophy by adopting a religious point of view.7 Some recent attempts have been made to offer a less piecemeal, more general approach to early-modern skepticism. Paganini’s work (2008) deserves special mention, both for its erudition and its scope. One could also perhaps mention Fréderic Brahami’s book on modern skepticism, despite the fact that it is limited to Montaigne, Bayle, and Hume (Brahami 2001); he emphasizes that modern skepticism stresses the role of belief and incorporates a (skeptical) anthropology. A third attempt is to be found in Plínio J. Smith’s book on the skeptical principle of opposition (Smith 2015a). Following Kant, he proposes that there are three main kinds of modern skepticism: external-world skepticism (Cartesian), empirical skepticism

 See Charles and Smith (2017).  See Laursen (1992). 5  See Laursen and Paganini (2015). 6  See Lessa (1997, 2003). 7  See Eva (1992). 3 4

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(Hume), and skepticism based on the internal conflict of reason (Baylean) (Smith 2008, 2013). In sum, this book follows the path set out by Popkin, but it does so in the light of more recent scholarship. As we shall see shortly, the study of modern skepticism was also pursued in other countries, in at least initial or partial independence from Popkin’s work. The fact that there are different traditions of skeptical studies in the Americas and that these traditions have been collaborating for a long time, though not as much as might be hoped, yields an even more fruitful scenario. We now turn to the second axis of this book. As already pointed out above, the initial interest in skepticism both in Argentina and in Brazil was not due entirely to Popkin’s work. Olaso was initially interested in Leibniz, and it was because of this special interest, together with the encouragement of Popkin, that he came to work on Leibniz and ancient skepticism and later on modern skeptics such as Hume and Rousseau.8 Porchat earned a degree in classics and was a scholar of ancient philosophy (his Ph.D. was on Aristotle), and his philosophical perspective was shaped by the French structuralist approach to the history of philosophy, exemplified in the works of Victor Goldschmidt and Martial Gueroult. He came to address the skeptical problem of conflicting philosophies because of the structuralism to which he adhered at the time. Since he knew ancient philosophy quite well, he was attracted to ancient Pyrrhonism. Later, he devoted his attention also to modern skepticism, from Montaigne to Hume, for, under the influence of G. E. Moore, he wanted to resist the skeptical assault that had eventually led to idealism, such as one finds in the work of F. H. Bradley.9 From Olaso’s and Porchat’s works, there grew two other traditions in South America. In Argentina, skepticism became a topic for many historians of early modern philosophy, such as Leiser Madanes, an Argentinian scholar and Olaso’s colleague and friend, who has contributed with a paper on Spinoza and Cartesian skepticism,10 Fernando Bahr, Silvia Manzo, among many others. In Brazil, a bigger group gathered around the figure of Porchat, with names like Danilo Marcondes, Flávio Williges, Jaimir Conte, Luiz A.  A. Eva, Plínio Junqueira Smith, Renato Lessa, Roberto Bolzani, Roberto Horácio de Sá Pereira, and Waldomiro J. da Silva Filho. Olaso and Porchat were less historically oriented than many of the other scholars we have mentioned, and both were also interested in assessing the philosophical merits of skepticism. Olaso always rejected skepticism, while Porchat assumed different attitudes towards it. At first, despite not being a skeptic himself, he raised a skeptical problem similar to one advanced by French structuralists regarding the history of philosophy. Then, for more than twenty years, he argued

 From Olaso himself we can highlight, among his many contributions, Olaso (1981).  See Porchat (2015), an English translation of his main paper of 1991, and Smith (2015), for an overview of Porchat’s philosophical thinking. 10  See Madanes (2012). 8 9

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against any and all forms of skepticism. From 1991 on, however, he became a neo-­ Pyrrhonian, inventing his own kind of skepticism.11 But one must not think that the three traditions were totally independent. One can say that, despite their more or less independent origins, there was a close collaboration among them right from the start. Olaso and Porchat, as soon as they started to work on skepticism, read and used Popkin’s works for their own purposes. We have already pointed out that this was a two-way street: if, on the one hand, Olaso profited from Popkin, on the other hand Popkin altered his views on the importance of skepticism in the Enlightment partly because of Olaso’s works;12 they even published a book together (with Tonelli). We also mentioned the Brazilian scholar, José Raimundo Maia Neto, who was in contact with Porchat already as a young student of skepticism and who later collaborated with Popkin. Moreover, Olaso came to collaborate closely with Porchat, at the University of Campinas, Brazil, during the 1970s. In fact, they became good friends. On the basis of their mutual collaboration and friendship, the Argentinian and the Brazilian traditions of skeptical studies have always been in contact. In 1986, Porchat organized a colloquium at UNICAMP, and in 1992, Olaso organized an important international colloquium in Buenos Aires. Both colloquia were the starting points for many other colloquia, especially in Brazil, but also elsewhere. Recently, these gatherings were transformed into a series of successive Latin American Colloquia on skeptical studies, organized on three occasions, two in Brazil (Salvador and Natal) and one in Cali, Colombia, bringing together scholars of skepticism from all over the Americas. Thus, one must think of these traditions as having many channels of communication. From all these collaborations, especially with the support of Olaso, came the translation of Popkin’s History into Spanish (1983), and then a proposal by Popkin to hold a joint event in 1991, bringing together researchers from all over the Americas. The conference, which took place at the University of California, Riverside, included scholars from North, Central, and South America to discuss ancient and modern skepticism. In 1985, Emílio Eigenheer had already published in Portuguese some of Popkin’s papers. (A second edition appeared in 1996.) Of special importance is Popkin’s contact with two distinguished scholars from Rio de Janeiro: Danilo Marcondes de Souza Filho, who translated Popkin’s History into Portuguese (2000), and especially José Raimundo Maia Neto, who worked closely with Popkin for many years.13 Besides editing a book with Popkin (Maia Neto and Popkin 2007), Maia Neto, together with Gianni Paganini and John Christian Laursen, edited a book in honor of Popkin that included papers by scholars from all over Europe and the Americas (Maia Neto et al. 2009). Unfortunately, however, due to diverse factors of intellectual formation and historical tradition, interactions among the Pan-American community of skepticism scholars has not been as great as one might expect or hope.

 See Porchat (2006). Smith (2017) presents papers discussing Porchat’s neo-Pyrrhonism.  Olaso et al. (1997). On skepticism in the Enlightenment, see also Charles and Smith (2013). 13  See, for example, Maia Neto (1995) or (2014) and Marcondes (2009, 2012, 2019). 11 12

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Nonetheless, we think that the situation has improved since Popkin’s initiative, for there is much more collaboration now than previously. From the 1990s onwards, in Argentina and Brazil, as well as in Colombia, Mexico, and Peru, among other countries, extensive research has been conducted on modern European skepticism, as well as on ancient and contemporary discussions in which Porchat and his followers, with the proposal of a widely known neo-Pyrrhonism, have contributed a great deal.14 Currently, research by the followers of Porchat and Olaso, as well as by a third generation of philosophers interested in the history of philosophy and the skeptical tradition in particular is ongoing. Moreover, there is a growing awareness of the quality of this scholarship, as evidenced by an entry in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entitled “Skepticism in Latin America.”15 There has also been greater integration of European and American scholars, such as one can find in Laursen et al. (2009), Charles and Smith (2013, 2017), Machuca (2011a, b), and Machuca and Reed (2018), not to mention the International Journal for the Study of Skepticism, of which Machuca is one of the editors together with Duncan Pritchard. But since Popkin’s attempt, there has been no specific effort to integrate scholars on skepticism in the Americas, despite the fact that there has been a lot of sporadic collaborations between American or Canadian scholars, on the one hand, and Latin American scholars on the other. It should perhaps be noted that for a three years (2013–2015) a Brazilian project on neo-Pyrrhonism and its history was coordinated by Plínio J. Smith, including not only Brazilian scholars such as Danilo Marcondes de Souza Filho, Luiz Antonio Alves Eva, Oswaldo Porchat, Roberto Bolzani, and Waldomiro José da Silva Filho, but also scholars from other countries, including: Eduardo Barrio, Diego Machuca, and Federico Penelas from Argentina; Richard Bett, Robert Fogelin, Todd Ryan, Barry Stroud, and Michael Williams from the United States; and Yves Bouchard and Sébastien Charles from Canada. In this collaborative effort, thinkers such as Erasmus, Montaigne, Charron, Bacon, Descartes, Gassendi, Pascal, Berkeley, Hume, Kant and the post-Kantians, and Nietzsche continue to arouse the attention, culminating in work written in Spanish, French, English, and Portuguese.16 One may wonder, however, why we should keep returning to past thinkers, most of whom belong to a European context, rather than delving into contemporary forms of skepticism that are being developed and discussed in the Americas. In order to answer this question, attention must be paid to the special role that the history of philosophy has continually played in the emergence of novel philosophical work. (Consider, for example, the way that Plato and Aristotle returned to Presocratic thinkers in their works.) In the same way, rigorous studies in the history of modern philosophy, specifically regarding skeptical issues and problems, can benefit our own thinking, both formally (since our predecessors’ ways of thinking, their  See, among others, the important book edited by Smith (2015a).  Bueno and Smith (2016). 16  See, for example, Bahr (2010), Ornelas and Cíntora (2014), Dutra and Smith (2000), and Silva Filho and Smith (2007, 2012) as illustrations of edited books collecting works on skepticism in Latin America. 14 15

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argumentative resources, problem-setting, and resolution-strategies can be enriching) and substantively (for while many modern philosophers seem similar to us, others are likely to strike us as very distant and alien).17 That was, as we saw, Olaso’s and Porchat’s attitude: we ought to improve historical scholarship in order to promote fruitful philosophical reflection. Accordingly, we believe that this book will bring light to our understanding of early-modern thought as well as aid contemporary work while also promoting a more widespread and sustained discussion among Pan-American scholars on these issues. Since its initial appearance with the mysterious Pyrrho of Elis (360–270 B.C.), skepticism has often shadowed orthodox theoretical formulations as a sort of Socratic gadfly, counterposing to our fragile certainties the sting of doubt and uncertainty. It is clear, then, that the history of philosophical skepticism covers an extensive period, beginning at the latest in the third to second centuries B.C., in its classical Academic and Pyrrhonian forms. The beginnings of the movement are attributed to the aforementioned Pyrrho, who wrote nothing, but a few of whose ideas we know through his disciple Timon of Phlius (320–230 B.C.) and the testimonies collected by Diogenes Laertius (180–240  A.D.) in his Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Skepticism was further elaborated in Plato’s Academy. Cicero’s Academica, which is probably based on the teachings of the scholarch Philo of Larissa (145–79 B.C.)—heir to Arcesilaus of Pitane (315–240 B.C.) and Carneades of Cyrene (214–129 B.C.), the two most prominent skeptical leaders of the Platonic Academy—is one of the main sources for this kind of skepticism. When the Academy moved towards Stoic dogmatism, Aenesidemus (80–10 B.C.) broke from the Academy to found the Pyrrhonist school, which later included Agrippa and Sextus Empiricus (160–210 A.D.).18 At least in modern times, skepticism is most often understood in epistemological or ontological terms, as questioning the status of metaphysics or of our knowledge or beliefs generally. Skeptical attitudes apply to many areas, however, from morality to language, religion to aesthetics. In all these areas, the extension of skeptical arguments varies from thinker to thinker: the most radical forms of skepticism are global in scope, while others are local, applying their arguments more selectively.19 It is difficult, if not impossible, to provide a general formulation in the case of such a broad phenomenon. An ancient skeptic, in the face of theoretical and practical  A good collection of insights into the aims and methods of study in modern philosophy can be found in the volume organized by Lærke et al. (2013), as well as more generally in the texts of Nichols (2006) and Lin (2013). 18  On classical skepticism, see the timeless book of Dal Pra (1989), or more recently the volume of Hankinson (1995) or Marchand’s text (2018), as well as the useful handbook edited by Bett (2010). Bett’s text (2000) continues to be very valuable on the figure of Pyrrho. As far as the skeptical Academy is concerned, it is necessary to consider both Bonazzi’s text (2003) and Ioppolo’s classic book (1986), and it is possible to find an overview of Pyrrhonean skepticism in, for example, Perin (2010). For a detailed comparison between Pyrrhonism and Academic skepticism, see Bolzani Filho (2013). 19  On skepticism in general, we have valuable manuals such as that of Greco (2008) or the broad historical panorama offered by Machuca and Reed (2018). 17

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positions that assert or deny certain propositions in relation to a given philosophical issue, a skeptical attitude is one that does not commit itself dogmatically to any doctrine: the skeptic neither affirms nor denies dogmatic propositions. Even the proposition that knowledge is impossible should be questioned, if it is asserted in a dogmatic way, for skeptical doubt is doubtful of itself. Though in ancient times skepticism has mainly been a philosophical research activity characterized by suspension of judgment, it came to be seen (even in Antiquity) as a sort of negative dogmatism.20 This conception of skepticism as a kind of negative dogmatism is still present with us. According to Stroud, “in modern, and especially recent, times, scepticism in philosophy has come to be understood as the view that we know nothing, or that nothing is certain, or that everything is open to doubt” (1984, p. vii). This book aims to cover many areas in the modern history of skepticism, from the beginning of the fifteenth century to the end of the nineteenth. As we’ve already said, the context of the reception of skepticism in modernity was very different from that which gave rise to classical skepticism. On the one hand, in modern times, philosophical doubts were inextricably entwined with religious debates at the schismatic heart of Western European Christianity. During and after the Reformation, skeptical arguments were utilized by both sides of the dispute. In his translation of Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism (1562), the Huguenot Henri Estienne stressed the therapeutic role of skepticism in the face of the groundless authority of the Catholic Church. A few years later, in 1569, the Catholic Gentian Hervet reprinted Estienne’s translation, together with a translation of Sextus’s Against the Learned, with commentary that emphasized the role of skeptical arguments as allies of counter-reformist positions (Raga-Rosaleny 2016, 13). On the other hand, Renaissance humanists’ criticism of scholastic thinkers led to a renewed interest in classical antiquity, which brought with it the rediscovery by many of Greek skepticism, which reinforced the humanist attacks on scholasticism. Furthermore, interest in the ancient world led to a renewed appreciation of Pythagorean and atomistic theories, which partly inspired the modern scientific revolution. Consequently, the vigor of the “New Science” fostered skepticism towards the dominant tradition of opposition to Aristotelian dogmatism. All this helped to give importance and strength to skepsis in modernity.21 This book addresses, in more or less chronological order, some of the central problems and authors in modernity broadly construed. One of the guiding axes in each chapter is the way in which doubt and questioning, both theoretical and practical, are dealt with. The other main axis, which tangentially or centrally encompasses all the chapters, is that of disbelief. In Chap. 2, Vicente Raga-Rosaleny focuses on the influence of Michel de Montaigne’s Essays, one of the masterpieces of the French Renaissance, on the  See Frede (1998).  Of the many specialized monographs and collections dedicated to the study of skepticism in the early-modern period that arose in the wake of Popkin’s work, we can recommend as especially useful those of Charles and Bernier (2005), Laursen et al. (2009), Paganini (2008), and Charles and Smith (2017).

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work and ideas of Blaise Pascal. Though there are many studies dedicated to elucidating the concrete role that the supposed “pure Pyrrhonism” of the Essays plays in Pascal’s apologetic use of skepticism, very few address in any detail the essayist’s contribution to the critique of the philosophical definition of man. While it is true that Pascal criticized Montaigne’s “foolish project of” portraying himself, a reading more sensitive to the skepticism that Pascal attributes to Montaigne shows how, at least indirectly, Montaigne’s idea of the individual collaborates with Pascal’s critique of the Cartesian ego. Another thinker writing at the same time as Montaigne stands out for his interest in ancient skepticism: Francis Bacon. In Chap. 3, Plínio Junqueira Smith attempts to elucidate the extent to which it can be said that Bacon’s position was skeptical. According to Professor Smith’s careful reading, there is no doubt that skepticism played an important role in Bacon’s philosophical thinking. One may wonder, therefore, how Bacon’s Theory of the Idols relates to classical doubt. Smith shows that Bacon’s renunciation of tradition, though based on skeptical arguments, is different in kind from the classical skeptical attack on dogmatism. One main difference is that the classical skeptical attack is based on assumptions held by dogmatists themselves, while Bacon’s Theory of the Idols does not rest on any such assumptions. In that sense, Bacon put aside the entire tradition, skepticism included, and formulates an original alternative proposal, one that had lasting effects on modern science. In Chap. 4, Professor José R. Maia Neto returns us to Montaigne, with the focus now on his peculiar appropriation of ancient skepticism. Maia Neto compares Montaigne’s use of skepticism in the context of the religious tensions of his time with Augustine of Hippo’s use of skepticism against the Manichaeans. Although both thinkers deploy various skeptical arguments against religious rationalism— Manicheanism and Calvinism, respectively—there are some important differences between them. Perhaps the most important for our purposes is that Academic skepticism, the kind of skepticism used by Augustine, becomes the epistemological position of the rationalist Calvinists whom Montaigne opposed by deploying the more radical Pyrrhonian skepticism. For this reason, Maia Neto concludes that Montaigne was not as influenced by Augustine as has sometimes been claimed and that his Apology was therefore much more original than such interpretations suppose. Advancing a bit in time, Professor Mauricio Zuluaga turns in Chap. 5 to René Descartes. Nowadays it hardly needs to be said that, despite the immunerable references in the literature to “Cartesian skepticism,” Descartes was not himself a skeptic, though he did utilize skeptical arguments that he associated, rightly or wrongly, with the Hellenistic skeptics. At the heart of Zuluaga’s paper is the question of the relation between ancient and modern, Cartesian skepticism. Most studies on this relation focus on methodological doubt, since it is evident that this kind of doubt has a close relationship with some of the arguments of the ancient skeptics. However, it has been commonplace to highlight only this point in the relation between Descartes and the ancient skeptics, which has produced a too-narrow interpretation. In fact, other main problems, such as the classical issue of the criterion of truth, have a relevant presence in Descartes’s Meditations, and Zuluaga tries to show us the importance of this neglected problem in Descartes’s work.

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This study is followed, in Chap. 6, by a rather more panoramic text by Professor Catalina González. She begins by wondering why modern philosophers often express regret about the mental burden that skepticism imposes on them. Hume famously complained that skeptical doubt led him to “melancholy and delirium.” Descartes accepted that a “provisional” system of morality had to be put in place in order to deal with the irresolution derived from his method of doubting everything that was not evident to reason. Pascal thought that reason’s feebleness was the result of our corrupted nature and that it could be cured only by way of a wholehearted “leap of faith.” As González points out, this is surprising if we bear in mind that at least some ancient skeptical schools regarded ataraxia as the skeptic’s goal. There are, however, some notable modern exceptions, such as Montaigne, who understood skepticism as the Pyrrhonians did, namely, as a therapy for what we could call, following the contemporary skeptic Odo Marquard, “our excessive expectations of meaning.” González uses Marquard interpretative proposal to understand the surprising reaction of various modern thinkers to skepticism and to explain Montaigne’s differing stance. In Chap. 7, Professor Fernando Bahr focuses on a series of skeptical texts that have only recently been studied. Overlooked by Popkin in his History of Scepticism, clandestine philosophical literature has much to add to our understanding of how skeptical arguments were transmitted and modified in the modern age. Professor Bahr demonstrates as much by examining an anonymous text entitled Doutes des pyrrhoniens. Early-eighteenth-century thought, especially in France, was no longer interested in the epistemological content of skepticism, which did not get on well with the rationalistic optimism of the time. Even so, as Bahr explains, doubt was radicalized and transformed into an instrument of religion criticism. At the same time, the classical objective of Pyrrhonism, ataraxia changed at this critical moment, the early eighteenth century, for it was a time that called for conviction and intellectual activism. In Chap. 8, Professor Manuel Tizziani takes up a related issue. He returns to Montaigne, but with the goal of reconstructing the path that leads from doubt to atheism, from the skeptical premises outlined in the pages of Montaigne’s Essays to the atheistic conclusions that can be found in Jean Meslier’s Mémoire des pensées et des sentiments. According to Tizziani, what in Montaigne’s work was left ambiguous, perhaps for political reasons, becomes explicit in Meslier. And where the Essays pointed to a transformation of the skeptical attitude of suspension of judgment into one more committed to unbelief (which must be understood as distinct from disbelief), Meslier’s work radicalizes that position into a full-blown defense of atheism and irreligion. Chapters 9 and 10, both of which focus on Pierre Bayle, one of the most important figures in the history of skepticism in the eighteenth century, point in a similar direction. In Chap. 9, Professor Kristen Irwin reviews the variety of existing interpretations of Bayle’s thinking, which go from one extreme, with specialists portraying Bayle as a sort of atheistic rationalist, to the other, with interpreters attributing to him a sort of Calvinist fideism. In fact, the complexity and seeming ambiguity of Bayle’s arguments suggests an interpretation of Bayle as a libertin clandestine.

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However, paying closer attention to the author’s texts and their historical context, as was done by Elisabeth Labrousse in her intellectual biography of Bayle, reveals a complex picture of Bayle, one that is much closer to Protestant religious positions than to those of the clandestine libertines. Professor Irwin defends an interpretation akin to Labrousse’s, showing the problems and lacunas present in other readings. In Chap. 10, Professor Michael Hickson focuses on one aspect of Bayle’s thinking, namely, his theory of religious tolerance. That theory has received much attention over the past three centuries, yet there is still little consensus regarding the precise logic of Bayle’s argument, and even less regarding the argument’s soundness. One of the central themes in the secondary literature concerns the role of skepticism in Bayle’s argument for toleration. Some argue that Baylean toleration is based entirely in a non-skeptical morality that is in turn based on conscience, while others argue that Baylean toleration requires a foundation of skeptical doubt. Professor Hickson offers an interpretation of Bayle’s argument for toleration that shows the essential role of skepticism in that argument. According to Hickson, conscience and its rights come into play only when skepticism has marked conscience’s limits, pointing to the existence of two distinct moral jurisdictions: the theological and the mundane. Chapters 11 and 12 are devoted to another towering figure in the history of modern skepticism, David Hume. In the first, Professor Peter Fosl explores Hume’s political conceptions, interpreting them as an expression of his skepticism. Doing so allows Professor Fosl to resolve a series of interpretive questions and advance a coherent view of Hume’s political thought. Fosl argues that Hume’s political theory is informed by the skeptical aspirations to tranquility and moderation. Negatively, Hume disclaims, in keeping with his skeptical epochê and aphasia, transcendent and rationalistic grounds for his normative prescriptions. More positively, he develops a critical and zetetic political theory sensitive to the prolepsis, or pretheoretical understanding, of social orders, advancing what Fosl calls a teresic political empiricism. In Chap. 12, Professor Paul Russell addresses the question of Hume’s views regarding the value of religion. Although there remains considerable disagreement about where Hume stood on the issue of the truth of religion, Russell’s study begins by assuming that Hume was a committed atheist and that irreligious aims and objectives are fundamental to his philosophy. The claim that Hume was an atheist does not, however, settle the question of what value religion has on Hume’s account. Russell contrasts Hume’s views on this issue with those of both Benedict Spinoza and Baron Henri D’Holbach. Whereas Spinoza argued that society requires some form of “true religion” in order to maintain ethical life, D’Holbach argued that religion is not only false but also pernicious and that we should therefore aim to eradicate it. According to Russell, Hume rejects both of these proposals on the grounds that they rest, in different ways, on excessively optimistic assumptions. The form of practical atheism that Hume defends has a more modest and realistic aim, which is simply to restrict and limit the most pernicious forms of religion. Understood this way, Hume’s account differs from the proponents of both “old” and “new” atheism.

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In Chap. 13, Professor Anders Kraal explores a subject connected with that of the two preceding chapters. Professor Kraal’s text focuses on Kant’s critique of skepticism in his most important work, The Critique of Pure Reason. The chief target of Kant’s Critique has long been taken to be Humean skepticism, but recently some authors have claimed that the Critique targets not so much Hume as what Kraal refers to as “Spinozistic naturalism,” meaning Spinoza-inspired atheism, materialism, and determinism. Professor Kraal argues that the textual evidence provides far greater support for the traditional interpretation, that is, that Kant’s goal in his main text is Humean skepticism. Such an interpretation is not without textual problems, however, and Professor Kraal tries to solve some of the most important ones in his study. In the following chapter, Professor Meghant Sudan explores the vicissitudes of skepticism in Kantian and post-Kantian philosophy. Kant and his German Idealist successors counterpose skepticism to dogmatism and criticism, contrast ancient to modern skepticism, and conceptualize the transitions from one to the other. This yields a conceptual matrix for new disciplines, like empirical psychology, as well as for the transformation and assimilation of skepticism into a general form of transformation. Professor Sudan analyses this assimilationist trajectory by reviewing the contributions of Kant, Fichte, and Hegel. Kant elaborates on the skeptical stance, enabling Hume to appear as the most acute skeptic. Fichte understands skepticism in very schematic terms, as merely a system-threatening dispute of principles, while Hegel absorbs skepticism into his grand, all-encompassing system. The result of this progression is what Sudan calls a “disciplining” of skepticism, which transforms it into something very different from what it was in its origins and which allows for its diffusion into new contexts. Chapter 15, by Professor Eduardo Brandão, is dedicated to elucidating the interpretation of skepticism offered by the young Hegel in his On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy (1802), which is a review of G.E. Schulze’s Critique of Theoretical Philosophy. Brandão argues that, in this early work, Hegel confronts Schulze’s skepticism as a way of indirectly criticizing Fichte. Hegel’s critique of philosophies of the understanding, including Fichte’s, which was a central theme of his earlier Difference essay, is fundamental to the refinement of his understanding of skepticism and dogmatism in the text on Schulze. Furthermore, whereas in the Difference essay he had understood Fichte’s idealism as subjective, Hegel concludes in Faith and Knowledge, published (like the review of Schulze) in 1802, that it is dogmatic, a charge that aligns in important ways with Hegel’s critique of Schulze. At the same time, Hegel’s review incorporates criticisms of Fichte inspired by Jacobi, applying them to Schulze’s dogmatic skepticism, which Hegel sees as a kind of skeptical unfolding of Fichte’s doctrine of science. Ultimately, we can see, Brandão argues, that by having framed his Wissenschaftslehre in response to a compromised form of skepticism (namely, Schulze’s), Fichte pays the price of enclosing the doctrine of science within the logic of the understanding, rendering it incapable of thinking the idea of negation beyond the strict limits of this same understanding, which lies far from the path of true speculation and philosophy as Hegel

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understands it. In this sense, Brandão’s reading indicates the importance that Hegel’s analysis of skepticism has in the transformations undergone by the notion of negativity in late modernity. In Chap. 16, Professor Kathia Hanza analyzes the role of skepticism in Friedrich Nietzsche’s work, particularly Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. Although in recent years there has been much debate regarding Nietzsche’s relation to and understanding of the ancient skeptical tradition, according to Professor Hanza it is clear that skepticism as an attitude, virtue, or method was very important to the German author. Hanza argues, first, that one can observe an evolution in Nietzsche’s work that begins by raising the issue of skepticism in relation to the possibility of knowledge and ends by raising it in relation to metaphysics and the problem of values. Second, she argues that Nietzsche seeks to overcome epistemological skepticism by way of an alliance between philosophy and history. Finally, she shows that in his mature works, Nietzsche accepts skepticism as an instrument in the pursuit of valuable things, including knowledge. Finally, in Chap. 17, Professor Jorge Ornelas addresses the general framework within which the entire history of skepticism in modernity unfolds. While each chapter in this volume addresses a topic present in a modern European author, linked to skepticism, Professor Ornelas carries out a study of the origins of such research. Approaching the work of Richard Popkin and Charles Schmitt, Professor Ornelas investigates the ways in which their works contributed to our contemporary understanding of how ancient skepticism was reintroduced in Renaissance and early modern philosophical discussions. According to Popkin and Schmitt, (a) the transmission of ancient skeptical ideas and arguments came by way of what Ornelas calls a “threefold cord” made up of Cicero’s Academica, the works of Sextus Empiricus, and Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers, and (b) the last of these was by far the least important. While affirming (a), Professor Ornelas rejects (b), presenting instead an interpretation that transforms the role assigned to each of the parties that make up the threefold cord. Taken as a whole, the chapters of this book offer a wide-ranging overview of the state of the art in the field of studies of skepticism in modernity. Each chapter makes an original contribution in this area, though obviously none of the central themes of the field is exhausted. Furthermore, this volume sheds light on the robustness of skepticism studies in the Americas, particularly South America, introducing to the English-speaking world authors whose work is most often presented in Spanish or Portuguese. This book can become a reference work for scholars interested in skepticism studies, as well as an invitation to continue exploring the topics and authors explored here under the rubric of doubt and disbelief in modern European thought.

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Bibliographical References Bahr, Fernando, ed. 2010. Tradición clásica y Filosofía Moderna: el juego de las influencias. Santa Fe: Universidad Nacional del Litoral. Bett, Richard. 2000. Pyrrho, His Antecedents, and His Legacy. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. ———, ed. 2010. The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bolzani Filho, Roberto. 2013. Acadêmicos versus pirrônicos. São Paulo: Alameda editorial. Bonazzi, Mauro. 2003. Academici e platonici: il dibattito antico sullo scetticismo di Platone. Milano: LED. Brahami, Frédéric. 2001. Le travail du scepticisme: Montaigne, Bayle, Hume. Paris: PUF. Bueno, Otávio, and Plínio J.  Smith. 2016. Skepticism in Latin America. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition), ed. Edward N. Zalta. https://plato.stanford. edu/archives/spr2016/entries/skepticism-latin-america/ Charles, Sébastien. 2013. Introduction: What Is Enlightenment Scepticism? A Critical Rereading of Richard Popkin. In Skepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, ed. Sebastien Charles and Plínio J. Smith, 1–15. Dordrecht: Springer. Charles, Sébastien, and Marc A.  Bernier, eds. 2005. Scepticisme et modernité. Saint-Étienne: Publications de l’Université de Saint-Étienne. Charles, Sébastien, and Plínio J.  Smith, eds. 2013. Scepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung. Dordrecht: Springer. ———, eds. 2017. Academic Scepticism in the Development of Early Modern Philosophy. Dordrecht: Springer. Cicero. 2006. On Academic Scepticism. Edited and translated by Charles Brittain. Indianapolis/ Cambridge: Hackett. Dal Pra, Mario. 1989. Lo scetticismo Greco. Roma/Bari: Laterza. Dutra, Luis Henrique de Araújo. 2000. In Ceticismo: perspectivas históricas e filosóficas, ed. Plínio J. Smith. Florianópolis: Editora da Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina. Eigenheer, Emílio M. 1996 [1985]. Ceticismo. Segunda edição. Niterói: Editora da Universidade Federal Fluminense. Eva, Luiz A.A. 1992. O fideísmo cético de Montaigne. Kriterion 86: 42–59. Frede, Michael. 1998. The Sceptic’s Two Kinds of Assent and the Question of the Possibility of Knowledge. In The Original Sceptics: A Controversy, ed. M. Burnyeat and M. Frede, 127–151. Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett. Greco, John, ed. 2008. The Oxford Handbook of Skepticism. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Gutierrez, Carlos B. (org). 1989. El escepticismo. Cuadernos de Filosofía y Letras, volumen X, números 1–4, Bogotá, Colombia. Hankinson, Robert J. 1995. The Sceptics. London/New York: Routledge. Ioppolo, Anna M. 1986. Opinione e scienza: il dibattito tra Stoici e Accademici nel III e nel II secolo a. C. Napoli: Bibliopolis. Lærke, Mogens, Justin E.H. Smith, and Eric Schliesser, eds. 2013. Philosophy and Its History. Aims and Methods in the Study of Early Modern Philosophy. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Laursen, John C. 1992. The Politics of Skepticism in the Ancients, Montaigne, Hume, and Kant. Dordrecht: Brill. Laursen, John C., and Gianni Paganini, eds. 2015. Skepticism and Political Thought in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Laursen, John C., José R. Maia Neto, and Gianni Paganini, eds. 2009. Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building on the Work of Richard Popkin. Leiden: Brill.

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Lessa, Renato. 1997. Ceticismo, ação política e mundo público: há uma política pirrônica? In Veneno pirrônico: ensaios sobre o ceticismo, 205–233. Rio de Janeiro: Francisco Alves. ———. 2003. Agonia, aposta e ceticismo: ensaios de filosofia política. Belo Horizonte: Editora da UFMG. Lin, Martin. 2013. Philosophy and Its History. In Debates in Modern Philosophy. Essential Readings and Contemporary Responses, ed. Stewart Duncan and Antonia LoLordo, 363–373. London: Routledge. Machuca, Diego E., ed. 2011a. New Essays on Ancient Pyrrhonism. Leiden/Boston: Brill. ———., ed. 2011b. Pyrrhonism in Ancient, Modern, and Contemporary Philosophy. Dordrecht: Springer. Machuca, Diego E., and Baron Reed, eds. 2018. Skepticism. From Antiquity to the Present. London: Bloomsbury. Madanes, Leiser. 2012. Spinoza y los escepticismos. In Una alegría secreta: ensayos de filosofia moderna, 91–114. Colombia: Universidad del Valle. Maia Neto, José Raimundo. 1995. The Christianization of Pyrrhonism: Skepticism and Faith in Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Shestov. Dordrecht: Kluwer. ———. 2014. Academic Skepticism in Seventeenth Century French Philosophy. The Charronian Legacy 1601–1662. Heidelberg: Springer. Maia Neto, José R., Gianni Paganini, and John Christian Laursen, eds. 2009. Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building on the Work of Richard Popkin. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Maia Neto, José R., and Richard H. Popkin, eds. 2007. Skepticism: An Anthology. Amherst/New York: Prometheus Books. Marchand, Stéphane. 2018. Le scepticisme. Vivre sans opinions. Paris: Vrin. Marcondes, Danilo. 2009. The Anthropological Argument: The Rediscovery of Ancient Skepticism in Modern Thought. In Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building on the Work of Richard Popkin, ed. John C. Laursen, José R. Maia Neto, and Gianni Paganini, 37–54. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2012. Montaigne, a descoberta do Novo Mundo e o ceticismo. Kriterion 53 (126): 421–434. ———. 2019. Raízes da dúvida. Ceticismo e filosofía moderna. Rio de Janeiro: Zahar. Nichols, Ryan. 2006. Why Is the History of Philosophy Worth of Our Study? Metaphilosophy 37 (1): 34–52. Olaso, Ezequiel. 1981. Escepticismo e ilustración. La crisis pirrónica de Hume a Rousseau. Valencia: Universidad de Carabobo. Olaso, Ezequiel, Richard H.  Popkin, and Giorgio Tonelli, eds. 1997. Skepticism in the Enlightenment. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Ornelas, Jorge, and Armando Cíntora, eds. 2014. Dudas Filosóficas. Ensayos sobre Escepticismo Antiguo, Moderno y Contemporáneo. México: Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana/Gedisa. Paganini, Gianni. 2008. Skepsis. Le débat des modernes sur le scepticisme. Paris: Vrin. Perin, Casey. 2010. The Demands of Reason: an Essay on Pyrrhonian Scepticism. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Popkin, Richard H. 1960. The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes. Assen: Van Gorcum. ———. 1983. La historia del escepticismo desde Erasmo hasta Spinoza. Translated by Juan José Utrilla. México: FCE. ———. 1996. Scepticism in the History of Philosophy: A Pan-American Dialogue. Dordrecht: Springer. ———. 2000. A história do ceticismo de Erasmo a Espinosa. Translated by Danilo Marcondes de Souza Filho. Rio de Janeiro: Francisco Alves. ———. 2003. The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Porchat, Oswaldo. 2006. Rumo ao ceticismo. São Paulo: Editora da Universidade do Estado de São Paulo. ———. 2015. On What Appears. Sképsis 12: 1–32.

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Raga-Rosaleny, Vicente. 2016. Escepticismo y modernidad. Una relectura del pensar escéptico en Michel de Montaigne. Medellín: Editorial Universidad de Antioquia. Schmitt, Charles B. 1972. Cicero Scepticus: A Study of the Influence of the Academica in the Renaissance. Dordrecht: Springer. Silva Filho, Waldomiro J., and Plínio J. Smith, eds. 2007. Ensaios sobre o ceticismo. São Paulo: Alameda Editorial. ———, eds. 2012. As consequências do ceticismo. São Paulo: Alameda Editorial. Smith, Plínio J. 2008. La Critique de la Raison Pure face aux scepticismes cartésien, baylean et humian. Dialogue 47: 463–500. ———. 2013. Kant’s Criticism and the Legacy of Modern Skepticism. In Skepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, ed. Sebastien Charles and Plínio J. Smith, 247–263. Dordrecht: Springer. ———., ed. 2015. O neopirronismo de Oswaldo Porchat: interpretações e debate. São Paulo: Alameda Editorial. ———. 2015a. O método cético de oposição na filosofía moderna. São Paulo: Alameda Editorial. ———. 2015b. On Porchat’s Neo-Pyrrhonism. Sképsis 12: 33–50. ———. 2017. Uma visão cética do mundo: Porchat e a filosofia. São Paulo: Editora da UNESP. Stroud, Barry. 1984. The Significance of Philosophical Scepticism. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Chapter 2

“What a Foolish Project He Had to Paint His Own Portrait!”: The Influence of Montaigne’s “Straightforward Pyrrhonism” in the Rise of Pascal’s Self Vicente Raga Rosaleny

That is why life is always like a sketch. No, sketch is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture. Kundera (2009)

Abstract  The influence exerted by Montaigne on the author of the Pensées is well known, as explicitly indicated in Pascal’s “Discussion with Monsieur de Sacy.” Although there are many studies dedicated to clarifying the concrete role that the supposed “straightforward Pyrrhonism” of the Essais would have had in Pascal’s apologetic use of skepticism, very few have addressed in any detail the essayist’s contribution to Pascal’s critique of the metaphysical idea of the human being and his critique of the Cartesian ego. In this paper I will try to expand on this point, which seems to me much more relevant to understanding the relationship between Montaigne and Pascal.

V. Raga Rosaleny (*) National University of Colombia, Bogotá D. C., Colombia e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_2

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2.1  Blaise Pascal, Reader of Michel de Montaigne Today, there is no doubt that the Essais of Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592), one of the masterpieces of the French Renaissance, had a powerful influence on the work of Blaise Pascal (1623–1662).1 The dialogue between Pascal and the Jansenist Louis-Isaac Lemaistre de Sacy (1612–1684), which probably took place in January 16552 and was transcribed by the latter’s secretary, Fontaine, is well-known.3 In that dialogue, Pascal explains his perspective on the relationship between philosophy and Christianity with his potential spiritual advisor, de Sacy, who was associated with Port Royal and was recognized for his anti-philosophical position.4 After having experienced a second religious conversion, preceded by a worldly period, Pascal was eager to talk with his interlocutor about the greatness of human beings, a view he associates with the Stoic philosopher Epictetus, and the wretchedness of human beings, a view he associates with Montaigne, regarding whom he states the following: He puts everything into a universal doubt, and this doubt is so widespread that it becomes carried away by its very self; that is to say, he doubts whether he doubts, and doubting even this last proposition, his uncertainty goes round in an endless and restless circle. He contradicts both those who maintain that all is uncertainty and those who maintain it is not, because he does not want to maintain anything at all. It is in this self-doubting doubt, this ignorance which is unaware of its own ignorance, and which he calls his master form, which is the keystone of his thinking, that he could not express in any positive terms. […] He could only explain his position by a question, so, not wanting to say: “I don’t know,” he says: “What do I know?” he makes this his motto, and, putting it on the scales which, weighing all the contradictions, are in perfect equilibrium. That is to say, he is a straightforward Pyrrhonist.5

Certainly, Montaigne’s Essais were widely read in the seventeenth century, especially among the erudite French libertines, those skeptical intellectuals whose views

1  The classical text on this subject is that of Brunschvicg, Léon. Descartes et Pascal: lecteurs de Montaigne. Genève: Éditions la Baconnière, 1945. 2  Gounelle, André. L’Entretien de Pascal avec M. de Sacy. Etude et commentaire. Paris: PUF, 1966, p. 24. 3  The most prominent reviews of this dialogue are those of Courcelle, Pierre. L’Entretien de Pascal et Sacy. Ses sources et énigmes. Paris: J. Vrin, 1981; Gounelle, op. cit.; Gouhier, Henri. Blaise Pascal. Commentaires. Paris: J. Vrin, 1966, pp. 67–125 and Magnard, Pierre. Nature et histoire dans l’apologétique de Pascal. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1980. 4  Gouhier, op. cit., p. 83. 5  Pascal, Blaise. Pensées and Other Writings. Edited and translated by Honor Levi. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 1995, pp. 183–184.

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did not coincide with Christian orthodoxy.6 Pascal likely directed his truncated Apology of the Christian Religion to the Essais readers.7 In that sense, Montaigne’s work was a familiar starting point for Pascal’s intended audience, and in both the “Discussion” and the Pensées Pascal borrowed various elements from the Essais in his own description of the human condition after original sin. Despite the coincidences, loans, and appropriations, however, Pascal incorporated the examples of human conduct and thought taken from Montaigne’s work with a purpose completely different from those of the Bordeaux author. The frequent references in the Essais to the inconstancy, mutability, and even incoherence of their author8 find a clear echo in the Pensées.9 The “diversity” of human beings described in Montaigne’s work, however, is twisted in Pascal’s hands until it is reduced to a “duality” of two basic moral feelings, presumption and weakness of heart,10 which correspond to the states of human nature prior to and after the Fall, respectively. This diversity in the dispositions of human beings, which Montaigne elaborated upon, perhaps following the fourth trope of Aenesidemus as discussed by Sextus Empiricus,11 and which could serve a skeptical function in the hands of the erudite libertines (by rejecting attempts to fix the essence of human beings), is transformed into an instrument of Pascal’s Apology of the Christian Religion. This is how Pascal’s first anthropology is to be understood: it proposes the notion of a double human nature, composed of a mixture of greatness and wretchedness

6  These were the followers of Pierre Charron (1541–1603), a renowned preacher who in 1581 befriended Montaigne and named him his spiritual teacher. Charron published three works, including On Wisdom (1601), which reorganizes and adapts many of the ideas present in the Essais (see Adam, Michel. “René Descartes et Pierre Charron”, Revue Philosophique de la France et de l’Étranger, 182 (4): p. 467). The erudite libertines interpreted this work from an irreligious perspective, and they were characterized by a controversial use of skeptical arguments (Pintard, René. Le libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle. Paris: Boivin, 1943). 7  Phillips, Henry. 2003. “Pascal’s Reading and the inheritance of Montaigne and Descartes”, in: Hammond, Nicholas (ed.). The Cambridge Companion to Pascal. Cambridge: Cambridge U. P., 2003, p. 24. 8  Among many others, see, II, 1, 332/239. We quote Montaigne following the “Bordeaux Copy” edition of the Essais by Villey and Saulnier, with the volume number, followed by the essay number and page; then we indicate the equivalent page in the English translation by Donald M. Frame. 9  For example, in §§ 54–55/112–111, 65/115 and 127/415. When quoting from the Pensées, we follow the convention of referring to the fragments first according to Lafuma’s edition and then according to Brunschvicg’s edition, using the English translation by Honor Levi when required. 10  § 629/417. 11  See Mates, Benson. The Skeptic Way. Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 1996, I.100–117. Regarding Sextus Empiricus (ca. 160–210 AD), it is important to note that he is the only author of the neo-Pyrrhonic skeptical movement whose works have survived, many extant. Sextus compiled the thought of earlier neo-Pyrrhonists going back to Aenesidemus of Alexandria in the first century BC, who claimed to offer an alternative to the skepticism that arose in Plato’s Academy, a skepticism that was the legitimate heiress to the radical attitude of the founder of this movement, Pyrrho of Elis (see Chiesara, Maria Lorenza. Historia del escepticismo griego. Translated by Pedro Bádenas. Madrid: Siruela 2007, p. 133ff).

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(and which certainly must be differentiated from the second, to which we shall return shortly). The core notion of this first anthropology is the paradox of humanity, of which § 131/434 provides the most refined expression: What a figment of the imagination human beings are! What a novelty, what monsters! Chaotic, contradictory, prodigious, judging everything, mindless worm of the earth, storehouse of truth, cesspool of uncertainty and error, glory and reject of the universe. […] Nature confounds Pyrrhonists and reason confounds dogmatists. […] Be aware then, proud men, what a paradox you are to yourselves!

And although this thinking can be traced back to the Delphic maxim, know thyself, prescribed by Platonism and taken up by Christianity,12 it also owes much to the Essais: It was a paradoxical command that was given us of old by that god at Delphi: “Look into yourself, know yourself […].” “Except for you, O man,” said that god, “each thing studies itself first, and, according to its needs, has limits to its labors and desires. There is not a single thing as empty and needy as you, who embrace the universe: you are the investigator without knowledge, the magistrate without jurisdiction, and all in all, the fool of the farce”.13

In this sense, everything that concerns the wretchedness of human beings without God after the Fall finds its characterization in the work of Montaigne (even from his style, which is discontinuous and confused but is for that very reason appropriate to the subject, in contrast with the methodical order of Charron).14 Having earlier been invoked in the “Preface of the first part” of Pascal’s abandoned Apology,15 Montaigne’s presence is constant in the Pensées. Additionally, following a theological conception found in Augustine of Hippo, whose principle, the well-known opposition between dignitas and miseria,16 governs the bipartition that structures the whole “Discussion”, that presence also permeates the dialogue between de Sacy and Pascal. Therefore, what distinguishes the Stoic Epictetus from the “Pyrrhonic” Montaigne is original sin.17 In that sense, it is clear, that while the first purports to enjoy a certain knowledge of his duties (although his diabolic pride consists in believing himself capable of fulfilling them without God’s assistance),18 the second has recognized our fallen state of ignorant wretchedness,19 illustrated by the Pyrrhonic skepticism of which, as we have shown in our initial quotation, Montaigne would be an example.20

12  Courcelle, Pierre. “Connais-toi toi-même”, de Socrate à saint Bernard. 3  vol. Paris: Études Agustiniennes, 1975, p. 734. 13  III, 9, 1001/766. 14  §§ 675/29, 780/62. 15  § 6/60. 16  See Augustine of Hippo. City of God. Translated by Henry Bettenson. London: Penguin Random House, 2004, XIV, 28. 17  Pascal, op. cit., p. 189. 18  Pascal, op. cit., p. 183. 19  Pascal, op. cit., p. 185, 187. 20  § 131/434.

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In this manner, a relevant part of Pascal’s first conception of human beings is inspired by the Essais, albeit in a critical and subversive way, given that Montaigne seems satisfied to be able to lay his head on the soft pillow of ignorance,21 a position that Pascal finds scandalous. In this vein, many studies have focused Montaigne’s supposed “Pyrrhonism” and its role in Pascal’s apologetics.22 They highlight Pascal’s initial condemnation of Pyrrhonism’s moral dimension (ataraxia) and the subsequent annulment of this sentence by opposing to it, in perfect argumentative balance (isostheneia), the dogmatists represented by Epictetus, both being surpassed by the truth of Christianity.23 Recently, however, some have questioned the purity of the “Pyrrhonism” of the Essais as Pascal represents it in his Apology. It has been argued that his presentation of Montaigne’s skepticism is mixed up with the hyperskepticism of the first Cartesian Meditation, reinforcing Montaigne’s insufficient doubts.24 Others, in contrast, have noted that Pascal resorted to elements of Academic skepticism to reach the desired level of radical doubt,25 thus criticizing the supposed purity of the Pyrrhonism he describes.26 Additionally, any ascription of one or another of these skeptical currents to the Essais is still a matter of debate. Some argue that the Essais are the work of a pure Pyrrhonic;27 others that their skepticism is ultimately Academic.28 Still others argue either that Montaigne was both things from the beginning29 or that, under the influence of Christianity, he put forward a skepticism

 III, 13, 1073/822.  Such as, notably, Maia Neto, José R. The Christianization of Pyrrhonism. Scepticism and Faith in Pascal, Kierkegaard, and Shestov. Dordrecht, Boston, London: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1995, p. 47ff. 23  Sextus tells us that the telos of Pyrrhonism is ataraxia or tranquility, which is said to result from suspension of judgement (epoché). On some interpretations, Pyrrhonian epoché precludes a commitment to the principles of the Christian religion. 24  Carraud, Vincent. Pascal et la philosophie. Paris: PUF, 2007, p. 84ff. 25  This skeptical trend, which emerged in Plato’s Academy under the leadership of Arcesilaus of Pitane in the third century BC, would continue under Carneades of Cyrene, and it would have its end with Philo of Larissa, the last skeptical head of the Academy and the teacher of Cicero. For a long time, Academic skepticism was better known than Pyrrhonism due to the wider diffusion of texts such as Cicero’s On Academic Scepticism and Augustine of Hippo’s Against the Academicians. 26  Pécharman, Martine. “Pascal sur le pyrrhonisme de Montaigne dans l’Entretien avec M. de Sacy: doute pyrrhonien ou doute académique”, in: Smith, Plinio J. and Charles, Sébastien (eds.). Academic Scepticism in the Development of Early Modern Philosophy. Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer, 2017, p. 215ff. 27  Conche, Marcel. Pyrrhon ou l’apparence. Paris: PUF, 1994, p. 151. 28  Villey, Pierre. Les sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne, 2 vols. Paris: Librairie Hachette, 1933, p.  218; Limbrick, Elaine. “Was Montaigne really a pyrrhonian?” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance, 39: p. 67; Floridi, Luciano. Sextus Empiricus. The Transmission and Recovery of Pyrrhonism. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 2002, p. 48. 29  Eva, Luiz. A figura do filósofo. Ceticismo e subjetividade em Montaigne. São Paulo: Loyola, 2007, p. 29–37. 21 22

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completely different from his ancient models.30 Finally, others have placed Montaigne beyond skepticism.31 In our opinion, however, although Montaigne explicitly favors Pyrrhonism, his objective is not to promote any philosophy, no matter how anti-dogmatic it may be:32 If to philosophize is to doubt, as they say, then to play the fool and follow my fancies, as I do, is all the more to doubt. For it is for the learners to inquire and dispute, and for the master to decide. My master is the authority of the divine will, which rules us without contradiction and has its place above these vain and human wranglings.33

In fact, it is possible to find in Montaigne the view that things are undifferentiated, in a sort of unconscious approach to the position commonly attributed to Pyrrho.34 It can also be seen in his work the counterpoising of propositions of equal weight, that in Sextus leads to ataraxia, just as the shadow follows the body. We can even note in the Essais the absence of a criterion that allows us to differentiate true representations from false ones, along with the integrity of skeptical judgment, which for Cicero characterized the Academic skeptic.35 Although Montaigne was able to take elements from all these sources, he uses them in his own way, giving 30  Brahami, Frédéric. Le scepticisme de Montaigne. Paris: PUF, 1997; Brahami, Frédéric. Le travail du scepticisme. Montaigne, Bayle, Hume. Paris: PUF, 2001. 31  Sève, Bernard. Montaigne. Des règles pour l’esprit. Paris: PUF, 2007, p. 15. A brief but very interesting update and discussion on this hermeneutical debate can be found in Smith, Plinio. “El método escéptico de oposición y las fantasías de Montaigne”, in: Ornelas, Jorge and Cíntora, Armando (eds.). Dudas filosóficas. Barcelona: Gedisa, 2014a, p. 127ff. 32  Miernowski, Jan. “Montaigne on Truth and Skepticism”, in: Desan, Philippe (ed.). The Oxford Handbook of Montaigne. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 2016, p. 554. 33  II, 3, 350/251. 34  This is the thesis of Conche, op. cit., p. 31, 151–152, who equates Pyrrhonic indifference with the absolute difference attributed by Montaigne to the things of the world, which is based on Montaigne’s sui generis Heracliteism (III, 2, 804–805/610–611). On the one hand, in Montaigne’s interpretation, the total diversity of things is inseparable from their constant becoming, an idea taken up by Heraclitus (although without the harmony nor the characteristic logos of this thinker) through the reading of The E at Delphi by Plutarch (see Joukovsky, Françoise. Le Feu et le Fleuve. Héraclite et la Renaissance française. Genève: Droz 1991, p. 95). On the other hand, for a compelling revision of this dominant interpretation of Pyrrho’s position, Bett can be useful (Bett, Richard A. H. Pyrrho, his Antecedents and his Legacy. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 2000, p. 14ff). 35  According to Pécharman, op. cit., p.  233ff, this is the characteristic of Academic skepticism highlighted by Pascal in his interpretation of Montaigne as a radical skeptic. Here, Pascal is relying on his previous reflections regarding the uncertainty of principles and the impossibility of defining the simplest and most general ideas in his The Art of Persuasion. However, the Academic problem of aparalaxia, or the inability to distinguish between true and false appearances (Cicero. On Academic Scepticism. Edited and translated by Charles Brittain. Indianapolis, Cambridge: Hackett, 2006, XVI, 49), can already be clearly found in the Essais (II, 12, 598–599/452–453: “We receive things in one way and another, according to what we are and what they seem to us. Now since our seeming is so uncertain and controversial, it is no longer a miracle if we are told that we can admit that snow appears white to us, but that we cannot be responsible for proving that it is so of its essence and in truth […]”), as well as what is, according to Cicero, another central element of skeptical Academicism,’ intellectual integrity (Cicero, op. cit., XXIV, 77) or liberation from received opinions for a lack of commitment to any of them (II, 12, 503–504/373).

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them a certain form that follows interests that are very different from the epistemic (and even moral) ones of these ancient schools. Indeed, for Montaigne, Pyrrhonism and skeptical Academicism are fantasies (in the sense of phenomena), just like all other philosophical doctrines. Additionally, the fact that there is no such skeptical (or philosophical in general) orthodoxy in the Essais is evidenced by the fact that dogmatism is understood as a sort of “Pyrrhonism in an affirmative form”:36 That is how, of three general sects of philosophy, two make express profession of doubt and ignorance; and in that of the dogmatists, which is the third, it is easy to discover that most of them have put on the mask of assurance only to look better. They have not thought so much of establishing any certainty for us as of showing us how far they had gone in this pursuit of the truth […].37

Furthermore, the Pyrrhonics have opinions, to the point that Montaigne includes them in the philosophical discussion (diaphonia),38 forming part of the isostheneia itself of the intellectual positions. (In that sense, the innovation of Pascal, and central to its attribution of a “straightforward Pyrrhonism” to Montaigne,39 would already be anticipated in his work). Moreover, despite on several occasions criticizing the Academic criterion of the plausible, thus orthodoxly following Sextus’s objections to Academicism, Montaigne is not afraid to ironize in other passages: “The position of the Pyrrhonians is bolder and at the same time more plausible”.40 Equally, he is not always concerned with avoiding judgments (to the point that the formation of this faculty is one of the key themes that runs through the Essais),41 thus breaking the skeptical commitment to epoché, nor does he avoid assuming that a certain side of an issue as the most acceptable (breaking with the ideal of Academic integrity, as in the case of his position regarding suicide). Similarly, it has been noted on several occasions that Montaigne’s supposed skepticism lacks one of its apparently central features in its classical modalities, namely, ataraxia.42 Further, although it has gone somewhat more unnoticed,

 II, 12, 507/376. I defend a controversial position here: there are some authors who classify Montaigne as an ancient skeptic or as a modern one, or even as a sui generis skeptic. What I am trying to do in this text is to show how the conception of the human being in Montaigne is much more important for the way of understanding the self in Pascal than his debatable skepticism. I would like to thank Roger Eichorn for his comments on this topic. 37  II, 12, 506–507/375. 38  II, 12, 562–563/423. 39  Sève, Bernard. “Antithèse et isosthénie chez Pascal”, Hermès, 15: p. 112. 40  II, 12, 561/422. 41  La Charité, Raymond C. The Concept of Judgment in Montaigne. Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff, 1968, p. 82. 42  Larmore, Charles. “Un scepticisme sans tranquillité: Montaigne et ses modèles antiques”, in: Carraud, Vincent and Marion, Jean-Luc (eds.). Montaigne: scepticisme, métaphysique, théologie. Paris: PUF, 2004, p. 16ff. 36

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Montaigne replaces the essential skeptical notion of aporia with modern doubt, marking a crucial change of accent.43 These and other differences between Montaigne and classical skepticism has been attributed to the influence of humanistic trends (for example, Estienne’s Latin translation decisions in his rendering of the Outlines of Pyrrhonism44 or the weight of the neo-Stoicism of Montaigne’s friend, La Boétie), mediated by Christianity (for example, direct skeptical quotations from Paul the Apostle can be found in the Essais,45 along with the influence of certain trends of negative theology such as that represented by Nicholas of Cusa or Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite).46 We may conclude, therefore, that the supposed “straightforward Pyrrhonism” that Pascal attributes to Montaigne is in fact a composition of elements borrowed from the skeptical Academic and Pyrrhonian traditions,47 as well as many other traditions. Moreover, it allows us to question the relevance of the epistemic dimension of skepticism in Montaigne, as well as the true weight of its influence in Pascal’s work. In this way, we can see that the presence of skepticism in the Essais may include other facets that have been neglected in current studies of the relations between Montaigne and Pascal. In fact, Montaigne’s influence on Pascal has more to do with the question of humanness, as revealed not only by the role played by the wretchedness of the straightforward Pyrrhonist in Pascal’s first anthropology, but also by its determining presence (although again criticized and “twisted”) in the second anthropology of the Pensées, in line with Pascal’s well-known reflection on “diversion”. Although we cannot offer here more than a brief note, we would like to point out that once again, against Carraud’s assertions,48 that this effect of boredom, which in § 136/139 is part of a completely original, novel, and fundamentally anti-Cartesian anthropology, presents clear debts to Montaigne’s essay III, 4 (“Of diversion”). Additionally, for the author of the Essais, the experience of diversion is common and natural to all human beings.49 While, however, Montaigne gives entertainment a place in his morals, as a kind of therapy to alleviate human ills,50 in Pascal it is a procedure for forgetting oneself, for hiding and seducing the other, insofar as it conceals a distaste for one’s own self: “The king is surrounded by people whose only thought is to

 Paganini, Gianni. Skepsis. Le débat des modernes sur le scepticisme. Paris: J. Vrin, 2008, p. 56.  Paganini, op. cit., p. 38ff. 45  Carraud, Vincent. “L’imaginer inimaginable: le Dieu de Montaigne”, in: Carraud, Vincent and Marion, Jean-Luc (eds.), op. cit., p. 144–145, 148–150. 46  Miernowski, Jan. L’ontologie de la contradiction sceptique. Paris: H. Champion, 1998, p. 22ff. 47  Smith, Plinio. “Pascal ou l’invention du scepticisme pur à partir de Montaigne et Descartes”, in: Charles, Sébastien and Malinowski-Charles, Syliane (eds.). Descartes et ses critiques. Paris: Hermann, 2014b, p. 124. 48  Carraud, Pascal et la philosophie, p. 331, 334, 454. 49  II, 1, 333, 335/240, 242. 50  III, 4, 832/632. 43 44

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entertain him and prevent him from thinking about himself. King though he may be, he is unhappy if he thinks about it”.51 If, however, the presence of the Essais is so evident in Pascal, then the question to be asked is as follows: why has it not been studied in greater detail? The answer is likely related to Pascal’s critique of the philosophical conception of the je and, more specifically, his rejection of the project of self-portraiture that is typically attributed to Montaigne.

2.2  Pascal, Critic of Montaigne and Descartes In fact, the importance of Pascal has recently been highlighted in the context of a genealogy not of the notions of subject, individual, or person, which still have a long way to go, but of the philosophical concept of the self.52 According to this approach, such a notion would have profound consequences for modern philosophy and for our conception of ourselves; and although a similar configuration could tentatively be found in Descartes (1596–1650), it could be argued that Pascal made the decisive contribution in at least two well-known passages of the Pensées: “What is the self?”53 and “The self is hateful”.54 To arrive at his own conception of the self, Pascal first had to do a great deal of digging, deconstructing the philosophical conception of the self he inherited from his predecessors as well as those of his contemporaries. This is because Pascal understands philosophy in general as a discourse on substances, identical to themselves; and to the extent that that is so, it is partial because its object, human being, is at least double. In this sense, the constitutive error of the inherited philosophical discourse on the self, and of its modern heirs, consists in believing that the object of investigation is a subject that is understood as a substance (suppôt): “Man is a substance, but when analyzed is he head, heart, stomach, veins, each vein, each portion of vein, blood, each one of the blood’s humors? […]”.55 Such a foundational substance does not exist because; instead of a substratum, human being is a compound. The subject of the philosophical discourse, that is, the self, is not single but, as noted above in some detail regarding the first Cartesian anthropology, double: The dual nature of humanity is so obvious that there are some who have thought we have two souls. A simple being seeming to them to be incapable of such great and sudden variations: from boundless presumption to appalling dejection.56

 § 136/139.  Carraud, Vincent. L’invention du moi. Paris: PUF, 2010, p. 11. 53  § 688/323. 54  § 597/455. 55  § 65/115. 56  § 629/417. 51 52

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The same ignorance of the human condition, which led to the equipollence between dogmatists and skeptics, as well as to, after this paralysis, their mutual annihilation, now accounts for the incomprehensible character of the human being for philosophy: “(Is it not as clear as day that man’s condition is twofold?) […] So, humanity is more inconceivable without this mystery than this mystery is conceivable to humanity”.57 Human being, subject to contradictions, both paradoxical and monstrous, escapes rational knowledge to the extent that he seeks simplicity, unity, and nonexistent identity. Thus, philosophy conceives human being as subsisting by himself, as simple and prior to any determination attributed to him. Therefore, in discovering that its object is contradictory, characterized by ontological doubleness and discursive ambiguity,58 its conception must necessarily collapse. If for a philosophical discourse to occur, either from the perspective of greatness or from that of wretchedness, it would be necessary to presuppose the subject, all philosophy of the self would necessarily be of the identical. To the extent, however, that there is no such identity, only insurmountable disparity and contradiction, the philosophical construction collapses due to a failure in its foundation. Does this criticism of the self of philosophy include the je of Montaigne and the ego of Descartes? For the first part of the query, according to Carraud’s reading,59 one should answer affirmatively, given that although it is true that the self Montaigne supposedly tries to paint in the Essais is mobile, fluctuating, and always diverse,60 there would be a permanent identity in that unending search. We disagree with this reading, and in the next section, we set forth our competing interpretation. Suffice it to say that, once again, curiously, the terms used by Pascal to demonstrate the incomprehensible character of the human beings are taken from the Essais. As Merleau-Ponty insightfully remarked in a beautiful essay: “The word ‘strange’ is the one that most often recurs when Montaigne speaks of man. Or ‘absurd’. Or ‘monster’. Or ‘miracle’”.61 As for the second part of the query, if Pascal’s criticisms and references to the self were limited to the necessary knowledge of its simultaneous greatness and wretchedness, Descartes’ ego does not fit into this scheme. When we are told that “my self consists in my thinking”,62 or when we are told that thought is above bodies (although below charity),63 we realize that it is possible to reinterpret Pascal’s first anthropology in Cartesian terms and state, for example, that human’s greatness

 § 131/434.  §129/116. 59  Carraud, Pascal et la philosophie, p. 119. 60  III, 2, 804–805/610–611. 61  Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Signs. Translated by Richard McCleary. Evanston: Northwestern U. P., 1964, p. 201. 62  § 135/469. 63  § 308/793. 57 58

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consists in his thought or, in other words, that he is “a substance whose whole essence or nature is simply to think”.64 Certainly, the Cartesian “thinking thing”65 can easily be understood in substantial terms, and although it does not refer to singular persons, it is characterized, as in the case of the inherited philosophical conception, by the identity of the subject. This ego would thus be the center of modern thought, the architectonic point from which to construct with solidity and security the new philosophy.66 Therefore, at least in part (since direct references are more linked to his role in natural philosophy), the few mentions of Descartes’s name in the Pensées67 have a critical character, and the allusions, as in the case of the aforementioned passages on the self,68 seek to decentralize that subject whose greatness (i.e., thought) turns in Pascal’s hands into an awareness of fragility and unhappiness. Moreover, as has been repeatedly indicated,69 the staging of the fragment entitled “What is the self?” takes up the well-known passage of the Second Meditation: “But then if I look out of the window and see men crossing the square, as I just happen to have done, I normally say that I see the men themselves […]. Yet do I see any more than hats and coats which could conceal automatons?”,70 only to invert it: A man who sits at the window to watch the passers-by; can I say that he sat there to see me if I pass by? No, for he is not thinking of me in particular. But someone who loves a person because of her beauty, does he love her? No, because smallpox, which will destroy beauty without destroying the person, will ensure that he no longer loves her.71

The certainty of the existence of the Cartesian thinking ego becomes uncertainty when Pascal turns the self into an object, one whose singularity or identity cannot be located. Thus, he passes from subject of thought to object of love, and from being the center to lacking space. We no longer have access to substance, and we do not know what the essence of the ego cogito consists in. The subject of the Meditations, which has never been raised as an object of thought, nor has it been identified as an object to be viewed or loved, is lost, although for the first time in a philosophically conscious way Pascal inscribes this subject in the grammar.72

 AT VI, 33; CSM I, 127. Descartes is quoted following the edition of his complete works by Charles Adam and Paul Tannery (AT), with the volume and page number, and then, if appropriate, with the English translation by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch (and Anthony Kenny, vol. 3), hereafter cited as CSM/CSMK. 65  AT VII, 28; CSM II, 19. 66  Villar, Alicia. “El yo inasible de Pascal frente a la fortaleza del sujeto cartesiano”, Isegoría, 42: p. 269. 67  §§ 84/79, 553/76, and 887/78. 68  § 688/323. 69  Marion, Jean-Luc. 2004b. Sur le prisme métaphysique de Descartes. Paris: PUF, 2004b, p. 344ff; Carraud, L’invention du moi, p. 28ff. 70  AT VII, 32; CSM II, 21. 71  § 688/323. 72  Carraud, L’invention du moi, p. 39. 64

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In this way, we can return to the Essais and find that, from the outset, Pascal adopts Montaigne’s preemptive criticism of the Cartesian ego. The style and manner of Montaigne are confusing and discontinuous, but this characterization does not constitute a reproach;73 rather, continuous eloquence (such as Charron’s) is boring. Moreover, Montaigne’s style is appropriate to its object because, if the Cartesian ego turns out to be insubstantial, a rhetoric of discontinuity will be more appropriate, as a matter of form, to the metaphysical criticism of substance. Nevertheless, if the ego as it is painted in an orderly and continuous way in the first part of the Discourse on the Method is subverted in the project of the portrait of the confused self that would supposedly characterize the Essais, it is no less true that the preceding criticism of Descartes extends to Montaigne. Both, as Alquié indicates, refer too often to “I”.74 This is the direction in which Pascal’s harsh criticism of the Essais should be understood: “What a foolish project he had to paint his own portrait! And not even as a digression and against his principles, as anyone might mistakenly do, but following his own principles and as his prime and main intention”.75 It was clear to him that Montaigne had a central project, a fundamental desire that would organize his “disjointed” essays:76 that of knowing himself. This project is clearly framed by the time in which the Essais were conceived, the Renaissance, the age of the image of the individual. This is the moment at which both the pictorial and literary fields reflected the increasing importance of a daily and familiar individuality. In this sense, the personal and private merited representation;77 hence, the increase in portraits and self-portraits, sculptures, memoirs, confessions, and novels centered on ordinary heroes. The work of Montaigne, who retired in 1570 to his tower, leaving his public posts (although without necessarily abandoning his political ambitions),78 to enjoy a studious leisure that would allow him to leave in writing his vision of the human being and the world around him, must be situated within this framework. Montaigne’s retirement was initially guided by an interest in showing his worldly skills and his competence as a courtier as well as honoring the memory of his deceased soul mate, Étienne de la Boétie (1530–1563), but it was gradually transformed into something different. The Essais, so disparate in their subject matter, always ended up revolving around the self that enunciates them, to the point of composing an atypical portrait:

 §§ 771/355, 513/4.  Descartes, René. Œuvres philosophiques de Descartes, vol. I. Edited by Ferdinand Alquié. Paris: Garnier, 1963, p. 553. 75  § 780/62. 76  II, 13, 1076/824. 77  The bibliography on this subject is overwhelming. Among others, it is still very useful the interesting text by Greenblatt, Stephen. Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980. 78  Desan, Philippe. 2017. Montaigne. A Life. Translated by Steven Rendall and Lisa Neal. Princeton, Oxford: Princeton U. P., 2017, p. 254ff. 73 74

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One day at Bar-le-Duc I saw King Francis II presented, in remembrance of René, king of Sicily, with a portrait that this king had made of himself. Why is it not permissible in the same way for each man to portray himself with the pen, as he portrayed himself with a pencil?79

That is why Pascal goes on to criticize the search for oneself in the Essais. The project of making a self-portrait, of obtaining a reflection of himself in the ink mirror of the book, explained at various times,80 in some way meant a correction and denial of the discontinuity and stylistic confusion displayed by Montaigne. Reacting against this tendency, in his Pensées, Pascal wanted to generalize discontinuity: “Continuity in anything is distasteful”.81 It was a question of exhibiting disorder and confusion against the Cartesian methodical order or Montaigne’s identity project: “I will write down my thoughts here in no order, but not perhaps in aimless confusion. It is the true order and will still show my aim by its very disorder”.82 Pascal’s anthropology, in short, is meant to be a sketch of nothing, an outline with no picture, which shows the insubstantiality of the self. In this sense, for Pascal, the perspectives of Montaigne and Descartes would be similar: both would privilege the continuity, unity, and subsistence of the je/ego, implicitly or explicitly, as identity or substance. Moreover, these perspectives would give continuity to the traditional metaphysics, from the moment in which that fundamental entity would turn out to be fully universalizable: anyone can say ego cogito; everyone can identify with the je of the Essais. More profoundly, one could say that in Montaigne the centrality of the perspective of the first person is evident, and one becomes aware that he is involved in everything that appears before him or that he knows.83 This conception, which endows the subject with a central place, would be decisively received by Descartes and through him by modernity. Of course, the foolish project of painting could have been worse than Descartes’ project: Montaigne is not only characterized by this search for identity; he also would have endowed it with an intense uniqueness. In the Essais, self-knowledge

 II, 17, 653/496.  Along with the passage we have just quoted regarding the portrait of the king of Sicily, probably the best-known text in which a pictorial comparison is made is that of the beginning of the essay “Of friendship”. Here Montaigne refers to the consummate art of a painter who had created frescoes for the walls of his tower, surrounded by fantastic or grotesque paintings that highlighted the importance of the central motif. However, it is important to note that Montaigne does not equate the essays to these frescoes, but to what surrounds them: “And what are these things of mine, in truth, but grotesques and monstrous bodies, pieced together of divers members, without definite shape, having no order, sequence, or proportion other than accidental?” (I, 28, 183/135). Moreover, and this will play an important role in the next section of our text, Montaigne planned to place at the center of the Essais the best-known text of La Boétie, his Discourse on Voluntary Servitude, but various circumstances prevented it, and the place of the portrait remained empty in the successive editions of the Essais. 81  §771/355. 82  §532/373. 83  De Souza Birchal, Telma. “Regard sur soi, l’esprit qui connaît: figures de la subjectivité chez Montaigne et Descartes”, Montaigne Studies. An Interdisciplinary Forum, 25: p. 37. 79 80

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does not consist of a cold, impersonal search for human nature, as is typical in the philosophical tradition going back to Plato, nor is it reducible to the stark achievement of an ego that can be anyone’s; rather, but it inaugurates a new mode of reflection, alternative and deeply individual.84 Ultimately, Pascal’s problem with Montaigne’s project is that it obeys the designs of a perverted will, one that loves itself and therefore unjustly seeks to be loved by others: “The self is hateful. […] In a word, the self has two characteristics: it is unjust in itself, in that it makes itself the center of everything; it is a nuisance to others, in that it wants to assert itself over them […]”.85 The self, invoked too often by Montaigne, consists in the relationship with oneself under the modality of self-love, and that is unjust to the extent that there is nothing inherently lovable in us.86 The Essais put the self in the central position; the digressions of the text always lead back to it.87 According to Pascal, however, this is a false center because it usurps the place that should be occupied only by Christ. From that false center, Montaigne is not concerned about salvation or any transcendent destiny, but only about living in the best manner possible and dying without pain. For this reason, in the end, it is not only a question of speaking little about the self (a recommendation that both Montaigne and Pascal considered, since it formed part of the rules of honest conversation), but of loving God above oneself, decentralizing the self. The self exists by virtue of a gaze, of divine love, as the object of divine love (although Pascal does not exclude human alterity as a constitutive element of the self). Such criticisms and conclusions would seem to distance Montaigne’s je radically from Pascal’s moi, and, in that sense, Montaigne’s influence on the author of the Pensées seems very limited. What if, however, the relevance of skepticism or “straightforward” Pyrrhonism in Montaigne’s work were different from what is usually believed? What if the outstanding features of the picture of the self turned out to be others?

2.3  Essaying the Self: From Montaigne to Pascal The starting point of the Essais may have been quite conventional. After all, reflection is born of socially accepted judgments (from prejudices, in the Gadamerian sense of the term). Thus, Montaigne might want to discuss definite sociopolitical questions and the nature of human beings, although without much contact with a

84  Taylor, Charles. Fuentes del yo. Translated by Ana Lizón. Barcelona: Paidós, 1996, p.  197; Nehamas, Alexander. El arte de vivir. Reflexiones socráticas de Platón a Foucault. Translated by Jorge Brioso. Valencia: Pre-textos, 2005, p. 163. 85  §597/455. 86  Carraud, L’invention du moi, p. 25. 87  § 298/283.

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philosophy to whose tradition he was alien: “I am no philosopher”.88 A total change, however, took place in the course of writing. Certainly others had previously taken themselves as the subject of their books; however, the originality and radicality of the Essais are very quickly revealed: “we have no communication with what is […]”.89 In this sense, they constitute one of the first modern texts in which it is made explicit that, contrary to the demands of metaphysics, our contingency does not satisfy the demands of Aristotelian-scholastic substance. We have no relationship whatsoever to being because we cannot last or subsist in a manner that is identical to ourselves: “Stability itself is nothing but a more languid motion. I cannot keep my subject still”.90 God is the only substance; only God has access to what is.91 Thus, the supposed connection with traditional metaphysics, which we mentioned above as one of the motivations of Pascal’s critique of Montaigne’s project, seems, in turn, questionable. There is no such identity of the subject, understood as a unit or the subsistence of an entity: the human being in fact exists; however, it is theoretically incomprehensible: not in a circumstantial or dialectical way, but permanently.92 Therefore, a new mode of engaging in philosophy is needed: “To have no time for philosophy is truly to philosophize”.93 Further needed is “[a] new figure: an unpremeditated and accidental philosopher”,94 one who could be adapted to that existing self who remains incomprehensible to traditional metaphysics. Perhaps that role was partly played in the Essais by the rediscovery of ancient skepticism. This reassertion, however, of an ancient skepticism was not expressed in Montaigne’s reiteration of the skeptical tropes that lead to the balance of positions and ultimately to suspension of judgment and ataraxia. Rather, such skeptical tropes allowed him to clear the terrain of theory and thus open the space for a new experience, that of the self-seeking je. Montaigne’s break with scholastic Aristotelianism, however, went even further: if we have no communication with being, then neither is our soul the substantial form that sustained the metaphysical tradition, and we do not identify with it. Thus,

 III, 9, 950/725.  I, 3, 17/10 and under an almost identical formulation in II, 12, 601/455. 90  III, 2, 805/610. 91  II, 12, 603/456; II, 12, 513/381. 92  Marion, Jean-Luc. “Qui suis je pour ne pas dire ego sum, ego existo?”, in: Carraud, Vincent and Marion, Jean-Luc (eds.). Montaigne: scepticisme, métaphysique, théologie. Paris: PUF, 2004, p. 241. By the way, Marion connects that conception with the Christian tradition that defends the incomprehensible character of God, which goes back to Gregory of Nyssa (ca. 330–400) and reaches Montaigne through Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153), according to his explicit reference (II, 12, 543/406). We can, in turn, link it with Pascal’s assertions regarding the inability to understand human beings from the philosophical perspective and draw a new line of continuity from Montaigne to Pascal. 93  § 513/4. 94  II, 12, 546/409. 88 89

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if for the intellectuals of Montaigne’s time, the soul was the principle of nourishment, growth, and movement of every living being (adding intellect and will in the case of human beings), this would not be the case in Montaigne.95 As Gusdorf has pointed out,96 Montaigne contributed to the history of psychology, making way for the modern mind. Instead of subjecting the soul to a rigid structuring in parts and faculties hierarchically established, the French essayist gave rise to a new apprehension of interiority based on introspection and the description of feelings: “after the example of Lucilius […]. That man committed to his paper his actions and thoughts, and portrayed himself there as he felt he was”.97 Similarly, in the Apology Montaigne questioned whether the study of the soul was part of the theory of nature, thus freeing it from its organic functions and beginning to think of it as a conscious experience, as an awareness of one’s own internal experiences.98 Montaigne’s pen, moreover, reveals these mere phenomena, which obscured the conceptual framework of inherited tradition, to be organized through a set of faculties: memory, imagination, judgement, will or reason, lacking in hierarchy, disordered and in permanent conflict. Instead of the clear and organized space of classical interiority, the discourse of the French author reveals a whole series of alterities that often argue with each other.99 Perhaps, in that case, we could establish the identity of the self in the body, given the revaluation of the bodily condition of the human being during the Renaissance, to which Montaigne undoubtedly contributed: “It is still a man we are dealing with, and it is a wonder how physical his nature is”.100 Through that new attention Montaigne pays to the body, he discovers something very interesting, specifically, that in the human being there are various involuntary movements. These, first, testify to the heuristic emptiness of the Aristotelian-scholastic psychic model (in which the body movements are guided by the soul) and, second, the relationship of simultaneous autonomy and dependence between body and mind. This notion, which runs through the Essais (especially I, 12; I, 21; and II, 6) anticipates the debates on the reflex movements that would take place in relation to mechanicism much later:

 This psychophysical model, with the soul divided into three parts and acting as a form of the body, which Aristotle formulated mainly in book II of his On the Soul and in the first book of Parts of Animals, would be elaborated and codified by Latin authors from the thirteenth century. Regarding its diffusion, main elements, transformations, and validity in the period to which we are attending, see, among others, Park, Katherine and Kessler, Eckhard. “The Concept of Psychology”, in: Schmitt, Charles B. and Skinner, Quentin (eds.). The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge U. P., 1988, p. 455ff. 96  Gusdorf, Georges. Les Sciences humaines et la pensée occidentale. La révolution galiléenne, vol. 3, t. 2. Paris: Payot, 1969: p. 235–236. 97  II, 17, 632/479. 98  II, 12, 536/400. 99  Garavini, Fausta. Monstres et chimères. Montaigne, le texte et le fantasme. Translated by Isabel Picon. Paris: H. Champion, 1993, p. 9. 100  III, 8, 930/710. 95

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Every man knows by experience that there are parts that often move, stand up, and lie down, without his leave. Now these passions which touch only the rind of us cannot be called ours. To make them ours, the whole man must be involved; and the pains which the foot or the hand feels while we are asleep are not ours.101

In short, the paradoxical result, which is linked to the innovative use of skepticism discussed above, is that Montaigne’s claim to corporeality by appealing to automatic processes ends up manifesting his independence from the self. If in the soul the faculties are sometimes uncontrollable, the same is true of the organs of the body with which one can no longer identify oneself.102 Will the self then be identified with thought, in the Cartesian way, since it does not identify with the soul without parts or with the body-machine? It is true that Descartes identifies neither with the body nor the soul in the traditional sense of the general biological principle of vital heat and movement, as in Aristotelian substantial form. What, then, are the characteristics of the Cartesian mens? They must include a complete disassociation not only from body and soul but also from culture, opinions, history, in short, from the world and any personal trait of our habitual incarnated perspective.103 The self is not the personal ego of the speaker but the strictly rational mind that remains as pure residue after the work of doubt in the Meditations. Is that lean substance, devoid of world and without personal identity signs, the je that is sought in the Essais? It does not seem that way at all. In fact, if that is the perspective adopted by Descartes, Montaigne could well be a sort of anti-Cartesian avant la lettre, in the same way that, as we have shown, Pascal in fact is. The Essais perform an exercise in the personal self-exploration of a reflective character and, therefore, they speak of things in order to speak of oneself. This is also true in the opposite sense; Montaigne never speaks of himself without speaking of things, books, opinions, set at a distance and examined in his work.104 The searched-for je occupies a place in the world and has very particular, personal, inalienable features. It can then be said that the je of the Essais refuses access not only to being but also to the Cartesian ambition to determine one’s fundamental nature by an exercise of pure thought.105 If Montaigne belongs, however, to the group of those who would question the legitimacy of a substantial ego as a self-sufficient entity, what remains of Pascal’s critique of Montaigne’s project, and how would his project continue to differ from the anthropology outlined in the Pensées? The answer can be found in

 II, 6, 376/271. For example, the most prominent physiologist of Descartes’ time, Jean Fernel, had attended to involuntary movements, already studied by Aristotle and Galen; however, he did not separate himself from the explanatory model of the soul as an organizing principle of the body that prevailed in his time. 102  On these parallels with regard to the independence of body and soul in relation to the je in the Essais, see Jenny, Laurent. L’expérience de la chute de Montaigne à Michaux. Paris: PUF, 1997, 21ff. 103  Taylor, op. cit., p. 161. 104  I, 26, 158/117. 105  AT VII, 25; CSM II, 17. 101

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the fact that Montaigne’s search is intensely individualistic, especially in the vicious love of self that it reveals. We shall focus on Montaigne’s supposed egoism. Before doing so, however, we must again ask ourselves: what is characteristic in the skepticism that runs through the Essais? We have already defended the premise that doubt is not primarily an epistemic question, given that from that perspective it has only an occasional validity; even in the “Apology for Raymond Sebond” (the most orthodoxly epistemic of his essays), doubt does not cease to be a fantasy, a phenomenon, as in dogmatism. As we have suggested, however, such doubt could be clearly related to the emergence of the self, to that new space of subjectivity that is neither body, nor soul, nor formal or thinking substance. We must insist on this function of doubt. Montaigne’s book does not constitute an ordinary philosophical investigation; it does not pretend to be an anthropology manual, nor does it undertake a search for an elusive Truth. In fact, in his preface to the Essais, Montaigne sets forth that “[t]his book was written in good faith, reader,” and in the sixteenth century this assertion alluded to a context of personal relations, specifically contractual: the Essais are not a search for the Truth, but merely an acknowledgment of the sincerity of the parties.106 Montaigne addresses his family and friends from the beginning of the book and promises them to be truthful in describing himself, which will enable them to keep him in their memories when he is gone. Thus, the problem of the Essais is not that of Truth in the abstract, unattainable for human beings and reserved, like Being, for the divine entity, but instead that of an intimate trust that it seeks to establish with its readers. The true nature of things is inaccessible to us. To know that, the human intellect would have to be able to know itself, but it cannot. That is why even our own knowledge of what is apparently close and belongs to us, the body and the soul, can be questioned: This is enough to prove that man is no more versed in the understanding of himself in the physical part than in the spiritual. […] Truly Protagoras was telling us some good ones, making man measure of all things, who never even knew his own. […] Now, he is being in himself so contradictory, and one judgment incessantly subverting another, that favorable proposition was just a joke which led us necessarily to conclude the nullity of the compass and the compasser.107

The idea of exposing our fantasies or phenomena, given that we can hunt for the Truth, but we will not find it,108 is therefore linked to good faith, not only that of the author but also that of his readers. Montaigne asks for an effort from the capable reader, who, throughout the editions of the work, first expands from family members, passing through readers who are not yet friends but who may be after reading, until finally extending to posterity. In addition, although it is true that the veracity of

 Miernowski, Jan. “Montaigne on Truth and Skepticism”, in: Desan, Philippe (ed.). The Oxford Handbook of Montaigne. Oxford: Oxford U. P., 2016, p. 544. 107  II, 12, 557/418. 108  II, 12, 507/375. 106

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Montaigne has often been questioned,109 for the author of the Essais it seems possible to establish a link of mutual revelation with the reader if the latter is willing to accept the reading contract. Even if we do not know what Truth is, if the text is read in good faith, it will be possible to establish an ethical link with what has been said (such as, for example, his criticisms of cruelty). In this sense, Montaigne’s position again coincides with that of Pascal. Indeed, Pascal does not ask himself, what (thing) am I? He does not even ask himself, what do I know? Instead, he asks, what is the self? As the thinker himself has made explicit, it is possible to have evidence of the existence of a thing without knowing its nature,110 just as Montaigne indicates that we have contact only with fantasies or appearances. Thus, the self, whose definition seems impossible to us, is replaced by the object of the other’s gaze, under a criterion of visibility and no longer of introspection. That is, we are no longer concerned, both in Pascal’s and in Montaigne’s case, with a detached ego, but with a je/moi to which one can appeal from the intersubjectivity of the dialogue or the act of reading. That is exactly what makes the je whose identity is sought throughout all of Montaigne’s essays both perfectly individual and absolutely universal.111 In the Essais, a unique self emerges, perhaps like none other before it; however, this je is also that of every reader in the dialogic space that emerges from the first page of the book. Thus, Pascal would be right to criticize Montaigne, calling his project foolish and vain, if he described only himself. If, however, what he actually does is universalize himself under the “whole form of the human condition,” allowing every reader to recognize himself in (or to distance himself from) the particular self that appears in the work, then we find ourselves in a space similar to that of Pascal’s “agapology” (or science of charity).

2.4  Conclusion We began this text by tracing the influence of the Essais on Pascal’s thinking and found that the decisive weight was on the side of Pascal’s anthropology. This topic has traditionally been neglected in favor of works exploring the role of Montaigne’s supposedly “straightforward Pyrrhonism” in Pascal’s apology of Christianity. This neglect is, in fact, not accidental, but obeys Pascal’s assessment of the project of painting oneself that seems to guide the Essais. In this sense, Montaigne would align himself with metaphysicians such as Descartes insofar as he advocates  Guerrier, Olivier. “Les leçons du menteur”, in: Guion, Béatrice; Seguin, Maria S.; Menant, Sylvain and Sellier, Philippe (eds.). Poétique de la pensé: études sur l’âge classique et le siècle philosophique. En hommage à Jean Dagen. Paris: H. Champion, 2006, p. 445ff. 110  “We know that there is an infinite, but we do not know its nature; as we know that it is false that numbers are finite, so therefore it is true that there are an infinite number, but we do not know what it is […]” (§ 418/233). 111  Marion, “Qui suis je pour ne pas dire ego sum, ego existo?”, p. 249. 109

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substantial continuity and universality. And even worse, Pascal highlights the foolish egocentrism of the author of the Essais, that is, the vanity that Montaigne would show in his texts. Be that as it may, our study has sought to show that, contrary to what Pascal explicitly states, both the features that make up the most significant and innovative skepticism of the Essais, and their positive proposals in relation to the self, have strong correlates in Pascal’s anthropology. Instead of a kind of inflated ego, the je of Montaigne would be an influence of Pascal’s moi. Both writers empty the substance or metaphysical universality of any content and reject the centrality of the ego as the principle of all vision. Montaigne’s je can be seen as a forerunner of Pascal’s moi, both constituted by an act of (interpretative) charity or (reading in) good faith.

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Garavini, Fausta. 1993. Monstres et chimères. Montaigne, le texte et le fantasme. Translated by Isabel Picon. Paris: H. Champion. Gouhier, Henri. 1966. Blaise Pascal. Commentaires. Paris: J. Vrin. Gounelle, André. 1966. L’Entretien de Pascal avec M. de Sacy. Etude et commentaire. Paris: PUF. Greenblatt, Stephen. 1980. Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Guerrier, Olivier. 2006. Les leçons du menteur. In Poétique de la pensé: études sur l’âge classique et le siècle philosophique. En hommage à Jean Dagen, ed. Béatrice Guion, Maria S. Seguin, Sylvain Menant, and Philippe Sellier, 437–451. Paris: H. Champion. Gusdorf, Georges. 1969. Les Sciences humaines et la pensée occidentale. La révolution galiléenne, vol. 3, t. 2. Paris: Payot. Jenny, Laurent. 1997. L’expérience de la chute de Montaigne à Michaux. Paris: PUF. Joukovsky, Françoise. 1991. Le Feu et le Fleuve. Héraclite et la Renaissance française. Genève: Droz. Kundera, Milan. 2009. The Unbearable Lightness of Being: A Novel. Translated by Michael Henry. New York: HarperCollins. La Charité, Raymond C. 1968. The Concept of Judgment in Montaigne. Den Haag: Martinus Nijhoff. Larmore, Charles. 2004. Un scepticisme sans tranquillité: Montaigne et ses modèles antiques. In Montaigne: scepticisme, métaphysique, théologie, ed. Vicent Carraud and Jean-Luc Marion, 15–31. Paris: PUF. Limbrick, Elaine. 1977. Was Montaigne Really a Pyrrhonian? Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 39: 67–80. Magnard, Pierre. 1980. Nature et histoire dans l’apologétique de Pascal. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Maia Neto, José R. 1995. The Christianization of Pyrrhonism. Scepticism and Faith in Pascal, Kierkegaard and Shestov. Dordrecht/Boston/London: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Marion, Jean-Luc. 2004a. Qui suis je pour ne pas dire ego sum, ego existo? In Montaigne: scepticisme, métaphysique, théologie, ed. Vicent Carraud and Jean-Luc Marion, 229–266. Paris: PUF. ———. 2004b. Sur le prisme métaphysique de Descartes. Paris: PUF. Mates, Benson. 1996. The Skeptic Way. Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1964. Signs. Translated by Richard McCleary. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Miernowski, Jan. 1998. L’ontologie de la contradiction sceptique. Paris: H. Champion. ———. 2016. Montaigne on Truth and Skepticism. In The Oxford Handbook of Montaigne, ed. Philippe Desan, 544–561. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Montaigne, Michel de. 1958. The Complete Essays of Montaigne. Edited and Translated by Donald M. Frame. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ———. 2004. Les Essais. Edited by Pierre Villey and Verdun-Louis Saulnier. Paris: PUF. Nehamas, Alexander. 2005. El arte de vivir. Reflexiones socráticas de Platón a Foucault. Translated by Jorge Brioso. Valencia: Pre-textos. Paganini, Gianni. 2008. Skepsis. Le débat des modernes sur le scepticisme. Paris: J. Vrin. Park, Katherine, and Eckhard Kessler. 1988. The Concept of Psychology. In The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. Charles B.  Schmitt and Quentin Skinner, 455–463. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pascal, Blaise. 1963. Œuvres complètes. Edited by Louis Lafuma. Paris: Seuil. ———. 1995. Pensées and Other Writings. Edited and Translated by Honor Levi. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. n.d. Pensées et Opuscules. Edited by Léon Brunschvicg. Paris: Hachette. Pécharman, Martine. 2017. Pascal sur le pyrrhonisme de Montaigne dans l’Entretien avec M. de Sacy: doute pyrrhonien ou doute académique. In Academic Scepticism in the Development of Early Modern Philosophy, ed. Plinio J.  Smith and Sébastien Charles, 213–244. Berlin/ Heidelberg: Springer.

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Phillips, Henry. 2003. Pascal’s Reading and the Inheritance of Montaigne and Descartes. In The Cambridge Companion to Pascal, ed. Nicholas Hammond, 20–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pintard, René. 1943. Le libertinage érudit dans la première moitié du XVIIe siècle. Paris: Boivin. Sève, Bernard. 1995. Antithèse et isosthénie chez Pascal. Hermes 15: 105–118. ———. 2007. Montaigne. Des règles pour l’esprit. Paris: PUF. Smith, Plinio. 2014a. El método escéptico de oposición y las fantasías de Montaigne. In Dudas filosóficas, ed. Jorge Ornelas and Armando Cíntora, 127–152. Barcelona: Gedisa. ———. 2014b. Pascal ou l’invention du scepticisme pur à partir de Montaigne et Descartes. In Descartes et ses critiques, ed. Sébastien Charles and Syliane Malinowski-Charles, 115–134. Paris: Hermann. Taylor, Charles. 1996. Fuentes del yo. Translated by Ana Lizón. Barcelona: Paidós. Villar, Alicia. 2010. El yo inasible de Pascal frente a la fortaleza del sujeto cartesiano. Isegoría 42: 265–278. Villey, Pierre. 1933. Les sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne, 2 vols. Paris: Librairie Hachette.

Chapter 3

On the Possibility of Knowledge: Skeptical Arguments and Baconian Idols Plínio Junqueira Smith

Abstract  Throughout his philosophical career, Bacon was concerned about the skeptical attack on philosophical dogmatism. In different works, he reshaped the ancient skeptical arguments in many ways until he finally developed his own criticism in the form of the Theory of the Idols in the Novum Organum. There is no doubt that skepticism was very important in his philosophical thinking, and scholars have taken different views of this debt. Some argue that his own position is at bottom skeptical, while others downplay the role played by skepticism. One may wonder, therefore, what Bacon’s Theory of the Idols relation to skepticism is and to what extent his own criticism is original. In order to assess this issue, some interpretations will be presented and assessed. Then I will focus on his treatment of the skeptical proposition “nothing can be known”, for this is the key to understanding Bacon’s view of skepticism. According to Bacon, it is essential to distinguish an absolute and a conditional statement of this proposition. What will emerge is that Bacon’s refusal of the tradition, though based on many skeptical arguments, is very different in kind from the skeptical attack on dogmatism. One main difference is that the skeptical attack on dogmatism is based on assumptions made by the dogmatists themselves, while Bacon’s Theory of the Idols does not rest on any such assumptions. Moreover, Bacon does not wish to destroy dogmatism; rather, he gently invites the reader to try another way of thinking and see if they can obtain better results: while the skeptical attack is confined to dogmatism, Bacon is putting aside the whole tradition, skepticism included. Finally, I examine the role played by skepticism in the positive, constructive conception and practice of Baconian science.

P. J. Smith (*) Federal University of São Paulo, São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_3

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3.1  Bacon and Skepticism From very early on in his career, Bacon was engaged with skepticism.1 There is evidence of references to Pyrrhonism in his Of Love and Self-love (1595) and to Academic skepticism in his Colors of Good and Evil (1597).2 What may explain this precocious engagement is that Bacon could have found a translation of Sextus Empiricus in his father’s library.3 Throughout his life, from The Praise of Knowledge4 to the Instauratio Magna, Bacon never stopped pondering what the skeptics had to say against dogmatists. We find references to skepticism in many of his works, like Valerius Terminus,5 Temporis Partus Masculus,6 Redargutio Philosophiarum,7 Cogitata et Visa,8 Sapientia Veterum,9 The Advancement of Learning,10 Distributio Operis,11 Novum Organum,12 Historia Vita et Mortis,13 Scala Intellectus,14 and the introduction to part 5 of the Instauratio Magna.15 Moreover, many of these passages are situated in key places of Bacon’s thought. This is particularly so in the case of the Novum Organum, book I, where skepticism is always mentioned in the transitions from one part to the next. For instance, both when he introduces his Theory of the Idols16 and when he moves to his doctrine of signs and causes,17 skepticism is the main subject; it is also considered the main cause of despair,18 and it emerges again

1  I would like to thank Luciana Zaterka, Luiz A. A. Eva, and Silvia Manzo for fruitful discussions on the philosophy of Bacon. I also would like to thank Roger Eichorn for stylistic improvement as well as suggestions that led me to improve some passages of this paper. 2  Hamlin, William. Tragedy and Scepticism in Shakespeare’s England. Hampshire/New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005, p. 54; Manzo, Silvia. “Reading Scepticism Historically. Scepticism, Acatalepsia and the Fall of Adam in Francis Bacon” in: Charles, Sébastien; Smith, Plínio J. (eds.). Academic Scepticism in the Development of Early Modern Philosophy. Dordrecht: Springer, 2017, p. 89. 3  Cf. Hamlin, op. cit., p. 33, note 4. 4  Cf. Granada, Miguel. “Bacon and Scepticism”, Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, 26: p. 93. 5  Valerius Terminus, VI, p. 65–66. 6  Temporis Partus Masculus, VII, p. 30. (Hereafter cited as TPM.) 7  Redargutio Philosophiarum, VII, p. 88. (Hereafter cited as RP.) 8  Cogitata et Visa, VII, p. 111–112. (Hereafter cited as CV.) 9  De Sapientia Venerum, XIII, p. 47. (Hereafter cited as DSV.) 10  The Advancement of Learning, VI, p. 129, p. 156, p. 163, p. 232–235, p. 265–268, p. 292, p. 302. (Hereafter cited as ADV.) 11  Instauratio Magna, I, p. 226; VIII, p. 52. (Hereafter cited as IM.) 12  Novum Organum, pref., p. 59; I, 37, 46, 67, 75, 92, 115, 126. (Hereafter cited as NO.) 13  Historia Vitae et Mortis, III, p. 376, p. 401. 14  Scalla Intellectus sive Filum Labyrinthi, passim. (Hereafter cited as SI.) 15  IM, VIII, p. 52. 16  NO I, 37. 17  NO I, 67. 18  NO I, 92.

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when Bacon is about to begin the part on the preparation of the mind19 and when he closes it.20 Skepticism is frequently an important topic in his introductions to each part of the Instauratio Magna, like the Scala Intellectus, which was meant to be the introduction to part IV. Finally, many skeptical topics are addressed by Bacon, such as suspension of judgment,21 arguing on both sides of a question,22 doubts,23 and akatalepsia.24 So it is puzzling that some scholars came to deny that skepticism was an important topic in Bacon’s philosophy. Zagorin, for instance, says that Bacon “never took the skeptical challenge to knowledge seriously as a philosophy”.25 This simply flies in the face of the available evidence. Many scholars, however, have noted how important skepticism was for Bacon. The issue is to understand the role skepticism played in Bacon’s philosophy. The main interpretation is that Bacon used skeptical arguments in order to destroy Aristotelian philosophy and pave the way for his own conception of science and knowledge.26 This line of interpretation seems to follow what Bacon himself said about the issue.27 Based on some key passages, scholars thought that skepticism is present only in the pars destruens, but not in the pars construens. As Popkin put it, “one ought to adopt a partial or temporary scepticism until the aids and procedures of the Novum Organum can be successfully employed”.28 Though almost all scholars seem to agree that the pars destruens has affinities to skepticism,29 it is not clear in what sense it could be skeptical: does Bacon use mostly ancient skeptical arguments or does he focus on modern skeptics? Does he see any important difference between Pyrrhonists and Academic skeptics? Is he merely borrowing skeptical arguments or does he transform them for his own purposes? More specifically: though skepticism and skeptical arguments are essential to Bacon’s Theory of the Idols, does it follow that his theory can be properly called skeptical? These are the main questions concerning skepticism in the pars destruens. Recent scholarship has emphasized that Bacon incorporates skepticism also in the positive part of his philosophy.30 Long ago, Prior pointed out that Bacon’s  NO I, 115.  NO I, 126. 21  E.g., ADV, VI, p. 129. 22  E.g., ADV, VI, p. 156, p. 163. 23  E.g., ADV, VI, p. 163, p. 232–235, p. 292. 24  E.g., ADV, p. VI, p. 266–268. 25  Zagorin, Pérez. Francis Bacon. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999, p. 36. 26  Popkin, Richard. The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle, Third Edition, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003, p. 78. 27  NO I, 37; NO I, 92. 28  Popkin, op. cit., p. 111. 29  Eva, Luiz A. A. “Bacon’s ‘Doctrine of the Idols’ and scepticism”, in: Machuca, Diego (ed.). Pyrrhonism in Ancient, Modern, and Contemporary Philosophy. Dordrecht: Springer, 2011; Granada op. cit. 30  Leeuwen, H. G. van. 1963. The Problem of Certainty in English Thought, 1630–1690. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1963, p. 1–12; Granada, op. cit.; Manzo, Silvia. “Probability, Certainty and Fact in Francis 19 20

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method owes a great deal to skepticism: “Scepticism becomes therefore not a philosophy of knowledge but a principle of method”.31 In fact, such an interpretation, according to which Bacon’s conception of science is compatible with a skeptical view, has had its adherents from the time of Mersenne on.32 If this is correct, a complete understanding of the presence of skepticism in Bacon’s philosophy needs to address his positive contribution to science and knowledge. However, there is no consensus among scholars about this constructive role. Here, following Manzo,33 we have to distinguish between Baconian science properly so called and the way towards this science, when truth has not yet been reached. In this paper, I will focus on the skeptical contributions to what has to be done to build a true science, but not on the ideal true science. What exactly is the positive contribution of skepticism, if any, to Bacon’s practice of science? In what follows, I will first try to show the importance of skepticism in Bacon’s philosophy as a whole, thereby trying to identify the meanings of “skepticism”. Next, I will dwell on the relations between Bacon’s Theory of the Idols and skeptical arguments. Finally, I will make some suggestions about the positive role that skepticism plays in the construction of a Baconian science.

3.2  What Bacon Meant by “Skepticism” Perhaps we should ask first of all what Bacon meant by “skepticism”. This question is not so easy to answer, but it is a preliminary step in order to understand the role Bacon attributed to skepticism in his philosophy. Though Bacon refers mostly to ancient skeptics, some scholars have argued that he also had in view modern skeptics, such as Agrippa von Nettesheim, Montaigne, and Sanchez.34 In this paper, I will focus on what he says explicitly about the ancients.

Bacon’s Natural Histories. A Double Attitude Towards Skepticism”, in: Maia Neto, José Raimundo; Paganini, Gianni; Laursen, John Christian (eds.). Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building in the Work of Richard Popkin. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2009; Oliveira, B. J. Francis Bacon e a fundamentação da ciência como tecnologia. Belo Horizonte: UFMG/Humanitas, 2010; Oliveira, Bernardo J. and Maia Neto, José Raimundo “The Sceptical Evaluation of techné and Baconian Science” in: Paganini, Gianni and Maia Neto, José Raimundo (eds.). Renaissance Scepticisms. Dordrecht: Springer, 2009. 31  Prior, Moody. “Bacon’s Man of Science”. Essential Articles for the Study of Francis Bacon. B. Vickars (ed.). Connecticut: Archon Books, 1968, p. 142. 32  Jardine, Lisa. “EXPERIENTIA LITERATA ou NOVUM ORGANUM? Le dilemme de la méthode scientifique de Bacon” in: Malherbe, Michel; Pousseur, Jean-Marie (eds.) Francis Bacon: Science et Méthode. Paris: VRIN, 1985. 33  Manzo, “Probability, Certainty and Fact in Francis Bacon’s Natural Histories”, in Laursen, John C.; Maia Neto, José R., and Paganini, Gianni (eds.). Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building on the Work of Richard Popkin. Leiden: Brill, 2009. 34  Granada, op. cit.; Eva, op. cit.

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In some passages, Bacon shows an awareness of the two forms of ancient skepticism, Academic skepticism and Pyrrhonism.35 Usually, Bacon does not care to distinguish them, and praises both for similar reasons. For instance, Academic skeptics and Pyrrhonists alike criticize dogmatists by being rash.36 Or he says they are excellent philosophers, for they deny the certainty of knowledge and confine our knowledge to appearances or probabilities.37 It is remarkable that both Pyrrhonian appearances and Carneadean probabilities are perceived by Bacon as limitations to our knowledge; that is what interests him most, and the details of this confinement are perhaps not so important. Even if Bacon knows the differences between the two forms of ancient skepticism, he does not always appear to insist on them. Concerning the old question about the identity of these two forms of skepticism, however, Bacon seems to side with those who see an important difference between them, not with those who think they share the same basic stance. According to Bacon, the Academics “by no means destroy all investigation, like Pyrrho and his Refrainers, but allow of some things to be followed as probable, though none to be maintained as true”.38 Sextus also underlines their differences, so that Bacon could be endorsing Sextus’s view of the matter. But it is clear that it cannot be so, for Sextus presents the Academics as those who put an end to investigation, whereas the Pyrrhonist goes on searching.39 What Bacon says about Pyrrhonists and Academics is precisely the opposite of what Sextus says about them. Obviously, if Bacon knew Sextus, which is probable,40 he is not following Sextus. It seems, then, that when Bacon talked about skeptics, he meant the Academics. That has not gone unnoticed by scholars. As Granada says, “although Bacon makes a distinction between Pyrrhonism and the Academic scepticism of the time of Arcesilaus and Carneades, the fact is that in his comparisons with his own epistemological position it is always the latter form of scepticism that he considers”.41 Thus, as skeptics Bacon had in mind the Academics, and by skepticism he meant: arguing on both sides, suspending judgment, and arriving at the doctrine of akatelepsia.42 Now, this doctrine is formulated by Bacon in two different ways: on the one hand, as a description of the state of the sciences(“nothing is known”);43 on the other, it is

 TPM, VII, p. 30; ADV, p. 266–268.  ADV, VI, p. 265. 37  ADV, p. 267. 38  NO I, 67. 39  Sextus Empiricus Outlines of Scepticism. Translated by Julia Annas and Jonathan Barnes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, 1.1–4. 40  Hamlin, op. cit., p. 54. 41  Granada, op. cit., p. 91. 42  NO I, 126. 43  SI, V, p. 177. 35 36

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“a denial of the capacity of the mind to comprehend the truth”44 and, as such, it is properly stated as “nothing can be known”.45 Bacon had particularly in mind Carneades. For he regularly refers to the Carneadean doctrine of “probability”. For Bacon, Carneadean probability appears as a kind of result of investigation, whereas Pyrrhonean appearances do not.46 It seems that, for Bacon, suspension of judgment and investigation of the world are compatible, since the first concerns truth, while the second aims only at what is probable, divorced from truth.47 As far as I know, Bacon never refers to Arcesilaus’s doctrine of the eulogon, nor to Plutarch’s defence of Arcesilaus in his Contra Colotes.48 Of course, he must have known this doctrine through Cicero, and if he knew Sextus, he probably knew only the beginning of the Outlines of Pyrrhonism, where the name of Arcesilaus is not mentioned, only that of Carneades and Clitomachus.49 Arcesilaus appears only at the very end of book I and, despite the fact that some say he was a dogmatist, Sextus’s view was that he was an almost perfect Pyrrhonist.50 It seems safe to say that one of Bacon’s source was Cicero’s Academica, where Cicero defends the interpretation, following Clitomachus, that the Carneadean can both suspend judgment about everything and hold on to probabilities.51 Bacon attached a second meaning to “skepticism”, even in ancient philosophy. This second meaning appears clearly in his Scala Intellectus. In this text, Bacon distinguishes further categories of skeptics: (1) those who doubt and raise questions in the manner of the skeptics; (2) those who proclaim the obscurity of things; (3) those who accept scepticism in private and in silence.52 Now, who did Bacon have in mind for each one of these three further kinds of “skeptics”? There is evidence that Socrates and Plato are good candidates for the first group. For example, Bacon says that akatalepsia was a kind of jest and irony in the school of Plato,53 and in a similar passage he also mentions Socrates.54 So the way that Socrates and Plato raise doubts is very similar to what Academics do later. Concerning the next group, those who affirm that everything is obscure, it seems plausible to assume that Democritus is the main reference, though Bacon perhaps

 NO I, 126.  NO, pref., V, p. 59; SI, V, p. 178. 46  NO I, 67. 47  SI, p. 179. 48  Plutarch. Contra Colotes. Translated by B. Einarson and P. de Lacy, Cambridge, Massachussetts/ London, England: Harvard University Press, 1967. 49  Sextus, Outlines 1.3. 50  Sextus, Outlines 1.232–234. 51  Cicero. Academica. Translated by H. Rackham. Cambridge, Massachussetts/London, England: Harvard University Press, 1994. Ac, II 99–104. 52  SI, V, p. 178–179. 53  NO I, 67. 54  ADV VI, p. 267. 44 45

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also has Empedocles in mind.55 In some passages, such as those in which the senses are criticized, Bacon seems to put side by side the skeptic and Democritus, for they both argue that the senses do not apprehend reality. Here is one eloquent passage: But by far the greatest obstacle to the progress of science and to the undertaking of the new tasks and provinces therein is found in this: that men despair and think things impossible. For wise and serious men are wont in these matters to be altogether distrustful, considering with themselves the obscurity of nature, the shortness of life, the deceitfulness of the senses, the weaknesses of judgment, the difficulty of experiment and the like.56

Now, those who despair of the possibility of knowledge are skeptics; and among these serious people we find Democritus, who insisted on the deceitfulness of the senses and the obscurity of things. For Bacon, Democritus was perhaps the greatest of the ancient philosophers. Even in Antiquity, Democritus’s views were held to be close to that of skeptics, so much so that Sextus felt compelled to point out their differences.57 What about the third group? Here, things are not so clear. It is a diffuse group, for Bacon says that when philosophers leave behind their speculations and become sober again, they complain that nature is subtle, that truth is hidden, that causes are too complex, that the human mind is fragile.58 If so, in this very enlarged sense, most dogmatists would count as skeptics. That is indeed Bacon’s meaning in Scala Intellectus, for he includes among skeptics “by far most eminent men since ancient times, since most affirmed without confidence”.59 There is a sense in which almost all dogmatists turn out to be skeptics. This interpretation seems confirmed when we remember that Montaigne was an important source for Bacon60 and that Montaigne held precisely the same idea in his “Apology of Raymond Sebond”. And so two out of the three generic schools of Philosophy make an express profession of doubt and ignorance; it is easy to discover that most who belonged to the third school, the Dogmatists, put on an assured face merely because it looks better. They did not really think that they had established any certainties, but wanted to show how far they had advanced in their hunt for Truth ‘quam docti fingunt, magis quam norunt’ [which the learned feign rather than know].61

And Montaigne goes on to show how this happens in different ways: in the case of Plato, by writing in dialogues.62 He also includes Democritus and Empedocles in his

 DSV, XIII, p. 47.  NO I, 92. 57  Sextus, Outlines 1.213–214. 58  IM, VIII, p. 29. 59  SI, V, p. 178. 60  Villey, Pierre. Montaigne and Francis Bacon. Genève: Slaktine, 1973. 61  Montaigne, Michel de. The Complete Essays. Translated by M. A. Screech. London: Penguin Books. 1991, E II, 12, p. 565. (Hereafter cited by E.) 62  E II, 12, p. 567–568. 55 56

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list of skeptics.63 Dogmatists, like Aristotle, by using abstruse language, in fact are skeptics as well. “Aristotle is the Prince of Dogmatists; and yet it is from him that we learn that greater knowledge leads to further doubt. You can always find him hiding a deliberate obscurity, so deep and impenetrable that you cannot make out what he meant. In practice, it is Pyrrhonism cloaked in affirmation”.64 This attitude is shared by most dogmatists. “Not only Aristotle but most philosophers aim at being hard to understand”.65 It is the essence of philosophy, so to speak, not to decide anything. “Up to now it has been a principle of philosophy to argue against anything but to decide nothing”.66 I submit that Bacon had in mind these remarks made by Montaigne when he wrote that almost all eminent ancient philosophers had some kinship to skepticism. In sum, “skepticism” had two basic meanings for Bacon. First, a stricter one, according to which only Pyrrhonism and Academic philosophy were forms of skepticism—though, as we’ve seen, Bacon chiefly had in mind Academic skepticism, especially Carneades. His main source for this kind of skepticism was Cicero’s Academica. But he had also recognized a second, wider meaning, according to which philosophers usually classified as dogmatists were also taken to be skeptics. There are grades of proximity to skepticism: from Socrates and Plato, through Democritus and Empedocles, up to dogmatists such as Aristotle.

3.3  Skepticism as a Tool Against the Philosophical Tradition Having especially the first, strict meaning of skepticism in mind, let us investigate its presence in the pars destruens. It seems beyond doubt that skepticism was very important in the development of Bacon’s criticism of the philosophical tradition. As we saw, akatalepsia has two meanings: first, that so far no scientific knowledge has been obtained; second, that no scientific knowledge can be obtained. These two meanings of akatalepsia correspond, roughly, to the first two parts of the Instauratio Magna. The first part of the Instauratio Magna is concerned with an assessment of the state of the sciences from the ancient Greeks up to Bacon’s time. One may think that Bacon concurs with the skeptics in holding that no assured knowledge has been established so far. Indeed, Bacon comes close to saying as much. For instance, he says that the situation is dire and that human knowledge is very narrow.67 According to Bacon, “the sciences stand where they did and remain almost in the same

 E II, 12, p. 569.  E II, 12, p. 566. 65  E II, 12, p. 566. 66  E II, 12, p. 566. 67  RP, VII, p. 88. 63 64

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condition”.68 Since the sciences come for the most part from the Greeks, and the Greeks were given to disputation, it follows that “the inquisition of truth must be despaired of when it turns to trifles of this kind”.69 Accordingly, The Advancement of Learning is to be taken as a review of human knowledge that aims to show the poverty of the sciences. Not much resists Bacon’s critical survey. Both for the skeptics and for Bacon, one must withhold assent in the face of what has been so far produced, and it seems that Bacon belongs at least to the second group of skeptics in the wider sense above indicated. However, how deep are these affinities? I postpone this discussion until we have examined the second meaning of akatalepsia. It has been persuasively argued that skepticism (both ancient and modern) plays a central role in Bacon’s Theory of the Idols.70 One can appreciate that point when one considers the development of this theory in a number of successive texts such as Temporis Partus Masculus, Redargutio Philosophiarum and Cogitata et Visa. Throughout them Bacon comes again and again to skepticism and to skeptical topics.71 Instead of examining this development, I will consider only its final form in the Novum Organum. NO I, 37 is of the utmost importance for our purposes: “The doctrine of those who have denied that certainty could be attained at all, has some agreement with my way of proceeding at the first setting out, but they end in being infinitely separated and opposed”.72 This aphorism refers to an initial moment and a final one: in the first, concerning what can be known, Bacon points out that there are a number of similarities between what the skeptics had said (“the holders of that doctrine assert”) and what he says (“I also assert…”); in the second one, Bacon underlines the differences, or even opposition, between him and the skeptics: while the latter rejoice in ignorance, he proposes help for our faculties. How shall we interpret this crucial passage? The traditional interpretation holds that by “the first setting out” we should understand the Theory of the Idols, whereas the end is the positive task of furnishing a new method for science. If this is correct, what we find in Bacon’s Theory of the Idols is a reshaping of skeptical arguments in order to destroy the philosophical tradition; what Bacon is doing is shuffling them into a new order. Just as the Ten Modes of Aenesidemus can be organized into groups and can have different orders (even a different number),73 so Bacon is able to use the very same material in a different way, like the Theory of the Idols (which had itself different versions in different texts).  NO I, 74.  NO I, 71. 70  Villey, op. cit.; Granada, op. cit.; Oliveira, op. cit.; Eva, op. cit. 71   For a different view, see Deleule, Didier. “Introduction” in: Récusation des Doctrines Philosophiques et autres opuscules. Paris: Hermann Éditeurs, 2009. Deleule thinks that Plato and Epicurus are Bacon’s sources. But, in the extended meaning of “skepticism”, Plato at least is certainly to be taken as a skeptic. See also Eva, Luiz A. A. “Francis Bacon: ceticismo e doutrina dos ídolos” in: Cadernos de História e Filosofia da Ciência, 2008, 18(1): p. 51, n. 13. 72  What follows is greatly indebted to Luiz Eva, even if our interpretations diverge. 73  Sextus, Outlines of Pyrrhonism 1.35–39. (Hereafter cites as Outlines.) 68 69

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A close inspection of the Idols seems to confirm this opinion. In fact, many of the arguments employed by ancient and early modern skeptics surface in the Baconian Idols. For instance, the Idols of the Tribe74 appear to be very similar to the first Mode, where Aenesidemus opposes our perceptions to the perceptions of other animals.75 Next, the Idols of the Cave76 resembles the second Mode,77 for it refers to differences in persons. The very sequence, moving from human beings to individual persons, seems to follow the Modes. Skeptics criticize dogmatists for being rash; Bacon says that human understanding “rejects difficulty from impatience of research”.78 If one goes on comparing the Idols with the material used by ancient and early-modern skeptics, she will be struck by so many similarities that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to resist the appearance that Bacon is chiefly assembling old stuff in new clothes. However, it seems to be amiss to reduce the Idols to a mere reshaping of skeptical modes and arguments. For one thing, there are some Idols that simply have no ancestry in skeptical modes. For example, Bacon distinguishes between innate79 and acquired Idols,80 and such a distinction is not to be found among ancient skeptics or even in Montaigne. Moreover, if Bacon touches on the diversity of philosophical sects in the Idols of the Theatre,81 he does not mention disagreement as a main problem for philosophy, as did the ancient skeptics, whose main principle was that of opposing arguments or doctrines to contrary arguments or doctrines.82 For Bacon, disagreement is a sign that things are not certain or sound, not an Idol.83 In sum, there is no doubt that skeptical arguments do play an important role in Bacon’s Theory of the Idols, but this Theory has its own peculiarities. These remarks gave rise to an original, subtle interpretation of the interplay between skeptical arguments and Baconian Idols. According to Eva’s interpretation,84 one should read NO I, 37 as follows: when Bacon tells us that his view, in its initial stage, has affinities with skepticism, he is referring to the first two Idols (the Idols of the Tribe and of the Cave); when he tells us that in the end his view departs from skepticism, he is referring to the third and fourth Idols (the Idols of the Marketplace and of the Theatre). There would then be a kind of progressive distancing from  NO I, 41.  Sextus, Outlines 1.40–78. 76  NO I, 42, 53–58. 77  Sextus, Outlines 1.79–91. 78  NO I, 49; cf. NO I, 67. 79  NO I, 41–42. 80  NO I, 43–44. 81  NO I, 61. 82  Sextus, Outlines 1.8, 1.12. 83  NO I, 76. 84  Eva, Luiz A. A., “Francis Bacon: ceticismo e doutrina dos ídolos”, Cadernos de História e Filosofia da Ciência 18(1): 47–84; Eva, Luiz A. A., “Bacon’s ‘Doctrine of the Idols’ and scepticism”, in Machuca, Diego (ed.) Pyrrhonism in Ancient, Modern, and Contemporary Philosophy, Dordrecht: Springer. 74 75

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skepticism inside the Theory of the Idols itself. According to Eva,85 Bacon wants to go further than the skeptics did and, by doing so, he ends up explicitly criticizing them in NO I, 67. Though Eva’s interpretation seems correct to me in many of its details, I’d like to point out two main difficulties with it. First, properly speaking, there is no progressive distancing from skepticism. If there were such a progressive detachment, we would expect the first kind of Idols to be the most skeptical, and the last the least skeptical. But that is not what happens. For instance, according to Eva himself the second kind of Idols (those of the Cave) appears to be more skeptical than the first (those of the Tribe).86 Besides, Bacon’s criticism of skepticism is spread throughout Bacon’s works, included the Novum Organum,87 particularly his Theory of the Idols. In fact, there is no need to await the alleged progression of the Idols in order to grasp Bacon’s idea that we should furnish instruments to the senses and the intellect, for this criticism is already explicitly stated in the very first aphorism.88 There is, perhaps, a second problem with Eva’s interpretation. Bacon refers not only to a detachment, but also to an opposition. Progressive detachment does not imply opposition. How does this supposedly progressive detachment become an opposition? But, as we saw, from the start Bacon’s criticism is on the table. We still need an interpretation not only in which there is a moving-away from skepticism, but also in which this movement turns out to be an opposition. Such an interpretation is not to be found in a movement within the Theory of the Idols. What we need is an interpretation according to which we take into account both the question of method and the idea of a progressive detachment. Neither the traditional interpretation nor the above one satisfies both conditions. So one must look afresh at the question.

3.4  F  rom a Similar Starting Point to an Opposition in the End The above interpretations do not seem to pay enough attention to the crucial role played by the proposition “nothing can be known”. Bacon is clear that, at the outset, he agrees with skeptics, who hold “simply that nothing can be known. I also assert that not much can be known in nature by the way which is now in use”.89 Now, we saw that Bacon, like the skeptics, does not think that we know things. This initial identification, the apparent endorsement of the same proposition as that of the ­skeptics, turns out to be an endorsement of a slightly different proposition: skeptics assent “simply that nothing is known”, but Bacon assents to it in a slightly restricted  Eva, “Francis Bacon: ceticismo e doutrina dos ídolos”, p. 73.  Eva, op. cit., p. 51. 87  NO I, 126. 88  NO I, 37. 89  NO I, 37. 85 86

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way, by saying that “almost nothing is known”.90 It is not merely a quantitative issue, but also a qualitative one. Bacon’s endorsement of the proposition is different from the skeptical endorsement: while they accept the proposition in question as a tenet, Bacon restricts it. One realizes that Bacon moves away from skepticism, even if not much. Thus, despite deep affinities, we may note an important difference right from the starting point. Let us now turn our attention to the movement of becoming “infinitely separated” from skepticism.91 Something similar to what we said in the last paragraph applies to the proposition “nothing can be known”. Indeed, Bacon acknowledges that skeptics established the proposition “nothing can be known” based on solid arguments, for they “have certainly advanced reasons for it that are not to be despised”.92 Regarding the progress of science, “wise and serious men are wont in these matters to be altogether distrustful, considering with themselves the obscurity of nature, the shortness of life, the deceitfulness of the senses, the weakness of the judgment, the difficulty of the experiment and the like”.93 Bacon says that he is not ashamed of being associated with them.94 According to him, the starting point in which he resembles skeptics is the endorsement of the proposition that nothing can be known or suspension of judgment. Bacon admits that he maintains “a sort of suspension of judgment, and bring it to what the Greeks call Acatalepsia”.95 Thus, at least at the beginning, Bacon and the skeptics seem to accept the very same proposition that nothing can be known. But as in the case of “nothing is known”, Bacon does not envisage exactly the same proposition. What he asserts is “not much can be known in nature by the way which is now in use”.96 I think this has to be read conditionally: if you search after truth by means of some methods so far in use, then truth cannot be attained. The most important point to be noticed is the fact that the proposition “nothing can be known” is affirmed as such by the skeptics, whereas Bacon asserts it with a qualification. According to Bacon, skeptics endorse the proposition “nothing can be known”. He says, for instance, that they “assert simply that nothing can be known”97 or that “absolutely nothing can be known”.98 After pointing out many similarities between skeptics and himself, Bacon says that “to these, we could add many other pertinent ones, so that between them and us there remains only this difference: they affirm absolutely (prorsus) that nothing can be truly known and we affirm that

 SI, p. 180.  NO I, 37. 92  NO, pref., p. 86. 93  NO I, 92. 94  SI, p. 179. 95  NO I, 126. 96  NO I, 37. 97  NO I, 37; my italic. 98  NO, pref. p. 86; my italic. 90 91

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nothing can be truly known through the way used by human beings up to now”.99 The real issue between Bacon and the skeptics concern the antecedent of the hypothetical proposition. That is why the traditional interpretation was right in insisting on the significance of method. According to Bacon, skeptics never thought of a new method; they merely pursued the very same methods employed by dogmatists. And they had powerful arguments to show that, by using this method, knowledge is impossible. Bacon’s description of the Academic position is identical with that of Sextus: knowledge is impossible.100 According to Bacon, skeptics transformed the proposition “nothing can be known” into a dogma. “The school of Plato, on the one hand, introduced Acatalepsia, at first in jest and irony, and in disdain of old sophists, Protagoras, Hippias, and the rest who were of nothing else so much ashamed as of seeming to doubt about anything. But the New Academy made dogma of it, and held it as a tenet”.101 For Bacon, skeptics do think that this is the human condition: that knowledge is forever impossible for us, whereas Socrates and Plato did not believe it to be so, for their use of acatalepsia is merely ironic, just a move in his dialectical debate with sophists. Academics, however, took it seriously and affirmed this idea. According to Bacon, the Academics transformed this ignorance as a kind of jest and irony into a dogma,102 i.e., the Platonic akatalepsia became a doctrine or a thesis;103 they affirmed it: they “affirmed that absolutely nothing can be known”.104 Bacon himself points out that the skeptical akatalepsia must be qualified. The skeptics held akatalepsia as a dogma, as a decretum durum;105 Socrates and Plato, at least, held it in jest or irony, in order to refute the sophists.106 From the point of view of the skeptics, the human condition is such that knowledge is impossible. Bacon, however, does not think that this is the true human condition. For him, it is true only under certain conditions. This is what Bacon thinks the skeptics have established: if you go on inquiring into things in the same way as always, then nothing can be known. But this is a conditional propositional, not a simple or absolute one. is a vast difference not only between accepting a proposition unqualifiedly and accepting it conditionally, but also between conditional propositions that have different antecedents. Once you alter the antecedent of a conditional, nothing follows. Bacon’s idea, therefore, is to substitute another conditional, based on a different method for this old, almost useless method. That is why, I think, he no longer talks about akatalepsia, but about eukatalepsia.107 Akatalepsia is the consequent of a

 SI, p. 180.  Sextus, Outlines 1.1–4. 101  NO I, 67; cf. NO I, 75. 102  NO I, 67. 103  RP, VII, p. 88. 104  NO, pref. I, p. 59. 105  SI, V, p. 178. 106  NO I, 67. 107  NO I, 126. 99

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hypothetical proposition; Bacon endorses the implication, but not the antecedent; so he rejects the skeptical conclusion and is therefore at a sufficient distance from skeptics. Eukatalepsia is the consequent of a different hypothetical proposition. Now, in the inference “if we follow a new method, then knowledge is possible”, the antecedent is still a mere invitation to try something so far never tried. So though Bacon doesn’t really know if knowledge is possible, at least it remains possible that it is a possibility. One might say that this is, according to Sextus, properly speaking, the skeptical stance.108 But for Bacon it is not, since according to his notion of skepticism, skeptics are committed to the impossibility of knowledge. Moreover, Bacon not only believes that knowledge is still possible, but he appears to believe that it will become real, if we follow a new route. That is why he goes on to develop a new method, whose aim is to provide the senses, memory, and the understanding with instruments to aid in the search for truth. It is not only the case that skeptics and Bacon diverge about the possibility of knowledge and about what to do in the face of the lack of progress so far; Bacon also says that they are “infinitely separated and opposed”.109 How can that happen? We can begin to appreciate the opposition when we consider the consequences of this distancing. One of the consequences of this difference is that skeptics “despaired of finding truth”;110 they “despair and think things impossible”.111 Since skeptics accept the proposition unqualifiedly, they think there is no way to remedy the situation; in their view, one is doomed not to find truth no matter what one does. “When the human mind has once despaired of finding truth, its interest in all things grows fainter”.112 That is why Bacon says that “by far the greatest obstacle to progress of science and to the undertaking of new tasks and provinces therein is found in this: that men despair and think things impossible”.113 But if you accept that nothing can be known only conditionally, then there is plenty of space for hope.114 It is no longer absolutely impossible to find truth. Of course, if nothing can be known on the basis of a specific method, then one must try a different way to pursue truth. Instead of merely complaining about the lamentable state of the senses or of the lack of capacity of our understanding, as if nothing could be done, we should give them the necessary assistance. “But then they go on to destroy the authority of the senses and understanding, whereas I proceed to devise and supply helps for the same”.115 Thus, what Bacon proposes, strictly speaking, “is not acatalepsia, but eucatalepsia, not denial of the capacity to understand, but

 Sextus, Outlines 1.1–4.  NO I, 37; my italics. 110  NO I, 67. 111  NO I, 92. 112  NO I, 67. 113  NO I, 92. 114  NO I, 92–115. 115  NO I, 37; NO I, 67. 108 109

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provision for understanding truly”.116 In sum, we need a new method, or a new way, so that we can remove the state of affairs which leads to the skeptical proposition that nothing can be known. If, at first, Bacon seemed to accept this proposition, it now becomes clear that he accepted it only conditionally and that he wants to leave behind the method that seems to make it true.

3.5  B  eyond Opposition: From Rejection of Dogmatism to Refusal of Tradition Let us leave aside NO I, 37 as our guide to understanding Bacon’s position vis-à-vis skepticism and raise a more general question: what is the exact nature of Bacon’s refusal of tradition and of the skeptical attack on dogmatism? This will bring out another sense in which there might be an opposition between Bacon and the skeptics. In order to pursue this idea, I will compare Bacon’s views with that of the Pyrrhonists, though he probably knew only part of Book I of Sextus’ Outlines. While skeptics reject only dogmatism, but not philosophy as such, Bacon refuses philosophical tradition as a whole, in which skepticism is included. Though they seem to have the same attitude regarding the past, in fact they do not have the same target. On the one hand, skeptics aim only at dogmatism, not at philosophy as a whole. For one thing, skepticism is itself a kind of philosophy.117 Accordingly, they target only the dogmatic kind of philosophy, but not philosophy itself. Bacon, on the other hand, wants to avoid philosophy as a whole. Thus, his target is broader in scope. By including skepticism in the tradition he wants to avoid, Bacon seems to be opposing skepticism as much as he opposes Aristotelianism or any other form of philosophy. Even if, for him, at the end of the day, given the usual way to knowledge, skepticism is the likely result of a serious, mature reflection, the fact remains that skepticism is to be included in the same tradition to which Bacons seems to be opposed. Let us see why. In Bacon’s view, skeptics argue dialectically, from within the very kind of philosophy they wish to reject. What they do is to accept for the sake of argument what dogmatists themselves assume and then turn these assumptions against the dogmatists. If that is correct, the skeptical attack on dogmatism is utilizes precisely the same kind of argument that dogmatists use to establish their doctrines. The only difference is that whereas dogmatists use their arguments to establish that p, skeptics use similar arguments (just provisionally) to establish ~p; since arguments on both sides are equally strong, one must suspend judgment. And they “have certainly advanced reasons for it that are not to be despised”.118 The skeptical critique of

 NO I, 126.  Sextus, Outlines 1.1–4. 118  NO, pref. p. 86. 116 117

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d­ ogmatism is an internal critique in the sense that they exploit dogmatic weapons in order to destroy dogmatism. Thus, skeptics mimic the dogmatic procedure. Skeptics also imitate dogmatic attitudes. For there is as much intemperance in skepticism as there is in dogmatism. “A caution must also be given to the understanding against the intemperance which systems of philosophy manifest in giving assent or withholding assent; because intemperance of this kind seems to establish idols and in some sort perpetuate them, leaving no way open to reach and dislodge them”.119 Thus, as much as Aristotelians (and other dogmatists) carry on “hostile confutations”,120 skeptics seem to be attacking their enemies, either in jest or in defense of a tenet. However, dogmatists and skeptics occupy opposed positions, “between the presumption on pronouncing on everything, and the despair of comprehending anything”.121 In this, skepticism is merely the other side of the same dogmatic coin. In fact, however, even their attitudes are not quite the same. For skeptics reject dogmatism, in the sense of refuting it with arguments, while Bacon simply wants to follow a different route without any intention to refute or to reject dogmatic philosophy. Hence, Bacon’s attitude is, more properly speaking, not that of an opposition, but an attitude of respect, in which he finds a place for the philosophical tradition, and also for skepticism. His procedure is totally from that of the skeptics, and he makes this point clear from almost the very start. He does not use weapons against the tradition, but merely invites other people to join him.122 “It was said by Borgia of the expedition of the French into Italy that they came with chalk in their hands to mark out their lodgings, not with arms to force their way in. I, in like manner, would have my doctrine enter quietly into the minds that are fit and capable of receiving it”.123 What Bacon is doing is preparing the mind of the reader to receive his new ideas. Thus, it is inappropriate to be aggressive to the person that was educated in the traditional way of thinking. “Nevertheless that everything may be done with gentleness, I will proceed with my plan of preparing men’s mind, of which preparation to give hope is no unimportant part”.124 He wishes “to lead them by the hand with good will”.125

 NO I, 67.  NO I, 67. 121  NO, pref. p. 86. 122  Cf. NO pref., p. 89. 123  NO I, 35. 124  NO I, 92. 125  NO I, 92. It took many years until Bacon finally arrived at this conception about how to refuse the tradition. The first texts were aggressive, but he progressively softened his critique. See Bacon, Francis. Récusation des Doctrines Philosophiques et autres opuscules. Translated by Georges Rombi and Didier Deleule and notes by Didier Deleule. Paris: Hermann Éditeurs, 2009; Rossi, Paolo. Francis Bacon: Da magia à ciência. Paraná: EDUEL/EDUFPR, 2006, chapter 2; Malherbe, Michel; Pousser, Jean-Marie. “Introduction” in: Bacon, Francis. Novum Organum. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2004, p. 8–10. 119 120

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But the main reason for Bacon not to use arguments as weapons against the tradition is not psychological, so to speak, but epistemological. If he is departing from the traditional way of arguing and establishing doctrines, how could he use the principles, forms of demonstrations, and notions that are employed by those from whom he wishes to move away? He could not, “for confutations cannot be employed when the difference is upon first principles and very notions and upon forms of demonstrations”.126 He insists on the point: after referring to his three refusals of tradition, Bacon says that “the refusal of these has been such, as alone it could be, that is to say, by signs and evidence of causes, since no other kind of refusal was open to me, differing as I do from others both on first principles and on rules and demonstrations”.127 Bacon does not argue against the tradition, not even dialectically, as skeptics do, for they share principles and demonstrations with dogmatists, even if only for the sake of argument. Instead, Bacon develops his theory of signs and causes; he inspires to instill hope for knowledge in the minds of his readers. “But though confutations would be of no avail, yet touching the sects and general divisions of such systems I must say something; something also touching the external signs which show they are unsound; and finally something touching the causes of such great infelicity and of such lasting and general agreement in errors; that so the access to truth may be made less difficult, “and the human understanding may the more willing to submit to its purgation and dismiss its idols”.128 Bacon’s is a completely different way to handle the tradition. Let us focus once again on the proposition that nothing can be known: How can one establish it? Can it be established by arguments? This is, indeed, what skeptics tried to do. Using negative-dogmatic arguments against positive-dogmatic arguments, they tried to show that it is impossible to know anything whatsoever. But this way of proceeding is not open to Bacon, “for since we agree neither upon principles nor upon demonstrations, there is no place for arguments”.129 His theory of signs and causes are but invitations to abandon the old way of producing knowledge. He adds to this theory grounds for avoiding despair and having hopes for success in the new way. Obviously, these aphorisms are not meant to establish the proposition. The only way open to Bacon for establishing it is precisely the way he proposes to establish any kind of knowledge, “for this very question, namely, whether or not anything can be known, was to be established not by arguing but by trying”.130 So one launches herself into the experimental activity as proposed by Bacon in order to see whether, after all, one can know something. If we can produce knowledge following the new way, then one can know things; if not, then one cannot know anything either in the old way or in the new one.

 NO I, 35.  NO I, 115. 128  NO I, 61. 129  NO I, 61. 130  NO pref., p. 86. 126 127

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Should one say that, by putting skepticism aside together with the tradition to which it belongs, Bacon considers skepticism as a rival to be superseded? This cannot be the case, for we have seen that, properly speaking, Bacon was not opposing the tradition in a competitive way. The tradition is not an adversary to be overcome by arguments in an intellectual battle; it must be preserved in its proper sphere. Since the two ways can coexist, there is no rivalry. “The honor and the reverence for the ancients remain untouched and undiminished, while I may carry out my designs and at the same time reap the fruit of my modesty. For if I should profess that I, going the same road as the ancients, have something better to produce, there must needs have been some comparison or rivalry between us”.131 Bacon repeats this idea in many places, and he preserves a whole intellectual domain for traditional disciplines such as rhetoric, though they play no role in the discovery of the sciences. There is enough room for both ways of doing philosophy: “tribes not hostile or alien to each other, but bound together by mutual services. Let there in short be one method for the cultivation, another for the invention, of knowledge.”132 Just like any other traditional philosophy, skepticism is not a rival to what Bacon proposes.

3.6  Probability About Facts and Provisional Hypothesis As I suggested above, Bacon is not really opposed to skepticism (or to the tradition in general). He attributes to it an important role, and not only in the pars destruens, in which it shows that almost nothing is known and that, if we follow the old method, almost nothing can be known, but also in the pars construens. As a last topic, I would like to make some remarks concerning the possible contribution of skepticism to the positive part of Bacon’s philosophy. One may wonder: how could skeptics play a role in the construction of a Baconian science? It seems that skepticism cannot be of any help to Baconian science, for skepticism is the greatest impediment to paving the way to a new science:133 it affords no help to the senses and intellect;134 it perpetuates the idols135 and does not dismiss them;136 for skeptics, interest in things grows fainter and there is no serious investigation, just pleasant disputations;137 it leaves us in perpetual darkness;138 it brings only despair, not hope.139 Skeptics argue on the basis of principles to be

 NO pref. p. 88; cf. NO I, 61.  NO pref., p. 88. 133  NO I, 92. 134  NO I, 37, 126. 135  NO I, 67. 136  NO I, 61. 137  NO I, 67. 138  NO I, 75. 139  NO I, 92. 131 132

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d­ ismissed; they rely on forms of demonstrations and have notions of things that are not to be used in the discovery of truth. So skepticism hinders the progress of human knowledge, and it works within the framework refused by Bacon. Bacon is inviting us to follow new paths according to a new method that points to new kinds of investigations. Therefore, how could skepticism have a role to play in building up this Baconian science? In my view, suspension of judgment plays two different roles in the constructive part. The first one is that of shaping a new kind of philosopher, as Bacon conceives it. It is a crucial step in the education of the future scientist. This point was made by Moody Prior long ago,140 and Stephen Gaukroger141 has insisted on what is needed to bring about such changes, especially in what concerns the universities and “the shaping of the natural philosopher”. Suspension of judgment about all things is a necessary training in the upbringing of the new scientist. One has to withhold assent on all topics in order to learn the necessary patience in difficult researches as the Baconian science demands. Human beings are naturally rash, and they want to assent too quickly. But true scientific knowledge of nature demands a lot of time and effort, so skeptical epokhé is an indispensable training in order to cultivate a scientist with the habit of inquiring while withholding her assent to any scientific hypothesis. Now, suspension of judgment is not limited to a pedagogical role, as if in the actual practice of the scientist it would be left aside. On the contrary, it seems that in many parts of the Instauratio Magna, as the Baconian project is developed, suspension of judgment is preserved all along. This means that while we advance towards the true science itself, to be built in the sixth part, the scientist does not assent to any provisional result. This is true both for the part concerned with facts and to the part concerned with axioms. About part III, which deals with facts and experiments, Bacon says that he has “been a more cautious purveyor than those who have hitherto dealt with natural history”.142 Even in the fifth part, in which Bacon presents his own results, he still suspends his judgment about what he advances. “They are conclusions by which (as not being discovered and proved by the true form of interpretation) I do not at all mean to bind myself”.143 This may seem rather surprising: for how could Bacon suspect the results of his very own investigation at this stage of his own practice as a scientist? And shouldn’t we be at least closer to truth in such an advanced stage of the pursuit of truth? To the first question, Bacons says that, though the results were “discovered, proved and added”, this was not “according to the true rules and methods of interpretation, but by the ordinary use of the understanding in inquiring and discovering”.144 Concerning the second  Prior, op. cit.  Gaukroger, Stephen. Francis Bacon and the Transformation of Early-Modern Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 142  The Great Instauration in Sargeant, Rose-Mary (ed.) Francis Bacon: Selected Philosophical Works, Indianapolis: Hackett, p. 82. 143  The Great Instauration, p. 84. 144  The Great Instauration, p. 84. 140 141

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q­ uestion, Bacon says that no one “need be alarmed at such suspension of judgment, in one who maintains not simply that nothing can be known, but only that nothing can be known except in a certain course and way”.145 So we are back to our interpretation and can say that, even in the fifth part, nothing has been established according to the true method; there is so far no true interpretation of nature. Thus, Bacon still recommends suspension of judgment. This suggests that, at most, only when true science is built, after generations and generations of scientists working together, we may perhaps be in a position to no longer suspend judgment. But skepticism, especially Academic skepticism, has also its own positive contributions to make to the construction of the Baconian science. The most important one, in my view, is the Carneadean notion of “probability”. It is true that, for Carneades, truth and probability are divorced.146 How could Bacon use such a notion in his own practice of science? One must remember that truth is to be reached only in the sixth part of the Instauratio Magna, and till then Bacon withholds judgment. Even so, he may still, like the Academics, use probability as a positive notion. Since no truth is asserted from part III to part V, what is done in preparation for the true science has its own peculiar status. In this context, the Academic notion of probability is handy. This is very Academic, for the compatibility of suspension of judgment and probability is central to Clitomachus’s interpretation of Carneades, which is taken up by Cicero.147 First, concerning the facts to be established in the third part of the Instauratio Magna, the skeptics are not limited to suspending judgment, but they also investigate nature with the purpose of exhibiting them with their own degree of certainty. When Bacon describes himself, as we saw above, as “a more cautious purveyor”, he explains that he admits “nothing but on the faith of eyes, or at least of careful and severe examination, so that nothing is exaggerated for wonder’s sake, but what I state is sound and without mixture of fables or vanity”.148 It is clear that, even if no truths are discovered at the level of facts, these facts are to be reported according to their probability. What Bacon states about facts and experiments has degrees of certainties. According to Manzo, there are three degrees: “1) reports of certain credit (fidei certae); 2) reports of dubious credit (fidei dubiae); 3) reports of condemned credit (fidei damnatae)”.149 It would take us too far afield to describe each level. It is enough to point out that facts should be reported according to its degree of certainty or probability. The Academic notion of probability is applied by Bacon not only to facts, but also to intermediate axioms, while true science is not established. The fifth part is a mere rest for the mind, after hard work, before going on “to more certain conclusions”.150

 The Great Instauration, p. 84.  SI, p. 179. 147  Cicero, Academica II, 108–109. 148  The Great Instauration, p. 84. 149  Manzo, op. cit, p. 129. 150  The Great Instauration, p. 84. 145 146

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As science progresses, we move from facts to less general axioms, and from less general axioms to more general ones. One may wonder whether Bacon conceives axioms as more or less probable. One way to look at it is the following. According to Manzo, “the ladder of axioms… causes that confidence to fade away, since it does not really give warranty of truth. Perhaps the most striking evidence of this is the fact that Bacon never offered a true and definitive theory as the final product of the accomplishment of his method”.151 However, perhaps one should see that, as we approach the most general axioms, we also approach truth, and certainty. As we go on testing our axioms, making new experiments, enlarging the number facts explained by our axioms, controlling nature is more success, etc., it is but natural to think that the more general an axiom is, probability is higher. Certainly, the degrees of probability devised by Bacon do not correspond precisely to the Carneadean doctrine of probability, for they do not match the description we find in Sextus152 or in Cicero.153 But, it seems to me, it cannot be denied that skepticism helped Bacon to shape the positive, constructive side of his science, at least as far as the provisional hypotheses of the fifth part are concerned.

Bibliographical References Bacon, Francis. 1976. The Works of Francis Bacon [1861–1864], collected and edited by James Spedding, Robert Leslie Ellis and Douglas Denon Heath, 15 vols. Boston: Taggard and Thompsos (Michigan: Scholarly Press). References indicate volume and page. The books are cited as follows: ADV: Of the Proficience and Advancement of Learning Divine and Humane; CV: Cogitata et Visa; DSV: De Sapientia Venerum; HVM: Historia Vitae et Mortis; IM: Instauratio Magna (Praefatio and Distributio Operis); NO: Novum Organum; RP: Redargutio Philosophiarum; SI: Scala Intellectus sive Filum Labyrinthi; TPM: Temporis Partus Masculus; VT: Valerius Terminus. ———. 1999a. Novum Organum. In Selected Philosophical Works. Edited with Introduction by Rose-Mary Sargent. Indianopolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company. ———. 1999b. The Great Instauration. In Selected Philosophical Works. Edited with Introduction by Rose-Mary Sargent. Indianopolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company. ———. 2008. The Advancement of Learning. In The Major Works, Including New Atlantis and the Essays. Edited with an Introduction and Notes by Brian Vickers. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2009. Récusation des Doctrines Philosophiques et autres opuscules. Translated by Georges Rombi and Didier Deleule and Notes by Didier Deleule. Paris: Hermann Éditeurs. Cicero. 1994. Academica. Translated by H.  Rackham. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Didier, Deleule. 2009. Introduction. In Récusation des Doctrines Philosophiques et autres opuscules. Paris: Hermann Éditeurs. Eva, Luiz A.A. 2008. Francis Bacon: ceticismo e doutrina dos ídolos. Cadernos de História e Filosofia da Ciência 18 (1): 47–84.

 Manzo, op. cit, p. 128–9.  Sextus, Outlines 1.226–229; Against the Logicians 7.166–189. 153  Cicero, Academica II, 99–101. 151 152

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———. 2011. Bacon’s ‘Doctrine of the Idols’ and Scepticism. In Pyrrhonism in Ancient, Modern, and Contemporary Philosophy, ed. Diego Machuca. Dordrecht: Springer. Gaukroger, Stephen. 2001. Francis Bacon and the Transformation of Early-Modern Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Granada, Miguel. 2006. Bacon and Scepticism. Nouvelles de la République des Lettres 26: 91–104. Hamlin, William. 2005. Tragedy and Scepticism in Shakespeare’s England. Hampshire/New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Jardine, Lisa. 1985. EXPERIENTIA LITERATA ou NOVUM ORGANUM ? Le dilemme de la méthode scientifique de Bacon. In Francis Bacon: Science et Méthode, ed. Michel Malherbe and Jean-Marie Pousseur. Paris: VRIN. Leeuwen, H.G.van. 1963. The Problem of Certainty in English Thought 1630–1690. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Malherbe, Michel, and Jean-Marie Pousser. 2004. Introduction. In Novum Organum, ed. Francis Bacon. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Manzo, Silvia. 2009. Probability, Certainty and Fact in Francis Bacon’s Natural Histories. A Double Attitude Towards Skepticism. In Skepticism in the Modern Age: Building in the Work of Richard Popkin, ed. José Raimundo Maia Neto, Gianni Paganini, and John-Christian Laursen. Leiden/Boston: Brill. ———. 2017. Reading Scepticism Historically. Scepticism, Acatalepsia and the Fall of Adam in Francis Bacon. In Academic Scepticism in the Development of Early Modern Philosophy, ed. Sébastien Charles and Plínio J. Smith. Dordrecht: Springer. Montaigne, Michel de. 1991. The Complete Essays. Translated by M.  A. Screech. London: Penguin Books. Oliveira, B.J. 2010. Francis Bacon e a fundamentação da ciência como tecnologia. Belo Horizonte: UFMG/Humanitas. Oliveira, B.J., and J.R. Maia Neto. 2009. The Sceptical Evaluation of techné and Baconian Science. In Renaissance Scepticisms, ed. Gianni Paganini and José Raimundo Maia Neto. Dordrecht: Springer. Plutarch. 1967. Contra Colotes. Translated by B.  Einarson and P. de Lacy. Cambridge, MA/ London: Harvard University Press. Popkin, Richard. 2003. The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Prior, Moody. 1968. Bacon’s Man of Science. In Essential Articles for the Study of Francis Bacon, ed. B.  Vickars. Connecticut: Archon Books. (Reprinted from the Journal of the History of Ideas, 1954, 15: 348–370). Rossi, Paolo. 2006. Francis Bacon: Da magia à ciência. Paraná: EDUEL/EDUFPR. Sextus Empiricus. 2000. Outlines of Scepticism. Translated by Julia Annas and Jonathan Barnes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2005. Against the Logicians. Translated by Richard Bett. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Villey, Pierre. 1973. Montaigne and Francis Bacon. Genève: Slaktine. Zagorin, Pérez. 1999. Francis Bacon. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Chapter 4

Augustine’s and Montaigne’s Deployments of Skepticism Against Religious Rationalism José R. Maia Neto

Abstract  This chapter examines one of the sources of Montaigne’s use of skepticism against the Reformation in his Apology for Raymond Sebond, namely, Augustine’s deployment of Academic skepticism against Manicheanism. The particular kind of religious rationalism combatted by Montaigne and the political danger it posed in his time required a radicalization of the kind of skepticism employed. Montaigne thus used Pyrrhonism instead of Academic skepticism.

4.1  Introduction However paradoxical it may seem, Montaigne’s most skeptical essay is an apology for (that is, a defense of) the book he translated into French, Liber creaturarum,1 by the Spanish theologian Raymond Sebond. Sebond’s aim was to show that God’s two “books,” the Bible and the world, matched perfectly. Montaigne replies to two objections raised against Sebond’s natural theology. His reply to the first objection, namely, that a Christian should not entertain such a rationalistic project, takes only a couple of pages. Montaigne agrees on the limited and subordinate role of reason in matters of faith but claims that a Christian may and must use all available means— including his limited reason—to support faith. Most of his lengthy Apology deals with the second objection, namely, that Sebond’s “arguments are weak and unsuited to what he wants to demonstrate,”2 namely, that the doctrines revealed in the Bible  Sebond’s book was also known at the time as Theologia naturalis.  Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays, tr. M. A. Screech (Penguin Books, 1987), 50. All citations from Montaigne’s Apology for Raymond Sebond are from Screech’s translation, except where otherwise indicated. 1 2

J. R. Maia Neto (*) Federal University of Minas Gerais/CNPq, Belo Horizonte, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_4

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are true. Montaigne thus compares the strategy he is going to use to reply to this objection to Augustine’s strategy to combat the Manicheans. [C] St Augustine, pleading his case against presumptuous people,3 has cause to criticize their injustice when they consider those parts of our faith to be false which human reason is unable to establish. In order to show that many things can exist or have had existence, even though their nature and causes have no foundation which can be fixed by rational discourse, he advances various indubitable, recognized experiences, for which Man admits he can see no explanation. Augustine does this, as he does all things, after careful and intelligent search. We must do even more, teaching such people the lesson that the weakness of their reasons can be proved without our having to marshal rare examples; that reason is so inadequate, so blind, that there is no example so clear and easy as to be clear enough for her; that the easy and the hard are all one to her; that all subjects and Nature in general equally deny her any sway or jurisdiction.4

Montaigne’s comparison of the proponents of the second objection to Sebond to the Manicheans is one of the many indications that the former are the French Calvinists of his time.5 First, they are reformers: Christians who deny some of the established (Catholic) Christian beliefs but keep others that they judge rationally grounded. Montaigne, therefore, like Augustine, combats Christian rationalists: Calvinists in his case, Manicheans in Augustine’s.6 According to Montaigne, reason is not a criterion of religious truth. Even if the Calvinist figurative interpretation of Eucharist is more in agreement with reason than the Roman Catholic literal one, this cannot function as a justification to reform the mystery. Second, the passage indicates a strategy of carrying out this combat against religious rationalism by using skepticism. Montaigne announces his intention to radicalize this skepticism, which is only partial in Augustine. In this chapter, I begin by examining Augustine’s use of Academic skepticism against Manicheanism in books 5 and 6 of his Confessions. Then I return to Montaigne’s Apology and give some indications of Montaigne’s radicalization and his justification for this move. I conclude by pointing out some important differences between Augustine’s and Montaigne’s deployments of skepticism against these two forms of religious rationalism.7 One such difference is that 3  “Presumptuous people” is Screech’s translation of “ces gens icy,” that is, presumptuous critics such as Sebond’s. Michel de Montaigne, Les Essais, ed. Villey-Saulnier (Paris: Quadridge/PUF, 2004), 449. 4  Essays, II, 12, 501. 5  Although Montaigne never refers to the proponents of the objection that Sebond’s arguments (some of which support Catholic doctrines attacked by the Reformers, such as Eucharisty) are weak as “Calvinists” or “Huguenots”, there are many indications in the Apology—only some of which are related in this chapter—that these authors are Calvinists. I thank Vicente Raga Rosaleny for this and other remarks that aided in the clarification of some of my claims. 6  The Manicheans attacked by Augustine were Christians, though they held to a version of Christianity quite unlike that of Augustine, who managed to established his own version as the orthodox one. These Christian Manicheans attacked above all the Old Testament, in particular its account of creatio ex nihil by a unique all-powerful God. See, for instance, Augustine, De Utilitate Credendi VI, 13 and XVIII, 36. 7  These two Christian heresies (from the Catholic point of view) were perceived as similar by Catholics of the time. See, for instance, Pascal’s “Writings on Grace,” in Blaise Pascal, Pensées and Other Writings. Tr. Honor Levi (Oxford: Oxford U Press, 2008), 205–225.

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Augustine reports a personal combat against Manicheanism, which he espoused in his youth, whereas Montaigne just helps Catholic ladies—in particular Marguerite de Valois, sister of the Catholic French king Henri III and wife of her cousin, the Calvinist leader Henri de Navarre—to sustain their Catholicism, resisting the Calvinist proselytism to which they were exposed at Henri de Navarre’s court in Nérac. Another difference in which I am interested in particular is that Academic skepticism, the kind of skepticism used by Augustine, is the epistemological position of the rationalist Calvinists that Montaigne combats through the more radical Pyrrhonian skepticism.

4.2  Augustine: From Manicheanism Through Academic Skepticism to Catholicism The role of Academic skepticism in Augustine’s conversion is intriguing.8 It was initially positive: Cicero’s skepticism removed the main obstacle to the conversion, namely, his endorsement of Manicheanism and, in general, his materialism. However, after helping rid him of Manicheanism, skepticism becomes itself a new obstacle to becoming a Catholic Christian because of its rationalist (though undogmatic) conception of wisdom, according to which avoiding error is more important than finding the truth. The Academic wise man will rather suspend belief than assent to something that may be false.9 Skepticism’s critical side initially works indirectly in favor of the Catholic religion to the extent that it combats Manicheanism. But once freed from this error, the same conception of wisdom precludes adherence to a religion whose doctrines are even less probable than those of Manicheanism. Upon arrival in Rome, Augustine discovered the Academic philosophers and considered them “wiser than the rest.”10 Augustine continued to hold to Manicheanism, “but now despairing to make proficiency in that false doctrine, even those [opinions] (with which if I should find no better, I had resolved to rest contented) I now held more laxly and carelessly.”11 In other words, he mitigates his assent, which becomes provisional. At this point Augustine is in search of the truth, opposing, in utraquem partem, Catholicism and Manicheanism. His previous adherence, plain and dogmatic, now seems to him precipitate; and though Manicheanism now no longer seems true to him, it still seems more plausible, probable, or true-­ seeming than Catholicism. Probabile and verisimile are Cicero’s translations of Carneades’s pithanon, the practical criterion followed by Academic skeptics who

 Apparently Augustine knew nothing of Pyrrhonism. His exclusive source for skepticism is Cicero.  Cicero, Academica I, 45; II, 66–68. 10  Augustine, Confessions. Tr. Edward B. Pusey. New York: P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, 1937, book V, p. 73. (Thereafter, Conf, followed by book and page.) For the Latin text, I used the edition of Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge: Harvard U. Press, 1912). 11  Conf, V, 73. 8 9

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have suspended judgment. A probable impression in Carneades’s sense is a clear, emphatic one; the wise man approves it, but does not assent to it, given that it lacks indubitable evidence, that is, it is not cataleptic.12 However, Augustine was then living his Philonian, not Carnedean, moment. For Philo, the wise man gives a fallibilist assent to the probable impression whose sense is no longer exclusively practical. Philonian probability also has the epistemic value of a closer proximity to the truth, even though Augustine maintains the conception of wisdom that Cicero attributes to Arcesilaus and Carneades: that the wise man must above all avoid error and, therefore, avoid opinions. This is an ideal view of the wise man, one that he, Augustine, like Cicero (Ac II, 66), cannot attain. Augustine regrets and is ashamed of having held as certain the uncertain doctrines of Manicheanism.13 Cicero’s book on the Academics continues to push Augustine away from Manicheanism at the same time that Ambrose pushes him towards Catholicism. On the one hand, the Academic criticism of Manichean doctrines diminish their probability (in Carneades’s original sense of the strength of the impression as it appears to the subject, without any indication of the truth of its object). On the other hand, Ambrose’s allegorical interpretations of the Old Testament cause an increase in the probability of Catholicism. The decrease of the probability of Manicheanism and the increase of that of Catholicism leads to a situation of equipollence between the two doctrines, which,14 as in ancient skepticism, brings about suspension of judgement about the Manichean doctrine (which Augustine endorsed up to this point) but without leading him to assent to Catholicism.15 The shame of having earlier taken an uncertain doctrine as true, a doctrine that now looks false to him, attests the correctness of the Academic conception of wisdom: the wise man must never give his assent to what is not evident if he does not want to be exposed to error. The principle of intellectual integrity, namely, that assent shall be given only to what is evident, preserves the wise man of falling into errors when evident truth is not available— which, according to the Academic skeptics, is always the case. This principle, which was very useful for Augustine’s release from the Manichean errors, now becomes the major obstacle to his conversion to Catholicism, whose doctrines are not—and cannot be—evident to reason. Augustine’s major effort thus becomes to show the inadequacy of intellectual integrity. He thus argues that the principle is valid only with respect to things self-evident or capable of demonstration. Such matters can be  See Cicero, Ac I, 104. See also Ac I, 99 and Sextus Empiricus’s Adversus Mathematicos VII, 166–189. 13  Conf, VI, 83. Cicero’s influence is evident at this point. See Ac I, 45; II, 7–6; II, 66–69; De Natura Deorum, I, 1. 14  “defensionis partes aequabantur” (Conf, V, 258). 15  “So then after the manner of the Academics (as they are supposed) doubting now of everything, and wavering between all, I settled so far, that the Manichees were to be abandoned” (Conf, V, 77–78). In De Utiliate Credendi VIII, 20, Augustine describes this moment of his intellectual life as wavering between Academic skepticism (to which, at this occasion, he attributed the view that truth cannot be found—see Contra Academicos II, 24) and the view that human beings can find the truth, the problem being only the way to attain it, which, at this point, not yet being a Catholic Christian, he did not know. 12

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held either as assured knowledge, when assent follows reason, or as opinions, when assent is given in the absence of rational grounds. Augustine introduces a new cognitive category: belief. The ground of belief does not reside in an individual’s autonomous rational capacity, either of using correctly his/her reason in protecting him or herself from opinion by suspending judgment, or making a bad use of reason by acquiescing in the illusion of having rationally found a truth that is in fact uncertain. Neither skeptical nor dogmatic, Augustine becomes what he considers orthodox Christian. He elaborates philosophically a notion of belief that differs from opinion (doxa) and certain knowledge (episteme), a notion capable of mediating philosophy and religion.16 Belief is assent given to something about which one cannot have full rational certainty but which is not an opinion, that is, it does not result from precipitous acquiescence. The objects of belief are matters of fact that, because of their very nature, cannot be demonstratively known. Unlike opinion, belief has a foundation, not in reason (the case of knowledge) but in the authority of historical witnesses. Most of those things considered as opinions by philosophers are in fact beliefs, derived from more or less distant historical witnesses. If we restricted our assent to what is evident, demonstrative, or directly observed, life would be unlivable. In book XI of De Utilitate Credendi, Augustine elaborates on this new notion of belief. He distinguishes three cognitive acts: intelligeri, opinari, and credere. The first two are generally recognized by philosophers. Opinion is shameful (turpissimum), as Cicero points out, because it results from precipitous assent to something that in principle could be the object of rational understanding (intelligeri). But belief is deprived of any fault since its proper object cannot possibly be known only through reason, but also requires oral or written witness accounts. I now return to the psychological process of Augustine’s conversion as related in the Confessions. Thou didst persuade me, that not they who believed Thy Books (which Thou hast established in so great authority among almost all nations), but they who believe them not, were to be blamed; and that they were not to be heard who should say to me, “How knowest thou those Scriptures to have been imparted unto mankind by the Spirit of the one true and most true God?” For this very thing was of all most to be believed, since no contentiousness of blasphemous questionings, of all that multitude which I had read in the self-contradicting philosophers, could wring this belief from me, “That Thou art” whatsoever Thou wert (what I knew not), and “That the government of human things belongs to Thee.” … Since then we were too weak by abstract reasoning to find out truth: and for this very cause needed the authority of Holy Writ; I had now begun to believe that Thou wouldest never have given such excellency of authority to that Writ in all lands, hadst Thou not willed thereby to be believed in, thereby sought.17

The fact that the majority of our beliefs are psychologically certain though not demonstrative shows the insufficiency of the Academic principle of intellectual  See Frédéric Brahami, Le Travail du Scepticisme (Paris: PUF, 2001), 30: “le besoin de vérité et son extériorité expliquent la nécessité de croire, car si la vérité du dogme était visible par les yeux de chair, ou si elle était interne à l’esprit, il n’y aurait pas lieu de croire: il y aurait un savoir, sensible ou intellectuel.” 17  Conf, VI, 84–85. 16

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integrity. Reason cannot be the sole criterion of assent because innumerable certain things (such as ‘Oswaldo Porchat was the founding father of skeptical studies in Brazil’, ‘Plínio Smith and Vicente Raga are the editors of this book’; ‘there is a village called Cartagena’) are neither evident nor demonstrative. As the Augustinian Pascal says, these beliefs are adopted through the heart, not through reason.18 I do not believe these things because they are evident to my reason, but because I trust the accounts of others (historians, colleagues, travel agents). The rational autonomy of the wise man—implicit in intellectual integrity—is set aside, for it makes impossible all access to matters of fact that cannot be directly observed. Since Christian truths are historical, the ideal of wisdom cannot be the Academic one. This is the reason why the main objections raised by Augustine in Contra Academicos are moral, not epistemological. Besides a fierce attack on the Academic’s criterion of action, probability, Augustine assaults the rationalist ideal of Academic wisdom for excluding one way open to human beings to reach the truth: the way of authority. The main problem of Academic skepticism, according to Augustine, is that it discourages the search for the truth out of fear of falling into error. Contrary to the Academic view, to find the truth is much more important than avoiding error.19 The cost of the possibility of committing an error by giving assent to what is not evident or demonstrative is, according to Augustine, largely compensated for if this belief is true.20 Furthermore, according to Augustine’s (and also Pascal’s) Christianity, it is arrogant to think that the human being, limited and corrupted by original sin, might avoid error exclusively through his or her rational efforts. By subordinating reason to the authority of the witnesses of the Bible (first the authority of Christ himself, then that of the apostles, and from them down to that of his contemporary Christians,

 Blaise Pascal, Pensées. Lafuma edition, tr. By A.  J. Krailsheimer (London: Penguin Books. 1966), La 298 and La 423. 19  Augustine finds it immoral that an Academic might do something wrong yet claim to have committed no fault or error on the grounds that he did the wrong thing following probability, without assenting to the claim that it is true that the wrong thing was the right thing to do (see C. Ac III, 33–37). In Enchiridion, where Augustine restates his arguments—and provides new ones—against the Academics, he argues that committing an error is not always a sin, as Academics hold. Many mistakes do not compromise one’s moral life. They are due to human fallibility (Enchiridion, XVII–XXI). 20  Augustine’s criticism of the Academic rationalist conception of wisdom is intensified by Pascal. It suffices to recall the famous wager. Before proposing the argument from the utility of belief, for which Pascal uses the new concept of mathematical probability developed by him and Fermat, the believer in the dialogue of the fragment (La 418) argues that reason cannot decide either that God exists or that God does not exist and that Christians know that their faith cannot be established upon metaphysical reasons. He then tells the unbeliever: “Do not then condemn as wrong those who have made a choice, for you know nothing about it?” “No,” he replies, “but I will condemn them not for having made this particular choice, but any choice, for, although the one who calls heads and the other one are equally at fault, the fact is that they are both at fault: the right thing is not to wager at all.” The believer then replies: “Yes, but you must wager. There is no choice, you are already committed.” (Pascal, Pensées, La 150) 18

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notably his mother), that which was obscure in Scripture—and therefore justified suspension of judgment—becomes mysteries: truths that reason cannot understand.21

4.3  Montaigne’s Radicalization of Augustine’s Strategy The ancient skeptics remained little known for almost one thousand years, from Augustine’s time to the second half of the fifteenth century. Besides the erudite work of recovery of the corpus scepticorum, the sixteenth century also saw a renewed interested in Augustine, who is, together with Cicero, Sextus, Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, and Galen, one of the major sources for ancient skepticism. Of all Renaissance authors who were interested in ancient skepticism, the most influential and innovative one was doubtless Montaigne. Skepticism appears in most of Montaigne’s essays, but it is in the Apology for Raymond Sebond (II, 12) that the ancient philosophy is most thoroughly examined and applied. Despite the large number of studies dedicated to the skepticism present in Montaigne’s Apology, little emphasis has been put on the very particular historical context of its elaboration: the religious wars in France.22 The Apology is an essay very much unlike the others. It is by far the longest, and it is the only one—besides “On prayer” (I, 56)—to deal directly with theological issues. Montaigne says that, although he is not a theologian, he could not avoid such questions given the specific aim of the text, namely, to reply to criticism raised against Sebond’s Liber creaturarum, which he translated into French in compliance with one of his father’s last wishes.23 The motivation behind both the translation and the reply to criticism of it is the religious polemics of his time. In the Apology, Montaigne gives advice to a lady believed to be the Catholic Princess Marguerite de Valois,24 sister of the Catholic king of France Henri III and wife of the major Calvinist leader, her cousin Henri de Navarre. When the Apology was mostly written, between late 1578 and late 1579, Henri de Navarre was gouverneur of Guyenne, which included Bordeaux, and Montaigne was gentleman of his chamber and also knight to Henri III. By giving advice to Marguerite de Valois about the most fundamental issue of the time, Montaigne was just exercising his duties. In the Apology, Montaigne radicalizes the debate about intellectual integrity, supported by the Academics and restricted by Augustine. The first Reformers claimed that their theology was close to Augustine’s, which was needed to replace 21  “For now what things, sounding strangely [absurditatem] in the Scripture, were wont to offend me, having heard divers of them expounded satisfactorily [probabiliter exposita], I referred to the depths of the mysteries” (Conf VI, 85). 22  Richard Popkin’s History of Scepticism (Oxford: Oxford U. Press, 2003), 44–56, is an exception, but it is limited to the Pyrrhonian epistemological problem of justifying a criterion of truth. 23  Essays, II, 12, 490. 24  Joseph Coppin, “Marguerite de Valois et le Livre des Créatures de Raymond Sebond,” Revue du XVIIe. Siècle 10 (1923): 57–66.

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the corrupt scholastic one. Montaigne’s strategy of using Augustine’s view about the non-subordination of beliefs to reason was therefore a subtle one in his reply to the Reformers. Montaigne considers the rationalist Reformers of the sixteenth century more dangerous than the Manicheans of Augustine’s time. The Calvinist Christians are, according to Montaigne, more aggressive and arrogant in subordinating God’s infinite power to finite human reason.25 Reform is described as a “new disease” that “would soon degenerate into loathsome atheism.”26 Because the foundation of all religious dogma is authority, human reason is unable to distinguish with any certainty those that are reasonable from those that aren’t. The mass of ordinary people … [let] themselves be carried away by chance appearances. Once you have put into their hands the foolhardiness of despising and criticizing opinions which they used to hold in the highest awe (such as those which concern their salvation), and once you have thrown into the balance of doubt and uncertainty [C] any [A] articles of their religion, they soon cast all the rest of their beliefs into similar uncertainty. They had no more authority for them, no more foundation, than for those you have just undermined; and so, as though it were the yoke of a tyrant, they shake off all those other concepts which had been impressed upon them by the authority of Law and the awesomeness of ancient custom … They then take it upon themselves to accept nothing on which they have not pronounced their own approval, subjecting it to their individual assent.27

The introduction of the principle of intellectual integrity in the religious domain is disastrous because, as remarked by Augustine, religious beliefs are not demonstrable. Montaigne radicalizes that position, for Augustine believed that some doctrines could be proved by reason, while Montaigne argues that human reason can establish nothing. Following the skeptics on this point, Montaigne argues that the rigorous application of intellectual integrity would lead not to atheism as we understand it today, but to universal suspension of judgment. Fortunately, the exact observation of intellectual integrity is rare even among philosophers—maybe even among skeptics—let alone among ordinary men and women. What usually happens is assent to something that seems reasonable but that can easily reveal itself as unreasonable in a variety of circumstances, in particular when views considered reasonable by believers of one religion are criticized by skillful defenders of another. For this reason, the mere restriction of reason—as proposed by Augustine—is not a sufficient guarantee against the religious and political threat posed by the Reformers. Montaigne thus claims that “[w]e must do even more, teaching such people … that reason is so inadequate, so blind, that there is no example so clear and easy as to be clear enough for her; … that all subjects and Nature in general equally deny her any sway or jurisdiction.”28 Unlike Augustine’s skepticism, which is limited to the senses, Montaigne presents a wider and more radical skepticism, one that encompasses reason as well. I will not address the many aspects of Montaigne’s skepticism about reason, focusing  Essays, II, 12, 591.  Essays, II, 12, 490. 27  Essays, II, 12, 490. 28  Essays, II, 12, 501. 25 26

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instead on a topic that I find crucial and that has not received much attention from scholars, namely, Montaigne’s attack upon the verisimilitude of beliefs. Montaigne’s move exposes at the same time the epistemic fragility of probable beliefs and their psychological strength. [A] Human reason goes astray everywhere, but especially when she concerns herself with matters divine. Who knows that better than we do? For we have supplied Reason with principles which are certain and infallible; we light her steps with the holy lamp of the Truth which God has been pleased to impart to us; yet we can see, every day, that as soon as she is allowed to deviate, however slightly, from the normal path, turning and straying from the beaten track traced for us by the Church, she immediately stumbles and becomes inextricably lost; she whirls aimlessly about, bobbing unchecked on the huge, troubled, surging sea of human opinion. As soon as she misses that great public highway she disintegrates and scatters in hundreds of different directions.29

Montaigne attributes to religious rationalism the multiplication of Reformed churches. Contrary to the Reformers’ view, reason cannot establish the truth of beliefs. On the contrary, Montaigne sees reason as subordinate to instable beliefs, originally caused by contingent factors. The instability of beliefs is particularly remarkable in the French religious wars. Controversial beliefs not grounded on reason were literally deadly in this context. Montaigne’s advice to Marguerite de Valois is to remain Catholic even in the face of the most probable arguments produced by the most skilled Calvinist apologists with whom she had to live at her husband’s court in Nérac. [A] Our minds are dangerous tools, rash and prone to go astray: it is hard to reconcile them with order and moderation. We have seen during my lifetime virtually all outstanding men, all men of abnormally lively perception, breaking out into licentiousness of opinion or behavior. … That is why it would be better for you to keep closely to your usual ways, whatever they may be, rather than to fly off like this with such frantic licence. Nevertheless, if one of those newfangled ‘doctors’ comes into your presence and starts acting clever, putting your spiritual health at risk as well as his own, you can, in the last resort, call on this remedy as a prophylactic against the deadly plague which is daily spreading through your courts: it will stop that poisonous contagion from infecting you and those about you.30

The radical Pyrrhonian skepticism exhibited in the Apology is this extreme remedy. Its use is justified against the Reformers, who profit from the instability of reason to make Calvin doctrines seem probable. Montaigne suggests that if the princess or any Catholic lady in her court finds herself unable to oppose Reformers with Catholic arguments more probable than conflicting Calvinist ones, she should better ignore verisimilitude as a criterion of religious belief. She would be rationally justified in doing so by the fact that verisimilitude or probability result from a precarious and changing reason. In fact, right after this advice, Montaigne criticizes Academic

29 30

 Essays, II, 12, 581.  Essays, II, 12, 629–630.

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probability, employing one of the objections raised by Augustine against the Academics,31 namely, that verisimilitude presupposes the truth. But how can they bring themselves to yield to verisimilitude if they cannot recognize verity? How can they know there to be a resemblance to something the essence of which they do not know? We judge entirely, or entirely not. If our intellectual faculties and our senses have no foundation to stand on but only float about in the wind, then it is pointless to allow our judgment to be influenced by their operation, no matter what ‘probabilities’ it seems to present us with; and so the surest position for our intellect to adopt, and the happiest, would be the one where it could remain still, straight, inflexible, without motion or disturbance.32

If truth is to be found only in God,33 that is, if it is wholly transcendent, then our faculties are equally unfit to establish verisimilitude (in Augustine’s sense of similar to the truth). What appears as probable to reason is therefore deprived of epistemic ground. The instability of reason implies the instability of the probable. While Marguerite was in Paris, before marrying Henri de Navarre and moving to his domain, Roman Catholicism appeared probable to her. Now, living in Nérac, Calvinism seems more probable to her than Catholicism does. What will appear more probable to her tomorrow?34 If she assents to the probable, she will believe in a doctrine that later will possibly appear false to the same faculty to which it now appears probable. One’s assent to doctrines must thus be withdrawn in order not to be set adrift in the flux of opinions.35 Montaigne points out in his reply to the first objection to Sebond that Augustine promotes the replacement of reason by belief.36 But now belief is itself shaken. Montaigne recommends retaining the ancient Catholic beliefs not because they are known to be true (as Augustine claimed by arguing that authority is the foundation of their historical validity), nor even because they are probable. Skepticism about reason must be deployed only in the event that Calvinism appears more probable than Catholicism. In such a case, one must remember the original sense of Carneades’s doctrine: probability is only psychological; it does not convey any indication of truth; it has no epistemic value. Such consideration subverts even the  Augustine, Contra Academicos II, 16. This objection was first raised by the Stoics, cf. Cicero, Ac II, 33. 32  Essays, II, 12, 633. 33  Essays, II, 12, 607. 34  See Sextus, Outlines I, 33–34. 35  “If this appearance has once deceived me, if my touchstone regularly proves unreliable and my scales wrong and out of true, why should I trust them this time, rather than all the others? …Fortune may shift us five hundred times, may treat our powers of belief like a pot to be endlessly emptied and filled with ever-differing opinions: nevertheless, the present one, the last one, is always sure and infallible! For this last one we must abandon goods, honour, life, health, everything. … We ought to admit that, no matter what we allow into our understanding, it often includes falsehoods which enter by means of the same tools which have often proved contradictory and misleading” (Essays, II, 12, 634–635). 36  The first objection is that a Christian should not attempt to ground his or her faith on reason. Montaigne’s Augustinian reply is that although reason alone cannot establish faith (which is supernatural), it can strengthen a religious belief, which is natural or human. 31

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Philonian sense of the probable to the extent that the apparent reasonability of the heresy is reversed by the epistemic disqualification of reason. After centuries of fortification of the authority that grounds Roman Catholicism, attested and reinforced by the number of people all over the known world who believed in the Catholic interpretation of the Bible, Montaigne’s time sees two events that subvert such authority: one external to the Church (the discovery of the New World) and one internal (the Reformation). The growing consensus referred to by Augustine as progressively establishing the authority of the Bible is no longer the case. The rupture caused by the Reformation shakes the rational basis claimed by Augustine to justify his conversion. We can now understand why Montaigne considered his rationalist opponents more dangerous than Augustine’s ones. The religious rationalism combated by Augustine (Manicheanism) was held by an intellectual elite of Christians, a quite different context from the French religious wars. Augustine’s context is that of a tremendous growth of the Catholic Church through the conversion of whole nations. Montaigne’s context is, on the contrary, that of major crisis in Catholicism, with successive, massive, and growing defections to the new Protestant churches. In such a shipwreck, neither reason nor belief can play the role of rescue float.

4.4  Conclusion Augustin and Montaigne attack religious rationalism in the form of, respectively, Manicheanism and Calvinism. The central principle targeted by both is that of intellectual integrity. One must assent to facts that are neither evident (on this, Montaigne agrees with Augustine) nor probable (here, Montaigne radicalizes Augustine), notably the mysteries and miracles of the Christian religion. The figurative interpretation of the Eucharist, for instance, is more probable than the Catholic literal one. However, according to Montaigne, this does not mean that the Calvinist interpretation is closer to the truth. In religious matters, because of their intimate connection with politics at the time, one must not follow probability, not even when it is understood in Carneades’s exclusively practical sense. Unlike Augustine, Montaigne does not attempt to show the supposed probability of Catholicism. There are indications that he found Calvinism more probable than Catholicism, but probable in the Carnedean—not in the epistemic Philonian—sense.37 In his reply to the second objection to Sebond addressed in the Apology, Montaigne reacts to the weaker probability of Catholicism as compared to Calvinism by attacking human reason, which determines probabilities. Montaigne thereby distances himself from the moderate Academic skepticism held by Cicero and Augustine, the latter of whom refuses Academic wisdom but partially agrees with Academic skepticism about the senses. 37  I cite the relevant passages of the Essays in José Maia Neto, “O Contexto Religioso-Político da Contraposição entre Pirronismo e Academia na Apologia de R. Sebond”, Kriterion 126 (2012): 351–374.

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Montaigne develops a more radical skepticism, one that becomes crucial in the unfolding of modern philosophy.38 Montaigne develops this radical skepticism by using Sextus’s Pyrrhonism—itself a reaction to Philonean probabilism—and the radical skepticism that resulted from the Scholastic debates about God’s omnipotence. The radical skepticism exhibited in the Apology for Raymond Sebond cannot, however, be directly attributed to Montaigne without further justification, not even provisionally as in the case of Augustine’s Academic skepticism.39 Pyrrhonism is proposed in the Apology as a machine of war to be used as a last resort, in the extreme and exceptional case of a Catholic woman bestowed of immense political power, tempted by the probability of Calvinist doctrines and arguments, and unable to give a rationalist justification of Catholicism such as Sebond’s natural theology. Montaigne’s Pyrrhonian arguments in the Apology, unlike Sebond’s in his Liber creaturarum, are not—and could not possibly be, since they are Pyrrhonian—in favor of the Catholic religion. They aim at precluding the conversion (withholding assent) to a new religion in case, when considered, it looks more probable than the traditional one.

References Augustin of Hipona. 1912. Confessions. Trans. William Watts. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press. ———. 1950. Against the Academics. Trans. J. O’Meara. Westminster: Newman Press. ———. 1951. Confessions. Trans. Edward B. Pusey. New York: Pocket Books. ———. 1955. Enchiridion. Trans. Albert Outler. Westminster: Newman Press. ———. 2002. De Utilitate credendi. Trans. L. Schopp et al. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Brahami, Frédéric. 2001. Le Travail du Scepticisme. Paris: PUF. Cicero, Marcus Tulius. 1979. Academica and De Natura Deorum. Trans. H. Rackham. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press. Coppin, Joseph. 1923. Marguerite de Valois et le Livre des Créatures de Raymond Sebond. Revue du XVIIe. Siècle 10: 57–66. de Montaigne, Michel. 1987. The Complete Essays. Trans. M.A. Screech. London: Penguin Books. ———. 2004. Les Essais. Edition Villey-Saulnier. Paris: Quadridge/PUF. Maia Neto, José R. 2012. O Contexto Religioso-Político da Contraposição entre Pirronismo e Academia na Apologia de R. Sebond. Kriterion 126: 351–374. Paganini, Gianni. 2008. Skepsis. Le débat des modernes sur le scepticisme. Paris: Vrin. Pascal, Blaise. 1966. Pensées. Lafuma edition. Trans. A.J. Krailsheimer. London: Penguin Books.

38  See Richard Popkin, The History of Skepticism from Savonarola to Bayle (Oxford: Oxford U. Press, 2003), 44–56; Frédéric Brahami, Le Travail du Scepticisme (Paris: PUF, 2001), 33–82, and Gianni Paganini, Skepsis. Le débat des modernes sur le scepticisme (Paris: Vrin, 2008), 15–60. 39  The view, held by Pierre Villey, Les Sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne (Paris: Hachette, 1908), 390–391 that Montaigne was Pyrrhonian only during the period he wrote book II of the Essays, is quite contested by contemporary scholars. My view, which I cannot develop here, is that he was never Pyrrhonian and that he inclines towards Academic skepticism in the 1588 and in the posthumous editions of the Essays.

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———. 2008. Pensées and Other Writings. Trans. Honor Levi. Oxford: Oxford U. Press. Popkin, Richard. 2003. The History of Skepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. Oxford: Oxford U. Press. Sextus Empiricus. 1933. Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Trans. R.  Bury. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press. ———. 1935. Against the Professors. Trans. R. Bury. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press. Villey, Pierre. 1908. Les Sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne. Paris: Hachette.

Chapter 5

Descartes and the Problem of the Criterion Mauricio Zuluaga

Abstract  In recent years, studies on ancient skepticism and its relationship to modern skepticism have become prominent. The development of exegesis and research regarding ancient skepticism has been highly compelling and allows us today to see with greater clarity and relevance its relationship with modern skepticism. Most studies on this relation focus on methodological doubt. It is evident that methodological doubt has a close relationship with some of the arguments found in ancient skepticism—both Academic and Pyrrhonian—although there are also very important differences. However, it has become common to highlight only this point in the relation between Descartes and the ancient skeptics. I believe that this interpretation is inadequate, because it is too narrow. There is a typical skeptical problem present in the Third Meditation, though not exclusively there, which coincides with the problem of the criterion of the ancient skeptics. The reading of Cartesian skepticism1 focused exclusively on methodological doubt disregards the importance for Descartes of the problem of the criterion of truth, which ancient skeptics2 proposed in arguing against dogmatists, especially Stoics. 1  It is important to emphasise that Descartes is not and did not pretend to be a skeptic. Strictly speaking, the term ‘Cartesian skepticism’ is contradictory. This term is used, especially in contemporary epistemology, to refer to the skeptical arguments presented by Descartes in the First Meditation. Descartes uses skepticism methodically; its purpose is not to induce suspension of judgment or the denial of knowledge or imperturbability, but rather to produce certainty and truth. When I speak of Cartesian skepticism, this qualification must always be borne in mind. 2  Traditionally two variants of ancient skepticism are recognized: Academic and Pyrrhonist. According to Sextus, the Academic skepticism (specifically that of Arcesilaus and Carneades) leads to negative dogmatism, i.e., that claim that I know only that I know nothing, to borrow the famous Socratic maxim, and this differentiates it from Pyrrhonian skepticism. Sextus’s interpretation is highly questioned today. See PH I, 1–4. The following abbreviations have been used for Sextus Empiricus’s works: PH = Outlines of Pyrrhonism. References are to book, number, and page. All translations of PH are from The Skeptic Way: Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism, translated, with Introduction and Commentary by B. Mates, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1996.

M. Zuluaga (*) Department of Philosophy, Universidad del Valle, Cali, Colombia © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_5

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The classical skeptical argument against the Stoic criterion of truth—i.e., the cognitive impression—can be approached from two non-exclusive perspectives. First, it is a problem stemming from the means by which we attempt to apprehend an impression as cognitive. Second, it is a problem dealing with the logical status of the criterion of truth. The first problem is addressed by Descartes in the First Meditation and finds its solution in the cogito. The second is bound up in Descartes with the famous circularity of his proof of God and recreates a problem already known to Aristotle and given systematic form by Sextus Empiricus in the Modes of Agrippa. Descartes, in a very special way, tries to overcome the challenge posed by the Modes of Agrippa. Thus, the accusation that there is logical circularity in the Third Meditation is best understood in light of the problem of the criterion as presented by classical skeptics. In the following section, I will present a brief characterization of the difference and similarities between the methodical use of doubt in the Cartesian project and the ancient skeptical tradition. In Sect. 5.2, I will discuss what the problem of the criterion is and finally show how this problem appears in Descartes.

5.1  D  ifferences and Similarities Between Descartes and Ancient Skeptics As Gail Fine notes, one of the difficulties in considering the relationship between ancient skepticism and Cartesian philosophy is that Descartes does not discuss ancient skepticism in any detail.3 In his work he never explicitly mentions any of the ancient skeptics beyond a brief mention of Cicero.4 This might lead one to think that Descartes never read the ancient skeptics, but it is far more plausible that he did, either directly or indirectly. Both Montaigne and Charron discussed Sextus, and we know that Descartes had read them both—although Descartes’s explicit references to them, as noted by Fine,5 do not directly concern skepticism.6 Descartes also maintained for years a close friendship with Mersenne, who read and wrote about Sextus.7 Nonetheless, Descartes explicitly points out that he had long ago seen many books written by the

3  See G.  Fine, “Descartes and Ancient Skepticism: Reheated Cabbage?” in The Philosophical Review, Vol. 109, No. 2, p. 199. 4  AT III, 274. This abbreviation refers to Descartes, R. Œuvres de Descartes. Edited by Adam & Tannery, Paris, Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1996. References are to volume and page number. All translations are from The Philosophical Works of Descartes. Edited and translate by Anscombe & Ross. 2 vols., Cambridge University Press, 1981. 5  See, G. Fine, op. cit., p. 200–201, n. 16. 6  AT IV, 573–575. 7  See La Verité des Sciences contre les Sceptiques et les Pyrrhoniens (Paris, 1625). See G. Fine, op. cit., pp. 200–201 and n. 9.

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skeptics and Academics and that he was only making a new use of their arguments.8 We can accept that Descartes knew the skeptics, either firsthand or through other interpreters. It is very questionable, however, that Descartes simply made a new use of the old skeptical arguments. His methodological doubt differs in important ways from classical skeptical doubt, whether Academic or Pyrrhonian. The starting point for comparisons between ancient and Cartesian skepticism is often the question of their motivations. In a very simplified way, we can say that ancient skepticism was practical. Its aim was to achieve imperturbability, and its proposal was a way of life free of dogmatism.9 To this end, the ancient skeptics developed arguments that induce the equipollence between conflicting beliefs.10 Furthermore, the ancient skeptics, as we shall see, that no criterion can be applied to prefer one belief over another. The result is suspension of judgment.11 With such suspension the skeptic reaches, by chance, tranquility of the soul.12 Cartesian skepticism, in contrast, is framed within a project whose purpose is to search for truth and certainty. Thus, Descartes leaves aside any practical consideration, his being an eminently theoretical project. Descartes’s goal is to lead skeptical doubts to their most extreme consequences in order to arrive at something that is known with absolute certainty. To achieve this purpose, Descartes makes use of skeptical scenarios, where he asks himself if a belief is beyond any and all doubts. Thus, the Cartesian skeptic focuses on the reasons for doubt.13 This difference shows that Descartes does not make a skeptical use of skeptical arguments. The practice of the classical skeptic, who claims that it is not possible to arrive at knowledge or who suspends judgment on whether or not knowledge is possible, ultimately breaks with the search for Cartesian truth. Descartes, on the other hand, uses skeptical doubt in a methodological way: He seeks to arrive at truth and certainty by showing that at least one thing is immune to skeptical undermining. That the use of skeptical doubt is methodological must be understood in two senses. (i) Descartes considers it obvious that, since his project is to reach the truth, the best way to do so is to make use of skeptical doubt, given that in this way he will be able to discern between what he knows and what he only thinks he knows. (ii) Doubt is also methodological in the sense that it is a progressive process of doubt. Descartes has no confidence in the senses. They have deceived him many times.14 Beliefs that do not result from poor perceptual conditions survive this level of doubt. However, even under optimal perceptual conditions, these beliefs can still be questioned, for I may be currently asleep yet believe I am awake and so perceiving

 AT II, 38–39; V, 147; VII, 120, 130,171–172; VIII B 36–37; IX 103.  PH I, 12. 10  PH I, 26. 11  PH II, 18–20. 12  PH I, 29. 13  See C. Perin, “Descartes and the Legacy of Ancient Skepticism”, in J. Broughton & J. Carriero, (eds.) A Companion to Descartes, Blackwell Publishing, 2008, pp. 52–65. 14  AT VII, 18. 8 9

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reality.15 Now, Descartes goes one step further and doubts even those beliefs that are not essentially sensory, those that even in a dream are still true, such as the belief that 2 + 3 = 5. What if there were a deceiving God? Might it be that he deceives me every time I add two and three, or that I enumerate the sides of a square, or that I judge something even easier?16 Comparing these general aspects, it is possible to observe some distinctive features that allow us to distinguish the Cartesian argumentative strategy from that of the classical skeptics. Ancient skeptics present arguments that evaluate if it is rational or not to give assent to a belief and conclude with suspension of the judgment. The Cartesian skeptic, on the other hand, is asking whether there are reasons to doubt a belief. There are, he suspends the judgment. As Perin17 points out, a reason for suspension of judgment regarding the proposition p is also a reason for suspension of judgment regarding the proposition not-p as well as any proposition that entails, or is entailed by, p or not-p. In Cartesian skepticism, by contrast, the skeptical arguments of the First Meditation are used to generate reasons for doubt. A reason for doubt is not necessarily a reason for suspension of judgment. It is possible to accept that there are reasons to doubt that p, that is, reasons why one is less certain that p, and yet still to find that there is sufficient evidence to assent to p.18 Aside from this fundamental difference in the purpose and use of ancient skeptical arguments in Cartesian skepticism, it has been maintained that ancient skepticism affects beliefs, while modern skepticism concerns itself exclusively with knowledge.19 If ancient skepticism affects beliefs, then it is much more radical than Cartesian skepticism, whose primary objective is knowledge rather than belief. However, this difference must be qualified. There are close relationships between knowledge and belief; doubting knowledge will involve calling into question beliefs related to what one knows. All that is known is a subset of what is believed, since it is impossible to know without believing. Hence, applying doubt to beliefs leads to a broader and more radical skepticism than that which deals only with knowledge. When beliefs are called into question, knowledge is called into question, but if I call into question what is known, there can still be beliefs that are not affected by the doubt. It has been assumed that Descartes questioned only what he knows. From  AT VII, 19.  AT VII, 21. 17  See C. Perin, op. cit. 18  Idid., p. 53. 19  Discussions on this point can be found in M. Schofield, M. Burnyeat & J. Barnes (eds.) Doubt and Dogmatism. Studies in Hellenistic Epistemology, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1980; M, Burnyeat, (ed.) The Skeptical Tradition, Berkeley & Los Angeles, University of California Press. 1983; J. Annas &, J. Barnes, The Modes of Scepticism: Ancient Texts and Modern Interpretations, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1985; M. Frede, Essays in Ancient Philosophy, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1987; G.  Striker, Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1996; M.  Burnyeat & Frede, M. (eds.), The Original Sceptics: A Controversy, Indianapolis, Hackett, 1997; R. Bett, (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. 15 16

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this perspective, there would be beliefs that had not been the subject of his skeptical scrutiny. However, it is not evident either that the ancient skeptic questions all beliefs or that Descartes questions exclusively what is known. If Descartes doubts only what is known, then he would have to be in a position to determine at the outset what he knows, which is exactly what he is investigating. Indeed, Descartes in The Meditations proposes not only to doubt what he knows but also what he believes he knows.20 Since believing implies believing that that which is believed is true, then Cartesian doubt cannot be simply reduced to what is known—for Descartes himself does not know at the outset what it is and is not known—but to what he has assumed to be true, that is, to what he believes. This difference between ancient skepticism and Cartesian skepticism is thereby diluted. Cartesian skepticism is no less radical than the ancient one. Therefore, Cartesian doubt must encompass what is believed.21 It has been argued that modern skepticism is more radical than ancient skepticism because the ancients neither question the existence of the external world nor propose the existence of a deceiving god, both of which Cartesian skepticism does.22 It is clear that neither the problem of the external world nor the hypothesis of a deceiving god appear in ancient skepticism in the manner in which they do in Descartes. The oppositions of awake/dreaming, health/sickness, and sanity/madness do not involve any epistemic assessment in the ancient skepticism,23 while they do so in Cartesian skepticism. Descartes thinks that being awake, healthy, and sane is epistemically superior to dreaming, being sick, and being mad. The Pyrrhonian does not suspend the judgment about whether honey exists, but about whether it has the quality of being sweet.24 Nevertheless, Descartes says that his skepticism is neither more radical nor more original than the old one.25 Descartes’s caution—or his error—can be explained in many ways, but there is no doubt that there are profound differences between ancient and Cartesian skepticism. Usually the relations between ancient and Cartesian skepticism have concentrated on these points, disregarding the very interesting relations that exist when Descartes encounters the ancient problem of the criterion and presents his solution. Let’s occupy ourselves with this problem now.

 AT., VII, 18.  AT., VII, 24; 59–60; 461; 476. 22  See M. Burnyeat, “Idealism and Greek Philosophy: What Descartes Saw and Berkeley Missed”, in Philosophical Review, XCI, January, 1982, pp. 3–40; M. Burnyeat, “The Sceptic in his Place and Time”, in Burnyeat & Frede 1997, pp. 92–128; R. Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmo to Spinoza, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1979; R.J Hankinson, The Sceptics, London & New York, Routledge, 1995; M. Williams, “Descartes and the Metaphysics of Doubt, in A.O. Rorty (ed.) Essays on Descartes’ “Meditations”¸ Berkeley, University of California Press, 1986, pp. 117–39; M. Williams, “Descartes’ transformation of the skeptical tradition”, in R. Bett (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010, pp. 288–313. 23  PH I, 100–117. 24  PH I, 19–20. 25  AT VII, 130; VIIIB, 366–367. 20 21

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5.2  The Cartesian Solution Following his presentation of the Ten Modes of Aenesidemus,26 Sextus introduces five new modes.27 In these modes, known as the Modes of Agrippa, any attempt to adjudicate between conflicting, equipollent beliefs, which would require finding a criterion by virtue of which one of the conflicting beliefs could be deemed true, will necessarily fall prey to one or more of the following objections: either the justification (or the criterion) produces an infinite regress28 or relies on an arbitrary assumption29 or is viciously circular.30 Only these possibilities would be available to resolve the equipollence between conflicting beliefs, and according to Sextus, these possibilities are formally invalid. This leads to the logical impossibility of justifying a belief or providing a criterion. The Modes of Agrippa not only show that opposing beliefs are equipollent, but also that there are no means to resolve such equipollence.31 The argumentative strategy of the Modes of Agrippa is not present in Sextus’s texts only where he expounds it. This strategy is present in the Modes of Aenesidemus and does not constitute a new resource of the skeptic, but one that he has used again and again. Striker, no doubt, is right in pointing out that some of the Modes of Aenesidemus do not present any difficulty to the dogmatic opponent. They show only a conflict between appearances: When, to take Striker’s example,32 one person likes apples and another does not, this does not lead to a skeptical controversy about whether apples taste good or not. Clearly there is no real controversy about whether apples “taste good or bad” because this has nothing to do with what apples are like, but with those who eat apples. However, the Aenesidemus modes do not exclusively offer this kind of conflict. In many of them the conflict is not only an apparent conflict, but a source of genuine controversies among dogmatists. Many commentators reject the skeptical consequences of Agrippa’s modes and search for a solution. These modes are based on two assumptions: (i) no belief can rationally be accepted if it is not justified and (ii) every belief is open to question regarding its justification. Both assumptions are fundamental to Agrippa’s modes; therefore, rejecting one or both of them would defuse the challenge they present. A possible solution is now to demonstrate that there are beliefs that are not debatable  PH I, 36–164.  PH I, 164–177. 28  PH I, 166. 29  PH I, 168. 30  PH I, 169. 31  See J. Barnes, The Toils of Scepticism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990; G. Striker, “Scepticism as a Kind of Philosophy”, in Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie, 83, 2001, pp. 113–129; G. Striker, “Sceptical Strategies”, in M. Schofield, M. Burnyeat, & J. Barnes (eds.), op. cit., pp. 54–83 und in G. Striker, Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996, pp. 92–115; R. Fogelin, Pyrrhonian Reflections on Knowledge and Justification, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1994. 32  G. Striker, op. cit., p. 123. 26 27

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or that we can rationally accept as true without justificatory support from other beliefs. This position, which is a form of what is now called epistemic foundationalism, is far from exclusively contemporary; it is already present in Aristotle33 and Descartes. The foundationalist solution to Agrippa’s problem basically consists in considering that a belief is justified if it is supported by a basic belief or if it belongs to the subset of basic beliefs that supports other beliefs. Beliefs are basic justified if (i) they are justified by something that is not a belief, say, sensory data, or (ii) they are self-justified. In both cases, basic beliefs are considered to be epistemically privileged beliefs. Therefore, a justification system is foundationalism if a set of beliefs C has the following characteristics: (i) Set C has a subset B of privileged beliefs such that B supports epistemically all other beliefs belonging to C. (ii) For each belief of subset B, it is given that they are justified in a non-inferential way. Each belief of set C belongs to subset B or is in relation R—to be justified by—to other beliefs of subset B. The characteristics of foundationalism that we have been defining are the characteristics that any foundationalist system must comply with. Specific foundationalist systems are differentiated by two characteristics: (i) the set of basic beliefs (i.e., which beliefs belong to subset B) and (ii) the type of relationship between basic beliefs and beliefs that are not basic. The Cartesian solution to the Agrippan problem states that (i) for any proposition p, if I perceive clearly and distinctly that p, then I know that p and (ii) I know that (i) is true. The Cartesian foundationalism does not lie exclusively in the fact that there are beliefs that can be self-justified, as in the case of the cogito, but in the fact that self-justification must also be accepted as a criterion of truth. This additional characteristic allows self-justified propositions to be self-justified for any subject. Let us now see how this reading of Cartesian foundationalism can be developed. We have seen that the Agrippan challenge is to show how it is possible to justify a belief. Descartes’s problem, at least in the First Meditation, is how to determine which beliefs are true. Descartes’s problem has to do with the truth, and that of Agrippa with the justification. However, in the Third Meditation the Cartesian problem moves towards a problem that has a close relationship with the problem of justification. Descartes is aware of the Agrippan critique of knowledge: “And neither is it possible for a proof to be sound without the prior existence of a true criterion, nor for a criterion to be true without the previously confirmed proof”.34 At the beginning of the Third Meditation, after he has found the clarity and distinctness present in the cogito to be a criterion of truth, Descartes initiates an evaluation of the criterion. The criterion by virtue of which the certainty of cogito has been established demands a proof. The criterion cannot be validated exclusively by the clarity and distinctness of the cogito, because the Pyrrhonists would accuse Descartes of arguing in a circle: “And thus the criterion and the proof fall into the

33 34

 See, Aristotle, An. Post., 72b 15–25.  PH I, 116; see AT VII, 35.

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circularity type of aporia, in which both are found not to be credible; for each, while it awaits the credibility of the other, is equally incredible with the other”.35 But when I took anything very simple and easy in the sphere of arithmetic or geometry into consideration, e.g. that two and three together made five, and other things of the sort, were not these present to my mind so clearly as to enable me to affirm that they were true? Certainly if I judged that since such matters could be doubted, this would not have been so for any other reason than that it came into my mind that perhaps a God might have endowed me with such a nature that I may have been deceived even concerning things which seemed to me most manifest. But every time that this preconceived opinion of the sovereign power of a God presents itself to my thought, I am constrained to confess that it is easy to Him, if He wishes it, to cause me to err, even in matters in which I believe myself to have the best evidence.36

The issue is not simply that a deceiving God can cause Descartes to go wrong in doing arithmetic. At the beginning of the Third Meditation there is a critical examination of the criterion of clarity and distinctness that must be shown as valid without falling prey to any of Agrippa’s modes: I am certain that I am a thing which thinks; but do I not then likewise know what is requisite to render me certain of a truth? Certainly in this first knowledge there is nothing that assures me of its truth, excepting the clear and distinct perception of that which I state, which would not indeed suffice to assure me that what I say is true, if it could ever happen that a thing which I conceived so clearly and distinctly could be false.37

Descartes considers that it is not enough to be certain of something for that thing to constitute knowledge. Although it is impossible to doubt the truth of the cogito, it is possible to question the criterion of truth. It might be possible that by using it as a criterion I equivocate, assuming that what is clearly and distinctly perceived is in fact truth. The evaluation of the criterion of truth indicates that the Cartesian epistemic position cannot be characterized as an uncritical foundationalism, and Descartes’ interest here is to offer an answer to the challenge of the criterion proposed by Sextus. If we recall the debate with the Atheist, it is even clearer that the Cartesian interest is to avoid an uncritical foundationalism and offer a solution to the Pyrrhonist challenge: That an atheist can know clearly that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, I do not deny, I merely affirm that, on the other hand, such knowledge on his part cannot constitute true science, because no knowledge that can be rendered doubtful should be called science. Since he is, as supposed, an Atheist, he cannot be sure that he is not deceived in the things that seems most evident to him, as has been sufficiently shown; and though perchance the doubt does occur to him, nevertheless it may come up, if he examine the matter, or if another suggests it; he can never be safe from it unless he first recognises the existence of a God.38

 PH I, 117  AT VII, 36. 37  AT VII, 35. 38  AT IX, 111. 35 36

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The atheist can clearly know that the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles; moreover, given that the atheist can know it clearly, then he is certain. However, this belief could be questioned, either by him or by someone else. The certainty rests here in the conviction of the subject, and this can vary. If the infinite regress were to be stopped on the basis of states of certainty such as that of the atheist, the skeptic could insist that we have only avoided the infinite regress to fall into an arbitrary assumption. It is then necessary to evaluate the criterion. By recognizing that in the Third Meditation Descartes is carrying out an evaluation of the criterion and that this evaluation corresponds to an evaluation at a meta-level, we can see that in this Meditation there is not a naïve and vicious circularity. The traditional interpretation, according to which the Cartesian circle is vicious and naive, argues that for Descartes to be absolutely certain that his clear and distinct ideas are true, he must be certain that God exists and is not a deceiver; but to be certain that God exists and is not a deceiver, Descartes must be certain that his clear and distinct ideas are true. Although this interpretation has certain advantages, it is not clear that it agrees with some of the Cartesian texts.39 According to the paragraphs of the Third Meditation quoted above, Descartes is considering the possibility that what he perceives as clear and distinct may not be clear and distinct and that, therefore, he is mistaken. Descartes explicitly notes that “I must inquire whether there is a God as soon as the occasion presents itself; and if I find that there is a God, I must also inquire whether He may be a deceiver; for without a knowledge of these two truths I do not see that I can ever be certain of anything”.40 If this is so, then it cannot even be established that what I perceive clearly and distinctly is true. The impossibility of coming out of this circle is presented because what is intuited as clear and distinct has not yet been established as known to be clear and distinct. In Descartes, any case of deductive knowledge depends on an intuition that is epistemically prior to deduction. It is precisely on the basis of this reading of Cartesian foundationalism where the circle is shown to be vicious. The problem of the circle and of Descartes’s incoherence occurs because it is thought that Cartesian foundationalism is uncritical and it is assumed that the propositions (i) I can know with certainty that what I perceive clearly and distinctly is true if and only if I know with certainty that there is a God and (ii) I can know with certainty that there is a God if and only if I know with certainty that everything perceived with clarity and distinctness is true are at the same logical level. The lesson Descartes seems to be giving is that the challenge posed by the skeptic cannot be solved if one considers that the proofs and the criterion belong to the same logical level. The justification of the criterion and its application are different moments and levels of epistemic assessment. The clear and distinct intuition of a God does not belong to the same type as the clear and distinct intuition of the cogito. An uncharitable view of the Third Meditation usually considers that recourse to a God is only a piece of theology within the Cartesian system. Certainly, appealing to

39 40

 AT VII, 124–125; 214.  AT VII, 36.

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a God can be interpreted this way. But Descartes had no other means of making us see that the criterion of truth can never be justified within the belief system in which it is applied, as many epistemologists now argue.

Bibliographical References Annas, Julia and Barnes, Jonathan. 1985. The Modes of Scepticism: Ancient Texts and Modern Interpretations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barnes, Jonathan. 1990. The Toils of Scepticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bett, Richard, ed. 2010. The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Broughton, Janet and Carriero, John, eds. 2008. A Companion to Descartes. London: Blackwell Publishing. Burnyeat, Myles. 1982. Idealism and Greek Philosophy: What Descartes Saw and Berkeley Missed. Philosophical Review 91: 3–40. ———, ed. 1983. The Skeptical Tradition. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press. ———. 1997. The Sceptic in his Place and Time. In The Original Sceptics: A Controversy, eds. Myles Burnyeat and Michael Frede, 92–128. Indianapolis: Hackett. Burnyeat, Myles, and Frede, Michael, ed. 1997. The Original Sceptics: A Controversy. Indianapolis: Hackett. Descartes, René. 1996. Œuvres de Descartes. Edited by Adam & Tannery, Paris, Librairie Philosophique J.  Vrin. All translations are of The Philosophical Works of Descartes. 1981. Edited and translated by Haldane, E. & Ross, G. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fine, Gail. 2000. Descartes and Ancient Skepticism: Reheated Cabbage? The Philosophical Review 109 (2): 195–234. Fogelin, Robert. 1994. Pyrrhonian Reflections on Knowledge and Justification. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Frede, Michael. 1987. Essays in Ancient Philosophy. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hankinson, Robert J. 1995. The Sceptics. London/New York: Routledge. Mates, Benson. 1996. The Skeptic Way: Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Perin, Casey. 2008. Descartes and the Legacy of Ancient Skepticism. In A Companion to Descartes, ed. Janet Broughton and John Carriero, 52–65. London: Blackwell Publishing. Popkin, Richard H. 1979. The History of Scepticism from Erasmo to Spinoza. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rorty, Amelie O., ed. 1986. Essays on Descartes’ “Meditations”. Berkeley: University of California Press. Schofield, Malcolm, Myles Burnyeat, and Jonathan Barnes, eds. 1980. Doubt and Dogmatism. Studies in Hellenistic Epistemology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Striker, Gisela. 1980. Sceptical Strategies. In Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics, 92–115. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1996. Essays on Hellenistic Epistemology and Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2001. Scepticism as a Kind of Philosophy. Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 83: 113–129. Williams, Michael. 1986. Descartes and the Metaphysics of Doubt. In Essays on Descartes’ “Meditations”, ed. Amelie O. Rorty, 117–139. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2010. Descartes’ transformation of the skeptical tradition. In The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism, ed. Richard Bett, 288–313. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 6

Modern Skeptical Disturbances and their Remedies Catalina González

In dubio pro vita. Odo Marquard

Abstract  Modern philosophers often express regret about the mental burden that skepticism imposes on them. Hume famously complained that skeptical doubt led him to “melancholy and delirium.” Descartes accepted that a “provisional” system of morality had to be put in place in order to deal with the irresolution derived from his method of doubting everything not evident to reason. Pascal thought that reason’s feebleness was the result of corrupted human nature and could be cured only by a wholehearted “leap of faith” to revealed religion. This attitude comes as a surprise when we recall that the ancient Pyrrhonians understood skepticism as a technique to attain peace of mind (ataraxia). Sextus Empiricus famously stated that doubt and suspension of judgment were the most suitable attitudes for abstaining from dogmatism and precipitated belief—the main sources of mental distress. Why, then, do Descartes, Pascal, and Hume find skepticism so mentally disturbing? Is this a common reaction to the revival of skepticism in modernity? Which particular trait of the modern philosophical ethos do these disturbances reveal? And finally, can we find other modern philosophers for whom skepticism has instead the therapeutic import the ancients saw in it? In this article, I attempt to answer these questions by following the historical diagnosis offered by the contemporary skeptic Odo Marquard. According to him, modern philosophy counteracts the “excessive expectations of meaning” promised by medieval Christian metaphysics. However, for some modern philosophers with yet a metaphysically-driven character, accepting the skeptical critique of metaphysC. González (*) Universidad de los Andes, Bogotá, Colombia e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_6

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ics brought about a great deal of distress. An exception may be found in Michel de Montaigne, for whom the skeptical recognition of the weakness and finitude of human nature led instead to a serene acceptance of the shortcomings of human existence. His attitude is, in my view, a good portrayal of what Marquard sees as the practical end of skepticism, namely, the healthy institution of a “dietetics of our expectations of meaning.”

6.1  The Practical Burden of Doubt: Cartesian Irresolution Let us begin with a brief sketch of modern skeptical discomforts. At the end of the First Meditation, Descartes expresses the distress he experienced while applying his methodical doubt: But to carry out this plan requires great effort, and there is a kind of indolence that drags me back to my customary way of life. Just as a prisoner, who was perhaps enjoying an imaginary freedom in his dreams, when he then begins to suspect that he is asleep slave who in sleep enjoys an imaginary liberty, when he begins to suspect that his liberty is but a dream, fears to awaken, and conspire is afraid of being woken up, and let’s himself sink back into his soothing illusions; so I of my own accord slip back to my former opinions, and am scared to awake, for fear that tranquil sleep will give way to laborious hours of waking, which from now on I shall have to spend not in any kind of light but in the unrelenting darkness of the difficulties just stirred up.1

Descartes dreads the state of doubt and wishes that he could come back to his life of quick opinion and prejudice. We can observe in this paragraph how skeptical doubt is for him a self-imposed constraint envisaged to restrain our natural inclination to assent to the most basic propositions, such as the existence of our own body and the external world. Descartes’s metaphor of a slave that dreams he has regained his liberty clearly indicates the duress of philosophical skepticism. Indeed, common life offers the freedom to follow one’s inclinations to judge, while philosophical reflection involves enduring rigorous reflection and questioning one’s most cherished opinions and prejudices. This self-disciplining effort is felt by the will, even that of a well-trained philosopher, as a tiresome and exacting endeavor. Now, as we know, soon after his lamentation, Descartes finds in the cogito the Archimedean point that saves him from his skeptical doubting.2 Liberated by a first known truth, Descartes is free to embrace the flights of metaphysical speculation, answering one by one the skeptical questions of the First Meditation. Nonetheless, skepticism continues to besiege him in practical matters, for even if the Meditations 1  AT, IX, 16 (Transl. M. Moriarty, p. 17). Descartes also insist on this distress at the beginning of the second meditation: “Yesterday’s meditation has plunged me into so many doubts that I still cannot put them out of my mind, nor, on the other hand, can I see any way to resolve them; but as if I had suddenly slipped into a deep whirlpool, I am in such difficulties that I can neither touch bottom with my foot, nor swim back to the surface”. AT, IX, 23–24 (Transl. M. Moriarty, p. 17). 2  AT. IX, 22–24 (Transl. M. Moriarty, p. 18).

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have provided a resting place for theoretical enquiry, doubt reappears when the will has to choose among diverse courses of action, and this brings about yet another discomfort—irresolution. In the Passions of the Soul, Descartes describes irresolution as a “species of apprehension,” which provides a service to the will, by forcing it to pause and deliberate before acting. However, it may also become excessive when it is caused by “too great a desire to do well, and from a weakness of the understanding, which only has a lot of confused notions and none that are clear and distinct.”3 This excessive irresolution is a disposition of the soul to always follow the passion of apprehension before deciding how to act and is brought about by the desire to act rightly in the face of uncertain judgment. Moreover, it leads to repentance, for after having acted, the irresolute person continues to doubt about the rightfulness of her deed: (…) it often happens that weak minds repent of things they have done without knowing for sure that those things are bad, they are convinced of this only because they are apprehensive that this is so, and if they had done the opposite they would repent in the same way.4

Excessive irresolution, as described by Descartes, is a very painful passion. The irresolute person desires to believe something and to act in accordance with it, but the arguments in favor of and against this particular belief move the balance of her assent in opposite directions, leaving her in a state paralysis. I believe it is fair to say that the distress of this passion – at least in cases where it is so deeply rooted that it becomes a character trait – comes from the fact that the irresolute person is ruled by the dogmatic principle that true practical beliefs are actually attainable, and, as a result, is permanently afraid of being mistaken.5 Because of her desire for theoretical accurateness and moral uprightness, in the face of practical uncertainty she develops a deep fear of error. In other words, the irresolute person’s epistemic ego is vast, while her moral consciousness is tyrannical. For this reason, repentance will always accompany her actions—a passion that Descartes identifies as a sign of moral weakness.6  AT. XI, 459–460. Art. 170 (Transl. S. Voss, p.113).  AT. XI, 472–473. Art. 191. (Transl. S. Voss, p.122). 5  For an important discussion about Cartesian irresolution, see: S. Brassfield, “Descartes and the Danger of Irresolution,” Essays in Philosophy, 14(2), 2013, pp. 162–178. According to Brassfield, irresolution is “a kind of anxiety, or apprehension (…) about choosing badly that tends to increase our uncertainty about the goodness of a course of action” (ibid.,165). She also directly links irresolution and uncertainty when she says: “it is the first element of irresolution, the lack of a clear and distinct perception or a firm and determinate judgment about our actions that is the essential element of irresolution” (ibid., 166). 6  As described by Brassfield: “Because she is at the mercy of her passions, the irresolute person is liable to be misled and disappointed since the passions exaggerate the goodness or badness of things, and she is liable to undo or abandon her previous projects since the passions are inconstant. When she fails to accomplish a goal, or wastes her effort pursuing a false one, she is liable to experience remorse and repentance, and she cannot take consolation in the thought that she did what she judged best, because she did not act on her judgments.” Ibid., 172. I disagree only with Brassfield’s assumption that the irresolute person is at the mercy of various passions besides apprehension and the desire to act well. I believe that the irresolute person is actually so blinded by these 3 4

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To avoid this state of mind, Descartes advises resolution, which entails temporarily adopting some beliefs as if they had been proven true. In the second maxim of his provisional morals, he tells us he has decided to be: (…) as firm and resolute in my actions as I could, and to follow the most doubtful opinions, once I had decided on them, with no less constancy than if they had been very well assured. (…) And thus, the actions of life often tolerating no delay, it is very a very certain truth that, when it is not in our power to discern the truest opinions, we must follow the most probable (…) And from then on this was able to free me from all the regret and remorse that usually agitate the consciences of those frail and irresolute minds that allow themselves inconstantly to go about treating as good things that later judge to be bad.7

Descartes also recommends resolution, understood as firmness of judgment, in the Passions: This is why the remedy for this excess [of irresoluteness] is to accustom ourselves to form certain and decisive judgments about whatever is presented and to believe that we always discharge our duty when we do what we judge to be the best, even though perhaps we judge very poorly.8

Acting in accordance with a probable yet uncertain opinion about the best course of action, is the only remedy for the irresolute person’s mental distress. Interestingly enough, it is also a step towards becoming a full skeptic, since far from giving dogmatic assent to the opinions upon which one acts, it entails embracing the fundamental uncertainty of the issue at hand, and, nonetheless, persevering in judgement and action. In the Passions, Descartes recognizes that we may “judge very poorly” in practical matters, yet when we think we have deliberated as appropriately as we can, we may become resolute. This attitude, described as the will to “do what we judge to be the best,” involves also the recognition that we cannot “do what is actually the best.” Thus, resolution requires a will that has somehow grown immune to doubt, precisely because it knows it cannot cease to doubt— it realizes and accepts that it may never find a definitive practical answer. The resolute person is, in sum, one that persists in her decisions, while recognizing the insufficiency of the grounds that justify them. Perhaps Descartes was not completely aware that his proposed remedy was in fact a lesson on how to abandon dogmatism and embrace skepticism. It is interesting that our philosopher included this remedy in his provisional morals. The other skeptical maxim contained in it, namely, to follow the laws and traditions of one’s community, is part of Sextus’s well-known response to the apraxia objection.9 This response provided important orientation for action while suspending judgment, but did not aim at supplying a remedy for the mental distress caused

two passions that s/he is unable to act on other desires and inclinations, as for example, passions related to self-interest. 7  AT. VI, 25–27 (Transl. D. Cress, p. 14). 8  AT. XI, 460. Art. 170 (Transl. Voss, p.113). 9  PH. I, 23–24

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by uncertainty.10 The fact that ancient skeptics, particularly the Pyrrhonians, did not seem to be very concerned with irresolution is an indication that this passion, as I have argued, is a consequence of practical dogmatism. Since Pyrrhonism regarded doubt and suspension of belief as a remedy to the suffering produced by dogmatism—i.e., by believing courses of action to be actually right or wrong,11 in order to act it was enough for them to follow their natural drives and the customs of their community, and this observation warranted as well the constancy and effectivity of their agency.12 It seems, in sum, that irresolution is only a distressing attitude when the desire for or expectation of attaining practical knowledge is present. As we know, Descartes wrote for those who were deeply engaged in the search for scientific truth and moral knowledge. For them, as for Descartes himself, irresolution was a mental ailment in need of a cure. But for a full-fledged skeptic, who has already abandoned the desire for practical certainty, irresolution is not a source of mental perturbation anymore.

6.2  T  he Wretchedness of Human Condition: Pascal’s Original Sin and his Leap of Faith Pascal’s disturbance has a very different nature than Descartes’s, perhaps because his skepticism is founded on the Christian conviction that the feebleness of the human mind is impossible to overcome, as it is the clearest indication of original sin. For Pascal, the human intellect is weak  – i.e., all it can achieve is error and doubt – while his will is inconstant – i.e., driven by passions and only persevering in its effort to find distractions from pain and boredom. As a consequence, human beings spend their lives oscillating between frightful doubt and temporarily appeasing distractions. This state is both a sign of our wretchedness and of our greatness, for it testifies that, having been created by God to attain complete knowledge and happiness, we have fallen from our rightful place in paradise: We desire truth and find in ourselves nothing but uncertainty. We seek happiness, but find only wretchedness and death. We are incapable not desiring truth and happiness, and incapable of either certainty or happiness. We have been left with this desire as much as a punishment as to make us feel how far we have fallen.13

 See: K. Vogt, “Skepticism and action,” in R. Bett (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Skepticism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010, pp. 165–180; Correa Motta, A. “¿Es posible vivir el escepticismo?” In Lozano and Meléndez (eds.). Convertir la vida en arte: una introducción a la filosofía como forma de vida, Bogotá: Universidad Nacional de Colombia, 2016, pp. 91–132; and H. Thorsrud, Ancient Skepticism. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2009, pp. 173–200. 11  PH. I, 29–30. 12  PH. I, 23–24. 13  Pensées §20 (Sellier numeration). Transl. A.J. Krailsheimer, 1966, pp.118. 10

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Unlike Descartes’s, Pascal’s skeptical doubt is not a methodological constraint but a natural propensity of human nature, defined by biblical revelation as corrupted by original sin, and, thus, prone to error. In fact, it can be said that Pascal’s skepticism has a metaphysical and religious foundation. As H. Phillip argues: Pascal relates our desire for truth and our subsequent discovery only of uncertainty to a punishment which makes us aware of what we have fallen from (…). Pascal not only proposes an explanation of the human condition, but also, as the necessary component of an apology, the remedy that removes us from the moral impasse of purely human solutions.14

In the pensée entitled “Disproportion of Man,” Pascal situates this condition in a cosmological landscape: humans are finite beings situated between two infinities— the infinitely great and the infinitely small. Compared either to the vastness of the universe or to the diminutiveness of the particles that compose matter, the human mind is but an imperceptible middle point in the universe. Moving constantly between these two infinites, it can never achieve adequate knowledge: Such is our true state. That is what makes us incapable of certain knowledge or absolute ignorance. We are floating in a medium of vast extent, always drifting uncertainly, brown to and fro; whenever we think we have a fixed point to which can cling and make fast, it shifts and leaves us behind; if we follow it, it eludes our grasp, slips away and flees eternally before us. Nothing stands still for us. This is our natural state, and yet the state most contrary to our inclinations. We burn with desire to find a firm footing, an ultimate, lasting base on which to build a tower rising up to infinity, but our whole foundation cracks and the earth opens up into the depth of the abyss.15

Our inability to attain knowledge is a consequence of the place we occupy in this infinite cosmos. The metaphor of the boundless space on which human beings are always drifting, incapable of finding anchorage or shore, has indeed a strong emotional effect. It describes a discouraging experience—that of a will which is pulled in multiple directions, searching for a resting point but unable to find it. If Descartes’s metaphor of the slave who dreams he has regained his liberty and does not want to awake depicts a will that cannot move freely because of the self-imposed shackles of skeptical doubt, Pascal’s universe of uncertainty is instead an inferno of liberty, wherein the will is utterly disoriented and lost. Using yet another dismal metaphor, Pascal affirms that our natural fallen condition as human beings necessarily leads to a constant battle between reason and the senses, in which both faculties unrelentingly take turns to delude each other: Man is nothing but a subject full of natural error that cannot be eradicated except through grace. Nothing shows him the truth, everything deceives him. The two principles of truth, reason and senses, are not only both not genuine, but are engaged in mutual deception. The

 Henry Phillips, “Pascal’s Reading and the Inheritance of Montaigne and Descartes,” in The Cambridge Companion to Pascal, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003, p.  27. This article provides a good comparison between the understanding of original sin in Pascal and Montaigne. 15  Pensées §230 (Sellier numeration). Transl. A.J. Krailsheimer, 1966, pp. 63. 14

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senses deceive reason through false appearances, and, just as they trick the soul, they are tricked by it in their turn: it takes its revenge.16

As if this battle were not yet sufficient source of suffering, our passions also enter the scene to exert their influence: “The senses are disturbed by passions, which produce false impressions. They both compete in lies and deception.”17 Pascal’ internal state is, therefore, as turbulent as the external, cosmic landscape he describes. Human beings experience their inner infinity as an endless dispute among their mental faculties, which leads to perpetual doubt, deceit, and falsity. For Pascal, the only cure for this wretched condition is a leap of faith. Our mental disturbances may be healed only by a complete renunciation of reason. Believing that the human longing for knowledge and happiness can only be granted to our immortal soul by God, Pascal famously advises that we wager our lives of rational weakness and limited happiness for an afterlife of infinite blessedness: Let us then examine this point, and let us say: ‘Either God is or he is not’. But to which view shall we be inclined? Reason cannot decide this question. Infinite chaos separates us. At the far end of this infinite distance a coin is being spun which will come down heads or tails. How will you wager? Reason cannot make you choose either, reason cannot prove either wrong.18

In brief, Pascal recommends renouncing the vain and aimless efforts of reason and embracing revealed dogma—that is, giving one’s irrational assent to religious belief or, in his words, accepting the reasons of “the heart.” Given reason’s incapacity to answer the most important question of all – namely, whether there is or there is not God – we must wholeheartedly adopt Christianity and hope, with absolute certainty, for the very best to come. Pascal’s solution to skeptical doubt departs in many important ways from Descartes’s. In the theoretical realm, Descartes sees skeptical doubt as a necessary but transitory stage of human reflection, a preparatory device to set in the right direction the rational search for metaphysical truth. Hence, he does not renounce reason, but rather finds a foundational truth on which to build the edifice of metaphysics. For Pascal, inversely, rationally attaining metaphysical truth is just an illusion. He recommends that we completely give up metaphysical inquiry and embrace revealed religion. In the practical domain, however, Descartes’s remedy of resolution is, as we have seen, a step towards embracing a complete moral skepticism. Evidently, Pascal also wants us to be resolute, but for him resolution ought instead to arise from the certainty provided by religious faith. Hence, Pascal’s practical remedy is the consequence of a theoretical, yet irrational, certainty; while Descartes’s does not have any theoretical foundation. In sum, Pascal’s solution to skeptical doubt is a consummation of religious irrational dogmatism—a total, existential submission to faith and the Christian way of life.  Pensées §78 (Sellier numeration). Transl. A.J. Krailsheimer, 1966, pp.12–13.  Ibid. 18  Pensées §680 (Sellier numeration). Transl. A.J. Krailsheimer, 1966, pp.122. 16 17

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6.3  “ Philosophical Melancholy and Delirium”: Hume’s Return to Natural Belief and Common Life Notwithstanding the force of Pascal’s existential struggle, the most renowned modern lamentation of the effects of doubt is Hume’s portrayal, in A Treatise of Human Nature, of the “melancholy and delirium” his skepticism about the metaphysical principles of experience has brought upon himself: My memory of past errors and perplexities, makes me diffident for the future. The wretched condition, weakness, and disorder of the faculties I must employ in my enquiries, increase my apprehensions. And the impossibility of amending or correcting these faculties, reduces me almost to despair, and makes me resolve to perish on the barren rock on which I am at present, rather than venture myself upon that boundless ocean, which runs out into immensity. This sudden view of my danger strikes me with melancholy; and as ’tis usual for that passion, above all others, to indulge itself, I cannot forbear feeding my despair, with all those desponding reflections, which the present subject furnishes me with such abundance.19

The paragraph is reminiscent of Pascal’s scenery of a boundless space in which the human mind is constantly straying and fearful. However, the space in Hume’s metaphor is no longer the infinite cosmos, but a more mundane ocean; and reason does not wander but instead stays fixed on an isolated rock, surrounded by a sort of sublime immensity.20 Hume’s imagery also contains a vivid reference to the weakness of the human faculties and to their inescapability from this precarious condition. Most importantly, however, it refers directly to the passion of melancholy, which had been absent both from Descartes’s and Pascal’s description of their skeptical disturbances. In his 1734 letter to Dr. Georg Cheyne, Hume frames his philosophical experience in the context of the so-called “disease of the learned.” He tells the physician that he has already been diagnosed with this ailment and points to the distressing nature of philosophical speculation, reporting how, while reflecting on the writings of the ancient moralists – among them, Cicero – he felt that “the force of the mind [met] with no resistance but [wasted] itself in the air, like an arm when it misses its aim.”21 In my view, Hume refers here to the way in which the philosopher who seeks to account for the first principles of human nature tries in vain to attain the truth. Whenever she approaches a conclusive thesis, her skeptical doubts reappear to

 T, I, 264.  Kant will use the same metaphor in the section concerning the distinction between phenomena and noumena in the first Critique: “We have now not only traveled through the land of pure understanding, and carefully inspected each part of it, but we have also surveyed it, and determined the place for each thing in it. But this land is an island, and enclosed in unalterable boundaries by nature itself. It is the land of truth (a charming name), surrounded by a broad and stormy ocean, the true seat of illusion, where many a fog bank and rapidly melting iceberg pretend to be new lands and, ceaselessly deceiving with empty hopes the voyager looking around for new discoveries, entwine him in adventures from which he can never escape and yet also never bring to an end” (I. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, Transl. P. Guyer and A. Wood, A236/B295). 21  Hume, Letters I, 14. 19 20

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divert her assent; and when she tries, alternatively, to maintain the opposite thesis, this one too vanishes in an air of contradictory inferences. Hume describes this mental state as a ceaseless combat—a “self-imposed violence” that brings about the deepest melancholy.22 The only way to counteract this affection, he argues in the Treatise,23 is resorting to our natural, instinctive inclination to believe, and engaging in everyday non-philosophical activities, such as social commerce and entertainment: Most fortunately it happens, that since reason is incapable of dispelling these clouds, nature herself suffices to that purpose, and cures me of this philosophical melancholy and delirium, either by relaxing this bent of mind, or by some avocation, and lively impression of my senses, which obliterate all these chimeras. I dine, I play a game of back-gammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends; and when after three or four hours of amusement, I wou’d return to these speculations, they appear so cold, and strain’d, and ridiculous, that I cannot find in my heart to enter into them any farther.24

Surprisingly enough, Hume advises precisely what both Descartes and Pascal had rejected as inadequate and contemptible solutions to the burden of skepticism. Descartes encourages continuing the search for a foundational truth and maintaining control over our natural proclivity to irrationally assent to common-sense beliefs and prejudices. Pascal, on the other hand, considers social distractions to be shallow and ineffective remedies to what is and ought to be seen as an existential plight, only to be resolved by religious conversion. For him, dining and playing backgammon would only conceal our longing for infinity, which manifests our rightful human vocation, which is, to be united to God. Both philosophers’ views, then, seem completely at odds with Hume’s return to natural belief and engagement in social life. Hume’s solution to skeptical distress, furthermore, involves refraining from metaphysics and circumscribing philosophical reflection to human affairs. He does not just recommend assenting to common-sense beliefs, but also urges us to  D, I, 133. I agree with Loeb’s interpretation, according to which Hume’s most important criticism of Pyrrhonian skepticism is not that it leads to apraxia, but that it leads to melancholy: “This is a deeper objection to the Pyrrhonian than Hume’s first criticism, the familiar Humean point that there are beliefs that cannot be suspended. Even if belief could be suspended, tranquility could not be achieved through equipollence. (…) in Hume’s view, this gains nothing for the skeptic in respect to tranquility.” L. Loeb, Stability and Justification in Hume’s Treatise. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 9. 23  As a number of scholars have argued, this solution is primarily posited by Hume in the Treatise, while in the Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding as well as in the Dialogues on Natural Religion, Hume has already adopted Academic fallibilism, a mitigated form of skepticism, which allows him to overcome melancholy without having to resort to the uncritical dogmatism of natural belief. See: B.  Stroud, “Hume’s Scepticism: Natural Instincts and Philosophical Reflection,” Philosophical Topics, 19 (1), (1991). p. 287; T. Penelhum, “Hume’s Skepticism and the Dialogues,” in D. F. Norton, N. Capaldi and W. L. Robison (eds.), McGill Hume Studies, San Diego, Austin Hill Press, 1979, p. 259 and God and Skepticism: A Study in Skepticism and Fideism, Dordrecht: Reidel Publishing Company, 1983, p. 124; and J. Immerwhar, “A Skeptic’s Progress: Hume’s Preference for the First Enquiry,” in D. F. Norton, N. Capaldi and W. L. Robinson (eds.), McGill Hume Studies, San Diego: Austin Hill Press, 1979, p. 237. 24  T, I, 269. 22

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investigate matters of importance for human life, such as the principles of human nature on which morality is based: This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so reasonable, that it suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural powers of the human mind and to compare them with their objects, in order to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper subjects of science and enquiry.25

In this sense, one can say that Hume’s answer does not merely entail a return to instinctive and ordinary dogmatism, but also the Enlightened effort to discipline one’s philosophical tendencies and redirect them from the heights of metaphysical speculation to the everyday terrain of human matters. In this sense, Hume’s answer to the ailments of skepticism is to acknowledge the limits of the human understanding, and to redirect the philosophical search to feasible cognitive ends. His embrace of natural belief, human entertainment, and a research of practical human matters allows him to overcome melancholy without completely renouncing skepticism. He ultimately incorporates the skeptical outlook, while limiting the scope of doubt or suspension of belief.

6.4  M  odern Skeptical Disturbances and Marquard’s Historical Diagnosis In his essay “On a Dietetics of the Expectations of Meaning,”26 Odo Marquard argues that some of the common traits of contemporary societies  – i.e., political protest, religious fundamentalism, consumerism, new-age and self-improvement trends, etc. – which are usually viewed as forms of dealing with the meaninglessness of human existence, actually conceal a more fundamental problem—an excess in our expectations of meaning. He claims: “The experience of meaning deficits does not always have to be due to lack of meaning; it can also result from excessive expectations of meaning.”27 Marquard traces the historical origin of this excessive expectations of meaning back to Christianity. The Christian promise of a world rationally ordered by divine providence, and of a joyful afterlife granted by God to the morally upright produced –particularly during the Middle Ages but also afterwards – an inflation of our expectations of meaning or happiness. In other words, ever since Christian salvation became the standard to evaluate any sort of human flourishing, no earthly life could be seen as satisfactory or meaningful anymore: I do not consider it impossible that our contemporary need to be spoiled with meaning was promoted by Christianity, and specifically, when meaning as happiness was (…) outbid by meaning as salvation, by the Christian assurance that God has promised human beings that  EHU., 12, 3, 163.  Marquard, op. cit. 27  Ibid, 36. 25 26

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they were not only (as in the Greek case, with happiness) included, in a finite way, in a good finite ‘deal’ – in the polis, in the individual – but more than that, they were (in the Christian case, with salvation) included in an absolute way, in an absolutely good deal, namely in God’s deal.28

Now, for Marquard, this excessively high level of expectations of meaning withstood important historical attacks. One such attack was produced by the modern Enlightenment and its critique of metaphysics. The task of this critique was precisely to deflate the excessive expectations of meaning of Christian metaphysics and to replace them with a more mundane, pragmatic, and sober view of human existence: When the State, modern science, and the system of needs and its economic and technical articulations make their pragmatic decisions, nothing is decided any longer in the manner of salvation; and vice versa. This becomes unsensational, in its pragmatic sobriety, and (to that extent) a bit boring.29

Even though Marquard does not explicitly refer to the role played by the modern revival of skepticism in this historical development, being a skeptic himself,30 he would have likely agreed with the general statement that this sobering tendency of the Enlightenment and its critique to metaphysics is in large measure a consequence of the skeptical resurgence.31 He would also have agreed, I believe, with the claim that, after a long engagement with Christian metaphysics, many modern philosophers must have had a very hard time incorporating the new skeptical questioning of philosophical principles. Thus, in my opinion, Descartes, Pascal, and Hume attest in their writings the natural resistance to what Marquard identified as the full force of modernity’s sobering tendency. In the face of unprecedented doubt about the meaning of the universe and the place of human life in it, the modern philosopher experiences new sorts of anxiety, such as irresolution, existential anguish, and melancholy. I cannot develop here Marquard’s historical account of the way in which the Enlightenment’s anti-metaphysical tendency declined during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and how this reversal led to today’s new exacerbated demands

 Ibid, 41.  (Ibid, 41). 30  For Marquard’s personal avowal of skepticism see: O.  Marquard, “Farewell to Matters of Principle. Another Autobiographical Introduction,” in Farewell to Matters of Principle. New York/ Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1989, pp. 3–21. 31  For a history of the introduction of skepticism in Modernity, see the classical studies of R. Popkin: The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003; The History of Scepticism From Erasmus to Descartes, Assen: Van Gorcum, 1960; The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza, University of California Press, 1979; and The High Road to Pyrrhonism, R.  Watson y J.  Force (eds.) Indianapolis: Hackett, 1993; and The Third Force in Seventeenth-Century Thought, Leiden: Brill, 1992. For the relation between skepticism and the Enlightened critique of metaphysics, see: S. Charles and P. Smith (eds.). Scepticism in the Eighteen Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung. Dordrecht, Springer, 2013. 28 29

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for meaning.32 This brief outline seeks only to situate Descartes’s, Pascal’s, and Hume’s account of skeptical distress in an overarching historical narrative. In my view, if we believe this narrative, we may better understand why some of their solutions seem instead to be efforts at dogmatically conquering skepticism and reconciling it with Christian dogma. Indeed, Pascal’s leap of faith and Descartes’s rationalistic metaphysics propose new dogmatisms that justify the human longing for absolute meaning. Their answers attempt to make it possible for the philosopher to continue having excessive expectations of meaning in spite of the forcefulness of the skeptical challenge. However, not everything in their proposed remedies entails a return to dogmatism. As we have seen, Hume’s limitation of enquiry to human affairs and Descartes’s maxim of resolution seem to be genuine ways to continue to hold a skeptical attitude in spite of its accompanying distress. They do not attempt to provide a foundation – either rational or irrational – to the metaphysical promise of absolute meaning, but instead seek to offer ways to cope with the pain derived from the deflation of such expectations. In this sense, albeit timidly, they provide the sort of skeptical remedies that Marquard identifies with a “dietetics of our expectations of meaning.” According to Marquard, this “dietetics” ought to be understood in the way that the ancient schools did, namely, as a part of a broader technique called “the art of living.”33 In a nutshell, the dietetics consists in “the cultivation of an unsensational sense of meaning,” which can be attained by following the motto: “Sense, and this one ought to know, is always the non-sense one lets go.”34 Given the finitude and brevity of human existence, Marquard argues, it is necessary to renounce different forms of nonsense, among them the tendency to consider that everyday habits, activities, and relationships are not as valuable as otherworldly or utopic states of affairs. For only by attaching value to the particular aspects of our finite life can we attain the parcel of happiness—in the midst of unhappiness35—that may save us from falling into absolute despair: Human beings do not despair as long as they always have something else to attend to: to keep the milk from boiling over, to drive the train to the next station, to feed the baby, to

 Briefly, Marquard argues that the sobering tendency of the Enlightenment was counteracted by a new metaphysical revival, namely, German Idealism. The core of this revival is what Marquard calls the “Program of making man absolute.” See: O. Marquard, “In Defense of the Accidental: Philosophical Reflections on Man,” in In Defense of the Accidental. New York/Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1991, pp. 109–129. In a sort of Hegelian dialectical movement, Marquard sees nineteenth and twentieth-century nihilism and existentialism as the tendency to compensate for such an absolute program. Existentialism’s negation of meaning is, in turn, counterbalanced by the contemporary increase in our expectations of meaning. Op. cit. 42. 33  Ibid, 38. 34  As Marquard acknowledges, this motto is a modification of Wilhelm Busch’s: “The god, and this one ought to know, is always the evil one lets go.” After characterizing the different meanings of the term “sense,” Marquard decides to focus on what he calls the “empathic meaning of sense,” which can be equated to the “meaning of life” or even to “happiness,” since, according to him, “sense or meaning is a pseudonym for happiness” (ibid, 38). 35  See: O. Marquard, Glück im Unglück: philosophische Überlegungen. München, Fink, 1995.

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finish the operation, to write the recommendation for which the deadline is approaching, to give the stranger directions, and so forth. Thus, on account to these little delaying factors (…) human beings, delayed (just as they ought to be) by their daily tasks, regularly arrive too late to their rendezvous with the absolute No.36

Marquard thus advises to desist from the sort of “non-sense” that our long-term engagement with Christian metaphysics has brought about, and modern skepticism and Enlightened philosophy intended to counteract. As we can see, Descartes’s maxim of resolution may qualify as a form of this “dietetics,” since it advises to abandon the urge to be practically right or, what is the same, to stop thinking that absolute meaningfulness can be attained in the form of perfect virtue. Moreover, Hume’s remedy is akin to Marquard’s advice, since he counsels a return to our everyday human endeavors and warns us of never forgetting that we are only occasionally philosophers but always human beings or, in other words, that our practical engagements are more worthwhile than our theoretical ones.37 Now, we must admit that the situation did not looked so gloomy for all modern philosophers dealing with the revival of ancient skepticism. The sobering force of modern skepticism was also welcomed by less metaphysically-minded thinkers such as Montaigne. He shared with the spirit of the Renaissance the admiration for the Hellenistic ideal of philosophy as a way of life, and gladly embraced Pyrrhonism as a method to avoid dogmatism. I shall, then, close this article with a brief outline of his jovial attitude towards skepticism—an attitude that I consider to be a good instantiation of Marquard’s “dietetics of our expectations of meaning.”

6.5  M  ontaigne’s Acceptance of Human Inconstancy and Finitude Two aspects of Montaigne’s thought especially point to his capacity to cheerfully but realistically accept the skeptical outlook—namely, his recognition of human inconstancy and his attitude towards death. Both indicate how he was able to renounce, through the adoption of ancient Pyrrhonism, the very high expectations of meaning of Christian metaphysics. Montaigne’s exercise of self-portrayal delves into those aspects of human nature that reveal its imperfection—i.e., inconstancy, weakness of the will, error in judgment, and fear of death. In “Of the Inconstancy of our Actions,”38 for instance, he asserts: “Of men I believe constancy to be more difficult than anything else, and  Op. cit., 44.  “Abstruse thought and profound researches I [nature] prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception of which your pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philosopher but amidst all your philosophy, be still a man” (EHU, I. 9, 6). 38  For a parallel treatment of inconstancy, see also: Montaigne, “Of Virtue”, in The Complete Works. Trans. Donald Frame. New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 2003, pp. 646–653. 36 37

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nothing easier than inconstancy.”39 He illustrates this claim with multiple historical examples in which human action resulted from changing circumstances and motives, and concludes by highlighting the difficulty faced by historians when trying to explain the actions of men. Human beings, he argues, are incapable of steady action: Our ordinary practice is to follow the inclinations of our appetite, to the left, to the right, uphill and down, as the wind of circumstance carries us. We think of what we want only at the moment we want it; and we change like that animal, which takes the color of the place you set it on. What we have just now planned, we presently change, and presently again we retrace our steps: nothing but oscillation and inconsistency: “like puppets we are moved by outside strings.” [Horace] We do not go, we are carried away, like floating objects, now gently, now violently, according as the water angry or calm.40

Although we could interpret Montaigne’s argument as a lamentation, in fact, his essay is merely descriptive and only seeks to warn us against rapidly ascribing a fixed character to any agent. His argument also relies on an evaluation of his own fluctuating motives, for Montaigne assures us that “all contradictions may be found in me,” and whoever takes seriously the exercise of self-reflection will find the same variety within him- or herself. Thus, te absence of any possible expectation of constancy is pervasive throughout his text. Montaigne neither offers a remedy to this inconstancy and variability of judgement nor agonizes over the practical uncertainty that produces it. Although he does not speak directly about irresolution, he would most probably consider it yet another manifestation of the variability and inconstancy of human motives. It seems, in fact, that Montaigne is unfamiliar with the torments of the passion portrayed by Descartes. Moreover, while he does resort to the image of human beings moving adrift “according to the gentleness or rapidity of the current,” this metaphor does not have the dark overtones of Pascal’s and Hume’s imagery. Instead, we can sense in his description a sort of graceful acceptance of the variability of human character, especially of his own: If I speak of myself in different ways, that is because I look at myself in different ways. All contradictions may be found in me by some twist and in some fashion. Bashful, insolent; chaste, lascivious; talkative, taciturn; tough, delicate; clever, stupid; surly, affable; lying, truthful; learned, ignorant; liberal, miserly, and prodigal: all this I see in myself according to some extent according to how I turn; and whoever studies himself really attentively finds in himself, yes, even in his judgment, this gyration and discord.41

According to C.  Brush, in this essay we can observe a Montaigne who has already distanced himself from his early commitment to Seneca and who begins to consider that the constancy the Stoics assign to virtue is actually not attainable by human beings.42 This separation from Stoicism seems to have been a consequence  My translation. The French reads: “Je crois des hommes plus malaisément la constance que toute autre chose et rien plus aisément que l’inconstance”. 40  Ibid, p. 291. 41  Ibid, p. 294. 42  “(…) it is hard to believe, that the soul can be dyed and imbued with such exalted qualities as these, so that they become ordinary, and, as it were, natural to her” (Montaigne, “Of Virtue,” 39

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of his newly acquired familiarity with Pyrrhonism, but it was also fostered by his lenient and empathic character.43 Montaigne seems to cheerfully accept the hazardous nature of human deliberation—the unpredictable participation of the passions in our decisions, the volatility of our judgment, and the compelling force of circumstances. Not being in the position of the dogmatist who, desiring perfect virtue, fears practical error and falls inevitably into repentance, Montaigne would not find in Descartes’s moral precept a remedy for a mental disturbance, but at the most a corrective to excessive inconstancy or a method for adopting an orderly and not over-­passionate way of life.44 Notwithstanding this possible concession for him it is actually the acknowledgement of the natural inconstancy of the human soul what can alleviate the irresolute person’s desire to always act rightfully. In this sense, his attitude is much more skeptical than Descarte’s, Pascal’s, and Hume’s. Montaigne’s tranquil acceptance of human inconstancy is, in my view, closely related to his cultivation of the awareness of death. He entitles one of his most beautiful essays with the Platonic dictum, “That to Philosophize is to Learn to Die.”45 Here he refers to the common habit of hiding the fact of death from our consciousness. We use euphemistic expressions to refer to dying and try to avoid at all costs the very idea of our demise, but this permanent avoidance of the reality of death, he argues, does not help us prepare for our last hour. On the contrary, it only exacerbates our fear of death and makes our agony more unbearable than death itself.46 Since death is the most common event of human life, it is foolish to try to avoid thinking about it. He recommends instead that we conquer our fear by assiduously imagining it: Let us rid it of its strangeness, come to know it, get used to it. Let us have nothing on our minds as often as death. At every moment, let us picture it in our imagination in all its aspects. At the stumbling of a horse, at the fall of a tile, at the slightest pin prick, let us promptly chew on this: “Well, what if it were death itself?” And, thereupon, let us tense ourselves and make an effort [to keep death ever in mind].47

In fact, for Montaigne, the most important source of mental distress is not doubt, but rather the utmost certainty of human life—our mortal condition. His therapeutic advice is to dwell on it, envisaging the occasion of our demise in its many possible

p. 647). According to Brush: “Even in the most Senecan of the essays, Montaigne had been aware that there were cracks in the wall he wished to build around himself and that its foundations might well be weak. More than once he had been reminded that the nonchalance of the ignorant seems every bit as efficacious as the austerity of the sage” (C. B. Brush, Montaigne and Bayle. Variations on The Theme of Skepticism, The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 1966, p. 57). 43  See: Montaigne, “Of Cruelty,” p. 377. 44  Here I follow Brush: “Now constancy is a major virtue of the classics, and one that Montaigne had already shown his distrust of because it is simply beyond the capacities of human nature. It is to be replaced as the goal of ethics in the more mature essays by the more humble and more attainable quality of order” (Brush, Op. cit., p. 85). 45  Montaigne, op. cit., pp. 67–82. 46  Ibid, 69–71. 47  Ibid, p. 72.

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forms, until our mind grows used to its reality and loses the fear of it. Although this does not seem to be a very skeptical remedy, Montaigne’s rumination on death is in fact a strategy very akin to skepticism, since the constant return to the thought of death seems to ultimately bring about a moment in which its value as a good or bad thing is suspended. In this way, death stops being good or evil, and is taken for what it is—just a fact of life. For Montaigne, we believe death to be an evil only because we think that either it will be painful while happening or produce sorrow afterwards, when our immortal soul suffers eternal punishment. Following the Epicureans, he recommends to alleviate the first concern by keeping in mind that either death occurs suddenly and, hence, causes no pain, or is the result of a long infirmity, in which case the very weakness of our bodily condition prepares us to serenely, even gladly, accept it: “What is more, Nature herself lend us her hand and gives us courage. If it is a quick and violent death, we have not leisure to fear it; if it is otherwise, I notice that in proportion as I sink into sickness, I naturally enter into a certain disdain for life.”48 To dispel the second fear, once again with the Epicureans, he argues that there is nothing to fear after death because we will not exist to experience it. Even if he gives the latter argument a Christian slant, saying that: “Our religion has no surer human foundation than contempt for life. (…) For why should we fear to lose a thing, which once lost, cannot be regretted?”49 his resorting to many of Lucretius’s arguments seems to imply that he is not worried about their anti-Christian overtones. Some of these are, for example, the symmetry between the time before birth and after death,50 the natural cycle of flourishing and decay,51 and the comparison of human life with a feast from which we should depart satisfied.52 Although I do not want to claim that Montaigne maintained a secular view of death, for he seems to have been, indeed, a conservative Christian fideist,53 I believe his Christianity was so tainted by Pyrrhonian skepticism that he was rather cautious about holding the Christian belief in an afterlife. As A. Bonadeo puts it: (…) Montaigne contends that Christian religion whose surest human foundation is precisely “contempt for life”, that is, disdain for everything pertaining to this world, is a valid support to his view that life is much less valuable than commonly thought. Undoubtedly the French gentleman plays fast and loose with religious concepts as he willfully ignores that the Christian contempt for life on earth is rooted in the notion of the immortality of the soul in another world, a belief foreign to his intellectual scheme. In any event, his bias reveals a

 Ibid, p. 75.  Ibid, p.77. 50  Ibid, p. 77. 51  Ibid, p. 79. 52  Ibid, 78. 53  See: T. Penelhum, God and Skepticism: a Study in Skepticism and Fideism, Dordrecht, Reidel Publishing Company, 1983, pp. 18–30; A. Hartle, “Montaigne and Skepticism.” in The Cambridge Companion to Montaigne. Ullrich Langer (ed.), Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, pp. 183–206. 48 49

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singular eagerness to reduce both the excessive importance man usually places upon his own existence, and his excessive attachment to it.54

Unlike Pascal, for whom the only way out of skepticism was a leap of faith that involved embracing the belief in the existence of God and in the promise of an absolutely joyful afterlife, Montaigne was rather reluctant to affirm that the fear of death should be overcome by the Christian hope in eternal life, even if he embraced Catholic faith and championed the skeptic’s adherence to the authority of the Church. Instead, he adopted the much soberer view of the Epicureans, according to which, even if death is the absolute end, we should not fear it, for we would not be there to suffer from it. More importantly, Montaigne believes that by habituating to the thought of our own deaths, we will also free ourselves from other fears—of pain, poverty, sickness, old age, etc. In this way, the assiduous reflection on death extends suspension of judgment about the value of death to of other aspects of life usually considered as evil. For this reason, reflecting upon death is, for Montaigne, a powerful method to ease the anguish of human life: Premeditation of death is premeditation of freedom; he who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave. Knowing how to die frees us from all subjection and constraint. There is nothing evil in life for the man who has thoroughly grasped the fact that to be deprived of life is not an evil.55

In conclusion, Montaigne’s recipe is a sort of Marquardian “dietetics of the excessive expectations of meaning” because, even if respectful of Christian dogma, his engagement with skepticism allows him to control the metaphysical dogmatist’s tendency to expect absolute meaning for a finite, brief, and inconstant human life. His skepticism is realistically cheerful, since he does not desire from human life more than it actually offers. In this sense, we can say that he follows Marquard’s maxim: “sense, and this one ought to know, is always the non-sense one lets go.” Descartes, Pascal, and Hume were unable to completely adopt this skeptical maxim, but Montaigne did, and in so doing, he understood skepticism as the ancients did— as a way of life leading to inconstant and finite but worthwhile ataraxia.

References Bonadeo, Alfredo. 1980. Montaigne and Death. Romanische Forschungen 92 (4): 359–370. Brush, Craig B. 1966. Montaigne and Bayle. Variations on The Theme of Skepticism. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Charles, Sébastien, and Plínio J.  Smith, eds. 2013. Scepticism in the Eighteen Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung. Dordrecht: Springer. de Montaigne, Michel. 2001. Les Essais. Paris: Librerie Générale Française. ———. 2003. The Complete Works. Trans. Donald Frame. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

54 55

 A. Bonadeo, “Montaigne and Death,” Romanische Forschungen, 92, 4 (1980), p. 360.  Montaigne, Op. cit., 72.

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Descartes, René. 1982. Œuvres complètes, ed. Charles Adam and Paul Tannery. Paris: J. Vrin. [AT]. ———. 1989. The Passions of the Soul. Trans. Stephen Voss. Indianapolis-Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company. ———. 1998. Discourse on Method. Trans. Donald. A. Cress. Indianapolis-Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company. ———. 2008. Meditations on First Philosophy. Trans. Michael Moriarty. Oxford: Oxford University Press, Hume, David. 1932. The Letters of David Hume, ed. J. Greig. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1986. A Treatise on Human Nature, ed. L. Selby-Bigge. Oxford: Clarendon Press. [T]. ———. 2007a. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [EHU]. ———. 2007b. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, ed. Dorothy Colman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [DNR]. Immerwhar, John. 1979. A Skeptic’s Progress: Hume’s Preference for the First Enquiry. In McGill Hume Studies, eds. D. F. Norton, Nicholas Capaldi y Wade L. Robinson, 227–238. San Diego: Austin Hill Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1998. Critique of Pure Reason. Trans. P.  Guyer and A.  Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marquard, Odo. 1989. Farewell to Matters of Principle. New  York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1991. Defense of the Accidental. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1995. Glück im Unglück: philosophische Überlegungen. München: Fink. Pascal, Blaise. 1966. The Pensées. Trans. A.  J. Kailsheimer. Baltimore and Maryland: Penguin Books. ———. 1999. Les provinciales, Pensées et Opuscules diverses. Paris: Classiques Garnier. Penelhum, Terence. 1979. Hume’s Skepticism and the Dialogues. In McGill Hume Studies, eds. D. F. Norton, Nicholas Capaldi y Wade L. Robinson, 253–278. San Diego: Austin Hill Press. ———. 1983. God and Skepticism: A Study in Skepticism and Fideism. Dordrecht: Reidel Publishing Company. Phillips, Henry. 2003. Pascal’s Reading and the Inheritance of Montaigne and Descartes. In The Cambridge Companion to Pascal, ed. Nicholas Hammond, 20–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sextus Empiricus. 1994. Outlines of Scepticism. Trans. R.  G. Bury. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press [PH].

Chapter 7

Skepticism and Clandestine Literature: Doutes des Pyrrhoniens Fernando Bahr

Abstract The latest studies on clandestine philosophical literature reveal the importance of this corpus to understanding how skeptical arguments were transmitted and modified in early modern Europe. We will try to show this by means of an anonymous text likely written before 1711 and entitled Doutes des pyrrhoniens (Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique, Cabinet des manuscrits fonds général, Inv. No. 15191). The manuscript is composed of eight chapters or doubts and distinguishes a “more moderate pyrrhonism” from a “furious pyrrhonism”. The latter, relying on the fraudulent character of all religions, wants to erase them from the face of the earth; the former, “a little more philosophical”, admits the existence of a God and is not even against religions: only the question of the origin and function of these institutions is allowed. Our main argument will be that the difference between these two forms of Pyrrhonism is less epistemological than it is political. Indeed, both forms agree that religion is a manifestation of social power that has nothing to do with an alleged divine revelation. The question is no longer about the truth of religion, but about whether or not it is advisable to abandon it as a regulatory component of society.

7.1  Introduction Those of us interested in the history of modern skepticism often stumble upon an obstacle when researching the first quarter of the eighteenth century, namely: the lack of a significant skeptical reference for that period. Indeed, it seems that the skeptical orientation, after having its last great figure in Pierre Bayle (1647–1706), moved on a marginal position, being replaced or set aside by other schools. This impression is supported even by Richard Popkin’s seminal study, The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle (third and final edition of 2003), whose subtitle suggests that an account that began during the Renaissance ends with Bayle, as F. Bahr (*) Universidad Nacional del Litoral, Santa Fe, Argentina © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_7

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if after the Rotterdam philosopher there were a break in the history of skepticism, which only resumed more than thirty years later with Hume and his Treatise on Human Nature (1739–1740). However, there is evidence that points in a different direction. Indeed, as Miguel Benítez (among others) has underlined,1 in 1718 Johann Albertus Fabricius published an edition of Sextus Empiricus’s works in Greek and Latin (the first since 1621) in Leipzig; then, in 1723 appeared Pierre-Daniel Huet’s Traité philosophique de la foiblesse de l’esprit humain in Amsterdam; and finally, in 1725 Swiss mathematician Claude Huart anonymously published the first complete French version of the Hypotyposis pyrrhoniennes. Therefore, skepticism is not eradicated from the European intellectual scene of the first quarter of the eighteenth century. Moreover, if we consider the twenty-six pages the Journal de Trévoux dedicates to Huart’s translation, the potential threats to Christianity posed by Pyrrhronism remained unquestionable, leaving the Journal writer with no choice but to bemoan the appearance of a new French version of Sextus.2 In any case, as Benítez also points out, it is clear that early-eighteenth-century thought, especially in France, was no longer interested in the epistemological content of skepticism, which did not get on well with the rationalist optimism characteristic of that time. According to “good people”—to use the rich expression of the Journal de Trévoux—in effect, faith had an unquestionable support from reason and, therefore, it could not help but give a scornful and distrustful look at the fideist leap of a Bayle or a Huet.3 Something similar is observed on the other end of the ideological spectrum, i.e., in the writings of atheists, radical deists, and pantheists, which include what is known as ‘clandestine philosophical literature’.4 It is true that if we let ourselves be 1  Miguel Benítez, “La duda como método: escepticismo y materialismo en la literatura clandestina”, La cara oculta de las Luces. Investigaciones sobre los manuscritos filosóficos clandestinos de los siglos XVII y XVIII, Valencia, Generalitat Valenciana, 2003, p. 349. 2  “Since Sextus Empiricus in his Sophistic doubts has not respected neither the sacred nor the profane, good people should show outrage to those who continuously insist on bringing this author back to the scene, whether in Greek, Latin or French” (Mémoires pour l’histoire de sciences et de beaux arts, January 1727, pp. 37–38). All translations are mine unless otherwise stated. 3  In the same comment about Huart’s translation, and after questioning that a philosopher as devout as Pierre-Daniel Huet could have been the author of the posthumous Traité de la faiblesse de l’esprit humain and so be considered a skeptic like Montaigne, Charron or Bayle (Ibid., p. 39), the writer adds: “How can I believe that there is a God if I must be suspicious of the reason that tells me so, of the wonders of the universe that announce so, of the geometric truths that are better suited for my intelligence and that are substantially more evident? I have no criterion, no judgment, no rule of truth and no certainty; who can thus assure me of the existence of that God?” (Ibid., p. 53). 4  “Clandestine philosophical literature” or, more simply, “clandestine philosophy”, must be understood as a corpus of more than three hundred works that spread across Europe between 1659 (when Theophrastus redivivus was written, perhaps the first and most important one) and mid-eighteenth century. Many of these are in French, some in Latin, and a few in English. Some are represented in only a single copy; others have been copied and repeatedly modified. In broad terms, the prevailing philosophical trends that appear in them are atheism and deism. However, as Antony McKenna has pointed out, we may also “find within the core itself of clandestine literature lost souls, sensitive

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swayed by titles, we will identify some in which skepticism seems to be at the core (Le Pyrrhonien, ou Discours de la nature et des passions de l’âme; Nouvelle philosophie sceptique; Arguments du pyrrhonisme pour une demoiselle). However, save the last of the aforementioned works,5 none of these address or make use of typical skeptical arguments regarding how reliable reason and the senses are in disclosing or arriving at truth. This kind of argument is no longer found interesting; furthermore, it is not rare for the term “skepticism” to be used in such a wide sense as to include features of a clearly dogmatic, though heterodox, philosophy.6 Thus, even in the clandestine literature it is common to think of “skeptic” and “Pyrrhonic” in a sense broader than Sextus Empiricus’s traditional trope model. Our aim in this work is to examine a specific clandestine manuscript entitled Doutes des Pyrrhoniens. First, we will describe its most important arguments. Then, based on the long account about the diversity of historical cults that comprises chapter eight of the work, we will look into the relationship between religion and politics. Third and last, we will consider a difference that the author draws between “moderate Pyrrhonism” and “furious Pyrrhonism” and analyze its importance.

7.2  The Manuscript The full title of the text we will examine is Doubts of Pyrrhonists. First, on whether religion has been created or given by God, or if it is a political artifice. Second, if God is the author, on which is the real one and the one we need to choose within the

minds and restless spirits who feel their way through the dark—philosophers who reject dogmatists’ final statements, who dare to doubt, and who after rejecting the ‘tie’ of faith as some say, far from discovering man’s greatness, discover his misery. In short, philosophers whose cry is not one of victory but of anguish, who reencounter the Pascalian situation of ‘the misery of man without God’” (Antony McKenna, “Le ver est dans le fruit: le scepticisme au XVIIIe. siècle: l’exemple de De Laube”, Scepticisme, Clandestinité et Libre Pensée, ed. G.  Paganini, M.  Benítez and J. Dybikowski, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2002, p. 166). 5  Benítez, op. cit., p. 350. 6  Undoubtedly, the most notable example of this is the work entitled, in one of its versions, Nouvelle philosophie sceptique, which was spread under the name Parité de la vie et de la mort. In its first printed copy of 1714, this text carried this full title: “Answer in the form of a dissertation to a theologist asking what skeptics—who seek the truth everywhere, both in nature and in philosophical writings—mean when they say that life and death are the same thing. Where we can see that life and death of minerals, metals, plants and animals, with all their attributes, are nothing more than ways of being of the same substance, to which these changes neither add nor take away anything. By Mr. Gaultier, Niort doctor”. In this way, the indifference (adiaphoria) of Pyrrho of Elis, that is, the state of equilibrium between pleasure and displeasure, attraction and rejection, in which the legendary father of skepticism, they say, tended to maintain himself, was transformed very quickly into a materialist thesis. Cf. Parité de la vie et de la mort. La Réponse de médecin Gaultier, ed. Olivier Bloch. Paris, Universitas, Oxford, Voltaire Foundation, 1993, pp. 119–121.

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vast number of different religions on Earth.7 There is no information about either the author or the place where it was written. Moreover, there is only one known copy of the text, also anonymously written after 1721, which is currently in the Bibliothèque Royal de Belgique (Cabinet de manuscrits fonds général, Inv. No. 15191). It has 114 pages. As regards a possible date of composition, Gianni Paganini hypothesizes that it could not have been before 1711.8 He makes this conjecture by taking two works quoted in the manuscript as chronological benchmarks: the work of Jesuit Louis Daniel Le Comte, Nouveaux mémoires sur l’état présent de la Chine, published in 1696, and especially the letter titled Sur la religion des Brahmanes, which Father Jean Venant Bouchet addressed to the bishop of Avranches (Pierre-Daniel Huet), and which was included among the Lettres édifiantes et curieuses and published in 1711 (not 1721, as claimed by the copyist). We could add a third work: the long, though tacit, quote of the article “Japon” from the Dictionnaire historique et critique by Pierre Bayle, an article that was only incorporated into the second edition of this work (the 1702 edition).9 As regards the terminus ante quem, Paganini notes 7  Doutes des Pirroniens / Premierement / Si la Religion est formée, ou / vient de Dieu; ou bien si c’est un / artifice des Hommes Politiques / Secondement / En suposant que Dieu en soit / l’auteur; / Savoir, quelle est la Veritable, / et celle qu’il faut choisir, d’entre / le grand nombre des Religions / differentes qui sont répandües / par toute la Terre. We quote based on the original manuscript: Bruxelles, Bibl. Royale de Belgique, ms. 15,191. The manuscript is bound and has an ex libris: “Ex Bibliotheca C. Van Baviere Facult. Juris. Acad. Bruxell. A secretis”. The text shall hereafter be quoted as Doutes. The only complete modern edition is the Spanish one: Dudas de los pirrónicos, ed. Fernando Bahr, Buenos Aires, El cuenco de plata, 2017. 8  Gianni Paganini, “Du bon usage du scepticisme: les ‘Doutes des pyrrhoniens’”, La philosophie clandestine à l’Age classique, ed. Antony McKenna and Alain Mothu, Paris, Universitas. Oxford, Voltaire Foundation, p. 293. 9  Regarding the moral customs of the monks of Japan called “bonzes”, the manuscript states the following: “They abstain from eating meat and fish, they shave their beards and their hair, they hide their excesses (like in other places) under the appearance of an austere life. Their main business is to bury the dead! Everything is like it is here. Peoples, convinced that in the other life their parents may have some needs, do not save at all to provide them the relief the bonzes promise them. They even use other artifices to grow rich: they borrow money from the simplest minds and promise to repay them in the other life with succulent interests—they say amongst themselves that there is plenty of time to pay. Those who want to draw a parallel between the East and the West will not find anything like these debts in the other world. On the other hand, however, many comparisons will be provided by unfulfilled celibacy, deceit hidden under the mantle of strict morals, benefits of burials, help sent to souls pulled apart from their bodies. Our missionaries reveal the frauds committed by the ministers of idols. They ridicule them, but as an old satirist said: ‘By just changing the name, the issue applies adequately to yourselves’” (Doutes, p. 97). Bayle, for his part, writes: “The bonzes make a profession of celibacy life. But ‘they do not always observe it very exactly. They abstain from meat and fish, they shave their beards and hair and they conceal their debaucheries under the appearance of an austere life’ [Journal des savans, 18 July 1689, p. 492, Dutch edition]. Their most profitable activity comes from burying the dead. For the people, being persuaded that the souls of their relatives may have needs in the next life, spare nothing to procure for them the comforts which the bonzes promise if they pay substantial alms. Another device which they use to enrich themselves is to borrow money by promising ordinary people that they will repay it with substantial interest in the world to come. And when they borrow in this way they say among them-

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that in the manuscript “there is no allusion whatsoever to the authors and works that mark the beginning of the great times of the 20s” (Voltaire and, especially, the Lettres persanes de Montesquieu). Therefore, it would date back to the second decade of the eighteenth century. Internally, the text is split into eight doubts, the latter by far the longest, as it takes up over two thirds of the text. Despite this asymmetry, the text is well organized, with clear and easily understandable arguments, without the digressions found in other works of clandestine literature.10 The anthropology is elementary, and from it the author derives time and again the consequences. This is laid bare right from the First Doubt: “all human actions are guided by fear of evil (pain) and hope of good (pleasure)” (Doutes, p. 3). Thus, “many philosophers” have wondered whether religion might constitute the invention of another form of punishment, one aimed at intimidating those who escape from human (legal) justice due to power or wealth.11 From the beginning, it is clear that the author places Pyrrhonists (and himself) among the many philosophers who think of religion as a political invention. Therefore, it is clear that we are in the presence of a specific notion of Pyrrhonism, selves that the terms are worth the rate [Ibid., p. 493]. Those who seek to draw parallels between the East and the West would be hard put to find an equivalent for debts payable in the world to come. Nevertheless, celibacy ill observed, deceit hidden under the appearances of a rigid morality, profit-making out of burials, and solace dispatched to souls separated from the body, would afford a great many comparisons. (…) Missionaries returning from the Indies publish accounts of the deceptions and frauds they have observed in the worship of these idolatrous nations. They laugh at them, but they should worry lest they are reminded of the saying ‘quid rides? mutato nomine de te fabula narratur’ (Horatius, Satires, 1.6) [‘Why do you laugh? Just change the name and the same tale can be told about you’]”. (Pierre Bayle, Political Writings, ed. Sally Jenkinson, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000, pp. 130–131). 10  Again, we are thinking about the work entitled Parité de la vie et de la mort, a “beautiful libertine mess” (as expressed by Olivier Bloch), regarding whose composition its author writes: “When I began writing, my only purpose was to elucidate in a few words your difficulty. If I did not fulfill said purpose, it is because from the outset I forgot what I had planned. And I followed my thoughts more or less like cards follow one another in a game of Lansquenet. Thus, this writing has grown to such an extent that you may not have the patience to read it. (…) I began more or less like a preacher who climbs his pulpit without being ready, who begins his sermon with the first thought that comes to his mind followed by thoughts introduced by fate, who moves from one topic to the next only because thoughts came to his mind this way, in a straight line, one after another” (Parité de la vie et de la mort, op. cit., p. 193). 11  This is a classic thesis in the history of freethinking. We may find it, e.g., in Pietro Pomponazzi’s Tractatus de immortalitate animae (1516), where he writes: “Some [men], anyway, are so ferocious and perverse by nature that they cannot be moved by any of those stimuli, as daily experience teaches us. For this reason, politicians have spoken about eternal rewards in the afterlife for the righteous; and for the immoral, eternal punishments that truly instill fear. Most men, if they do good, do so more for fear of eternal punishment than for hope of eternal reward. And since this last idea may be useful for all men, regardless of their kind, the lawmaker—aware of the human inclination towards evil and bearing in mind the common benefit—has sanctioned that the human soul is immortal, regardless of the truth and only in consideration of rectitude, with the purpose of carrying men towards righteousness” (Pietro Pomponazzi, Tratatto sull’immortalità dell’anima, ed. Vittoria Perrone Compagni, Firenze, Leo S. Olschki, Editore, 1999, pp. 99–100).

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a notion that to a large extent moves away from its Greek roots, transforming itself into an exclusively critical instrument of the beliefs we receive. Its aim is not “tranquillity in matters of opinion and moderation of feeling in matters forced upon us”,12 but to denounce oppression that seeks divine legitimization.13 But let us not get ahead of ourselves; let us move on to the Second Doubt. In this doubt an important clarification appears, namely, who “Pyrrhonists” refers to. Not to “the ignorant who say silly and crazy things and who can be talked into saying anything by means of deceptive arguments”, as the anonymous author says, but to those who have “some common sense (bon sens) and philosophy”: True and good Pyrrhonists do not doubt the existence of God in the sense in which the word God should be understood, which strictly means the First Eternal Being from whom everything originated. They also doubt neither our existence (as others want us to believe) nor the existence of the universe. In the same way, as I just stated, they do not doubt the real existence of the first sovereign Being. They simply doubt whether they know that all this we can see is [in reality] as it appears to be. (Doutes, p. 5)

We could say that “true and good Pyrrhonists” place their doubts under the mantle of bon sens. This and its most direct product, philosophy—a term that the manuscript always uses with a positive connotation—, protect them from falling into the absurdity their adversaries attribute to them, such as doubting one’s own existence or the universe’s, and also doubting the real existence of a first sovereign Being. Thus, “true and good Pyrrhonists” acknowledge a god in the sense of a first being from whom everything originated, and they consider this truth to be as clear as the two aforementioned truths. Regarding the last phrase of the extract (“Ils doutent simplemente de savoir, si tout ce que nous voyons, est tel qu’il nous paroît”), at first sight, it seems to echo the classic skeptical distinction between appearances and what is affirmed about appearances.14 Next, however, we discover that in this case the subject under investigation is narrower: not simply the reality of things, but the nature of divinity. Indeed, Pyrrhonists “doubt only the functions and characteristics men have bestowed upon it [God], or rather that they attribute to it” (Doutes, p. 5). The main reason why they doubt, he adds, is the contradictory nature of philosophers’ assertions on the subject. Thus, begins a very brief investigation of what philosophers have said in relation to divine attributes. The result of said investigation is that “men are very confused about the real knowledge of the nature of God, about how this divine Being is in itself, and even about whether there is only one of them (or many) and what it does”

 Sextus Empiricus, Outlines of Scepticism, ed. Julia Annas and Jonathan Barnes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, 10. 13  This includes moral oppression, political oppression, and even economic oppression, since “it was neither God who distributed the land so that some had more than they need and others nothing. It  left the land and the sea to all men in general. The strongest, or the cleverest, took it over, after which they made the law: that no one could take away what they owned” (Doutes, p. 27). 14  “When we investigate whether existing things are such as they appear, we grant that they appear, and what we investigate is not what is apparent but what is said about what is apparent – and this is different from investigating what is apparent itself” (Sextus Empiricus, op. cit., p. 7). 12

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(Doutes, p.  8). The conclusion is foreseeable. However, there are two elements worth highlighting on our way towards that conclusion: first, with the exception of the “Jew Spinosa”,15 all the philosophers mentioned in the investigation belong to classical Greece; second, despite the differences, philosophers seem to agree on a fundamental point, namely, that God is a material being or, to be more precise, that if there were a first cause, it could not be external to matter.16 It would appear that when reason is left to its own devices, it reaches conclusions that go against Christian beliefs. This impression is reaffirmed in the Third and Fourth Doubts, which focus on the possibility that the soul survives the death of the body. “We”, states the author, “believe that God specifically creates a soul out of thin air for every man, for the purpose of animating the human body when the male and the female perform the act of conception” (Doutes, p. 10). But it is clear that “we” describes a human doctrine that took several centuries to develop17 and that, in any case, “has no other basis than philosophers’ opinions and imagination” (Doutes, p. 16), just like the transmigration of souls defended by Egyptians and Pythagoreans. On the other hand, for Pyrrhonists “it is not possible to imagine something more apparent than that the principles that make up the body and soul into a single indivisible being meet after death in the universal matter, from which afterwards inanimate bodies, as well as what we call animate bodies, reproduce” (Doutes, p. 18). The Fifth Doubt is entitled “Whether what we call God is a being different from the substance of the universe and is the rewarder of good and bad deeds”. From the first phrase it is clear that the reconstruction of the history of philosophy offered by the author was going to be new: “Most ancient philosophers (especially Aristotle and Zeno, along with their supporters, Xenophanes, Parmenides, Melissus, the Egyptians, and even the Chinese, among many others) believed that the substance of the universe was God itself” (Doutes, pp. 18–19). This opinion—with the corollary “that everything is a part of God and substance”—was favorized in ancient times. It was also held by “several modern philosophers”, among whom once again is Spinoza. Pyrrhonists seem to acknowledge it or, in any case, gain from it a  Regarding the references to Spinoza in this manuscript, I allow myself to refer to my work: Fernando Bahr, “Spinoza, Bayle y la filosofía clandestina. Materiales para una refacción de la historia”, Spinoza en debate, ed. María Jimena Solé, Buenos Aires, Miño y Dávila, 2015, pp. 77–90. 16  This is also the case for Plato and Aristotle. Indeed, “Aristotle, Protagoras, Diodorus and others said that this order called Nature was eternal and that everything came from this first eternal material beginning, whose nature we do not know. Aristotle himself acknowledged the eternity of the world and everything in it: so the beginning of men was men, the beginning of the horse was the horse, who in turn came from other men and other horses who had existed since eternity. Plutarch claims that Plato held the same opinion; in Timaeus he described the formation of the world (as if it had had a beginning) only to explain better how the cause —or this divine and intelligent form he calls God—had created beings, which could only be done by assuming that things had begun being” (Doutes, pp. 6–7). 17  “Furthermore, that opinion was not established between us, but four or five centuries after the establishment of Christian religion. This appears to be so by virtue of Orosius’ letters to St. Augustine and from the latter to St. Jerome, and from Orosius’ journeys to visit the two Fathers seeking to untangle that uncertain article, that neither dared to clarify. Upon reading said letters, one can conclude that the Churches had many doubts and were divided on this issue” (Doutes, p. 11). 15

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conclusive answer to the doubt they raised. Not only would God not be a being different from the substance of the universe, which is absurd, the doctrine would also render absurd the very idea of remuneration. Indeed, “God cannot punish itself, since it is precisely it who acts on us and does everything” (Doutes, pp. 20–21).18 There is neither evil in the absolute sense, nor is there good; we call evil those who harm us and good those who are useful to us, but in reality “everything that happens is indifferent: dying or living, suffering or not suffering; this is indifferent to the eternal being from which everything is made” (Doutes, p. 21). Doubts six and seven delve into the subject of divine attributes and, especially, the attribute of justice. With a more personal undertone, the author expresses outraged at those who conceive divine justice yet follow human reason19 and at those who attribute to God a special providence that avenges “the acts that are crimes in relation to us, despite not being in any way crimes in relation to the supreme Being” (Doutes, p. 33). In both cases, the target is what today we would call “the thesis of human exception” or, in more Stoic terms, the thesis whereby “the universe has not been created for anyone but men and gods” (Doutes, p.  29).20 According to the author, on the contrary, there is nothing exceptional that distinguishes human beings from other animals21 or grants them a preferential place within the divine order. Therefore, the so-called “problem of evil” is a purely political problem, not a

 It is useful to remember that, for Pierre Bayle, this notion of a God as “both the agent and the victim of all the crimes and the miseries of man” was “the most monstrous hypothesis that could be imagined, the most absurd, and the most diametrically opposed to the most evident notions of our mind”, since, among other things, it lead us to conceive a God in a constant struggle with itself; in picturesque terms, a God that “modified into German has killed God modified into ten thousand Turks” (Pierre Bayle, Historical and Critical Dictionary. Selections, ed. Richard Popkin, Indianapolis/New York/Kansas City, The Bobbs-Merrill Company Inc., 1965, p. 312). 19  “I think it is so indifferent to God that you killed a lion as it was this lion that shattered you, that a man killed you or that you were the one who killed him (…). Millions of men die each hour on the surface of the earth, whether due to the order he established in Nature or due to plagues, wars, floods, and other harmful alterations of the elements; alterations which are also consequences of the natural order. In effect, what does it matter if men die from natural causes or perish due to the violence we just mentioned? What could that mean to the eternal Being?” (Doutes, p. 25). 20  On a sidenote, the manuscript reads: “Diogenes Laertius: Life of Zeno”. However, the quoted passage seems very similar to the one Cicero attributes to the Stoic Balbus: “The universe itself was made for both gods and men [Principio ipse mundus deorum hominumque causa factus est]” (Cicero, The Nature of the Gods, II, 154, ed. H. McGregor and J. M. Ross, London, Penguin, 1972, p. 185). 21  Against this very clear fact, the author states that, “at different times, they (and in our time, the famous philosopher Descartes) have tried to convince us that animals have no soul and that they are mere insensitive and unaware machines” (p.  30). Aside from that, he remembers two other authors: Mamertus and Pereira. The former, Claudianus Ecdidius Mamertus (fifth century AD), wrote the treaty De statu animae, which was compared by Louis Ellies Dupin with Cartesian doctrine (cf. Louis Ellies Dupin Nouvelle bibliothèque des auteurs ecclesiastiques, Mons, 1691, III, II, p. 226b). As for Spanish doctor Gómez Pereira (1500–c.1558), he wrote a work entitled Antoniana Margarita (1554), in which he held that animals were machines that lacked a sensitive soul. Bayle analyzes Pereira’s teachings on this matter in Pierre Bayle, Dictionnaire historique et critique, 5th. ed., 4 vols. Amsterdam/Leyde/La Haye/Utrecht, P. Brunel et al., 1740, III, pp. 649–656. 18

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metaphysical one, and “everything we call evil is only so in relation to society and not before God” (Doutes, p.  27). In this sense, laws are indispensable, but not divine.22

7.3  The Origin and Function of Religion The Eighth Doubt, which occupies 77 pages (from 37 to 114 of the original manuscript), is entitled in full “On the truth about Religion, whichever it may be. That is to say, it can be questioned whether religions come directly from God, as they all say, or from the invention of men who wish to instill fear in others and force them to comply with the precepts. In short: that the diversity of religions or cults of different religions enables us to doubt whether there is truly one religion that comes from God itself, or that is founded on its word”. Here we find a basic comparative history of religions, where what is sought (and deemed unattainable) is a criterion with which to determine that one of them is the true one.23 As we will see, for Pyrrhonists this does not mean that all religions are equally harmful, but it does mean that they are all equally human. Now, this view implies a theory about the origin of religions. The author introduces it somewhat unexpectedly by claiming that “it was philosophers who lead us to religion” (Doutes, p. 53). Indeed, according to the manuscript, it is recorded “in the hearts of all men” the conviction that “there is a superior, eternal, intelligent, infinite, immutable being from which everything comes and by whom everything was created” (Doutes, p. 108). This mark, carved by God itself, could be what drives certain human beings to strive to meet it—which is, alas, wasted effort, since divinity “is hidden, like the virtue of the sun under the abysm of its light” (Doutes, p. 107). However, divinity lies at the foundation of the great metaphoric constructs that guide schools and that we call philosophy. Philosophers’ hard and subtle work changed with time, especially when their thoughts reached the masses. These people took literally the teachings that philosophers had conveyed through allegories or hieroglyphs; they conceived of as real and corporeal entities what were originally only the results of intellectual distinctions  “The last resource you have is to say that such arguments ruin everything, that there will no longer be any limit or rule in societies; in short, that there will be only war and confusion. We agree. It is necessary for there to be laws such as the ones that exist. There is an absolute need for them, and magistrates could not go far enough in their duties to enforce them, as well as to punish transgressors. The only statement is that all actions performed are indifferent or, better said, in no way bad in relation to God; and that God is not the author of what men call evil to society, since everything we call evil is only so in relation to society and not before God” (Doutes, p. 28). 23  Cf. Gianni Paganini, Les philosophies clandestines à l’âge classique, Paris, PUF, 2005, p. 87. The main sources of this comparative history are Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride for Egyptian religion, Sir John Marsham’s Chronicus Canon Aegiptiacus, Ebraicus & Graecus (1672) for Jewish religion, and accounts from Jesuit missionaries (Bouchet, Martini, Le Comte, etc.) for Middle Eastern and Far Eastern religions. 22

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(cf. Doutes, p. 54). We can find a clear example of this process in ancient Egyptian philosophers, who had explained the order of the world based on an active and forming principle—“Osiris” in the Coptic language—and on a passive and recipient principle—“Isis”—and who had metaphorically attributed said principles to the sun and the moon respectively. However, the people either did not understand or forgot this metaphorical attribution and simply began worshiping the sun and the moon as deities. Something similar took place in Persia, Chaldea, and Greece, as well as among the Jews and most eastern religions. In all these cases, “the sublime and convenient way to express the majesty of God” that philosophers used from the outset to refer to the first principle gradually degenerated into superstition—i.e. absurd beliefs—and into idolatry—i.e. the worshiping of images of the deity as if they were the deity itself. Regarding Christianity, the manuscript distinguishes, as is typical of works of its time,24 between the particular rebellion of a good man (Jesus), who teaches very holy and perfect morals against the falseness and hypocrisy of the Pharisees and the people of the law, and the rebellion instigated by his followers, whose teachings turned him into the “Son of the Most High and True God” and conceived his terrible death on the cross as an expiatory sacrifice for the inconceivable “sin of the Apple” (Doutes, p. 77). Once more we see the degeneration that turns certain metaphors (for example, “Son of Man” or “Son of God”) into literal expressions. “But let’s stop a bit”, says the author, echoing Sextus’s respect for traditional laws and customs.25 “The respect I must have for this religion prevents me from continuing to talk about the unbelievable and utterly absurd things it suggests worshippers should believe” (Doutes, p. 79). In any case, and aside from such a curious reservation, it is clear that Christianity is also born within that transition from metaphor to literalness, from impersonality to personification, which lies at the core of religions. One can worship only what is personified, and the people do not need to understand what God is in theory, they need to entrust themselves to someone who saves or protects them from the misery and wickedness of the human condition. So far, we have allegedly explained the origin of religion. However, this explanation would not be complete unless we introduce two somehow antithetical figures who “produce”, so to speak, religion out of the metaphors that philosophers have invented. One of these figures—a clearly negative one—is the priest, who takes advantage of the gullible nature of most human beings for his own personal benefit and for the benefit of whoever happens to be in power. He does so by attributing to himself a special ability to communicate with the deity and pretending to be a  See, for e.g., the manuscript titled Cymbalum Mundi sive Symbolum Sapientiae, where it is set forth that Jesus never called himself “God”, “that his teachings were merely of philosophical nature and aimed at man living this life, not the next, calm and happy based on the precepts of moral philosophy” (Cymbalum Mundi sive Symbolum Sapientiae, ed. G. Canziani. W. Schröder and F. Socas, Milano, FrancoAngeli, 2000, pp. 142–144). 25  “By the handing down of customs and laws, we accept, from an everyday point of view, that piety is good and impiety bad” (Sextus Empiricus, op. cit., p. 91). 24

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mediator between the deity and the common people. Furthermore, priests, in their attempt to accumulate power, pit sects against each other in the name of an alleged exclusivity of divine representation. Priests also make men of different religions hate and wage war against each other like enemies, by making them “believe that they are doing something nice for God by killing and exterminating all those who do not think like them” (Doutes, p. 100). The other figure—this time a positive one—is the lawmaker. He understands that social bonds are almost impossible to maintain without a fear of punishment and hope for a reward greater than those that the human laws could provide. This is why—by virtue of “a very sensible policy” (Doutes, p. 37)—he intends for basic moral rules of coexistence to have a sacred nature and enjoy divine legitimization. In this sense, out of the three elements that make up every religion—a particular belief, a particular cult, and particular precepts—the lawmaker is in charge of establishing the precepts. For the author, such would have been the task, for example, of Moses, that “wise man and great philosopher” who could transform a stupefied and desert-wandering people into a community thanks to his ingenuity and luck. The example of Moses—like the example of Pythagoras26—clearly demonstrates what the function of religion is, namely, to turn those “carcasses full of wind and misery” that us human beings are into a society governed by the resource of fear and hope. Does it achieve this? In this regard, there is some hesitation between a thesis we may call “optimistic”—in line with Machiavelli or in line with Polybius’ famous passage27—and a pessimistic thesis, closer to Bayle. According to the former, the cited historical examples are sufficient proof that this work is possible, i.e., that fear and hope, when they claim to have a divine legitimization, are capable of guiding society and leading to peaceful coexistence. According to the latter, religion provides no guarantee in this sense; compliance with precepts results more from temperament than from religious beliefs.

 “Pythagoras, in order to set forth his morals, made others believe that he was the son of Mercury, that he had a thigh of gold, that he had been to the Hells; in short, he invented hundreds of tales of this nature, to achieve the veneration and admiration of the peoples of Italy, to which he gave their laws” (Doutes, p. 51). 27  “But the quality in which the Roman commonwealth is most distinctly superior is in my opinion the nature of their religious convictions. I believe that it is the very thing which among other peoples is an object of reproach, I mean superstition, which maintains the cohesion of the Roman State. These matters are clothed in such pomp and introduced to such an extent into their public and private life that nothing could exceed it, a fact which will surprise many. My own opinion at least is that they have adopted this course for the sake of the common people. It is a course which perhaps would not have been necessary had it been possible to form a state composed of wise men, but as every multitude is fickle, full of lawless desires, unreasoned passion, and violent anger, the multitude must be held in by invisible terrors and suchlike pageantry. For this reason, I think, not that the ancients acted rashly and at haphazard in introducing among the people notions concerning the gods and beliefs in the terrors of hell, but that the moderns are rashest and foolish in banishing such beliefs” (Polybius, The Histories, 5–8, trans. W.  R. Paton, Cambridge/London, Harvard University Press, 1923, III, p. 295). See Niccolò Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy, trans. Harvey Mansfield and Nathan Tarcov, Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1996, pp. 34–36. 26

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The author hesitates between both stances. However, in the wake of Bayle’s Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet,28 he insists more on the latter than on the former: “there is a large number of people who believe in everything and, nonetheless, still follow their bad inclinations, without being restrained by that knowledge”. On the other hand, there are many others “who, despite not believing in anything taught by religions, do not cease to live morally well because of that” (Doutes, p. 39). “It is clear,” he concludes, “that each individual acts according to the appetite of his temperament and not to the logic of the greater good” (Doutes, p. 39). In any case and despite the author’s hesitations, it is clear that the aspect he is most interested in analyzing and highlighting in every religion is the legitimization of precepts or laws. According to the manuscript, religion should be understood in basic terms and, first and foremost, as artem politicam; as such, it should be valued as long as it serves to maintain social order.29 Now, let us analyze the way in which this also affects the author’s portrayal of Pyrrhonism.

7.4  “Furious” and “Moderate” Pyrrhonism At the beginning of the Eighth Doubt, there appears a new element. Up to that point, the manuscript only highlighted the link between religion and political power without making an assessment of the link. This same silence, together with phrases such as “it is the evil and perversion of humankind that has given rise to societies and religions” (Doutes, pp.  41–42), seems to suggest that “religion systems” are  “Whence comes it, I beg you, that although there is among men a prodigious diversity of opinions bearing on the manner of serving God and of living according to the laws of propriety, one nonetheless sees certain passions consistently ruling in all countries and in all ages? Why are ambition, avarice, envy, the desire to avenge oneself, shamelessness, and all the crimes that can satisfy these passions seen everywhere? Why are Jew and Mohammedan, Turk and Moor, Christian and Infidel, Indian and Tartar, the inhabitant of the firm earth and the inhabitant of the isles, nobleman and commoner, all the sorts of peoples who in other respects have as it were nothing in common except the general notion of man—why are they so similar in regard to these passions that one might say they copy one another? Whence comes all this, if not from the fact that the true principle of the actions of man (I except those in whom the grace of the Holy Spirit is deployed with all its efficacy) is nothing other than the temperament, the natural inclination toward pleasure, the taste one contracts for certain objects, the desire to please someone, a habit gained in the commerce with one’s friends, or some other disposition that results from the ground of our nature, in whatever country one may be born, and from whatever knowledge our mind may be filled with?” (Pierre Bayle, Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet, trans. Robert Bartlett, Albany, SUNY, 2000, p. 169). 29  This is not, by any means, an original thesis of the manuscript we are analyzing. Beyond the passage that can be traced back to Polybius, which we mentioned above, we may find this line right at the center of clandestine literature. This is shown by the fact that in Theophrastus redivivus there are two chapters entitled “In quo difusse ostenditur religionem omnino esse artem politicam” (Theophrastus redivivus, ed. Guido Canziani and Gianni Paganini, Firenze, La Nuova Italia Editrice, 1981–1982, II, p. 349). 28

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undesirable things that should be replaced by purely moral systems. However, it appears that this judgment could be softened, given that, as has already been mentioned, the author also asserts that “very sensible politics” has given rise to religions and that legislators such as Moses were “wise men and great philosophers.” Should societies disregard every religious system? Ultimately, this will be the issue addressed throughout the Eighth Doubt. It is in this context that the manuscript introduces the distinction between “moderate Pyrrhonists” and “furious Pyrrhonists.” This distinction could be linked to David Hume’s distinction between “excessive Pyrrhonism” and “mitigated Pyrrhonism,”30 or to Denis Diderot’s distinction between “Pyrrhonism” and “skepticism,”31 or even to Jean-Pierre de Crousaz’s distinction, in his famous work Examen du pyrrhonisme ancien et moderne, between extreme or universal Pyrrhonism and a “cautious suspension” of judgment.32 All of these others, however, are epistemological. By contrast, the distinction advanced in Doutes des pyrrhoniens between “moderate” and “furious” Pyrrhonists is purely political, without the intervention of any epistemological, theological, or metaphysical elements, and it figures in the answer to the above question: Should societies disregard every religious system?33 Representatives of “furious Pyrrhonism” state that: … as religions were created by men, there is not one that is free of shortcomings. The most important issue here is that, regardless of how good a religion is in its origin, as time goes by, it cannot avoid turning into superstition. In fact, this is what happened with Christianity, which has good and sacred principles, but we can see that everything lapses into a certain superstitious worship, certain frivolous devotions and other trifles, most of which have nothing to do with the observance of said principles. (Doutes, p. 108)

“Furious Pyrrhonists”, then, wish to erase religions from the face of the Earth. They maintain that all of them, even those that are pure in origin, turn into superstition and frivolous cults, a claim that is supported at length in the Eighth Doubt.34 There is a necessary degenerative process within every religion, and that is why “furious”

30  Cf. David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Selby-Bigge and P. H. Nidditch, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1975, pp. 159–161. 31  “What is a skeptic? A skeptic is a philosopher who has doubted everything he or she believes, and who believes what has been proven true by a legitimate use of the reason and senses. Do you want something more precise? Turn a Pyrrhonist sincere and you will have a skeptic” (Denis Diderot, Pensées philosophiques, ed. R. Niklaus, Oeuvres complètes, Paris, Hermann, 1975, II, p. 35). 32  Jean Pierre de Crousaz, Examen du pyrrhonisme ancien et moderne, La Haye, 1733, p. 378. 33  Although it is not about making a classification by categories and species, it is clear that both “furious” and “moderate” Pyrrhonists belong, in turn, to the “good Pyrrhonists” group discussed in the Second Doubt; that is, neither of them lost their “bon sens” in questioning the existence of the world, of the self, and of a First Eternal Being. 34  As has already been mentioned, the author considers the Egyptian religion (from which, he thinks, all others derive, with the exception of those from the Far East and India), as well as the Jewish, the Christian, the Mohammedan, and the Brahmin religions, the “three religions from the vast Empire of China,” and that of Japan. The same fact is found in all of them; i.e., that the people “[are] never superstitious enough”.

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Pyrrhonists think that the sooner religions are erased, the better it will be for morality and politics. Conversely, moderate Pyrrhonists, even though they agree with the furious that religion is linked to political power and that it has nothing to do with an allegedly divine revelation, in general seem to find in it a particular valuable element, worthy of being preserved due to its role as a regulator of human behaviors. We say “in general, moderate Pyrrhonists seem to find in it a particular valuable element” because there are parts of the text in which this difference between “furious” and “moderate” Pyrrhonists is reduced to the point that it becomes unnoticeable. But we will come back to this later on. For now, it is unclear if that valuable element survives in religions as “degenerated” as Christianity,35 but it does survive in one religion that might have come close to the ideal: the one founded by Confucius in China. This religion, states the author, quoting the Jesuit Le Comte, is a kind of “philosophy or even politics”.36 Still, it adequately meets the three requirements religions must have (belief, cult, and principles). Firstly, it believes in a deity: heaven, according to the author: “Not the physical heaven, but rather, as the reigning Emperor himself explained to Jesuits, the Lord of the Heaven; that is, that active virtue that forms global nature” (Doutes, pp. 88–89).37 As for cult, even when they have no priests or sacrificers, They have a cult through which each man pays tribute to the deity. For instance, only the Emperor gives sacrifices and ignites fragrances to the Lord of Heaven. The Mandarines, governors of provinces and cities, to the spirit of the province or city they rule; and each individual to the spirits of their houses and ancestors. (Doutes, p. 89)

Finally, as for principles, “the result of all its theology and physics tends to show the need to live under the moral laws of the State, without which no society could survive” (Doutes, p. 91). This need is not underpinned by afterlife punishments, since they do not believe in the immortality of the soul, but rather in the benefits of peaceful coexistence. Bayle, the author affirms, had thought something similar in his “republic of atheists”,38 though “it is true that the Chinese cannot be considered as full atheists (…), since they acknowledge, as we have seen, the eternity of the universe’s matter,

35  It is considered to be “politically degenerated”, particularly due to the persecutions and bigotry caused in places where it exerts its dominance. In fact, according to the manuscript, Christian priests. “in order to make people believe more easily… attack with iron and fire anyone that dares to deny it. It is a sure way to impose silence upon those that would want to speak against their illusions and, thus, they make even more progress. The others, who make up the majority (the plebs), kindly and easily believe everything that is imposed on them, strange though it may be. This blind belief greatly strengthens the priests, who are encouraged to be unscrupulous and to pursue the death of those that have a different opinion to that accepted by the priesthood” (Doutes, p. 79). 36  Cf. Louis Le Comte, Nouveaux mémoires sur l’état present de la Chine, 2nd. ed., Paris, 1697, II, 145. 37  Cf. Ibid., II, 146–147. 38  Cf. Pierre Bayle, Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet, op. cit., p. 200: “Conjectures on the Morals of a Society without Religion”.

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animated by this divine soul they recognize as God” (Doutes, p. 90). It would rather be some kind of deism, where the important thing is the effective enforcement of the principles in the interest of general welfare. From this perspective, we can ask the same question again: should societies disregard every religious system? At first glance, the answer of “furious” Pyrrhonists would be “yes”, and that of “moderate and a little bit more philosophic Pyrrhonists” would be “no”. However, when we analyze this difference in detail, we see that it is undermined to the point that, in time, it disappears. They both establish a strict identification between God and the order of nature. And by virtue of said identification, they both consider every theodicy project to be absurd.39 That is, they both consider that “eventually, popular superstition (…) corrupts all things, no matter how good they originally are”.40 Are these praises to the wise Chinese religion enough to uphold the distinction and, therefore, to affirm the convenience of a religious system? We believe the answer is no, and in this sense we agree with Gianni Paganini when he points out that the author’s final belief seems to be summed up in the fact that “the evil caused by religion is greater than the good it can bring” (Doutes, p. 45).41  This was highlighted in relation to the Sixth Doubt: the problem of evil is that of injustice and oppression among men, which is unrelated to God, in as much as It is not related to “plagues, wars, floods and other harmful alterations of the elements that are also consequences of the natural order” (Doutes, 25). This idea is repeated even more strongly, if possible, in the Eighth Doubt: “It [God] wants killings and robberies to exist, and that people do what they do, but It also wants men to pass laws and rules of life, and that judges have those that disrupt society hanged or punished. It is a misfortune to be bad tempered or have similar inclinations than cannot be stopped through fear of the punishments, in the same way it is a misfortune for the snake and the toad to be what they are, and that every man wants to wipe them out. However, the extermination of the snake, the toad and the evil man has no consequence for the world and constitutes a great benefit for the society. Similarly, God does not need advocates to excuse It for what happens. It wants wars as well as plagues. It wants foreign nations to be flooded, and that the lands and empires other people previously had be occupied. It wants earthquakes and floods, among other things, and It wants that the voracious and stronger animals eat the weaker and meeker ones, and, in brief, every other action, given that It is indifferent to them and they happened as It has established” (Doutes, p. 110). Gianni Paganini has drawn attention to the similarities between this passage and paragraph 3 of Chapter IX from L’Examen de la Religion (cf. G. Paganini, “Du bon usage du scepticisme: les ‘Doutes des pyrrhoniens’”, La philosophie clandestine à l’Age classique, 1997, pp. 296–297, n. 9) In said clandestine text, attributed to Du Marsais, it is also claimed, among other things, that “every creature is good in relation to God”, since “they are completely dependent on it (…) and consequently (…) there is nothing to punish or reward”. This is illustrated with examples similar to the one of snakes or of thieves (César Chesneau Du Marsais, Examen de la religion ou Doutes sur la religion dont on cherche l’eclaircissement de bonne foi, ed. Gianluca Mori, Oxford, Voltaire Foundation, 1998, pp. 196–197). 40  We found this phrase in a passage the author takes as his own and which should therefore be thought of as an expression of “moderate Pyrrhonism”: “Even though it is plausible that the aim of religion is good as it tends to impose fear on those that stop observing the principles and regulations of their country, we will clearly prove hereunder that the other two parts of religion, the knowledge of the First Being (the so called God) and the cult offered to It, arise out of the mere caprice of men, thought of in different ways, and the popular superstition, which, with time, corrupts all things no matter how good they originally are” (Doutes, p. 62). 41  G. Paganini, Les philosophies clandestines à l’âge classique, op. cit., p. 94. 39

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7.5  Conclusion At the beginning of our paper, we pointed out that rationalistic optimism, prevalent during the first quarter of the eighteenth century, seems to have left little room for the continuation of a skepticism that had reached its greatest originality in a long time in some texts by Pierre Bayle, such as “Remark B” in the article “Pyrrhon” from the Dictionnaire historique et critique. On the one hand, philosophies as powerful as Leibniz’s tended to have human reason strongly confirmed in their rights, either to achieve reliable truths within their field or to clear the discords that may be caused by the convictions of faith. On the other hand, within the positions opposing the alliance of faith and reason, the trust in the latter was firmly stablished. In fact, pantheists, atheists, and radical deists concurred with the fact that it was time for reason to impose its conditions over religious dogmas, showing the irrationality and violence that underpinned them. In this context, skepticism, whose ties with orthodoxy had never been easy, was adopted by positions opposing faith. However, this entailed evident changes and distortions in its vocabulary and its general perspective. Doubt was radicalized and transformed into an instrument of complaint against religious forgeries, and tranquility of the soul lost its meaning at a critical moment that demanded conviction and intellectual activism. The manuscript Doutes des Pyrrhoniens is a good example of these transformations. Through a skeptical language, it shows a radical deism that affirms an identity between God and the order of the universe, assessing religion as being only a political instrument to control human behaviors. The same, or something very similar, may be said of other clandestine texts such as Symbolum sapientiae or Parité de la vie et de la mort, which use a skeptic lexicon but ultimately have a dogmatic aim, in its ancient, original sense.42 Is this combination new? We should say yes. However, it is also true that it had been prepared for a long time in European thought, especially by that tradition of freethinking that, drawing on the Italian and French philosophies of the sixteenth century, ran from Charron and the libertins érudits to Bayle, a tradition that Henri Busson called “rationalism” and defined, following Pomponazzi, as the “application  It is true that our manuscript, unlike the others quoted herein, concludes unexpectedly, that is, with a long quote from the Apology for Raymond Sebond (Michel de Montaigne, Apology for Raymond Sebond, trans. Roger Ariew and Marjorie Grene, Indianapolis/Cambridge, Hackett Publishing Co., 2003, pp. 73–74), which the author describes as “an overview of most of what I have just mentioned” (Doutes, p.  111). This seems to provide it with a less doctrinal aspect. However, when we carefully read Montaigne’s passage, we realize the main issues in it are two: the fantastic ability of human reasoning, showed particularly in the religious and philosophical inventions that have been devised; and the distinction between truth and usefulness, with the consequence that sometimes it is necessary to prefer the latter to the former. In this light, the passage is in effect an overview of our manuscript. Nevertheless, it does not increase its “skeptical” nature because of this. In any case, what it does show is the great productivity of Montaigne when it comes to endorsing ideas that maybe were not part of the author’s spirit, but which under said spirit would gain greater visibility (or concealment).

42

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of rational methods to religious issues, while excluding faith”.43 Skepticism, with its tendency toward demystification, was at the foundations of freethinking, and perhaps that is the reason why it could have an easy connection with a certain antireligious attitude, an attitude that, as we have seen, was not an essential ingredient in its ancient version. Thus, the same orientation that after the Counter-Reformation was valued by some authors as a stronghold of faith,44 in the eighteenth century, isolated from its original accompanying elements (tranquility of mind and moderation of affections), turned into an illness cured through everyday life, as in Hume, or more simply, it became a part of the history of modern disbelief.

References Bahr, Fernando. 2015. Spinoza, Bayle y la filosofía clandestina. Materiales para una refacción de la historia. In Spinoza en debate, ed. María Jimena Solé, 77–90. Buenos Aires: Miño y Dávila. Bayle, Pierre. 1740. Dictionnaire historique et critique, 5th ed., 4 vols. Amsterdam, Leyde, La Haye and Utrecht: P. Brunel et al. ———. 1965. Historical and Critical Dictionary. Selections, ed. Richard Popkin. Indianapolis, New York, and Kansas City: The Bobbs-Merrill Company Inc. ———. 2000a. Political Writings, ed. Sally Jenkinson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2000b. Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet. Trans. Robert Bartlett. Albany: SUNY. Benítez, Miguel. 2003. La duda como método: escepticismo y materialismo en la literatura clandestina. In La cara oculta de las Luces. Investigaciones sobre los manuscritos filosóficos clandestinos de los siglos XVII y XVIII, 349–382. Valencia: Generalitat Valenciana. Busson, Henri. 1957. Le rationalisme dans la littérature française de la Renaissance (1533–1601), new edition. Paris: Vrin. Cicero. 1972. The Nature of the Gods, eds. H. McGregor and J. M. Ross. London: Penguin. Cymbalum Mundi sive Symbolum Sapientiae 2000, edited by G.  Canziani, W.  Schröder and F. Socas Milano: FrancoAngeli. De Crousaz, Jean-Pierre. 1733. Examen du pyrrhonisme ancien et moderne. La Haye: Pierre de Hondt.

 Henri Busson, Le rationalisme dans la littérature française de la Renaissance (1533–1601), new edition, Paris, Vrin. 1957, p. 15. 44  I am thinking specifically in the letter that Gentian Hervet wrote to the Cardinal of Lorraine and that he published as the preface to his translation of Adversus mathematicos by Sextus Empiricus (1569). Hervet states, among other things, that the work of Sextus “clearly shows that no human discipline was established so rigorously as to be unbreakable, that no science is certain enough as to be able to stand if contested by an arsenal of reasoning and arguments” and that, therefore, “if we refrain from those human sciences that do not contribute value, we will devote ourselves to study the discipline and science appropriate for Christians in order to embrace charity, basing our faith on the revelation that Christ made us, using the hope of the goods He promised and abiding by the principles of God” (Sexti Empirici Adversus mathematicos Gentiano Herveto Aurelio interprete, Antverpiae, 1569, second page). Regarding the complex reception and interpretation of skepticism in the sixteenth century, the studies of Emmanuel Naya are highly recommended. See, for example, E. Naya, “Le ‘coup de talon’ sur l’impiété: scepticisme et vérité chrétienne. au XVI siècle”, Les Études philosophiques, 2008 (2), pp. 141–160 (I owe this observation to Vicente Raga).

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de Montaigne, Michel. 1993. Apology for Raymond Sebond. Trans. Roger Ariew and Marjorie Grene. Indianapolis, Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Co. Diderot, Denis. 1975. Pensées philosophiques, edited by R. Niklaus, in Oeuvres complètes. Paris: Hermann. Doutes des Pyrrhoniens. Bruxelles, Biblithèque Royale de Belgique, ms. 15191. Dudas de los pirrónicos. 2017, edited by Fernando Bahr. Buenos Aires: El cuenco de plata. Dupin, Louis Ellies. 1691. Nouvelle bibliothèque des auteurs ecclesiastiques. Mons: Huguetan. Hume, David. 1975. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, eds. Selby-Bigge and P. H. Nidditch, 159–161. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Le Comte, Louis. 1697. Nouveaux mémoires sur l’état present de la Chine. 2nd ed. Paris: chez Jean Anisson. Machiavelli, Niccolò. 1996. Discourses on Livy. Trans. Harvey Mansfield and Nathan Tarcov. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Du Marsais, César Chesneau. 1998. Examen de la religion ou Doutes sur la religion dont on cherche l’eclaircissement de bonne foi, ed. Gianluca Mori. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. McKenna, Anthony. 2002. Le ver est dans le fruit: le scepticisme au XVIIIe. siècle: l’exemple de De Laube. In Scepticisme, Clandestinité et Libre Pensée, ed. G. Paganini, M. Benítez, and J. Dybikowski, 165–178. Paris: Honoré Champion. Mémoires pour l’histoire de sciences et de beaux arts 1727. January, 36–62. Trévoux : SAS. Naya, Emmanuel. 2008. Le “coup de talon” sur l’impiété: scepticisme et vérité chrétienne. au XVI siècle. Les Études philosophiques 2: 141–160. Paganini, Gianni. 1997. Du bon usage du scepticisme: les “Doutes des pyrrhoniens”. In La philosophie clandestine à l’Age classique, ed. Antony McKenna and Alain Mothu, 291–306. Paris: Universitas. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. ———. 2005. Les philosophies clandestines à l’âge classique. Paris: PUF. Parité de la vie et de la mort. La Réponse de médecin Gaultier 1993, edited by Olivier Bloch. Paris: Universitas. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. Polybius. 1923. The Histories, 5–8. Trans. W.  R. Paton. Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press. Pomponazzi, Pietro. 1999. Tratatto sull’immortalità dell’anima, ed. Vittoria Perrone Compagni. Firenze: Leo S. Olschki Editore. Sexti Empirici Adversus mathematicos Gentiano Herveto Aurelio interprete. 1569. Antverpiae: Ex Officina Christophori Plantini. Sextus Empiricus. 2000. Outlines of Scepticism, eds. Julia Annas and Jonathan Barnes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Theophrastus redivivus, 1981–1982, edited by Guido Canziani and Gianni Paganini. Firenze: La Nuova Italia Editrice.

Chapter 8

Doubt, Disbelief, and Irreligion: From Montaigne’s Skepticism to Meslier’s Atheism Manuel Tizziani

Abstract  In this chapter, I try to reconstruct the pathway that goes from disbelief to irreligion. Better to say, the pathway that leads from the skeptical premises sketched in Montaigne’s Essais to the atheistic conclusions we find in Meslier’s Mémoire. In the first section, after a brief introduction, I reflect on Montaigne’s writing, paying special attention to the unfinished, discordant, and—above all— implicit character that he gives to his Essais. In the second section, I reconstruct Meslier’s reading strategies, showing how the priest uses those few books that were available to him. In the third and final section, I make a brief comparison between the Essais and the Mémoire. In short, I try to show how different skeptical passages of Montaigne leave us on the verge of disbelief and how they are transformed by Meslier to extract from them irreligious conclusions. My work is located at the intersection of two areas of study that, in recent decades, have begun to change our perception of the history of modern philosophy: skepticism and clandestine literature.

The Revista Latinoamericana de Filosofía published a Spanish version of this text under the title “El camino de la duda. De la incredulidad de Montaigne a la irreligión de Meslier” (vol. 44, n° 2, 2018). I am grateful for the courtesy of the Editorial Board of RLF, which has authorized the publication of this version in English. M. Tizziani (*) Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas, Santa Fe, Argentina Universidad Nacional del Litoral, Santa Fe, Argentina © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_8

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8.1  The Evolution of Skepticism In a colloquium held in 1980, John Spink1 argued that, in the framework of clandestine philosophy, the terms pyrrhonien and sceptique could be interpreted as synonyms of matérialiste. Several decades later, Sébastien Charles2 reviewed some different studies that, following Spink, have sought to clarify the relationships among skepticism, materialism, and atheism in clandestine literature. After reconstructing the positions of Alan Kors, Winfried Schröder, and Gianni Paganini, Charles returned to a thesis supported by Miguel Benítez.3 According to this thesis, except for the Arguments du pyrrhonisme, “no clandestine manuscript had the ambition to provide an impartial vision of what skepticism was or to remember the history of the sect and the disputes proper to that current of thought”.4 Moving away from Spink’s inaugural interpretation, Benítez and Charles agree that, although many clandestine manuscripts indeed distort skepticism, a closer analysis shows that Spink’s thesis is excessive. In short, in those writings in which an author tries to defend a materialistic and atheistic hypothesis, skepticism is not usually presented as “a current of specific thought”, but rather as “a method of investigation and exposure that permeates clandestine materialism”.5 Skepticism is “an attitude that puts into question the knowledge we have received (the prejudices), that is aware of the limits in the search for truth and, therefore, is modest in its claims”.6 Above all, skepticism would be a tool, an important ally in tearing down the foundations on which tradition stands and outlining a new truth. In this regard, even if the synonymy proposed by Spink—between skepticism and materialism— is excessive, it is necessary to take into account that “the traditional lexicon of the skeptics was profoundly modified at the beginning of the eighteenth century”.7 This gave rise to notions that were strange for the Pyrrhonian tradition, to a paradoxically “militant version of Pyrrhonism”.8 In this framework, even if the case of Meslier differs from that described by Paganini, the general intention of this chapter is to offer additional evidence in 1  John Spink, “« Pyrrhonien » et « Sceptique » synonymes de « Matérialiste » dans la littérature clandestine”, in Olivier Bloch (ed.), Le matérialisme du XVIIIe siècle et la littérature clandestine, Paris, Vrin, 1982, pp. 143–148. 2  Sébastien Charles, “Ceticismo e clandestinidade”, Sképsis, 3–4, 2008, pp. 95–108. 3  Miguel Benítez, “La duda como método: escepticismo y materialismo en la literatura clandestina”, El Basilisco, 15, 1983, pp. 44–61. 4  Sébastien Charles, “Ceticismo e clandestinidade”, op.cit., pp. 96–97. 5  Miguel Benítez, “La duda como método: escepticismo y materialismo en la literatura clandestina”, op.cit., p. 45. 6  Ibid. 7  Fernando Bahr, “Introducción”, in Dudas de los pirrónicos, Buenos Aires, El Cuenco de Plata, 2017, p. 10. 8  Cf. Gianni Paganini, “Avant la Promenade du sceptique: pyrrhonisme et clandestinité de Bayle à Diderot”, in Gianni Paganini (ed.), Scepticisme, clandestinité et libre pensée, Paris, Honoré Campion, 2002, p. 22.

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favour of the thesis according to which skepticism was transformed at the beginning of the Enlightenment century, being used for purposes different from those it had before.9 To do this, I try to reconstruct the pathway from disbelief to irreligion. Better to say, the pathway that leads from the skeptical premises sketched in Michel de Montaigne’s Essais (1580) to the atheistic conclusions that we can find in Jean Meslier’s Mémoire des pensées et des sentiments (1729). To achieve this aim, I divide the text into three sections. In the first one, I reflect on Montaigne’s writing, paying special attention to the unfinished, discordant, and—above all—implicit character that he gives to his Essais. In the second, I reconstruct Meslier’s reading strategies, showing how the priest uses those few books that he were available to him. In the third, finally, I make a brief comparison between the Essais and the Mémoire. In short: I try to show how different skeptical passages of Montaigne leaves us on the verge of disbelief, and how they are transformed by Meslier to extract from them irreligious conclusions. My work is located at the intersection of two areas of study that, in the last decades, have begun to change our perception of the history of modern philosophy: skepticism and clandestine literature.

8.2  Montaigne, Between Discordance and Insinuation Are the Essais a book of bonne foi, or is that a mere expression of irony?10 Can they be defined as a definitive and explicit text, or is it possible to conceive them as an opera aperta and with implicit ideas? On the one hand, what weight did Pyrrhonism acquire in its zétetic (i.e. unfinished and endless) configuration? On the other hand, what importance does the reader have in them? Who are they addressed to? These questions guide my interpretation of Montaigne’s writing. One of my main suspicions is that beyond the passages that may link Montaigne to political conservatism, it is possible to find in his Essais some indications that could put him at the dawn of a writing practice in which the figure of the suffisante lecteur assumes a leading role. In particular, the reader is not only very important because the task of the essay never ends,11 but also because there are some ideas that it is better not to affirm explicitly. Indeed, this writing practice could be characterized by a style that mixes contradiction and insinuation; as a writing practice that combines an unfinished and 9  Especially because skepticism was no longer conceived as a path to ataraxia, as in Antiquity, or as the best ally of faith, as in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries, but became a tool for criticism, even of religious truths. 10  I follow here the thesis developed by Bayod Brau, who conceives Montaigne as a “paradoxical author”. Cf. Jordi Bayod Brau, “Montaigne, «auteur paradoxal» y la Encyclopédie”, in Miguel Ángel Granada (ed.), Filósofos, filosofía y filosofías en la Encyclopédie de Diderot y D’Alembert, Barcelona, Universitat de Barcelona, 2009, pp.133–148. 11  In this regard, the beginning of the essay De la vanité (III, 9) is always eloquent: “Who does not see that I have taken a road along which I shall go, without stopping and effort, as long as there is ink and paper in the world?” Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1965, p. 721.

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tentative style, crossed by a Pyrrhonian mood,12 with another in which less traditional opinions overlap with those that are more usual and innocuous. To put it another way, as a writing practice in which the forbidden merchandise is entered “by contraband” in the port of orthodoxy13 or are accompanied by judgments that try to temper their presumed heterodoxy. A writing practice, in short, that is always fragmentary and provisional, that “never makes a stand”,14 but that at the same time is built on of ironies, evasions, and subterfuges; a writing practice, finally, in which skepticism, already unfaithful to the Pyrrhonian or Academic positions, will gradually become a weapon against the prejudices of religion. Let us go back to the first question: Are the Essais a book of bonne foi, or is that a mere expression of irony? In the preface to his work, where he addresses his readers, Montaigne makes two key statements concerning his text. In the first, he affirms: “This book was written in good faith, reader”; in the second: “Thus, reader, I am myself the matter of my book”.15 What meaning can be assigned to these two opening sentences? As can be inferred from their conjunction, the Essais claim to be a book that says the truth only about who writes it, i.e., a book that represents—or rather, that presents—16a faithful portrait of its author, a portrait that does not hide anything of itself, neither the most commendable virtues nor the most shameful vices: an original sense of the legal concept of “good faith” that Montaigne knows from Cicero’s De Officiis. Montaigne himself reaffirms this idea when he assures us that, by editing his writings, he has not sought to attain glory, nor has he attempted to give himself an undeserved reputation:

 Donald Frame maintains that beyond the possible philosophies to which the essayist could have adhered throughout his life (Stoicism, Skepticism, and Epicureanism, according to the classical thesis of Pierre Villey: Les sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne, Paris, Hachette, 1908, 2 vols.), Montaigne always exhibited a “Skeptical temper” (Donald Frame, Montaigne’s Discovery of Man, New York, Columbia University Press, 1955, p. 7). 13  The metaphor belongs to François de La Mothe Le Vayer, Dialogues faites à l’imitation des anciens, Paris, Fayard, 1988, p. 11. 14  Santiago Kovadloff explores this idea: “Montaigne no hace pie”, Cuadernos hispanoamericanos, 646, 2004, pp. 71–76. 15  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 2. 16  Jesús Navarro has analysed in detail the evolution of the concept of “reader” throughout the successive editions of the Essais. In his view, Montaigne’s text was originally intended only for relatives and friends; its intended audience gradually expanded. Thus, little by little, it loses its “domestic and private” character, becoming a text whose potential reader is anyone who possess l’humaine condition. In the same sense, the Essais stop being a mere reminder of its author, a textual representation of a corporality, to become an embodied text. The distant reader, who does not know Montaigne personally, will find him only through his book. While I agree on the growing universalization of Montaigne’s discourse—which has made it a literary classic—my interpretation differs in part with that of Navarro. This is because, though many of the ideas of the Essais are available to a very broad audience, some of them, the most radical and unorthodox, will be understood only by a small group of readers. Cf. Jesús Navarro Reyes, Pensar sin certezas. Montaigne y el arte de conversar, Madrid, Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2007. 12

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If I had written to seek the world’s favor, I should have bedecked myself better, and should present myself in a studied posture. I want to be seen here in my simple, natural, ordinary fashion, without straining or artifice; for it is myself that I portray... Had I been placed among those nations which are said to live still in the sweet freedom of nature’s first laws, I assure you I should very gladly have portrayed myself here entire and wholly naked.17

However, Montaigne has not had the fortune to live between the tupinambás of the Brazilian littoral; on the contrary, he has had the misfortune of being born in “a troubled and sick State”, in a nation in which the rules of pedantic civility have become cardinal virtues. Sixteenth-century France is a country of schoolmasters who hide their ineptness behind an elegant toga and resounding Latin maxims. The essayist lives in an era in which the useful and the honest have split their paths, in which the art of dissimulation and reason of State have come to play a prominent role in sustaining the political society. We also know that the historical time in which Montaigne lived was, in theological-political terms, one of the most agitated in European history. The sixteenth century was not only the “autumn of the Renaissance” but also the century of Reformation; a century in which wars consummated in the name of God, under the pretext of piety and orthodoxy, produced great upheavals in France. In that political and intellectual context,18 what are the limits of honest speech? What can be said without danger? What is the prohibited merchandise in the port of orthodoxy? Bearing this in mind, is it possible to overlook the famous maxim of Tacitus—whose Historiae Montaigne suggests “studying and learning”—regarding the rarity of the times in which everything can be thought and said? It seems evident that not all thoughts are equally welcome in the lands of common opinion. And Montaigne knows well, after the persecutions he witnessed, that those unorthodox opinions—in particular in theological and political matters—can lead to a tragic and painful death (such as that suffered by Miguel Servet) or to a life plagued by hardships (such as that of his defender, Sébastien Castellion). He knows that “courage has its limits, like all other virtues”. Moreover, he knows that “the precepts of resoluteness and constancy do not state that we must not protect ourselves from the evils and troubles that threaten us... On the contrary, all honorable means of safeguarding ourselves from evils are not only permitted but laudable”.19 From these elements, one might ask what the meaning of another statement in the Preface is. In the Essais, Montaigne insists: “My defects will here be read to the life, and also by natural form, as far as respect for the public has allowed”.20 Now, what are the limits of that respect? What are the boundaries that public decorum has imposed on this supposed attempt of the essayist to present himself without study or artifice? How far from the late Renaissance French world, is the possibility of  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 2.  A context aggravated by other phenomena, such as the witch-hunt and the actions of the Inquisition, which after the Council of Trent (1545–1563) begins to exercise greater control over individual opinions. 19  Ibid., p. 30. 20  Ibid., p. 2. 17 18

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appearing before readers as an inhabitant of the France Antarctique? How many masks have Montaigne had to carry to comply with the ceremonial rules instituted around him? From this perspective, can we conceive the Essais as a book written with strict bonne foi, as a portrait in which it is possible to find the author’s thoughts explicitly stated? If it is possible to doubt Montaigne’s radical honesty, can we then consider him as a multifaceted philosopher, not just as a skeptic who is incapable of pronouncing dogmatic judgment, but also as someone interested in letting only certain ideas be glimpsed? Can we understand him as a thinker of the “back shop”, who uses ironies, suggestions, and insinuations to give expression to certain thoughts that are unloveable for the Roman censors? According to my reading, it is possible to think that Montaigne at least sensed this possibility: “We must reserve a back shop all our own, entirely free, in which to establish our real liberty and our principal retreat and solitude”.21 In short, Montaigne wants to have a private space in which the most extraordinary thoughts, the boldest ideas, the most intrepid conclusions can be expressed without danger, those ideas transmissible only to “great and illustrious souls”,22 to a small number of people, members of the République des Lettres, capable of understanding and tolerating them. As Montaigne describes it, the “man of understanding”23 is not only the one who has good natural dispositions, but also the one who has known how to refine his ideas through study and reflection. Besides, this man knows how dangerous and intolerant can be the mob of human beings whose actions are guided only by their passions. In a word, the wise man knows how to disguise himself. He knows the importance of acting as the majority do, adapting his habits to the dispositions of the country in which he has been born, and reflecting in silence, as one of a small fraction of individuals who enjoy “aristocratic and virile freedom”.24 …the wise man should withdraw his soul within, out of the crowd, and keep it in freedom and power to judge things freely; but as for externals, he should wholly follow the accepted fashions and forms. Society, in general, can do without our thoughts; but the rest—our actions, our work, our fortunes, and our very life—we must lend and abandon to its service and the common opinions.25

To achieve that goal, to reach that freedom of thought and judgment, the arrière-­ boutique becomes a strategic place. Montaigne’s library, located on the third floor of the tower of his castle, assumes a fundamental role in this story. That place  Ibid., p. 177.  Ibid., p. 114. 23  Ibid., p. 86. 24  Cf. Pierre Manent, Montaigne. La vie sans loi, Paris, Flammarion, 2014. 25  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 86. According to this view, perhaps we can consider Montaigne as a first silent explorer of the position explicitly assumed later by the libertins érudits, whose opinion is resumed in the famous phrase that Gabriel Naudé took from Cesare Cremonini: Intus ut libet, foris ut moris est. On the relationship between Montaigne and the libertins, see Giovanni Dotoli, Les libertines et Montaigne. Montaigne Studies XIX, Chicago, University of Chicago, 2007; on the philosophical-political attitude assumed by the libertins, see René Pintard, Le libertinage érudit dans la primère moitié du XVIIe siècle, Paris, Boivin, 1943, 2 vols. 21 22

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pleases him, he says, especially “for being a little hard to reach and out of the way, for the benefit of the exercise as much as to keep the crowd away. There is my throne. I try to make my authority over it absolute and withdraw this one corner from all society, conjugal, filial, and civil”.26 Montaigne likes solitude, the retired life, and incisive reflections about himself—although, to be sure, the image of the hermit essayist has been refuted long ago.27 Montaigne was a great reader of the ancient authors, but at the same time, a prominent actor in the affairs of his time. This leads me to another consideration of relevance. Even if he claims to be for himself his “physics and metaphysics”,28 it is clear that his writings refer to more than just his personality. On the contrary, the Essais also contain lucid reflections on many central topics in philosophy and even engage in political and theological debates, although “not to establish the truth, but to seek it”.29 It is for this reason—and for other considerations that I could add given more space—that I support the following thesis. One might think that knowing the individual dangers that an explicit disagreement with tradition can cause, or the political inconveniences that such ideas could produce in the hands of those who are incapable of moderating their affections, Montaigne would have been content to sow in his Essais certain seeds. The essayist would have left a series of signs, marks of meaning able to foster a reading less attached to the letter, able to turn fantasies into reality. His Essais, I believe, may have an implicit sense open only to sagacious readers, to the small and select group of “men of understanding”. Montaigne himself seems to reaffirm this thesis: Now, as far as decency permits me, I here make known my inclinations and feelings; but I do so more freely and willingly by word of mouth to anyone who wishes to be informed of them. At all events, in theses memoirs, if you look around, you will find that I have said everything or suggested everything. What I cannot express I point to with my finger: But if you have a penetrating mind / These little tracks will serve the rest to find [Lucretius].30

Montaigne, who had the experience of reading “in Livy a hundred things that another man has not read in him”,31 who created his text from his reading and appropriation of the classics, who put into practice a deliberately unfinished style, knows the power of reading. “An able reader [lecteur suffisante]”, he says, “often discovers in other men’s writings perfections beyond those that the author put in or perceived,  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 629.  On this issue, see the two classic studies by Géralde Nakam: Montaigne et son temps, les evenements et les Essais, Paris, Nizet, 1982, and Les Essais de Montaigne, miroir et proces de leur temps: Temoignage historique et creation litteraire, Paris, Honore Champion, 2001. Also, the recent biography by Philippe Desan, Montaigne. Une biographie politique, Paris, Odile Jacob, 2014. 28  On this subject, see the chapter “On Experience”, The Complete Essays, p. 815–857. 29  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 229. 30  Ibid., p. 750. 31  “I have read in Livy a hundred things that another man has not read in him. Plutarch has read in him a hundred besides the ones I could read, and perhaps besides what the author had put in”. Ibid., p. 115. 26 27

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and lends them richer meanings and aspects”.32 This situation produces a kind of complicity between those who write using ironies, insinuations, and discordant conclusions, and those who read wisely and attentively. “Speech belongs half to the speaker, half to the listener”, says the essayist.33 In the same way, the text is incomplete, almost silent, without that recipient able to update and complete its meaning, without the one that provides the other half, without the reader who can reveal the reverse of irony, to convert insinuations into ideas, to draw conclusions based on suggestions.

8.3  Meslier, a Pyromaniacal Reader The Abrégé de la vie de l’auteur, an anonymous manuscript that circulated together with Jean Meslier’s Mémoire during the eighteenth century, provides us with some information about the most important books read by the priest of Etrépigny. “The main ones of his [i.e. Meslier] books were the Bible, the Memoirs of Commynes, a Montaigne, and some Fathers; it is only from the reading of the Bible and the Fathers from which he developed his feelings [against religion]”.34 This is a very short list, and it is debatable that Meslier had such limited sources to serve as inspiration for the development of the eight preuves that make up the Mémoire des pensées et des sentiments. Those who have made a more detailed study of the issue in the last fifty years challenge with good arguments the validity of this first claim. Indeed, although it seems certain that Meslier developed his reflections in relative isolation, in the sporadic company of some esprit-forts, it cannot be denied that his library far exceeded that of his colleagues of the lower rural clergy, who generally had “fewer books than the number of fingers on a hand”.35 However, even if we understand that his library should not be reduced to the volumes that would have been inventoried at the time of his death, but should include all those works eventually read and studied by the priest in some detail,36 the fact is that Meslier would not have known more

 Ibid., p. 93.  Ibid, p. 834. 34  Jean Meslier, Oeuvres completes, Paris, Antrophos, 1972, vol. III, p. 392. 35  Maurice Dommanget, Le curé Meslier, athée, communiste et révolutionnaire sous Louis XIV [1965], Paris, Éditions Coda, 2008, p. 49. As Miguel Benítez also points out: “Despite his isolation, there is no doubt that Meslier fed his reflections through readings that reaffirmed him in his first feelings” (Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison. Le matérialisme athée de Jean Meslier, Paris, Honoré Champion, 2012, p. 64). All translations of this book are mine. 36  For a more detailed commentary on these readings, see Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., pp.  59–85. According to the hypothesis of this scholar, many of the Meslier’s readings would have been provided by Rémy Leroux, notary and esprit libertin to whom the priest would have left one of the copies of his Mémoire, and to whom, therefore, we owe the diffusion of the manuscript during the first half of the Eighteenth-century. 32 33

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than fifty books.37 A number of readings that is still relatively meagre and that, perhaps, may allow us to explain the originality of Meslier’s materialist reflections, as well as a certain rusticity in his arguments and some conceptual shortcomings.38 In addition to the Old and New Testaments, mandatory texts for every parish priest, and the works of some of the Church’s fathers, Meslier had the opportunity to read—among other outstanding books—the followings: the Démonstration de l’existence de Dieu by Fénelon; the Réflexions sur l’athéisme that the Jesuit Tournemine wrote as an introduction to the first part of the Démonstration in the editions of 1712 and 1713 and that was later reprinted as an appendix in the 1718 edition39; the second (anonymous) edition of the Recherche de la vérité (1675–1676) by Malebranche, whom Meslier never identifies as its author; the Mémoires of Phillipe de Commynes (1610); two anonymous texts entitled Le salut de l’Europe (1694) and L’Esprit du Cardinal Mazarin (1695); a French version of L’espion turc, attributed to the Italian writer Giovanni Paolo Marana; Le Grand Dictionnaire historique, ou Le mélange curieux de l’histoire sacrée et profane by Louis Moréri (1674); Les Caractères ou les Moeurs de ce siècle by Jean de La Bruyère (1691); the Apologie pour tous les grands personnages qui ont esté faussement soupçonnez de magie (1669) by the libertine Gabriel Naudé; the Nouveau Théâtre du Monde (1613–1635), attributed to Pierre Davity; and works of classical authors such as the naturalist Pliny, Lucian of Samosata, Seneca, Tacitus, and Livy, although some scholars doubt that these readings were at first hand. Be that as it may, among all these readings (to which one might add that of some leading philosophers),40 Montaigne’s Essais seem to have occupied a very special place.41 Indeed, as I will try to show in more detail in the next section, the presence of Montaigne is almost ubiquitous in the Mémoire, not only in quantitative terms but also qualitatively. Meslier not only names and appeals to the “judicious” Montaigne as an authority, but also derives many benefits from various arguments developed in the Essais, in which skepticism and disbelief play a prominent role. Leaving aside the composition of his library, I believe it is possible to characterize Meslier’s reading practices in terms of two main features. First, as Miguel  Based on the references included by Meslier, Marc Bredel produced a list of 46 books. Cf. Marc Bredel, Jean Meslier l’enrage: prêtre athée et revolutionnaire sous Louis XIV, Paris, Balland, 1983, pp. 259–260. 38  Miguel Benítez developed this idea. Cf. Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., p. 234. 39  As is well known, Meslier wrote a series of critical notes to these works of Fénelon and Tournemine. Even if this notes had also circulated clandestinely during the Eighteenth century, they were edited by the first time by Jean Deprun, under the title of Anti-Fénelon, in the edition of the Oeuvres complètes de Jean Meslier (vol. III, 1972, pp. 207–366). I made a Spanish translation of this notes: Anti-Fénelon. Notas sobre la Demostración de la existencia de Dios de Fénelon y las Reflexiones sobre el ateísmo del padre Tournemine, texto establecido por Jean Deprun, traducción, introducción y notas de Manuel Tizziani, Buenos Aires, El Cuenco de Plata, 2018. 40  René Descartes, Baruch Spinoza, and Pierre Bayle are also considered to be possible sources for Meslier. However, various recent studies have shown that this is doubtful. 41  Meslier read the edition of the Essais made by Michel Blageart in 1649, that is, almost a quarter of a century before they were introduced in the Index librorum prohibitorum, on January 28, 1676. 37

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Benítez points out, it is possible to think that all of the priest’s philosophy builds on a series of texts, theses, and propositions that he proposes to refute. This is a feature that not only produces “a multitude of [conceptual and linguistic] misunderstandings”42 since Meslier often adopts in the Mémoire the language of his opponents43 but also gives to the Démonstration of Fénelon a central place in the development of his philosophy. Indeed, the 260 marginal notes written by Meslier to refute Fénelon could be considered, perhaps, as the first draft of his voluminous work. This philosophy of reaction could not only help us to explain some of the conceptual limitations of Meslier’s materialism, but also another very important feature of his work: the fact that he was able to “recruit a powerful army against the Catholic religion and the monarchy”.44 A great and unusual army composed of very dissimilar perspectives, in whose ranks are included the above-mentioned ancient authors, the Jansenist literature (such as the Réflexions morales sur le Nouveau Testament (1694) by Quesnel), some Protestants (such as Pierre Du Moulin), the Turks (as in the case of Marana), and a heavy infantry coming from the Catholic trenches. Among this Catholic infantry, we could highlight, perhaps bestowing upon him the degree of General, to the author of the Essais. Secondly, it can plausibly be argued that Meslier’s use of the various works that he read, how he works with and on them, entails that the Mémoire was not a text written in anger and haste, but a work elaborated with a certain coldness and over a considerable period.45 In short, even if Meslier wrote his text distressed by the situation suffered by his parishioners or for the anger he felt at the abuses of power by bishops and princes, it is clear that the achievement of his aim (i.e. the destruction of all religions, which are nothing but a collection of lies) required a prolonged effort of reflection. The Mémoire was not born overnight or from a mind troubled by hatred. Indeed, according to the hypothesis developed by Benítez, Meslier was developing his materialistic atheism from his youth.46 In other words, Meslier confirmed his initial feelings and reflections through his reading of various illustrious

 Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., p. 223.  It is this feature, possibly, that led many scholars to think that Meslier could be included among the “Cartesians”, even when he shows great dissidences with that school. A paradigmatic example of this is an interpretation developed by Jean Deprun, who characterized him as a “left-wing Malebranchean”. 44  Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., p. 64. 45  In fact, the writing of the Mémoire could have extended over more than a decade, between 1718 and 1729. The first date coincides with the edition of the Oeuvres philosophiques by Fénelon, to which Meslier not only responds in his notes but also in the Seventh and Eighth Proofs of the Mémoire. Indeed, there is textual evidence that indicates that Meslier had begun to write his text during the Regency of Felipe de Orléans (1715–1723), perhaps because he had conceived that the death of Louis XIV left the French monarchy in a weaker position. In addition, the Mémoire continued to be drafted and corrected until the time of Meslier’s death, which occurred in the middle of 1729, as shown by the fact that the three manuscripts found by Roland Desné in the National Library of France (fr. 19458, fr. 19459, and fr. 19460) possess various additions written in the priest’s own hand. 46  Cf. Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., pp. 63–64. 42 43

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authors, compiling in different notebooks for many years, “passages extracted from the books he read, surely even before thinking of using these materials in preparing his writing”.47 The references that appear in Meslier’s Mémoire are sometimes vague, imprecise, and even incorrect, while many are modified by him. This could lead us to think that the priest did not have available all his books at the time in which he wrote his work, but only those notes that he took from those readings. Besides, ample textual evidence shows that these readings seem to have been carried out in a particularly interesting way since the mode in which Meslier tries to take advantage of them leads us to think that he made “fire with all the wood that fell into his hands”.48 In short, it could be said that Meslier put all his knowledge of classical and modern literature “at the service of revolt”,49 thus becoming a pyromaniacal reader, an incendiary of clandestine philosophy. To offer a broader theoretical framework, I can briefly reconstruct a debate that took place in the field of the history of reading. In the early 1970s, Rolf Engelsing published a study in which he argued that, in the eighteenth century, there occurred in Europe a Leserevolution; an intellectual phenomenon that transformed the relationship between readers and written culture.50 Prior to this revolution there was “intensive reading”: traditional, imbued with sacredness and authority, in which the reader was faced with a limited number of texts (most of a religious nature, and especially the Bible) that were read, usually in a loud voice, and reread, memorized, and recited, listened to and learned by heart, transmitted from generation to generation. Subsequent to the revolution came “extensive reading”: modern, desacralized, silent and individual, in which the reader expressed a Lesesucht, a “reading mania”, characterized by the eagerness to consume new and more varied material. Furthermore, this fast and ephemeral reading was complemented by “a critical examination that did not subtract any domain from methodical doubt. In this way, a communal and respectful relationship with the written, imbued with reverence and obedience, gave way to a free, easy and irreverent reading”.51 Roger Chartier52 and Reinhard Wittmann53 have questioned Rolf Engelsing’s position, mainly because they felt his thesis was “too simple and emphatic”. Specifically, they offer a series

 Ibid., p. 66.  Ibid., p. 69. 49  Olivier Lutaud, Des révolutions d’Angleterre à la Révolution francaise: le tyrannicide et ‘Killing no murder’, La Haye, Martinus Nyhoff, 1973, p. 138. 50  Rolf Engelsing, Der Bürger als Leser: Lesergeschichte in Deutschland, 1500–1800, Stuttgart, Metzler, 1974. 51  Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier, “Introducción”, in Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier (eds.), Historia de la lectura en el mundo occidental, Madrid, Taurus, 2004, p. 49. The translation is mine. 52  Cf. Roger Chartier, “Libros y lectores”, in Vicenzo Ferrone and Daniel Roche (ed.), Diccionario histórico de la Ilustración, Madrid, Alianza Editorial, 1998, pp. 243–249. 53  Reinhart Wittmann, “¿Hubo una revolución de la lectura a finales del siglo XVIII?”, in Guglielmo Cavallo and Roger Chartier (eds.), Historia de la lectura en el mundo occidental, Madrid, Taurus, 2004, pp. 495–537. 47 48

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of testimonies and counterexamples that demonstrate the existence of readers with “extensive” habits before the revolution as well as “intensive” readers after it. Taking advantage of these categories, and returning to the considerations of those who oppose the rigidity of Engelsing’s thesis, perhaps we could conceive of Meslier, who lived at the dawn of the “reading revolution”, as a reader who mixes both models. On the one hand, he shares with the “intensive” reader access to a limited number of texts, among which the religious and apologetic (with the Bible at the head) undoubtedly have a very important place. On the other hand, he exhibits some of the characteristics of the “extensive” reader, particularly an irreverent attitude towards the writings that came to his hands. The careful and systematic study of some texts, such as Fénelon’s Démonstration, does not entail an attitude of submission to the presumed authority of the author, but a critical exercise in which all positions are discussed in detail. Even in the case of those texts for which he has a great affinity, or in the case of those authors that he most admires (such as Michel de Montaigne), Meslier’s attitude can never be reduced to passive submission. This I will try to show in the last section.

8.4  Incredulous Premises, Irreligious Conclusions In chapter III of his classic study, Maurice Dommanget refers to les sources intellectuelles from which Meslier drew in composing the Mémoire.54 He highlights the importance of Montaigne, whom the priest cites for the first time in the initial pages of the Avant-propos. “From there”, says Dommanget, …the quotations follow each other and are so numerous that they sometimes occupy entire pages. It can be said that in all the places where Meslier attacks religion and tramples on divinity, there is always a quote from Montaigne that arrives at just the right moment to reinforce his argument. When it comes to counteracting imposture, fanaticism and sacrifices, or showing the purely human character of miracles and all religions, Meslier takes loans from Montaigne… By the breadth of citations in favour of his theses, it is incontestable that Montaigne occupies the first rank [among Meslier’s sources], and it is the proof that the great skeptic produces a strange veneration in the humble priest.55

Indeed, as I have been able to verify through my study, the presence of the Essais in the Mémoire is not only very significant in quantitative terms but also in the development of arguments that lead from Pyrrhonian irresolution to open disbelief. Regarding the quantitative, it should be noted that, throughout the 97 chapters of the Mémoire, Meslier refers to several passages of Montaigne’s work and that two-­ thirds of these references belong to the most extensive and famous of the essays, the

54  Maurice Dommanget, Le curé Meslier, athée, communiste et révolutionnaire sous Louis XIV, op.cit., pp. 95–132. 55  Ibid., pp. 99–100. The translation is mine.

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“Apologie de Raimond Sebond” (II, 12).56 The claim that Meslier was inclined towards sceptical arguments (given the general tone assumed by Montaigne in the Apology)57 can be endorsed if we take into account other passages of the Mémoire in which the priest uses different essays wherein the Pyrrhonian tropes acquire remarkable importance. Some examples can be found in the citations taken from three chapters. First, from “De la coutume et de ne changer aisément une loi reçue” (I, 23), in which Montaigne reflects on the imperceptible and irremediable effects that habits have on human beliefs, including religious ones. Second, the references that Meslier draws from the essay “Des boiteux” (III, 11), in which supposedly supernatural events such as miracles or witchcraft are subjected to a devastating critical examination. Finally, the quotes from the essay “Qu’il sobrement se mêler de juger des ordonnances divines” (I, 32), in which Montaigne exposes the natural tendency of human beings to adopt their strongest and most virulent beliefs in those matters that they least understand or in those that the senses and reason are unable to give them any information. In the same way, as I said before, Montaigne’s presence is almost ubiquitous in Meslier’s work. Because unlike other authors such as Fénelon and Malebranche, who are cited at length in the last two preuves, we can find references to different passages of the Essais in each of the eight preuves that make up the Mémoire, as well as in the Avant-propos and the Conclusion.58 In qualitative terms, and as a general observation, I can point out that the passages of the Essais cited in the Mémoire are, in many cases, preceded by the praise of Montaigne’s good judgment.59 This could show us that the priest admires the essayist for his sagacity and bon sens, and calls upon him to give testimony as a

 Andrew Morehouse indicated the importance of Apology a long time ago: “It should be noted that in him [Meslier] the Pyrrhonism of Montaigne and his followers in the seventeenth century took root, blossomed, and flourished. The influence of the Essais is everywhere in evidence, and that of the Apologie de Raymond Sebond is profound. Many of Meslier’s remarks on the miracles and on the resemblances to Christian rites and beliefs in other religions can be traced to this essay” (Andrew Morehouse, Voltaire and Jean Meslier, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1936, p. 3). 57  Suffice it to remember here the thesis of Pierre Villey (Les sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne, op.cit.), for whom the Apology was written by Montaigne in the mid–1570s, in the midst of a deep crise pyrrhonienne. This thesis has had a huge impact, and its traces can be found in scholars such as Richard Popkin (see The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003, pp. 44–63). 58  In an article published three decades ago, Alberto Maestroni (“Meslier lettore di Fénelon”, Rivista critica di Storia della Filosofia, 38, 1983, pp. 131–158) details the presence of Malebranche and Fénelon in the last two Proofs of the Mémoire. Relying on the edition of the Oeuvres complètes, he establishes that the Recherche is cited by Meslier in 19 occasions, occupying 791 lines in the text, while the Démonstration is cited on 22 occasions, occupying 401 lines. Following this same method, I was able to find 41 references to Montaigne, occupying 661 lines of the text. However, unlike Malebranche and Fénelon, it should be noted once again that the Essais are cited by Meslier all over his work, and always in a positive way. 59  Expressions such as: the “judicieux Français, le sieur de Montaigne”, the “judicieux sieur de Montaigne”, “dit fort judicieusement le sieur de Montaigne”, “Voici ce que dit le judicieux sieur de Montaigne”, “notre judicieux Français, le sieur de Montaigne”, “dit le judicieux Montaigne”, etc., are usual. 56

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prestigious predecessor, usually to provide support to the theses that Meslier tries to defend and develop. In this sense, I agree with Miguel Benítez, for whom an auteur judicieux “is one who, in the spirit of Meslier, designates someone who was not deceived by the imposture [of religion], but wanted to hide it”.60 However, beyond the fact that Montaigne is treated as an authority, what I am most interested in highlighting is the fact that Meslier does not usually follow the letter of the arguments developed by the essayist. Quite the opposite. Meslier usually performs different operations through which Montaigne’s text is re-signified, re-configured, re-written, and even transformed, all to make explicit some of the conclusions that the essayist merely suggests, with the intention of not deepening the political crisis of the Reformation or of protecting his own physical and moral integrity.61 I will present here two examples that can help me illustrate the point. The first refers to the purely human and conventional character of religion, as well as to the fact that certain cunning characters, the legislators, have used these devices to give more solid support to human societies; the second refers to the criticism of miracles. Montaigne addresses the first subject, a typical one in clandestine literature, on several occasions throughout his Essais, in particular, if we follow the reading of Meslier, in the Apologie and in “De la gloire” (II, 16).62 Montaigne’s first consideration about the art of theological-political lying is presented only some pages before those in which the essayist offers a detailed description of Pyrrhonism, which also highlights the importance of the context of this reference. Indeed, in the lines that immediately precede the passage in which he speaks of Plato’s political cunning, Montaigne asserts that, in general terms, none of the ancient philosophers seems to have taken their philosophical inventions too seriously, as they were “too wise” to establish something so uncertain as “articles of faith”. From this perspective, the ideas of Plato, the numbers of Pythagoras, and the atoms of Epicurus would have been only modest attempts to restrain an inherent tendency of our spirit, to offer a truth capable of stopping our “natural curiosity” through a “sophisticated poetry”: philosophy. In the same way, political inventions respond to a human need; more specifically, to the “need of public society” to find a pillar of support, an effective way of guaranteeing obedience to the laws of the country in which one lives, a fact that Plato would have understood with great clarity. Plato treats this mystery [i.e. that of political inventions] with cards pretty much on the table. For where he writes on his own, he makes no certain prescriptions. When he plays the lawgiver, he borrows a domineering and assertive style, and yet mixes in boldly the most fantastic of his inventions, which are as useful for persuading the common herd as they are

 Miguel Benítez, Les yeux de la raison, op.cit., p. 71.  As Montaigne admits toward the end of his life, despite the stealth, both Catholics and Protestants mistreated him: “I fell into the disadvantages that moderation produces in such diseases. They beat me up everywhere: for the Ghibelline, I was Guelph; for Guelph, Ghibelline”. Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 798. 62  A third reference, not taken up by Meslier, can be found in the opening pages of “De ménager sa volonté” (III, 10). 60 61

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ridiculous for persuading himself; knowing how apt we are to accept any impressions and most of all the wildest and most monstrous. And therefore, in his Laws, he takes great care that they shall sing in public only poems whose fabulous fictions tend to some useful purpose; and, it being so easy to imprint all sorts of phantasms on the human mind, he thought it an injustice not to feed it rather on profitable lies than on lies that were either useless or harmful. He says quite shamelessly in his Republic that it is often necessary to trick men for their own good.63

These same ideas will reappear in the chapter “On glory” (II, 16): many people desire rewards that are empty yet nonetheless serve, Montaigne thinks, a positive social and political function. Honorary rewards, though vain, seem to contribute significantly to the fulfilment of men’s moral duty. Religion also plays an important role, in much the same way that concern for glory and honour serve to strengthen sociability and promote the good actions of rulers and governed. This is why legislators from all latitudes have resorted to the art of theological-political lying to make it easier for people to adopt the laws intended for them: This means has been practiced by all lawgivers, and there is no polity in which there is not some admixture either of empty ceremony or of lying opinion to serve as a curb to keep the people in their duty. That is why most of them have their fabulous origins and beginnings, enriched with supernatural mysteries. That is what has given credit to bastard religions and brought them into favor with men of understanding.64

Meslier includes Montaigne’s passages in the first two chapters of the Mémoire’s First Proof, in which he seeks to show the human character and the political purpose of religions. In chapter 4, “Of the vanity and falsehood of religions, which are nothing but human inventions”, he presents the same examples that Montaigne had included in his essay on glory, to endorse his claim that religion is as instrumentum regni. Numa Pompilius, Sertorius, Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Zalmoxis, Minos, Charondas, Lycurgus, Draco, and Solon are the most outstanding legislators of the list. All these examples and many other similar ones show quite clearly how all different religions are truly nothing more than human inventions, full of errors, lies, illusions, and impostures. This allowed the judicious Mr. de Montaigne to say that that this means has been used by all legislators, and there is no State or government that does not contain its mixture of ceremonial vanities or lying opinions, which serve as a bridle for keeping people in their place. That is why most of them have fabulous origins and beginnings, and enriched with supernatural mysteries, being exactly that what has made them be favored by the people of understanding.65

63  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 379–380. It should be noted that this passage seems to have had some impact not only on Meslier, but also on some of his contemporaries, including the author of the Doutes des pyrrhoniens (Buenos Aires, El Cuenco de Plata, 2017, pp. 124–126). Indeed, this anonymous manuscript culminates with an extensive quote from “the wise Montaigne,” a quote whose central lines are those transcribed here. 64  Montaigne, The Complete Essays, op.cit., p. 477. 65  Jean Meslier, Testament: Memoir of the Thoughts and Sentiments of Jean Meslier, Amherst, Prometheus Books, 2009, p. 49. The italics are from the original.

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Beyond the clear similarities, there is a very significant difference between Montaigne’s original text and Meslier’s rewriting: the priest suppresses the part of the proposition in which the essayist affirmed that the recourse to the supernatural origin of the legal norms had been the way in which “bastard religions” had acquired credit. This implies that there is no reason to exclude Christianity, i.e., the alleged true religion, from such observations—observations that will be reinforced by the inclusion, in the list of the legislators who have used the resource of the supernatural, not only of Moses, who was already present in Montaigne but also of Muhammad and Jesus Christ himself, the three most famous impostors in history. In chapter 5, Meslier seeks to explain the “reasons why politicians make use of errors and abuses of religions”, taking up a passage of the Apology in which Montaigne refers to the art of theological-political lying, a practice legitimized by “the divine” Plato in the Republic and the Laws. However, showing his skills in making fire with all kinds of wood, and showing that he does not worry very much about making known the sources from which he is nourished, Meslier combines two different extracts from Montaigne, without indicating one of the references. Thus, after referring to the Réflexions politiques of Cardinal Richelieu, who– (considering the example of Numa Pompilius) recommends using the “mask” of religion to achieve certain mundane purposes, Meslier claims the following: The reason why politicians act in this way with people—according to Scaevola, a great pontiff, and Varro, a great theologian of his time—is because it seems better for people to ignore certain things and believe some false ones. The divine Plato, observes M. de Montaigne, says quite shamelessly in his Republic that it is often necessary to trick men for their own good.66

Nevertheless, It can be noted that it was not only the “crazy ambition” and the boldness of certain astute men that allowed religion to be used for political purposes and the benefit of a few. The ignorance of the immense majority of those who live in primitive societies and the natural credulity of human beings also seem to have contributed to this development. Criticism of this credulity, which exhibits one of its most emblematic features in the belief in miracles, is not only another very common theme in clandestine manuscripts, but also the object of reflection in several of Montaigne’s essays: the one that analyses the power of custom (I, 23), where all beliefs are humanized and relativized according to the tenth trope of Aenesidemus; the chapter in which human beings are exhorted not to judge about the divine rules (I, 32), in which Montaigne says, “the true field of imposture is unknown things”; the apology for Sebond (II, 12), where many alleged truths are corroded by Pyrrhonian arguments; and the essay “Of Cripples” (III, 11), in which Montaigne affirms the unreal character of supernatural events, such as miracles, and witchcraft. These essays, as I said earlier, will be carefully read and used by Meslier, as can be seen in an example taken from the Seventh Proof of the Mémoire: “There are a large number of false prophets and false miracles”. Along these lines, the priest tries mainly to mainly two theses: on the one hand, that the only support for the alleged 66

 Ibid., p. 51.

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truth of religion is no more than faith, a blind belief, since prophecies, revelations, and miracles exceed completely the terrain in which the senses and natural reason can offer us some certainty; on the other hand, the idea that all religions are on an equal footing, i.e., all religions, including Christianity, resort to the same sort of devices to try to establish their truthfulness, and, therefore, they are all equally suspicious. It is in the context of this assertion that Meslier resorts to the authoritative opinion of judicieux Montaigne. The pagan religions are replete with similar miracles and revelations [to those of the Christian]. The religion of the Jews is also replete [with similar miracles]; that of Mohammed, practiced by Turks, Ottomans, and barbarians, too. The same as that of Confucius, practiced by Chinese and Japanese, and all other religions that claim to be based on these presumed testimonies of the deity. So it was with good reasons that our wise lord of Montaigne said in his Essays that appearances are common to all religions: hope, trust, events, ceremonies, penance, martyrdom. Under the name of events are included miracles, which are supposedly supernatural and divine events. Elsewhere he says that Emperor Augustus had more temples than Jupiter and was served with the same fervor and the same belief that he could perform miracles. In another place, he says that the divinity gladly takes and receives the honors and obeisance that humans render him, under whatever guise he may be, under whatever name, and in whatever manner. And he adds that this zeal of men has been universally seen with good eyes from heaven, that all governments have reaped the fruits of their devotion; men and impious actions, he says, have caused similar events everywhere. The stories of the pagans, he continues, recognize dignity, order, and justice, and the prodigies and oracles employed in their profit and instruction in their fabulous religions.67

In this particular case, which is a further example of his pyromaniacal reading abilities, Meslier not only takes the liberty of composing a single passage from three separate quotes taken from various places of Montaigne’s Apologie; he also adds an affirmation to radicalize the considerations of the essayist. Indeed, the last sentence of the first reference (under the name of events are included miracles, which are supposedly supernatural and divine events) is not found on the page indicated by Meslier, nor in any other of the Essais. Besides, although the text is very brief, the style of the writing seems to be much more similar to the repetitive and heavy sentences of the priest than to Montaigne’s fine grammatical construction. Therefore, there are two possibilities: it is an aggregate of Meslier’s hand, which I think is more likely, or it is a passage taken up from some other book and then attributed to Montaigne. Nevertheless, what is clear is the intention of Meslier, who not only had already alluded to the question of miracles from another collage of three passages of the “Des boiteux” (III, 11) essay but would also insist on it a few pages later. In short, the priest intends to reveal and put in question the foundations on which stands that astonishing “mystery of iniquity” that condemns thousands of people to live in misery, subject to material chains and spiritual ones that a few have devised for their benefit—a mystery of iniquity that not only seems to be based on the natural credulity exhibited by human beings but also, and mainly, on the fraud involving equally princes and priests. For that purpose, it seems undeniable that the Pyrrhonian darts 67

 Ibid., p. 455.

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offered by Montaigne, already devoid of any connection with what that Hellenic school pretended to be, are now deadly against the shields of imposture.

8.5  Historiography, Skepticism, and Clandestine Literature The year 1960 can be thought of as a key point in the history that underlies our story, particularly in virtue of two events: the appearance of the first edition of the seminal History of Scepticism by Richard Popkin and of John Spink’s French Free-Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire. The History of Popkin, which in its initial version was limited to the period from Erasmus and Descartes,68 was revised and expanded for half a century by the author himself69 and had a huge impact in the Western academic world. This impact was not only felt in Europe and the United States but also inspired “the founding fathers of the work on skepticism in Latin America: Oswaldo Porchat (Brazil) and Ezequiel de Olaso (Argentina)”,70 two scholars who renewed Pyrrhonism and became aware of the importance that skepticism had had “in the genesis and development of modern philosophy”.71 For his part, Spink dedicated two important chapters of his work to clandestine philosophical manuscripts. In these pages, he not only provided an analysis of some of these texts but also made considerable progress over the classic studies by Gustave Lanson72 and Ira Wade.73 As has recently been said, these chapters “henceforth served as one of the reference points for the articles and scientific meetings that, increasingly, will refer to the theme”,74 meetings and articles that reached one of their highest points in the monumental study by Miguel Benítez.75 Taking these works into account,76 the particular case that I have developed in this chapter aims to contribute to the growth of these two lines of research that, for  Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes, Assen, Van Gorcum, 1960.  Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1979; and The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003. 70  Plínio Junqueira Smith and Otávio Bueno, “Skepticism in Latin America”, in The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/skepticismlatin-america/, accessed: 20 October 2018. 71  Ezequiel de Olaso, “El escepticismo antiguo en la génesis y desarrollo de la filosofía moderna”, in Ezequiel de Olaso (ed.), Del Renacimiento a la Ilustración I, Madrid, Trotta, 1994, pp. 133–161. 72  Gustave Lanson. “Questions diverses sur l’histoire de l’esprit philosophique en France avant 1750”, Revue d’histoire littéraire de la France, 19, 1912, pp. 1–29; 293–317. 73  Ira Wade, The Clandestine Organisation and Diffusion of philosophic Ideas in France from 1700 to 1750, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1938. 74  Fernando Bahr, “Introducción”, op.cit., p. 8. 75  Miguel Benítez, La cara oculta de las Luces. Investigaciones sobre los manuscritos filosóficos clandestinos de los siglos XVII y XVIII, Valencias, Biblioteca Valenciana, 2003. 76  Works to which I can add newer readings of the genesis of modernity and Enlightenment, such as those carried out by Stephen Toulmin (Cosmopolis: The Hidden Agenda of Modernity, Chicago, 68 69

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half a century now, have been changing our understanding of the history of modern philosophy. Briefly, I have tried to reconstruct one of the many ways in which skepticism and clandestine literature converge. Better to say, I have tried to show how, in the shadows of the Enlightenment century, skepticism became atheism.

Bibliographical References Anonymous. 2017. Dudas de los pirrónicos. Translated by Fernando Bahr. Buenos Aires: El Cuenco de Plata. Bahr, Fernando. 2017. Introducción. In Dudas de los pirrónicos, 7–22. Buenos Aires: El Cuenco de Plata. Bayod Brau, Jordi. 2009. Montaigne, «auteur paradoxal» y la Encyclopédie. In Filósofos, filosofía y filosofías en la Encyclopédie de Diderot y D’Alembert, ed. M.A. Granada, 133–148. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. Benítez, Miguel. 1983. La duda como método: escepticismo y materialismo en la literatura clandestina. El Basilisco 15: 44–61. ———. 2003. La cara oculta de las Luces. Investigaciones sobre los manuscritos filosóficos clandestinos de los siglos XVII y XVIII. Valencia: Biblioteca Valenciana. ———. 2012. Les yeux de la raison. Le matérialisme athée de Jean Meslier. Paris: Honoré Champion. Butor, Michel. 1968. Essais sur les Essais. Paris: Gallimard. Bredel, Marc. 1983. Jean Meslier l’enrage: prêtre athée et revolutionnaire sous Louis XIV. Paris: Balland. Cavallo, Guglielmo, and Roger Chartier. 2004. Introducción. In Historia de la lectura en el mundo occidental, dir. G. Cavallo and R. Chartier, 15–63. Madrid: Taurus. Charles, Sébastien. 2008. Ceticismo e clandestinidade. Sképsis 3–4: 95–108. Chartier, Roger. 1998. Libros y lectores. In Diccionario histórico de la Ilustración, ed. V. Ferrone and D. Roche, 243–249. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Desan, Philippe. 2014. Montaigne. Une biographie politique. Paris: Odile Jacob. Dommanget, Maurice. 2008. Le curé Meslier, athée, communiste et révolutionnaire sous Louis XIV. Paris: Éditions Coda. [First edition: París, Julliard, 1965]. Dotoli, Giovanni. 2007. Les libertines et Montaigne. Montaigne Studies XIX. Chicago: University of Chicago. Engelsing, Rolf. 1974. Der Bürger als Leser: Lesergeschichte in Deutschland, 1500–1800. Stuttgart: Metzler. Frame, Donald. 1955. Montaigne’s Discovery of Man. New York: Columbia University Press. Jonathan, Israel. 2001. Radical Enlightenment. Philosophy and Making of Modernity 1650–1750. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kovadloff, Santiago. 2004. Montaigne no hace pie. Cuadernos hispanoamericanos 646: 71–76. La Mothe Le Vayer, François. 1988. Dialogues faites à l’imitation des anciens. Paris: Fayard. Lanson, Gustave. 1912. Questions diverses sur l’histoire de l’esprit philosophique en France avant 1750. Revue d’histoire littéraire de la France 19: 1–29–293–317. Lutaud, Olivier. 1973. Des révolutions d’Angleterre à la Révolution francaise: le tyrannicide et ‘Killing no murder’. La Haye: Martinus Nyhoff. Maestroni, Alberto. 1983. Meslier lettore di Fénelon. Rivista critica di Storia della Filosofia 38: 131–158.

The University of Chicago Press, 1990) and Jonathan Israel (Radical Enlightenment. Philosophy and Making of Modernity 1650–1750, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001).

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Manent, Pierre. 2014. Montaigne. La vie sans loi. Paris: Flammarion. Meslier, Jean. 1970/1971/1972. Oeuvres completes. 3 vols. Paris: Antrophos. ———. 2009. Testament: Memoir of the Thoughts and Sentiments of Jean Meslier. Translated by M. Shreve. Amherst: Prometheus Books. Montaigne, Michel. 2009. Essais. 3 vols. Paris: Galimard. ———. 1965. The Complete Essays. Translated by D. Frame. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Morehouse, Andrew. 1936. Voltaire and Jean Meslier. New Haven: Yale University Press. Nakam, Géralde. 1982. Montaigne et son temps, les evenements et les Essais. Paris: Nizet. ———. 2001. Les Essais de Montaigne, miroir et proces de leur temps: Temoignage historique et creation litteraire. Paris: Honore Champion. Navarro Reyes, Jesús. 2007. Pensar sin certezas. Montaigne y el arte de conversar. Madrid: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Olaso, Ezequiel. 1994. El escepticismo antiguo en la génesis y desarrollo de la filosofía moderna. In Del Renacimiento a la Ilustración I, ed. E. Olaso, 133–161. Madrid: Trotta. Paganini, Gianni. 2002. Avant la Promenade du sceptique: pyrrhonisme et clandestinité de Bayle à Diderot. In Scepticisme, clandestinité et libre pensée, ed. G. Paganini, 17–46. Paris: Honoré Campion. Pintard, René. 1943. Le libertinage érudit dans la primère moitié du XVIIe siècle. Vol. 2. Paris: Boivin. Popkin, Richard. 1960. The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Descartes. Assen: Van Gorcum. ———. 1979. The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Spinoza. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 2003. The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, Plínio J., and Otávio Bueno. 2016. Skepticism in Latin America. In The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/ skepticism-latin-america/. Spink, John. 1960. French Free-Thought from Gassendi to Voltaire. London: Athlone Press. ———. 1982. « Pyrrhonien » et « Sceptique » synonymes de « Matérialiste » dans la littérature clandestine. In Le matérialisme du XVIIIe siècle et la littérature clandestine, ed. O.  Bloch, 143–148. Paris: Vrin. Toulmin, Stephen. 1990. Cosmopolis: The Hidden Agenda of Modernity. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Villey, Pierre. 1908. Les sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne. 2 vols. Paris: Hachette. Wade, Ira. 1938. The Clandestine Organisation and Diffusion of philosophic Ideas in France from 1700 to 1750. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Wittmann, Reinhart. 2004. ¿Hubo una revolución de la lectura a finales del siglo XVIII? In Historia de la lectura en el mundo occidental, dir. G. Cavallo and R. Chartier, 495–537. Madrid: Taurus.

Chapter 9

Reading Bayle, Again: A Survey of the Interpretive Landscape and A Defense of the Academic-Moral Knowledge Reading Kristen Irwin

Abstract  Since the Enlightenment, there have been almost as many different interpretations of Bayle’s philosophical thought as there have been interpreters. At one end of the spectrum, the complexity and seeming ambiguity of Bayle’s arguments, as well as his criticisms of rational theology, have been cited as evidence by proponents of an ironic and critical interpretation of Bayle as a libertin clandestin. At the other end of the spectrum are interpretations that consider Bayle’s skepticism about the ability of reason to establish certainty as evidence of a kind of heterodox Huguenot fideism. In this work, I explain in detail the interpretive problems associated with Bayle, trace the development of the major positions along the spectrum, examine representative examples of each kind of interpretation, and show that a viable Labroussean-inspired interpretation can be developed that responds to lacunae in the most systematic recent interpretation of Bayle, developed by Gianluca Mori.

Since the Enlightenment, relatively few scholars have taken on the task of interpreting Bayle, and of those scholars, there have been almost as many different interpretations of Bayle’s philosophical thought as there have been interpreters. At the risk of oversimplification, the interpretations can be situated along a spectrum. At one end of the spectrum, the complexity and seeming ambiguity of Bayle’s arguments, as well as his criticisms of rational theology, have been cited as evidence by proponents of a primarily ironic and critical interpretation of Bayle as a clandestine atheist. This interpretation was first popularized by the Enlightenment philosophes and has recently come back into favor among European scholars in particular. At the other end of the spectrum is a family of interpretations that considers Bayle’s K. Irwin (*) Loyola University Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_9

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skepticism about the ability of reason to establish certainty as evidence of an affirmation of a kind of fideism, and of Huguenot Calvinist fideism in particular.1 In this work, I explain in more detail the interpretive problems associated with Bayle, trace the development of the major positions along the spectrum, examine representative examples of each kind of interpretation, and show that a viable Labroussean-­ inspired interpretation can be developed that responds to lacunae in the most systematic recent interpretation of Bayle, developed by Gianluca Mori.

9.1  The Challenge of Reading Bayle The interpretive problems associated with Bayle’s writings are perhaps most obvious in his Dictionnaire historique et critique (1697/1702), one of the most challenging texts of the early modern period. Most of its pages are devoted not to the scholarly articles themselves, but to remarks and footnotes that showcase Bayle’s own thoughts on the topics of the articles. Further, many statements in the Dictionnaire appear to contradict each other, even within the same entry.2 It is not just the underdetermined, and quite often paradoxical, nature of the Dictionnaire that poses an interpretive problem for would-be scholars of Bayle, however; when one examines Bayle’s corpus in more depth, the difficulty is magnified. Elisabeth Labrousse notes that “Bayle speaks, in turn, the language of a Calvinist theologian, a Huguenot pamphleteer, a disciple of Malebranche, or a spiritual son of Erasmus, Montaigne, and Naudé.”3 Bayle’s scholarship on all of these topics and in all of these genres was exhaustingly thorough. His arguments not only cite the relevant historical sources, but also engage all of his relevant contemporaries, a testament to his lifelong obsession with the intellectual trends of his day. Bayle’s arguments are so multifaceted and complex that it is often unclear exactly what theses the arguments are supposed to be defending. As Jean Delvolvé aptly notes, The very originality of Bayle’s ideas – their lack of systematic construction, their diffusion in the mass of an excessively prolix work, their intentionally obscure exposition, hidden (since one must discover them through a thousand reluctances and among the illusion of contrary affirmations) – all of these reasons have hindered the comprehension of Bayle by his contemporaries, and Bayle taking his rightful place in the history of human thought.4  I discuss the term “fideism” and my own usage of it below.  See, e.g., DHC, XII, “Pyrrho”, C&D. 3  “[T]our à tour, Bayle parle le langage d’un théologien calviniste, d’un pamphlétaire Huguenot, d’un disciple de Malebranche ou d’un fils spiritual d’Erasme, de Montaigne, et de Naudé” (Labrousse. Hétérodoxie et rigorisme xvi). 4  “L’originalité même des idées de Bayle, leur défaut de construction systématique, leur diffusion dans la masse d’une œuvre prolixe à l’excès, leur exposition volontairement obscure, enveloppée – car il faut les découvrir à travers mille réticences et parmi les trompe-l’œil des affirmations contraires – toutes ces raisons ont empêché que Bayle fût compris de ses contemporains et prît dans l’histoire de la pensée humaine le rang qui devait être le sien” (Religion, critique et philosophie positive chez Pierre Bayle 426). 1 2

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Like Delvolvé, Thomas Lennon’s Reading Bayle (1999) recognizes the multiple ambiguities and difficulties inherent in any attempt to provide a systematic interpretation of Bayle. In contrast to the many interpreters who attempt to position Bayle on the fideist-atheist spectrum, Lennon argues that the nature of Bayle’s texts prohibits fixing any sort of univocal interpretation to his thought. Instead, Lennon argues that what is most distinctive about Bayle’s thought is its dialogic character and polyphonic thinking.5 According to Lennon, polyphonic thinking is characterized by a certain independence of voice, a consciousness of the personal, and openness to resumption and revision.6 Polyphonic texts “exhibit this characteristic of allowing others to speak autonomously, rather than as vehicles for the views of the author”7; it would be a mistake, in that case, to impose an artificial systematization on a text to create a single voice or interpretation. If Lennon is correct, then the typical temptation to force internal consistency onto Bayle’s texts would not just be a hermeneutic mistake; it would be a philosophical one, for it would entail the pursuit of consistency between arguments defending opposing positions. Lennon thus recommends that Bayle be read as an essentially polyphonic philosopher. Among interpreters of Bayle, however, Lennon is the exception rather than the rule. Most readers of Bayle attempt to discern systematicity by fitting Bayle into one end of this spectrum or the other.

9.2  T  he Proto-Enlightenment reading, the Labroussean reading, and American responses Historically, the most influential interpretation of Bayle is the interpretation of the Enlightenment philosophes. According to this account, all of Bayle’s arguments that ostensibly defend a position consistent with theism, in fact serve as a vehicle for his heterodox rationalist critiques of religion. The completeness of Bayle’s arguments, and his dedication to charitable reconstruction of his opponents’ arguments, is not evidence of Bayle’s responsible scholarship, but is rather a chance for him to advance his own subversive views, and to demonstrate definitively the irrationality of religious faith. That these views are in fact his own is, according to this interpretation, supported by the paradoxical replies and weak counterarguments that Bayle provides to answer the charges of his “opponents.” According to these scholars, Bayle’s apparent acceptance of what seem to be obviously anti-intellectual paradoxes and “Christian mysteries” (such as the doctrine of the Trinity) by an otherwise philosophically sophisticated mind supports an interpretation of Bayle as a surreptitious atheist, or at least a philosopher whose arguments implicitly commit him to a rationalist-inspired atheism.  Lennon, Reading Bayle 29.  Lennon, Reading Bayle 31, 35, 37. 7  Lennon, Reading Bayle 29. 5 6

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This interpretation of Bayle stood relatively unchallenged until Elisabeth Labrousse’s landmark two-volume work, Pierre Bayle (1964). While the first volume is primarily a detailed biography, the second volume is a thematic study of Bayle’s philosophy of history, philosophical ideas, theology, and practical morality. Labrousse’s interpretation challenged the proto-Enlightenment reading of Bayle as inconsistent with the biographical details of Bayle’s life, and her study of Bayle’s ideas revealed a thinker whose views were considerably more complex than the straightforwardly rationalist atheism that the philosophes had attributed to him. She has been called “la première bayliste de sa génération,” and her work inspired others to pursue an interpretation of Bayle that was both more consistent with the biographical details of his life, and more accurate in its portrayal of the complexity of Bayle’s thought.8 Labrousse offers what might be called a “fideist” reading of Bayle. In general, a fideist interpretation of Bayle is one that reads him as a faithful Calvinist and takes his affirmations of faith to be legitimate rather than ironic. Admittedly, using this term to describe any thinker before the nineteenth century is, strictly speaking, anachronistic, since the term does not actually appear as a description of philosophical or theological positions until 1789.9 Its meaning is further obscured by the fact that Catholics and Protestants have traditionally used the term to describe different classes of thinkers. The Roman Catholic Church’s official condemnation of fideism as a heresy implies that anyone classified as a fideist is a heretic;10 the Catholic use of the term to describe canonical Christian figures, then, is narrower than the Protestant use. On this restricted Catholic definition of fideism, only thinkers who “deny reason any role or function in the search for truth, both before and after the acceptance of faith” would count as fideists.11 With this great divergence in the usage of the term, perhaps the definition most useful for the present purposes is the one that Richard Popkin provides in his History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle (2003): Those whom I classify as fideists are persons who are sceptics with regard to the possibility of our attaining knowledge by rational means, without our possessing some basic truths known by faith (i.e., truths based on no rational evidence whatsoever) … Fideism covers a group of possible views, extending from (1) that of blind faith, which denies to reason any capacity whatsoever to reach the truth, or to make it plausible, and which bases all certitude

8  See the introduction to Richard Popkin’s Historical & Critical Dictionary: Selections from the work of Pierre Bayle (Bobbs-Merrill, 1965). 9  Its first well-known appearance is in Eugène Ménégoz, Réflexions sur l’évangile du salut (1789); see Thomas Carroll’s “The traditions of fideism” (Religious Studies 44 (2008): 1–22) for a more complete treatment. 10  The Church condemned doctrines resembling those of later fideists as early as 1348 (Nicolas d’Autrecourt), and in 1840, forced the French theologian Louis Bautain to affirm explicitly antifideist propositions, such as “Human reason is able to prove with certitude the existence of God; faith, a heavenly gift, is posterior to revelation, and therefore cannot be properly used against the atheist to prove the existence of God” and “The use of reason precedes faith and, with the help of revelation and grace, leads to it” (New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, “Fideism”). 11  Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle xxii.

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on a complete and unquestioning adherence to some revealed or accepted truths, to (2) that of making faith prior to reason. The latter view denies to reason any complete and absolute certitude of that truth prior to the acceptance of some proposition or propositions by faith (i.e., admitting that all rational propositions are to some degree doubtful prior to accepting something on faith), even though reason may play some relative or probable role in the search for, or explanation of, the truth.12

On Popkin’s account, there is a range of possible fideist positions based on the scope of the epistemic authority that is allotted to faith. At one extreme is the radical view that all claims of faith have absolute epistemic authority over the claims of reason in every domain which contains claims of revealed religion. On this view, reason is completely devoid of any epistemic authority in any domain containing claims of revelation. At the other extreme is a view that is characterized by the claim that the acceptance of some proposition or propositions by faith is necessary for certainty. Compared to other forms of fideism, this view assigns a much more limited role to faith; while faith still is necessary in order to gain complete certainty, reason nevertheless plays an essential role in the investigation and explanation of the truth. Popkin calls this latter kind of fideism “weak” fideism, and the former kind “strong” fideism. For commentators inspired by Labrousse, including Karl Sandberg and Hubert Bost, reading Bayle as a proto-Enlightenment thinker ignores the philosophical context of the seventeenth century. The central preoccupations of Bayle’s thought were not the same as those of the philosophes but were rather determined in large part by the context of Cartesianism and Protestant theology. According to the interpretation defended by these commentators, the complex structure of Bayle’s arguments reflects not a subversive atheism, but rather his desire to demonstrate for his opponents the paradoxes of reason with respect to metaphysics, and with respect to the metaphysical claims of religion in particular. This demonstration of the paradoxes of reason provides a basis both for Bayle’s affirmation of Calvinist theology, and for his use of rigorous philosophical argumentation. The interpretation of Bayle as a Calvinist philosopher who uses reason to disarm reason in the face of inexplicable faith, then, is consistent not only with his commitment to responsible argument, but also with his apparent lifelong adherence to the Calvinist faith. Perhaps the clearest example of this genre of interpretation is Karl Sandberg’s At the Crossroads of Faith and Reason (1966). Sandberg’s position in this work is that the traditional proto-Enlightenment reading of Bayle as a philosophe avant la lettre is not only inconsistent with his life – as he says Labrousse’s Bayle: Du pays de Foix à la cité d’Erasme shows – but also fails to appreciate sufficiently the influence of his religious background and his interactions with his contemporaries on his philosophical thought. Among the pieces of evidence that Sandberg cites is Bayle’s furious reply to the Jesuit Father Maimbourg’s Histoire du Calvinisme (1682). Bayle wrote his reply – Critique générale de l’Histoire du Calvinisme – in two weeks, and Sandberg argues that it manifests a “noticeable… strength of Protestant conviction and commitment”. In this work, Sandberg writes, Bayle “attached considerable 12

 Popkin, The History of Scepticism xxi, xxii.

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importance to the idea that since the workings of Providence were infinite, they could not, by definition, be understood by finite reason”. However, Sandberg also acknowledges “a strong element of rationalism in French Calvinism” and cites Bayle’s assertion in Pensées diverses (1683) that his views were not far from those of Malebranche.13 Ultimately, though, Sandberg argues that Bayle’s pessimistic assessment of reason is what characterizes the bulk of his work and cites the Calvinist doctrine of the corruption of the Fall as one of the factors influencing this assessment. Throughout Bayle’s journal Nouvelles de la République des Lettres, he makes critical remarks about the arguments of secular rationalists, and Sandberg’s view is that Bayle’s remarks here indicate that “all rational investigation of theological or philosophical questions eventually yields, not clarity and evidence, but rather antinomies which render reason powerless either to affirm or deny”.14 Finally, Sandberg cites Bayle’s remark in the Dictionnaire that “there is no contradiction between these two things: (1) the light of reason teaches me that that is false; (2) Moreover, I believe it because I am persuaded that this light is not infallible and because I prefer to defer to the proofs of sentiment and to the impressions of conscience, in a word, to the word of God, than to defer to a metaphysical demonstration”.15 For Sandberg, this is evidence not only of Bayle’s sincerity in his faith, but also of his confidence in the coherence of his religious and philosophical views.

9.3  The Subversive Atheist Reading Redux The Labrousse-Bost-Sandberg interpretation of Bayle has recently been challenged by the careful studies of Antony McKenna (1990) and Gianluca Mori, among others. Mori’s Bayle philosophe (1999) is perhaps the best example of this kind of interpretation, which represents a more historically responsible version of the interpretation advocated by the philosophes, in response to the charges of anachronism leveled by proponents of a fideist interpretation. Mori agrees with their assessment of anachronism, and on this basis, he rejects the proto-Enlightenment reading as inaccurate. He goes to great lengths to situate Bayle in this seventeenth-century context and highlights the respects in which Bayle borrows from his contemporaries, particularly Malebranche.16

 Karl Sandberg, At the Crossroads of Faith and Reason 49, 53, 57.  Sandberg, At the Crossroads of Faith and Reason 59. 15  « [I]l n’y a point de contradiction entre ces deux choses: 1, la lumiere de la Raison m’apprend que cela est faux; 2, je le croi pourtant, parce que je suis persuadé que cette Lumiere n’est pas infaillible, & parce que j’aime mieux déférer aux preuves de sentiment, & aux impressions de la conscience, en un mot à la Parole de Dieu, qu’à une Démonstration Métaphysique » DHC Spinoza M 259. 16  Gianluca Mori, Bayle philosophe 8. 13 14

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Mori is equally dismissive of the fideist interpretation of Bayle, though his reasons are less explicit.17 While he praises the “Protestant” interpretation of Elisabeth Labrousse for its criticisms of the proto-Enlightenment reading, he points to the many equivocations in her own reading, which he admits is more complex than most fideist readings of Bayle.18 Mori’s proposed interpretation of Bayle is that of a “Stratonian,” a position that Bayle outlines in the Continuation des Pensées Diverses (1705). Strato, the position’s namesake, was the third leader of the ancient Lyceum, after Aristotle and Theophrastus. Strato is distinct from other ancient philosophers in his uncompromising atheism. Bayle himself is interested less in the position advocated by Strato himself than in a modern adaptation of Stratonianism. Strato represents for Bayle the position of seventeenth century libertins: the denial of a providential God, and the affirmation of the eternity and infinity of the universe. Mori’s case that Stratonianism, in fact, represents Bayle’s own philosophical position rests on a methodological feature of the structure of Bayle’s arguments. Bayle typically structures his arguments not to support directly the position he actually holds; rather, he constructs the best possible argument for the strongest opposing position, only to defeat it later. This eventual defeat makes evident the superiority of the position Bayle actually holds. Bayle explicitly develops the position of the Stratonian atheist over the course of several sections of CPD, and, according to Mori, this position is never actually refuted by Bayle. Thus, the strongest opposing position to rational Christian philosophy is left standing as a menace to theist philosophers. The presupposition of Mori’s argument is that if Bayle’s position were not that of the Stratonian atheist, then he would have provided more decisive objections to the position; in the absence of those objections, the implication is that a rational person – and presumably, therefore, Bayle – is forced to accept Stratonianism as the only philosophically defensible position. Mori is careful never to claim explicitly that Bayle was in fact an atheist, but his interpretation leaves no doubt as to the implications of Bayle’s failure to provide a convincing reply to the Stratonian atheist position. Although Mori’s interpretation succeeds in situating Bayle’s arguments within their proper seventeenth-century context, he often seems to overlook the most obvious context of the arguments themselves: Bayle’s own works. The form that Bayle gives to his arguments, and the audience to whom he addresses them, are essential elements that must be considered in any historically responsible interpretation of his thought. Only after considering Bayle’s arguments in the context of each individual text, and then proposing an interpretation of those arguments based in the particularities of that text, can one attempt to reconstruct an interpretation of Bayle’s thought as a whole. Constructing a charitable and historically responsible interpretation of Bayle requires going beyond the Dictionnaire to engage less familiar, but equally important, works of Bayle that speak to this theme. These other works may provide the necessary evidence to make the interpretive debate tractable once again.

17 18

 Mori, Bayle philosophe 14.  Mori, Bayle philosophe 258.

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Mori has appealed to some of Bayle’s arguments in these less familiar works but engaging these arguments at a deeper level requires a more thorough examination of both the texts, and the contexts, in which the arguments occur. The inadequacies in Mori’s account warrant a reexamination of a Labroussean fideist-style interpretation of Bayle.19 While Thomas Lennon has expressed some resistance to Mori’s arguments against the possibility of reading Bayle as a fideist, and is one of the few scholars who have hinted at a possible fideist response to Mori’s account, no such interpretation has yet been proposed.20 In the final section of this piece, I will sketch such an interpretation.

9.4  The Question of Skepticism Thus far, I have made no mention of Bayle’s widespread reputation as a skeptic, and to some extent, the question of Bayle’s skepticism is orthogonal to the more controversial question of Bayle’s underlying philosophical or theological beliefs. There is no question, however, that the type of skepticism that one attributes to Bayle affects the philosophical and theological positions that one ascribes to him more generally, and Bayle’s skepticism is unquestionably the intellectual trait for which he is best known. Richard Popkin’s reading of Bayle’s skepticism has been quite influential; he considers Bayle to be a Pyrrhonian “supersceptic,” the culmination of a long tradition of early modern Pyrrhonism.21 According to Popkin, Bayle’s conception of reason is self-devouring; it ceaselessly raises objections to every argument, until no argument remains unscathed. This represents a line of interpretation that Thomas Lennon calls “Humean Pyrrhonism.”22 Humean Pyrrhonism is, for Lennon, “the apparently paradoxical view that, sometimes at least, it is reasonable to renounce reason in favor of some other, contrary means of belief formation, if not access to truth” (258). Lennon notes two other varieties of skepticism that have often been attributed to Bayle: religious skepticism and Academic skepticism. Religious skepticism is, for Lennon, the denial of the validity of access to truth by means of religious or supernatural instinct.23 Academic skepticism is, for Lennon, the “methodological prescription that we act in our knowledge claims only with Ciceronian integrity”, and it is this version of skepticism that Lennon ultimately

 I have shown some of the specific shortcomings of Mori’s interpretation in my unpublished paper, “Bayle seulement philosophe? Challenging Gianluca Mori’s Reading of Bayle” (2005). 20  See Lennon’s rejoinder to Mori’s article “Bayle, Saint-Evremond, and Fideism,” Journal of the History of Ideas April 2004. 21  Cf. Popkin’s The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle (Oxford, 2003). 22  This typology is taken from Lennon’s “What Kind of a Sceptic Was Bayle?” Midwest Studies in Philosophy XXVI (2002), 258–279. 23  Lennon, Reading Bayle 258. 19

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attributes to Bayle.24 The skepticism that I attribute to Bayle is also of the Academic variety, but unlike Lennon, I argue that Bayle’s Academic skepticism is limited by “right reason” and by faith and conscience. Bayle’s appeal to “right reason” and to the “common notions” of the maxims of morality point away from Humean Pyrrhonism to a kind of rationalism with respect to moral knowledge, and his certainty about the “Christian mysteries” point away from religious skepticism towards a kind of fideism with respect to core religious truths.

9.5  M  aia Neto and Lennon on Bayle as an Academic Reporter In this section, I take José Maia Neto’s and Thomas Lennon’s interpretations of Bayle as a starting point to defend Bayle’s conception of reason as that of an Academic skeptic.25 I follow Maia Neto and Lennon in highlighting the Academic skeptic’s role of rapporteur, and argue that the dialectic tactic of rétorsion is consistent with the “reporter” role of the Academic. Just as Bayle uses ancient Stratonianism as the model for modern Stratonianism in the Continuation des Pensées Diverses (1705), I argue that Bayle’s use of the methods of ancient Academic skepticism is the basis of a modern Academic skepticism. Further, I argue that Bayle’s use of bon sens is evidence of his mitigated Academic skepticism. In the following section, however, I depart from Maia Neto and Lennon in my account of reason’s relationship to moral maxims in Bayle; far from merely probable principles, Bayle endorses moral maxims as certain. Maia Neto’s and Lennon’s reading of Bayle as an Academic skeptic is rooted first and foremost in the DHC article on Chrysippus, a Stoic philosopher who was a contemporary of Arcesilas and Carneades, the two most prominent Academic skeptics. Maia Neto argues that Bayle’s analysis of the role of reason in ancient philosophy sheds light on Bayle’s own position: [Chrysippus] would like those who teach a truth to speak but softly of the arguments for the opposing position, and that they imitate lawyers. This is the general attitude of dogmatists; only the Academics gave the arguments of both sides with the same strength. Now, I maintain that this method of dogmatizing is bad, and that it differs very little from the deceptive art of the rhetorician sophists that made them so odious, and which consists in converting the worst case into the best; for one of their main tricks was to hide all the advantages of the case they were attacking along with the weaknesses of the one they were defending, yet without failing to include a few objections selected from those easiest to refute. This is what Chrysippus would have philosophers do…. Antiquity had two sorts of philosophers. One sort was like the lawyers [at a trial] and the other like those who report a trial. The former, in proving their case, hid as best they could the weak side of their own case and the strong side of their opponents’ [case]. The latter,

24 25

 Lennon, Reading Bayle 259.  See primarily Maia Neto 1999 and Lennon 2002.

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namely the sceptics or the Academics, represented faithfully and without any partiality both the weak and strong sides of the two parties….26

According to Bayle, ancient philosophers fall into two categories. On the one hand, the “lawyers” – such as Chrysippus and the other Stoics – were those philosophers who were concerned only to prove their own positions and to demolish the position of their opponents. Bayle rejects this way of philosophizing as a kind of trickery, akin to the “odious rhetoricians” who specialized in making the weaker position appear to be the stronger. On the other hand, the “reporters” – such as Arcesilas, Carneades, and other Academics – “gave the arguments of both sides with the same strength”; that is, they did not attempt to engage in sophistry, and were impartial in their representation of their opponents’ position. According to Maia Neto, Bayle’s condemnation of the “lawyers,” and his naming of the “reporters” – the Academic skeptics – as “faithful” and “impartial,” implies that Bayle endorses the “reporter” philosophers  – that is, the Academics  – as against the “dogmatist” philosophers, Stoic or otherwise. Perhaps Maia Neto’s strongest argument in favor of reading Bayle as an Academic skeptic comes from a passage in La Cabale Chimérique (1691), a work in which Bayle defends himself from Jurieu’s accusation that Bayle is making a mockery of the truths of religion: I recognize myself in what [Jurieu] says about my way of philosophizing, and I admit that, except for the truths of religion, I regard other disputes as only mind-games in which it is a matter of indifference to me whether the pro or the con is proven. If those with whom I live are happier with Aristotelianism than with Gassendism or Cartesianism, I will leave them be, and my friendship and devotion to them will not thereby be diminished, nor am I put off when contradicted, but instead shift my view innocently and without chagrin whenever some greater probability is presented. This has been throughout the ages the spirit of the Academic philosophers.27

 « [Chrysippe] vouloit que ceux qui enseignent une vérité ne parlassent que sobrement des raisons du parti contraire, & qu’ils imitassent les Avocats. C’étoit l’esprit général des Dogmatiques : Il n’y avoit guere que les Académiciens qui proposassent avec la même force les Argumens des deux Partis. Or je soutiens que cette méthode des Dogmatiques étoit mauvaise, & qu’elle différoit trèspeu de l’Art trompeur des Sophistes Rhétoriciens qui les rendit si odieux, & qui consisoit à transformer la moins bonne cause en la meilleure ; car l’un de leurs principaux artifices étoit de cacher tous les avantages de la cause qu’ils combattoient, & tous les lieux foibles de celle qu’ils soutenoient, sans oublier néanmoins pour la forme de se proposer quelques Objections, choisies entre les plus aisées à réfuter. Voilà dans le fond ce que Chrysippe vouloit que les Philosophes pratiquassent.... « Notez que l’Antiquité avoit deux sortes de Philosophes ; les uns ressembloient aux Avocats, & les autres aux Rapporteurs d’un Procès. Ceux-là, en prouvant leurs opinions, cachoient autant qu’ils pouvoient l’endroit foible de leur cause, & l’endroit fort de leurs Adversaires. Ceux-ci, savoir les Sceptiques ou les Académiciens, représentoient fidèlement & sans nulle partialité le fort & le foible des deux Partis opposés... » DHC, Chrysippus G. Cf. Maia Neto 1999, 270ff. 27  « Je me reconnois à ce qu’il dit de ma maniere de philosopher, & j’avouë qu’excepté les véritez de Religion, je ne regards les autres disputes que comme un jeu d’esprit où il m’est indifférent qu’on prenne le pour ou le contre. Si ceux avec qui j’ai à vivre s’accommodent mieux du Péripatétisme que du Gassendisme, ou du Cartésianisme, je les y laisse tranquillement, je n’en suis pas moins leur ami & leur serviteur, je ne trouve nullement mauvais qu’on me contredise; & dès 26

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Bayle admits that from his point of view, philosophy is a “game,” in which it matters not which side is ultimately “proven.” This implies that what are ultimately at stake in philosophy are not conclusions, but methods of inquiry.28 Even more, Bayle asserts his willingness to shift positions according to their relative probabilities. This, Bayle argues, is just the spirit – and, we might add, the method – of Academic skepticism, which supports the affirmation of that which is persuasive (to pithanon). Maia Neto notes that the Greek term pithanon refers not to what is probable (as one might be tempted to infer from Cicero’s translation of pithanon as probabile), but to “the non-committal kind of assent given by the Academics to the appearances or views that strike them as persuasive.”29 This is meant to counter the charge of Pyrrhonism. Were Bayle truly a Pyrrhonist, he presumably would not admit any view as pithanon, but would suspend judgment entirely. Bayle’s willingness to shift his view means that he is shifting judgments, and so his judgment is not suspended; this method of inquiry is thus that of a “modern” Academic skeptic. We are now in a position to interpret rétorsion as an argumentative tactic consistent with an Academic skeptical method of inquiry. Though I have shown elsewhere that Bayle does not endorse a Stratonian position,30 it is clear nevertheless that he is drawn to the Stratonian tactic of rétorsion. Rétorsion is the tactic of taking an opponent’s objection and pointing out the respects in which her argument is as vulnerable to the objection as one’s own argument is. If it is the case that an Academic skeptic is committed to reporting both sides of an argument as fairly as possible, and to judging both sides well, then this will require making full use of one’s philosophical arsenal, so to speak, in order to report and judge well. If the Academic standard for judging is not certainty but pithanon, as discussed earlier, then using rétorsion as an argumentative tactic is really just an instance of an Academic skeptic’s using good sense to aim at pithanon, though always being ready to shift positions if necessary. The Academic skeptic’s use of “good sense” to aim at what is pithanon is, I suggest, just what is meant by bon sens for Bayle. The use of bon sens to describe some of the operations of reason goes back to Descartes.31 It is important to note that bon sens is different than “the natural light,” which illuminates certain truths of reason; rather, bon sens is concerned with what the Academic skeptics might call pithanon judgments – those judgments that seem plausible. A complicated discussion on the skeptical use of reason and of the function of good sense can be found in remark F of Bayle’s DHC article on Arcesilas, where Bayle engages the views of Lactantius, a patristic skeptic: qu’une plus grande probabilité se présente, je me range là sans peine ni honte. C’a été de tout tems l’esprit des Philosophes Académiciens » La cabale chimérique II, xi; OD II, 676a. 28  Or, as Bernard Williams might put it, not “truth” but “truthfulness”; see his excellent Truth and Truthfulness (Princeton 2002). 29  Maia Neto, “Bayle’s Academic Scepticism,” in Force & Katz, eds., Everything Connects: In Conference with Richard Popkin (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 272. 30  See n. 8. 31  See CSM I.111 for Descartes’ identification of bon sens and reason (Discours de la méthode I).

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[Lactantius] claims to ruin all philosophy by establishing, as Socrates did, that we can know nothing, and as Zeno did, that we should only believe that which we know. He supports his claim by the great numbers of sects into which philosophy was divided. Each attributed to itself truth and wisdom and claimed error and foolishness to be shared among the others. In this way, no matter which particular sect was condemned, one could count on the vote of the philosophers who were not of that sect: you could therefore be assured of the vote of the greatest number of sects, while condemning all of them; for each one individually would have approved your judgment with respect to all the others, and could not have disagreed with you that the testimony that it gave for itself determines in its own case that is, consequently, unworthy of belief. Here is the way that Lactantius uses all of the sects of ancient philosophy to destroy each other: “They devour themselves, and none is left alive,” he says. “The reason for this is that they certainly have a sword, but no shield; they have the power to wage an offensive war, but not a defensive one….” “Seeing this, Arcesilas… armed himself against everyone, and founded a new sect of philosophy that consisted in no philosophizing at all…. If you prove that we have no knowledge, and thus that we are not philosophers, then you are not one, either; for you confess that you know nothing…. By the very fact that you know nothing, you know one thing.”

This first part of the passage represents Bayle’s attempt to explain the method of the ancient skeptics through their influence on later figures such as Lactantius. In Lactantius’ voice, Bayle describes the lack of self-reflection among ancient philosophers about the truth or falsity of their own positions; in familiar Baylean terms, they are only avocats, not rapporteurs. “Lactantius” criticizes Arcesilas, in particular, for his supposedly self-refuting assertion that he has no knowledge; according to “Lactantius,” this leads to the self-contradictory view that one knows that one knows nothing. Bayle then critiques Lactantius’ analysis of Arcesilas’ argument: Let’s make a few small remarks on this dispute…. The criticism of contradiction has less solidity than false brilliance; it’s more subtlety than convincing argument: good sense [le bon sens] soon unravels this quandary. If I dream that I must not believe in dreams, there I am trapped; for if I do not believe it, I believe it; and if I believe it, then I do not believe it. Where is the man who does not see that in this case, one must make an exception for dreams that, in particular, warn me not to believe in dreams?32  « Je veux parler de Lactance: il prétend ruiner toute la philosophie, en établissant avec Socrate que l’on ne peut rien savoir, et avec Zénon qu’il ne faut croire que ce que l’on sait. Il confirme sa prétention par le grand nombre de Sectes en quoi la Philosophie étoit divisée. Chacune s’attribuoit la vérité & la sagese, & donnoit l’erreur & la folie en partage à toutes les autres. Ainsi, quelque Secte particuliere que l’on condamnát, on avoit pour foi le suffrage des Philosophes qui n’étolent point de celle-là: vous pouviez donc être assuré du suffrage du plus grand nombre, en les condamnant toutes; car chacune en particulier auroit approuvé votre jugement par rapport à toutes les autres, & n’auroit pu vouz opposer que le témoignage qu’elle se rendoit à elle-même, juge en sa propre cause, & par conséquent, indigne de foi. Voilà de quelle manière Lactance détruit toutes les sectes de l’ancienne philosophie les unes par les autres: « Elles s’entr’égorgent, il n’en reste aucune en vie, dit-il: la raison en est, qu’elles ont bien une épée, mais non pas un bouclier; elles ont des forces pour les guerres offensives, mais non pas pour les défensives…. Arcésilas voyant cela, continue-t-il, s’arma contre toutes, et fonda une nouvelle secte de philosophie, qui consistait à ne point philosopher…. Si vous prouvez que nous n’avons point de science, et qu’ainsi nous ne sommes pas philosophes, vous ne l’êtes point non plus; car vous confessez que vous ne savez rien…. Par cela même que vous ne savez aucune chose, vous en savez une »….

32

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This passage provides evidence that even the most critical conception of reason must be appropriately limited in order not to cannibalize itself. Those who criticize reason for being contradictory are only “falsely brilliant,” says Bayle, implying that reason has the resources to overcome its own paradoxes. Bayle here seems to rely on “good sense” to “unravel” the self-contradictions of reason; reason’s self-­ contradictions are merely “subtleties,” not “convincing argument.” This leaves open the possibility that reason can still function effectively, so long as reason can govern itself (assuming that “good sense” is part of reason, as Descartes argues) to resolve cases where it produces paradoxical or contradictory conclusions. “Good sense” described in this way bears a close resemblance to the Academic skeptic’s stance: what is important in both cases is to have judged well – to use a modern turn of phrase, to have exercised due diligence with respect to one’s reasoning and judging. This notion of “judging well,” or of exercising due diligence with respect to one’s reasoning and judging, is what Maia Neto and Lennon both refer to as integrity.33 Maia Neto notes the importance of intellectual integrity to the ancient Academic skeptics, and glosses intellectual integrity both as giving assent “only to propositions that are thoroughly and completely examined,” and as keeping the intellect “fully able to exercise its main faculty, that of judgment.”34 Lennon argues that for Bayle, integrity means not only “possess[ing his] power of judgment uncurtailed,” but allowing those “with whom Bayle creates a conversation in his work… to preserve their autonomy.”35 The Academic skeptic thus emphasizes the integrity of the process over achieving conclusions – that is, preserving “good sense.” We can now see that the views being attributed to Arcesilas by Lactantius are more characteristic of Pyrrhonian skepticism – undermining the very possibility of philosophy – than of Academic skepticism, which is characterized by the pursuit of integrity and, as Maia Neto notes, the avoidance of error.36 This explains Bayle’s criticism of the view that Lactantius was attributing to Arcesilas: as an Academic skeptic, Bayle rejects the blanket undermining of philosophy insisted on by Pyrrhonian skeptics. According to Bayle, the use of “good sense” is the obvious way out of the Pyrrhonian skeptic’s “quandary.” A good example of Bayle demonstrating reason’s ability to “hold to the sense that seems best to us” occurs in his discussion of the Catholic “way of authority” (as « Faisons quelques petites remarques sur cette dispute…. Le reproche de contradiction a moins de solidité que de faux brillant; c’est plutôt une subtilité qu’une raison convaincante: le bon sens débrouille bientôt cet ambarras. Si je songe que je ne dois pas croire aux songes, me voilà bien attrapé; car si je n’y crois pas, j’y croirai; et si j’y crois, je n’y croirai pas. Où est l’homme qui ne voie qu’en ce cas-là il faut excepter des autres songes celui en particulier qui m’avertit de ne croire pas aux songes? » DHC, Arcesilas F. 33  See Lennon, Reading Bayle (1999), Ch. 2 passim and Maia Neto, “Bayle’s Academic Scepticism,” Everything Connects (1999), 263–276. 34  See Maia Neto, “Academic Scepticism in Early Modern Philosophy,” Journal of the History of Ideas 58:2. (April 1997), 199–220. 35  Lennon here cites Cicero’s Academica (II.iii.8) to describe the Academic definition of integrity: possessing an “uncurtailed” power of judgment. 36  Maia Neto (1997), 207.

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opposed to the Protestant “way of examination”) that occurs in Book One of his Commentaire philosophique (1686). Bayle’s purpose in writing the Commentaire Philosophique was to refute an errant reading of Jesus’ words from the Gospel of Luke, “Compel them to enter the fold,” a reference to unbelievers.37 This is a specific interpretation of a dogma that seventeenth-century Catholics purported to find in Scripture in order to justify the forced conversion of Huguenots to Catholicism: Without thinking, [Catholics] go the long way around, coming back after countless efforts, to the place where others have gone directly. Others say frankly, and without beating around the bush, that we must hold to the sense that seems best to us; but [the Catholics] say that we must guard against that, because our “light” could lead us astray, and that our reason is nothing but shadows and illusion, and that we must therefore hold to the judgment of the Church. But isn’t this itself using reason? Isn’t it the case that one who prefers the judgment of the Church to his own, is doing so on the basis of the following reasoning: The Church has more “light” than I do, and is therefore more credible than me? So it is by his own “lights” that each man decides; if he believes something to be revealed, it’s because his good sense [bon sens], his natural light, and his reason tell him that the proofs that it has revealed are good ones.

This is a very rich passage, and it provides several insights into Bayle’s use of reason. The first is that the “default” position of (non-Catholic) reasoners is to “hold to the sense that seems best to us”— that is, to take as true that which seems prima facie reasonable unless given evidence to think otherwise. The upshot of this insight is that the burden of proof is on those who advocate a suspicion of reason. Bayle here again emphasizes the role of “good sense” and reason, which he argues for as playing an implicit role in grounding the authority of the Church. Bayle also recognizes in this passage, however, that implicitly grounding the authority of the Church on the proofs that the “[natural light] has revealed [as] good ones” is a perilous position – if reason is compromised, then the authority of the Church is compromised as well: But where will we be, if someone challenges reason as a “shadowy and illusory” principle? Shouldn’t we also, in that case, challenge reason when it says, The Church has more “light” than I do, and is therefore more credible than me? Shouldn’t we be afraid that reason is mistaken, both with respect to the principle [“the Church has more light than I do”] and with respect to the conclusion that it draws from the principle [“the Church is more credible than me”]?... Since, therefore, this would lead to appalling chaos and Pyrrhonism of the most detestable kind imaginable, we must necessarily draw from this that every particular dogma, whether it is advanced as one contained in Scripture, or whether it is proposed in some other context, is false if it is refuted by the clear and distinct notions of the natural light, principally with respect to morality.38

 Luke 14:23.  « Sans y penser, ils ne font qu’un grand circuit pour revenir après mille fatigues, où les autres vont tout droit. Les autres disent franchement & sans ambages, qu’il faut s’en tenir au sens qui nous paroît meilleur : mais eux ils disent qu’il s’en faut bien garder, parce que nos lumieres nous pourroient tromper, & que notre Raison n’est que ténèbres & qu’illusion ; qu’il faut donc s’en tenir au jugement de l’Eglise. N’est-ce pas revenir à la Raison ? Car ne faut-il pas que celui qui préfere 37 38

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This brings to light a kind of skepticism that underlies the Catholic appeal to authority. The upshot of this insight comes later in the passage, when Bayle shows the self-defeating nature of this notion of reason; Bayle critiques the Catholic argument for the way of authority, and thus destabilizes the conception of reason that undergirds it. He even explicitly asserts that the “chaos” that results from such a skeptical conception of reason is “appalling.” Interestingly, though, Bayle specifies that it is “Pyrrhonism” that is “detestable” and “chaotic,” not skepticism tout court. Insofar as Bayle can be considered a skeptic, then, it is not Pyrrhonian skepticism that attracts him. This leaves open the possibility that Academic skepticism may yet be an acceptable way to conceive of reason for Bayle. If so, then Bayle’s skepticism would be Academic insofar as it makes use of the ancient Academic notion of pithanon – or, as Bayle might say, bon sens – in order to engage in accurate “reporting.”

9.6  Exceptions to Bayle’s Academic Skepticism While the above passage from the Commentaire Philosophique supports reading Bayle as an Academic skeptic, it also points to a significant limit to this skepticism: the “clear and distinct notions of the natural light” with respect to morality. This means that a significant qualification of Bayle’s Academic skepticism is necessitated by Bayle’s conclusions with respect to moral truths. The ultimate conclusion that Bayle draws from the demonstration in the above passage is that “every particular dogma, whether it is advanced as one contained in Scripture, or whether it is proposed in some other context, is false if it is refuted by the clear and distinct notions of the natural light, principally with respect to morality.” This conclusion initially appears to be quite heterodox; if read in its most radical form, it seems to imply that any Christian doctrine that is refuted by reason (“the natural light”) is false. It is important, however, to read this claim more carefully. What Bayle asserts here is not the falsity of any Christian doctrine that is against reason; rather, he asserts only the falsity of particular dogmas that are purported to be in Scripture. For Bayle, the “natural light” reveals the immorality of the forced conversions for

le jugement de l’Eglise au sien propre, le fasse en vertu de ce raisonnement : L’Eglise a plus de lumieres que moi, elle est donc plus croïable que moi ? C’est donc sur ses propres lumieres que chacun se détermine ; s’il croit quelque chose comme révélé, c’est parce que son bon sens, sa lumiere naturelle, & sa Raison lui dictent que les preuves qu’elle est révélée sont bonnes. Mais où en sera-t-on, s’il faut qu’un particulier se défie de sa Raison, comme d’un principe ténébreux et illusoire ? Ne faudra-t-il pas s’en défier lors même qu’elle dira, l’Eglise a plus de lumieres que moi, donc elle est plus croïable que moi ? Ne faudra-t-il craindre qu’elle se trompe, & quant au principe, & quant à la conclusion qu’elle en tire?.... « Comme donc ce seroit le plus épouvantable cahos, & le Pirronisme le plus exécrable qui se puisse imaginer, il faut nécessairement en venir-là, que tout dogme particulier, soit qu’on l’avance comme contenu dans l’Ecriture, soit qu’on le propose autrement, est faux, lors qu’il est réfuté par les notions claires & distinctes da la lumiere naturelle, principalement à l’égard de la Morale » Commentaire Philosophique I.i; OD II, 370b.

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which Catholics purported to find justification in Scripture, and their immorality invalidates their purported justification. This highlights the most important consequence of the passage: that the natural light trumps the claims of dogma principally with respect to morality. Bayle has already shown in his rejection of évidence that the natural light is fallible and can be self-contradictory in some domains. It appears, however, that the natural light is reliable with respect to moral truths. Bayle reiterates the reliability of the natural light with respect to moral truths consistently throughout the Commentaire Philosophique, unsurprising since the text is a defense of the morality of religious toleration. What is important to keep in mind, however, is that this position is consistent across other texts as well. In an extended passage from Pensées diverses where Bayle argues that atheists can be moral, he notes that certain moral principles are not only rational, but that moral praise and blame can be rationally assigned to those who live accordingly: In this way, every man will recognize that it is rational to honor one’s father, to observe the conventions of a contract, to help the poor, to have gratitude, etc.; [every man] will also recognize that those who practice these things are praiseworthy, and that those who do not practice them at all are blameworthy.39

The context of this passage is whether or not an atheist is equipped to tell the difference between virtue and vice. The objection is that without divine direction as a guide to ethical action, the atheist has no basis for acting morally or for making moral judgments. Just before the passage cited, Bayle argues that the atheist has access to “la droite raison,” or “right reason,” and that right reason confirms these moral truths. Later on in the same work, Bayle reaffirms that “it is very easy to know that it is rational to respect one’s father, to hold to one’s word, to console the afflicted, to help the poor, to have gratitude for one’s benefactors, etc.”40 Significantly, these passages do not countenance any of the skeptical doubts about reason that Bayle characteristically raises; this suggests that Bayle is using a different notion of reason here. Proof of Bayle’s insistence on the universal accessibility of moral truths to reason is also found in one of the final texts of Bayle’s life, Réponse aux questions d’un provincial (1706). In a section of the work where Bayle is responding to the position of Bernard that moral truth must be grounded in the immutable nature of an eternal and intelligent being, Bayle reaffirms his position from the Pensées diverses: Let’s clear away the equivocation here: If morality could only be conceived by an idea that essentially included the command of an eternal Legislator accompanied by promises and threats, it would be incontestable that atheists would not be able to judge that there was a distinction between good and evil; but if, independently of this command, one can know the

 « Ainsi tout homme qui connoîtra qu’il est conforme à la raison d’honorer son pere, d’observer les conventions d’un contrat, d’assister les pauvres, d’avoir de la gratitude, &tc. connoîtra pareillement que ceux qui pratiquent ces choses sont loüables, & que ceux qui ne les pratiquent point sont blamables » OD III 406a. 40  « J’ajoûte qu’il est très-facile de connoître que l’on se conforme à la raison quand on respecte son pere, quand on tient ce qu’on a promis, quand on console les afligez, quand on assiste les pauvres, quand on a de la gratitude pour son bienfaiteur, &c. » OD III 406a. 39

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conformity of virtue with right reason, and the principles of morality as one knows the principles of logic, the objection of Bernard has no force. He must then prove that, independently of this command, one can discern the rules of logic, but not of morality. Indeed, how will he prove that?41

We can see in this passage that Bayle’s position is essentially the same as his position in the Pensées diverses: atheists can be moral because they can “know the conformity of virtue with right reason.” He concedes that if this were not true – that is, if morality were only clearly conceivable through revelation – then atheists could not be moral. According to Bayle, however, “right reason” is as universal as the “principles of logic.” Bayle’s point here is not to highlight the universality of the principles of logic, but simply to note that if one is willing to countenance the authority of principles of logic, then the sort of reason at issue here – “right reason” – should enjoy the same privileges. To sum up Bayle’s conception of reason, then, it seems clear that he has both skeptical tendencies and what we might call “common sense” tendencies. On the one hand, Bayle is a skeptic concerning the évidence of clear and distinct perception; that is, he does not believe we are able to derive substantive philosophical or theological truths based on reason alone. On the other hand, he does not discount the value of the process of reasoning, which is an essential feature of the Academic notion of integrity; the principles of logic are accepted as valid, if only because we cannot rationally question their validity, since to do so would presuppose the same principles. This is the basic notion of bon sens, consistent with Descartes’ use of the term: it is our ability to reason, as evidenced in the Stratonian’s use of rétorsion. Finally, over and above “principles of logic,” Bayle seems to have an additional positive commitment to basic principles of morality, identified with the deliverances of “right reason.” It is the commitment to the truth of these moral maxims that qualifies his Academic skepticism.

9.7  Conclusion It should be evident by this point that reading Bayle is a fraught endeavor. Any interpretation of Bayle that does not acknowledge the ambiguity, complexity, and explicit antisystematicity of his thought is naïve and self-deceived at best, and ideologically corrupt at worst. This state of affairs does not entail, however, that no

 « Otons les équivoques : si la moralité ne pouvoit être conçuë que par une idée qui renfermât essentiellement l’ordonnance d’un Législateur éternel accompagnée de promesses & de menaces, il seroit incontestable que les Athées ne pourroient juger qu’il y ait de la distinction entre le bien & le mal moral ; mais si indépendemment de cette ordonnance l’on peut connoître la conformité de la vertu avec la droite raison, & les principes de la morale comme l’on connoît les principes de Logique, l’objection de M. Bernard n’a plus de force. Il faudra donc qu’il prouve qu’indépendemment de cette ordonnance l’on peut discerner les regles de la Logique, mais non pas les regles de la morale. Or comment prouvera-t-il cela ? » RQP III, Ch. XXIX; OD III 984a.

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progress can be made on constructing holistic interpretations of Bayle’s thought that account for textual outliers in a responsible and non-ideological way. In particular, attention to both types of textual evidence in Bayle – passages that highlight Bayle’s satirical and ironic inclinations, as well as passages that highlight Bayle’s attention to the religious conscience and to moral knowledge – paint a multifaceted, and yet consistent picture of Bayle. He is both the critic of established religious institutions, and the defender of religious conscience; he is both the skeptic who advocates epistemic humility and integrity, and the defender of moral knowledge; he is both the destroyer of errant interpretations of Scripture, and the evangelist for religious toleration. If we see an inconsistency in these aspects of Bayle’s thought, and attempt to reduce him to one end of the interpretive spectrum or the other, perhaps the deficiency is not in Bayle’s thought at all – perhaps it is in our own.

Bibliographical References Bayle, Pierre. 1727–31. Oeuvres diverses de M. Pierre Bayle, professeur en philosophie et en histoire à Rotterdam. La Haye/The Hague; Hildesheim, 1964–68. 4 vols, in-folio; Vols V.1 & V.2: Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1982–1990. ———. 1740. Dictionnaire historique et critique, par M. Pierre Bayle. Amsterdam, Leyde, La Haye, Utrecht. 5th Edition, 4 vols. in-folio. Delvolvé, Jean. 1906. Religion, critique et philosophie positive chez Pierre Bayle. Paris: F. Alcan. Labrousse, Elisabeth. 1963–4. Pierre Bayle. 2 vols. The Hague: Nijhoff. Volume 2 reprinted as Pierre Bayle: Hétérodoxie et Rigorisme. Paris: Albin Michel, 1996. Lennon, Thomas M. 1999. Reading Bayle. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ———. 2002a. Did Bayle Read Saint-Evremond? Journal of the History of Ideas 63 (2): 225–237. ———. 2002b. What Kind of a Sceptic was Bayle? Midwest Studies in Philosophy 26: 258–279. ———. 2004. A Rejoinder to Mori. Journal of the History of Ideas 65 (2): 335–341. Maia Neto, Jose R. 1997. Academic Scepticism in Early Modern Philosophy. Journal of the History of Ideas 58 (2): 199–220. McKenna, Antony. 1990. De Pascal à Voltaire. Oxford: The Voltaire Foundation at the Taylor Institute. Mori, Gianluca. 1999. Bayle Philosophe, 1999. Paris: Honoré Champion. ———. 2003. Pierre Bayle on Scepticism & ‘Common Notions. In The Return of Scepticism: From Hobbes & Descartes to Bayle, 393–413. Dordrecht: Kluwer. ———. 2004. Bayle, Saint-Evremond, and Fideism: A Reply to Thomas M. Lennon. Journal of the History of Ideas 65 (2): 323–334. Neto, Maia, and R.  Jose. 1999. Bayle’s Academic Scepticism. In Everything Connects: In Conference with R.H. Popkin, ed. J.E. Force and D.S. Katz, 264–275. Leiden: Brill. Popkin, Richard. 2003. History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle. New  York: Oxford University Press. Sandberg, Karl C. 1966. At the Crossroads of Faith and Reason: An Essay on Pierre Bayle. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Williams, Bernard. 2002. Truth and Truthfulness. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Chapter 10

The Role of Skepticism in Bayle’s Theory of Toleration Michael W. Hickson

Abstract  Pierre Bayle’s theory of religious toleration was one of the most rigorous and influential theories of toleration offered in the seventeenth century. However, despite receiving much attention over the past three centuries, there is still little consensus in the scholarly community concerning how Bayle’s argument for toleration is supposed to work, and even less consensus concerning whether that argument is successful or not. Some scholars see the foundation of Bayle’s argument for toleration in a traditional conception of conscience and its rights; some see the foundation in a modern form of moral rationalism; and still others see the foundation as thoroughly skeptical. In this paper I will offer an interpretation of Bayle’s argument for toleration as it is offered in the Ninth Letter of the Nouvelles lettres critiques (1685), and I will show that skepticism plays an essential role in the argument. The precise role played by skepticism is to distinguish two separate moral jurisdictions, the theological and the mundane. Conscience and its rights enter Bayle’s argument for toleration only after skepticism has established the jurisdiction over which conscience reigns. Consequently, skepticism plays a more fundamental role in Baylean toleration than does conscience.

10.1  Introduction Pierre Bayle’s theory of religious toleration has received much attention over the past three centuries, yet there is still little consensus surrounding the precise logic of Bayle’s argument, and even less consensus concerning whether that argument is successful or perhaps utterly inconsistent. One of the central themes in the literature concerns the role of skepticism in Bayle’s argument for toleration. Some argue that Baylean toleration is based entirely in a non-skeptical morality that is in turn based in conscience, while others argue that Baylean toleration requires a foundation of M. W. Hickson (*) Trent University, Peterborough, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_10

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skeptical doubt. In this paper I will offer an interpretation of Bayle’s argument for toleration as it is offered in the Ninth Letter of the Nouvelles lettres critiques (1685), and I will show that skepticism plays an essential role in the argument. The precise role played by skepticism is to distinguish two separate moral jurisdictions, one theological and the other mundane. Conscience and its rights enter Bayle’s argument for toleration only after skepticism has established the jurisdiction over which conscience reigns. Consequently, skepticism plays a more fundamental role in Baylean toleration than does conscience. In order to highlight the role of skepticism in Bayle’s argument for toleration, I contrast that argument with John Locke’s argument offered in the Epistola de tolerantia (Epistola), written in the same year and in the same country as Bayle’s Nouvelles lettres critiques (NLC). There has been much scholarly debate as well surrounding the similarities and differences between these two arguments for toleration, but once again, the key to resolving the disputes is to notice the unique role that skepticism plays in Bayle’s, but not in Locke’s, theory of toleration. Jean-Luc Solère has recently published one of the most important, and certainly the most rigorous, treatment of Baylean toleration in recent memory. Solère gives little place to skepticism in Bayle’s toleration theory, and instead finds the foundation of that theory in a fairly traditional account of the rights of conscience that dates back to certain medieval philosophers. I will conclude this paper by developing an objection to Solère’s account of Baylean toleration, and by arguing that the notorious “persecutor paradox” is still very much a problem for Bayle.

10.2  B  ayle and Locke on Toleration: Similarities and Differences In the Dutch Republic in the late 1680s two influential theories of religious toleration were conceived nearly simultaneously. In March of 1685  in Rotterdam, the Huguenot refugee, Pierre Bayle, published his first and most rigorous argument for the rights of the erring conscience in the Ninth Letter of the NLC, a 10,000-word essay that I will focus on in this paper and refer to as the “Letter on the Rights of Conscience” (OD II, 217–228). Bayle returned to the subject of toleration in the period 1686–88  in his more well-known book, the massive Commentaire philosophique (OD II, 355–560). In nearby Amsterdam, about six to eight months after Bayle’s “Letter on the Rights of Conscience” was published, so also in 1685, another exile, John Locke, secretly wrote his treatise on toleration, the Epistola (Locke 2010, 3–47), which would not be published, however, until 1689. This contiguity of time and place has led numerous historians to search for other possible relations between Bayle’s and Locke’s ideas on toleration (Galenkamp 2012; Israel 2001; Laursen 2011; Lennon 1997; Schneewind 1997; Schulman 2009; Vassányi 2009). The relation of cause and effect, usually with Bayle’s theory as cause and Locke’s as effect, has been explored. We know that Bayle and Locke met. They had several acquaintances in common; Shaftesbury and the Furly’s, for

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example. Bayle and Locke clearly read many of each other’s works and possessed copies of each other toleration writings—Bayle owned the Letter and Locke the Philosophical Commentary. Bayle and Locke always spoke admiringly of one another. But these facts fail to support any claims of historical influence. The personal meeting between Bayle and Locke, and everything that we know about their mutual engagement with each other’s toleration writings, happened after Bayle and Locke had written their respective treatises on toleration. Questions of mutual influence should remain open, but these are not the issues that I want to address in this paper (Woolhouse 2007 explores these details). This paper is primarily about Bayle, but in order to accentuate the skeptical aspect of his toleration theory, I will explore the similarities and differences between Bayle’s and Locke’s arguments for toleration, a topic that has also received much attention. Everyone who writes on the subject acknowledges some parallels (e.g. the exclusion of atheists) and some divergences between the authors’ arguments (e.g. Bayle’s emphasis on individual freedoms vs. Locke’s emphasis on political authority), but the secondary literature is largely split over the question of whether Bayle’s and Locke’s arguments for toleration are substantially the same or substantially different. My position will strike a balance and argue that the overall structure of their arguments is the same, but that Bayle’s structure rests on a skeptical foundation, while Locke’s does not. Before getting to that, however, I sketch briefly the state of the literature on this topic. Thomas Lennon (1997) and J.B. Schneewind (1997) are representatives of the sameness thesis (i.e. that Bayle’s and Locke’s toleration theories are fundamentally similar), while Raymond Klibansky (Locke 1968), Jonathan Israel (2001), and Richard Vernon (Locke 2010) are representatives of the difference thesis (i.e. that Bayle’s and Locke’s theories are essentially different). Lennon finds a “convergence” of Bayle’s and Locke’s arguments at the point where each emphasizes the moral and theological importance of sincere, conscientious belief. It is widely known that Bayle based his defence of toleration on the morality of conscience. We will see the details of this shortly. The most Baylean passage in Locke’s Letter in this regard is the following: “But the heart of the matter is this, and it settles the question: even if the ruler’s religious belief is better than mine, even if the way he directs me to go is truly that of the Gospel, it will not save me if I am not sincerely convinced of it. No way that I follow against the protests of my conscience will ever bring me to the mansions of the blest” (Locke 2010: 21). A different approach to the sameness thesis is offered by Schneewind, who argues that both Bayle and Locke “tried to defend toleration by basing it not on any religious view but on a nonreligious principle that would at the same time leave people free to hold their own religions as firmly as they wished. Bayle appealed to morality, and Locke to public utility” (Schneewind 1997: 11). So, Lennon finds parallel emphasis on the wrongness of acting contrary to conscience, and Schneewind finds parallels in the non-­ theological foundations of the arguments. Klibansky and Vernon find divergence between Bayle and Locke right where Lennon finds convergence, and Israel finds substantial opposition between Bayle and Locke right where Schneewind finds their greatest agreement. Klibansky argues

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that there is “a profound difference between Locke’s reasoning and Bayle’s approach to the problem [of toleration]” because Bayle based toleration in the rights of conscience, an approach about which Locke had serious doubts from as early as the 1660s, while Locke himself based toleration in the distinct functions and rights of the State and the Church (Locke 1968: xxxiv). Vernon likewise finds a divergence between Bayle and Locke surrounding the priority of conscience: “It is a striking feature of [Locke’s] mature view, in the Letter, that people’s conscientious commitments are subordinate to the (valid) requirements of the public interest…” (Locke 2010: xiii). In Vernon’s view, Locke’s arguments built on individual belief and conscience are not core arguments; they “take second place” to Locke’s arguments about what States “have a mandate or commission to do” (Locke 2010: xxi). Israel distinguishes Bayle and Locke just in the way he distinguishes the radical and the moderate Enlightenments; in fact, he makes their respective theories of toleration litmus tests for each movement: “The moderate Enlightenment saw good reason to be emphatically Lockean in its approach [to toleration]” (Israel 2001: 144); “if an eighteenth century writer espouses a more or less unlimited toleration à la Bayle…he belongs with the Radical Enlightenment” (Israel 2001: 151). According to Israel, “the two theories are actually totally different and incompatible, the first [Locke’s] Protestant, theological, and limited, the latter [Bayle’s] entirely non-theological and universal” (Israel 2001: 146). How can readers of Bayle and Locke find themselves disagreeing over a question as basic as whether their theories of toleration are similar or different? The answer to this question is twofold. First, the theories of toleration in question consist of a long series of complex, interrelated arguments that are difficult to sum up or compare in any succinct manner. Second, different authors choose to emphasize different aspects of the theories. The result, as we have seen, is that some people find the theories similar, and some different. A comparison with the game of chess can illustrate the situation. Comparing philosophical theories is a lot like comparing two different chess games. Chess games can be very long and, when well-played, are very complex affairs. To compare two games of chess requires a focus, for example, the individual moves employed, or the long-term strategies involved. Someone might compare two chess games and notice that they both involve a knight fork by white winning black’s queen. The games can be declared similar for that reason. Or someone might look at the same games in terms of strategy rather than specific moves and notice that in one game white employed a direct kingside attack, while in the other game white employed an indirect queenside attack. So, despite the common tactical move, the games are very different strategically. Something like this chess scenario is going on in the literature on Bayle and Locke on toleration. Lennon and Klibansky focus on the tactical moves—individual arguments—employed by Bayle and Locke. They have the same focus but arrive at different conclusions. Lennon sees a common tactical weapon employed by Bayle and Locke—the argument based on the moral and theological significance of a sincere conscience. Klibansky sees this tactic as central to Bayle’s game, but not to Locke’s, though Locke’s Epistola does include the tactic. Instead, Klibansky sees Locke winning his game before conscientious beliefs come into play, namely at the

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moment Locke employs the different tactic of establishing the State’s mandate in the particular way he does (to be considered below). Scheewind and Israel focus on general strategy rather than individual moves, but once again arrive at different conclusions. Schneewind sees the overall strategy of Bayle and Locke in terms of searching for a non-theological principle that all religious believers can agree upon. Israel cannot deny that Locke has much to say of a non-theological nature in his Epistola, but he thinks this strategy is all a set-up for a very theological endgame that results in atheists, Catholics, and possibly Muslims and other non-Christians being excluded from Locke’s tolerance. How we can avoid a stalemate in this debate? Once more we can draw on chess for inspiration here. Chess players by and large agree on which chess games are fundamentally similar and which games are fundamentally different from each other. However, they do not focus on individual tactics or middlegame strategy to make these comparisons. Instead, chess games are classified by chess players by the opening moves they employ. Chess theorists have even devised a system of codes for each particular opening sequence (“A56” for the Czech Benoni Defence, for example). Opening moves provide the general framework within which the game will be played, and this framework provides certain limitations and opportunities that determine the style of the game that will be played. All games that begin with the same opening share these limitations and opportunities and therefore exhibit fundamental similarities. My chess-inspired proposal, therefore, is to look at the “opening moves” of Bayle’s and Locke’s theories of toleration in order to make an assessment of their similarity or dissimilarity. I will show that Bayle’s and Locke’s arguments for toleration are like two chess games that begin with variations of the same opening. They are, therefore, fundamentally similar in a very important respect. Bayle employs what I will call the “Secular Opening, Moral Variation,” while Locke employs the “Secular Opening, Political Variation.” These secular openings to toleration involve dividing up the argumentative terrain into two sides: one side is sacred and theological; the other side is secular and philosophical. This secular division sets up a common framework for Bayle’s and Locke’s theories of toleration. However, I will argue that this fundamental similarity is based on a more fundamental difference. Bayle establishes his secular division on the basis of skepticism, while Locke establishes his secular division on non-skeptical foundations. By studying these toleration arguments side-by-side we gain insight into the role of skepticism in Bayle’s argument for toleration.

10.3  P  ierre Bayle and the Moral Variation of the Secular Opening to Toleration The “Letter on the Rights of Conscience” (LORC) is a set of opening moves that were intended to lead into Bayle’s most well-known argument for toleration, expressed for the first time in his 1684 Critique générale de l’histoire du calvinisme

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(OD II, 1–160). The strategy of this argument, what Kilcullen has called the “Reciprocity Argument” (Kilcullen 1988: 89) is to establish that “if the true religion has the right to do something, then any false religion has the same right to do that thing” (OD II, 218). So, if we grant the true religion the right to be intolerant, then we will have to grant every religion the right to be intolerant, which would be a disastrous scenario leading to widespread violence, and ironically, the persecution and possible extinction of the true religion. Bayle notes at the outset of LORC that many people were scandalized by his reciprocity argument. So he engages these critics in LORC, which is devoted to laying out the moves of Bayle’s secular opening to toleration, which creates a division between the divine mind and the human mind; God’s Truth and our truth; things as they are in paradise and things as they are in our fallen world. I quote these opening moves in full, since they are not widely discussed in the literature: I agree with my opponents that if we consider truth and lies in a completely abstract fashion, then only the truth has the right to command attention and obedience. But it’s another story altogether if we descend from these abstract considerations and from these logical precisions wherein we see truth and error absolutely and in themselves; it is, I say, a completely different matter when we descend from these general views to the particular considerations of truth and error with respect to each person. It is nearly always like passing from black to white; absolute falsity transforms into respective truth and absolute truth transforms into respective falsity. That is to say (since I am aware that the masses are under no obligation to understand the barbarous terms of the Scholastics) that what is true in itself is not true with respect to certain people, and what is false in itself is not false for numerous people. Experience teaches us this all too often. We believe that the Body of Jesus Christ is in no way present in the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper; others believe it is. We believe that with respect to us there is no difference between the truth considered in itself and the truth as it appears to us. Those who belong to the Roman Church similarly believe that there is no difference between the absolute truth and the truth they perceive. It is necessary that they are in error or that we are in error. It is necessary that the ideas of God, which are the rule of absolute truth, are contrary either to what we believe or to what they believe; and consequently, that there is an absolute error that is a respective truth either for them or for us, and that there is an absolute truth that is a respective error either for them or for us… (OD II, 218–219).1

Bayle draws a very clear distinction in this passage between the realms of absolute truth and falsity, on the one hand, and respective truth and falsity, on the other. The rule of the former is the mind of God, which is Bayle’s theological criterion of absolute truth. Among the ideas of God you will find, or you will not find, the Doctrine of the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, which is consequently either absolutely true or absolutely false. The rule of respective truth and falsity is not worked out in detail just yet, but it is clearly some sort of sincere belief, which is Bayle’s secular criterion of respective truth. Since Calvinists do not believe in the Real Presence, it is not true for them; since Catholics do believe that Doctrine, it is true for them. So far all of this sounds like the worst kind of discussion you find in a first-year philosophy course: “Everything is relative! That may be true for you, but

 All translations in this paper are mine unless I indicate otherwise.

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it’s not true for me!” But Bayle’s opening is not yet finished. These were just the initial pawn moves; the heavy pieces are about to be ushered in: Now, sir, what do you believe happens to the truth when, from our perspective, it is dressed up in the appearance of lies; or to lies when, from our perspective, they are dressed up in the appearance of the truth? In these cases, an upheaval takes place with the strange result that the truth no longer has Jurisdiction over us, and that error takes over all the rights just stripped from the truth… To make you understand this better I will add that the rights that God has given to the truth depend on a condition that is so absolutely necessary, that in the absence of this condition one could not render the least homage to the truth without committing a crime. Since by this condition we can mean nothing else than that God demands that we love and respect the truth provided that we know it, it is evident that, if the truth is unknown to us, it loses all its rights over us; and that, if error appears to us in the form of the truth, then it acquires all rights over us. For, since it would displease God if we respected the truth that we thought was a lie, therefore it would also offend him if we did not respect a lie that we believed was the truth (OD II, 219; my emphasis).

Bayle’s initial division between absolute truth and respective truth has become in this passage a division between two separate jurisdictions. In the jurisdiction of God’s ideas the absolute truth is the law. But in “the corrupt state of this world,” which is a separate jurisdiction, sincerely-held beliefs are the laws of the land. What keeps these two jurisdictions separate? It is a combination of what Kilcullen calls Bayle’s Notification Argument (Kilcullen 1988: 64), on the one hand, and Bayle’s skepticism on the other. According to the Notification Argument every legislator, including God, must promulgate his laws in order to give them any authority. So the truth has no authority over us unless it has been made known to us, and we have no obligation to pay attention to, or to act in accordance with, any truth of which we are ignorant (through no fault of our own). A belief that some proposition is true is therefore a necessary condition for us to have a duty to obey that truth. Now enter Bayle’s skepticism: since there are many truths that are unknowable by human beings, therefore there are many laws in the mind of God which have no authority over us. Some laws in the jurisdiction of God’s mind are not laws in the jurisdiction of our corrupt world. Bayle defends these moves with an example. He imagines a Master who leaves his household to the care of his servants, and orders them not to allow anyone to enter without a certificate with a specific wax insignia. The certificate is therefore a necessary condition for entering the home. Given the Master’s orders, the absolute truth that someone is, for example, the Master’s own son is not sufficient to gain the son entry to his own home. The son, like everyone else, needs the certificate. “This example,” says Bayle, “is more apt than you might think, since it is certain that when God joined our soul to our body, he established the understanding as the concierge of the soul…and ordered it not to allow anything to enter unless it bears the markings of the truth” (OD II, 219). The servants must believe, on the basis of their inspection of certificates, that someone has a right to enter the home. The servants’ belief is therefore a necessary condition for anyone’s rightfully entering the home. But as Bayle points out, if a servant is convinced that some criminal or bandit has a right to enter the home because he produces an excellent forgery of a certificate, then the servant has no reason to deny entry to the criminal and therefore must allow

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him to enter. It would be arbitrary and therefore wrong of the servant to deny entry to someone who produces a convincing certificate. The servant’s belief in a person’s right to enter the home on the basis of his inspection of the certificate has gone from being a necessary, to being a sufficient condition for entry to the home. It is the limitation of the servant’s knowledge—an image of Bayle’s skepticism—that permits this subtle transition from the necessity to the sufficiency of belief for establishing the legislative character of a belief. Bayle imagines an objection here. Won’t the servant be punished for allowing a criminal with a forged certificate to enter the home? Perhaps, responds Bayle, and if the servant is guilty of some negligence, then he deserves his punishment. But if the servant was deceived “by the artifices of some demon who created a perfect forgery,” then the servant did nothing wrong, and any punishment issued to him would be unjust: “so true it is that each person has the right to act according to the lights of his conscience, and that each person is culpable for his errors only to the extent that they are the result of laziness or wrongdoing that allowed these errors to take root in his soul” (OD II, 220). At the conclusion of Bayle’s Secular Opening, there are therefore two moral jurisdictions, the jurisdiction of heaven, where authority is given to laws by their presence in God’s mind, and the jurisdiction of earth, where the authority of a law is established by its presence in a sincere conscience. What strategies, limitations, and traps are associated with this opening to toleration, and how does Bayle manage them? Since Bayle is interested in giving a moral argument for toleration, and since his opening has given rise to two distinct moralities, the general strategy is clear: Bayle must pick one or both sides and attack intolerance using the corresponding normative standard(s). In the reciprocity argument for toleration Bayle lines up his pieces on a single side: the side of conscience. Bayle considers churches only from the perspective of our fallen world, and not from God’s point of view, since this perspective is inaccessible to us. Every church on earth thinks itself orthodox, and so if there is a duty of the orthodox church to compel all others to convert, then every church will believe that it has this duty, and therefore every church will in fact have this duty, given the sufficiency of belief to establish normative duties. Bayle hopes that this argument will convince members of all churches of the immorality, and the irrationality, of persecution, and therefore establish the belief in everyone that there is a universal duty to tolerate. Bayle imagines his opponent attempting to launch a counter-attack from the side of God’s morality. His opponent wants to assert that his church really is the Absolutely True Church and therefore alone enjoys the right to compel people to enter. Bayle replies: “You think that only the [absolute] truth has the right to spread… Fine, I agree with you. But let me warn you, then, that since you are in error, you have no right to preach… Only [members of] the religion that I profess enjoy this right” (OD II, 227). Bayle shows that when opponents attempt to use the strategy of crossing from secular moral standards over to divine moral standards, the game is obviously a draw. By sequestering two distinct moralities, Bayle limits himself in important ways. It is not clear that he can get anything other than a draw on the side of the secular morality of conscience, either. Notice that Bayle’s reciprocity argument establishes

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only that intolerance is equally good or equally bad for everyone; no religion has the unique right to persecute. Bayle intends his readers to take away from this the conclusion that everyone has a duty to tolerate, but this is not validly supported by his argument. One possible response to Bayle is to say, “Fine, every church has the right and the duty to persecute.” As Bayle points out, such an attitude would lead to violence. But if some church were confident in its numbers and strength in some country, then it might well invite that violence. Bayle concludes LORC by asserting that it is only by acknowledging the equality of consciences that we can avoid reducing religions to the law of the strongest (OD II, 227). However, it appears that Bayle’s equality of consciences could very well establish the law of the strongest as the first commandment of every religion. To avoid the argumentative draw and the possibility of endless religious wars, Bayle needs to be able to cross the boundary over to God’s morality at least once to bring back to our world one absolutely true moral precept: intolerance is wrong. But he has prevented himself from doing that by means of his secular opening based in skepticism. Closely related to this limitation is a trap hidden in Bayle’s secular opening. Bayle scholars are divided over whether or not Bayle fell for the trap. I think he did. Bayle wants to conclude that intolerance is immoral. But by playing his game exclusively on the secular side of conscience, he leaves himself open to an objection first put to him by Pierre Jurieu, that has come to be known as the Persecutor Paradox (Rex 1965: 178 first drew attention to the fact that this problem was, even in Bayle’s estimation, a ‘paradox’). If someone is sincerely convinced in his conscience that he has a duty to persecute others, then on Bayle’s reasoning, he really has a duty to persecute. For such a person to be tolerant would be immoral. Toleration, for some people, is a sin and Bayle’s argument does nothing but reinforce that conviction in persecutors. I will return to the Persecutor Paradox later in the paper in response to Solère’s attempt to resolve it.

10.4  J ohn Locke and the Political Variation of the Secular Opening Bayle devotes the entire LORC to an examination of his secular opening, and only later writes a toleration treatise on its basis, the Commentaire philosophique. Locke’s Epistola is in this respect more fluid: the opening is laid out and the toleration argument based upon that opening follows immediately. However, there is still a very clear division between opening and middlegame in Locke’s Epistola. The opening begins after this line, at the outset of the work: “In order to avoid these things [he is talking about various justifications for persecution and intolerance], I believe that we must above all distinguish between political and religious matters, and properly define the boundary between church and commonwealth” (Locke 2010: 6). Again, we find ourselves in an opening that will divide the terrain into two distinct sides, presenting us with the same sorts of strategic opportunities,

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limitations, and traps that we encountered in Bayle. Call Locke’s opening the Secular Opening, Political Variation. Like Bayle’s secular opening, Locke’s involves the establishment of two separate Jurisdictions (note that “jurisdiction”—jurisdiction in Bayle’s case, iurisdictio in Locke’s—is their word). The first jurisdiction that Locke explores is that of the Commonwealth, which is “an association of people constituted solely for the purpose of preserving and promoting civil goods,” namely “life, liberty, physical integrity, and freedom from pain, as well as external possessions, such as land, money, the necessities of everyday life, and so on” (Locke 2010: 7). The Commonwealth is needed in order to protect and promote these civil goods, and its power is rooted in the fear of punishment, the confiscation of civil goods, which is the exclusive right of the rulers of the Commonwealth. Locke asserts, before giving proof, that “[t]he whole jurisdiction of rulers is concerned solely with these civil goods. All the right and authority of the civil power is confined and restricted to the protection and promotion of these civil goods and these alone. It should not, and cannot, be extended to the salvation of souls” (Locke 2010: 7). Locke’s concern in these passages is to define a jurisdiction with very clear and rigid boundaries. The Church is the second jurisdiction Locke defines: “A church appears to me to be a free association of people coming together of their own accord to offer public worship to God in a manner they believe will be acceptable to the Deity for the salvation of their souls” (Locke 2010: 9). The church, too, must have its own laws: “A schedule must be made of the time and place at which meetings will take place; conditions have to be published for admission to the association and exclusion from it; the various duties and the order of business have to be determined, and so on” (Locke 2010: 10). The jurisdiction of the Church, like that of the Commonwealth, is closed within rigid borders: “The purpose of a religious association, as I have said, is public worship of God and the attainment of eternal life by means of it. This is what the whole of the church’s teaching should aim at; these are the only ends to which all of its laws should be directed. There is and can be no concern in this association with the possession of civil or earthly goods. No force is to be used here for any reason” (Locke 2010: 11). The center of the board between kingside and queenside is therefore completely closed: the jurisdictions of the Commonwealth and the Church are separate flanks with no interplay as Locke makes clear later on: “On both sides the bounds are fixed and immovable. You are confounding heaven and earth, things totally distinct from each other, if you try to run together these two associations, which are completely and utterly different from each other in origin, purpose, and substance” (Locke 2010: 15). What keeps these jurisdictions separate? Vernon argues that there are three separate arguments for the distinction: the Mandate Argument, the Argument from Belief, and the Needle-in-the-Haystack Argument (see Locke 2010: xv-xvii). These arguments are laid out briefly by Locke and are very well-known, so I will not rehearse them in detail. The surface level of the Mandate argument is this: that religious edicts issued by a civil ruler would lack authority because the ruler has no mandate from God or men to make such laws. The surface level of the argument from belief is this: that religious edicts issued by a civil ruler would lack

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effectiveness because the ruler’s power lies in compulsion, which cannot motivate belief. The surface level of the needle-in-the-haystack argument is this: that even if the ruler did have a mandate to issue religious edicts, and even if force were capable of motivating belief, still a ruler’s religious edicts would lack the ability to save men since it is unlikely that the civil ruler’s religion is the right one. On the surface there are three arguments for the separation of Locke’s jurisdictions, but below the surface there is a common foundation, repeated four times by Locke in the two and a half pages devoted to the separation of Church and Commonwealth. After outlining the Mandate argument, Locke begins to explore why men cannot give the civil ruler a mandate to issue religious edicts. The reason is that “the force and effectiveness of true and saving religion lies in belief. No matter what you profess with your lips or what external worship you offer, if you are not inwardly and profoundly convinced in your own heart that it is both true and pleasing to God, it not only does not assist your salvation, if positively hinders it” (Locke 2010: 7). In other words, sincere belief is a necessary condition for the authority of a religious edict. Or to put it in even more Baylean fashion: religious edicts lack the rights of the truth over any person who does not believe the edict. This argument from the necessity of belief for establishing the authority of religious edicts is at the core of the argument from belief. Locke writes: “But true and saving religion consists in an inward conviction of the mind; without it, nothing has value in the eyes of God” (Locke 2010: 8). Conformity to religious doctrines lacks any worth in the absence of belief. Locke repeats the point two paragraphs later: “To accept a doctrine or a form of worship for the salvation of one’s soul, one must believe sincerely that the doctrine is true, and that the form of worship will be acceptable and pleasing to God…” (Locke 2010: 8). The needle-in-a-haystack argument is a reductio: “if [people] were obliged…to discard the dictates of their reason and conscience and blindly accept the doctrine of their prince,” then the result would be that salvation would be an accident of birth, which is absurd because it is something that is “totally unworthy of God” (Locke 2010: 9). The conclusion we must draw from this is, once again, that religious edicts gain their authority and effectiveness only when we follow, rather than discard, the dictates of reason and conscience. The use of an opening that divides the terrain into two distinct sides, one religious and one secular, by means of the claim that sincere belief is a necessary condition for the authority of any religious edict, is a very Baylean aspect of Locke’s Epistola and makes it fundamentally similar to Bayle’s LORC, although it is a different variation. Bayle’s divide was between the morality of this world and the morality of another, inaccessible realm. The sacred side of Bayle’s opening is something truly sacred—the mind of God. Locke’s divide, on the other hand, is between two different human associations. The religious side of Locke’s opening, the Church, is not necessarily sacred at all—at least some of the churches on earth are not God’s own church, so they bear more in common with Bayle’s secular side than they do with Bayle’s sacred side. So, Locke’s secular opening effectively makes a distinction between two secular institutions. Understanding this aspect of Locke’s division helps us to see how he was able to employ a strategy apparently different from the one Bayle used, despite the fact that

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both authors begin their toleration arguments with some version of secularism. Recall that Bayle played his game entirely on one side of the board—the secular side. But when Locke gets to establishing the duties of toleration, he plays both sides of the board, sometimes making arguments based on the nature of the Commonwealth, sometimes making arguments based on the nature of Churches; sometimes addressing civil rulers, sometimes prelates, sometimes individuals. Bayle couldn’t play both sides because one side was the mind of God, which is inaccessible to human beings. This is a consequence of Bayle’s skepticism, the lack of which affords an advantage to Locke’s variation of secularism over Bayle’s. Bayle forces everyone to see the reasonableness of toleration from one perspective—the secular moral perspective—because that is the only perspective available to us humans, with our severely limited minds. Locke argues for the reasonableness of toleration from the perspectives of both secular politics and religion. There seems to be greater opportunity in Locke’s variation of secularism to engage with religious points of view in ways that will seem respectful rather than dismissive of those views. However, there are limitations to Locke’s ability to engage religious opponents on their level, and this limitation demonstrates again how similar are Bayle’s and Locke’s approaches to toleration. Locke treats churches merely as human associations, as clubs, but religious people treat their churches as divinely-inspired messengers of the most important truths that humans must know. People die for a church, but not for a club. So Locke’s secularism, just like Bayle’s, refuses to engage seriously with the claims by religious people of exclusively possessing absolute truth: “Every church is orthodox in its own eyes, and in the eyes of others it is erroneous or heretical, since it believes its own beliefs to be true and condemns other beliefs as wrong” (Locke 2010: 15). Locke’s response to the zealous religious believer is the same as Bayle’s: there is nothing special about your claim to possess the truth. Anyone can claim to possess the truth, so let’s not play that kind of game, which we both know will end in a draw. But the problem is that the religious believer has faith in and hope for more than a draw here. Locke demonstrates a tendency toward religious skepticism here, but note that his secularism is not based on such skepticism, but rather on the distinct natures of two human institutions and their mandates. We saw that Jurieu discovered a logical trap inherent to Bayle’s Secular Opening—Bayle’s secular morality is self-contradictory in that it seeks to establish the goodness of toleration, but it equally establishes the wrongness of toleration. Jonas Proast discovered an equally devastating logical trap inherent in Locke’s secular opening, but it is really a trap inherent in all forms of secularism: “But our author offers three considerations, which seem to him ‘abundantly to demonstrate that the civil power neither can nor ought in any manner to be extended to the salvation of souls.’ And the first of them is ‘because the care of souls is not committed to the civil magistrate any more than to other men.’ But this seems to be no consideration at all, but only the proving of the thing by itself in other words” (Locke 2010: 63). The charge is that Locke’s secular opening begs the question, and it is easy to see that all secular openings to toleration are susceptible to this objection. The intolerant person believes that church and state should be integrated for the sake of the

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salvation of souls. The secular opening splits church and state straight away. Arguments are offered for this split, but as we have seen in the cases of Bayle and Locke, the force of these arguments lies in placing far more value than any intolerant person would recognize in people’s individual beliefs. To an intolerant person who wishes to see conformity more than anything else, this opening move is unacceptable and question-begging.

10.5  T  he Role of Skepticism in Bayle’s Theory of Toleration and the Persecutor Paradox What Baylean and Lockean toleration have most in common is a general opening strategy: secularism. Both authors distinguish the divine and the mundane, though in separate spheres. Bayle’s secularism establishes two moral jurisdictions—those of Absolute Morality and the morality of conscience—while Locke’s secularism establishes two political jurisdictions—the Church and the State. In each jurisdiction there are laws specific to the jurisdiction based in an authority specific to the jurisdiction. From now on I will limit my attention to Bayle. The laws of Absolute Morality are the truths in the mind of God, while the laws of conscience are the sincerely held and carefully considered beliefs of conscience. God is the authority over Absolute Morality. But this Master of morality, like the master of the house in Bayle’s example, has left human beings, His servants, mostly to their own devices. The possible exception is that He has left us with a book filled with moral commands—commands that we must, however, interpret on our own. Our interpretations of the Master’s commands are, along with our reason, the foundation of the beliefs of our conscience, which is the authority over morality in this world while the Master is away and inaccessible for consultation. The role of skepticism in Bayle’s theory of toleration is to keep the two moral jurisdictions separate. We do not, and we cannot, know with certainty which of our moral beliefs correspond to ideas in the mind of God. We cannot check our consciences against the True Moral Code to verify that they are sound consciences rather than erroneous consciences. This is what makes religious disagreement such a difficult matter: consciences often disagree even after much reflection on both sides of the dispute. If we could consult the mind of God, there would be no disagreement and no need for religious toleration. Everyone would have the same moral and religious beliefs. But obviously this is not the case in our “fallen world.” In addition to establishing two separate moral jurisdictions, Baylean skepticism also establishes a rule for conducting discussions of religious matters, including the subject of toleration. As we saw above, granted Bayle’s skepticism, nobody in these debates is permitted to claim that s/he has crossed jurisdictions and has seen the mind of God. Any claim that “my Church is the True Church” will be met with an equally firm response, “No, my Church is the True Church.” There is only stalemate ahead when consciences begin to act as if they are privileged in some way.

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The consequence of Bayle’s skeptical-secular strategy is that he is met with a very perplexing objection, as we have seen: the “persecutor paradox” or “sincere persecutor aporia.” Simply put, the paradox is this: Bayle purports to establish the wrongness of religious persecution, but in fact, Bayle’s argument justifies religious persecution! The reason for this is that Bayle establishes the necessity and sufficiency of conscientious belief for granting moral authority: a moral belief is a moral law in the secular jurisdiction if and only if that belief is one that is sincerely held and well considered by some conscience. Suppose my conscience, after much reflection, tells me to persecute members of other religions. Then on Bayle’s reasoning, persecuting members of other religions is a moral law that I must follow. Jean-Luc Solère has recently given the most rigorous treatment and attempt to respond to this paradox in the literature. The full scope of his discussion, including his thirty-nine proposition reconstruction of Bayle’s arguments relating to the persecutor paradox, obviously goes beyond the scope of this paper, so I will not attempt a full response to Solère. I would like to conclude this paper simply by offering an objection to Solère’s account that arises from the interpretation of Baylean toleration I have given above based on LORC, which Solère does not discuss. For our purposes, the most relevant portion of Solère’s discussion is Sect. 3.1, which captures Solère’s overall strategy in the paper. First, Solère summarizes and acknowledges the force of the persecutor paradox: “Bayle acknowledges that the persecutors who are not yet convinced by his book must, according to his own ‘binding conscience principle,’ follow their (albeit erroneous) consciences, and, therefore, must persecute…” (Solère 2016: 31). Solère’s solution is just Bayle’s own solution (but supported by Solère’s careful contextual and philosophical analysis): “It does not follow that they do without any crime what they do in accordance with their conscience” (OD II, 430; Solère 2016: 31). In other words, these sincere persecutors are “damned if they do, damned if they don’t” (to borrow Solère’s subtitle of this section), since they must follow consciences, but if they do so, they act in a way that is, objectively speaking, immoral. The crux of Solère’s analysis is the demonstration that Bayle must appeal, and does appeal, to the objective goodness or badness of actions—what Solère following Bayle following a medieval tradition calls the “material goodness or badness” of actions—in order to answer the persecutor paradox. But to use the language that I have been using in this paper, Bayle is therefore required to cross jurisdictions in the course of his discussion of toleration, something that I have insisted, following Bayle, is impermissible in this discussion. I cannot, therefore, agree with Solère’s bold comment that “Bayle is entitled to maintain that [34] Persecution is a materially bad action” (Solère 2016: 31). Bayle is not entitled to that claim no matter how impressive his philosophical arguments are on behalf of that claim, because Solère’s/ Bayle’s proposition [34] is a claim about the mind of God, i.e. about the Absolute Wrongness of persecution. But we servants, in the absence of our Master, are never entitled to know the Master’s mind, because we are never able to know it, and in discussions of toleration we are therefore never permitted to resort to the strategy of claiming to know the Master’s mind. If anything is clear from LORC it is that Bayle believes that mutual toleration and peace among religions depends on following this

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maxim: that we restrict our mutual discussions of religion and morality to the secular jurisdiction of conscience. Now, Solère’s focus in his article is not LORC, but the later Commentaire philosophique. So one solution to our disagreement might be that Bayle changed his strategy for arguing on behalf of toleration. The persecutor paradox may be very much alive in LORC, but less so in Bayle’s later works that make appeals to “materially good and bad actions.” These appeals are completely inconsistent, I believe, with the secular view of LORC, but they may well have a significant role to play in later works. If so, then skepticism plays a lesser role in later works on toleration by Bayle. Solère would not likely accept this suggestion. In the conclusion to his article, Solère insists in response to Gianluca Mori, who argued that Bayle’s views on conscience and toleration changed drastically over time (Mori 1999: 273–320), that Bayle’s morality and his arguments for toleration in fact remained unchanged across his career. I have engaged in this debate in much detail in another article in which I trace the evolution, or rather gradual secularization, of Bayle’s theory of conscience across three decades (Hickson 2018). It is obviously unrealistic to hope that I have resolved any debates about Bayle in this or in any other paper. However, my goal here and in the 2018 article has been to introduce the category of secularism into discussions of Bayle’s moral and political works. The advantage of doing so is to highlight that toleration was not a goal that Bayle aimed at directly, at least not in LORC, but only intermediately through the more proximate goal of a kind of secularism that bears a certain resemblance to Locke’s. If Bayle was committed to secularism, in addition to toleration, then this complicates our discussions of Bayle on toleration and of the persecutor paradox. Any interpretation of Bayle on toleration will need to be consistent with Bayle’s commitment to secularism. The most recent response to the persecutor paradox by Solère, while brilliant, does not demonstrate this consistency. And so the Bayle enigma lives on.

Bibliographical References Bayle, Pierre. 1965. Oeuvres Diverses (OD). Four volumes. ed. Elisabeth Labrousse. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag. Galenkamp, Marlies. 2012. Bayle and Locke on religious toleration. Erasmus Law Review 5 (1): 79–92. Hickson, Michael W. 2018. Pierre Bayle and the secularization of conscience. Journal of the History of Ideas 79 (2): 199–220. Israel, Jonathan I. 2001. Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650–1750. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kilcullen, John. 1988. Sincerity and Truth: Essays on Arnauld, Bayle, and Toleration. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Labrousse, Elisabeth. 1964. Pierre Bayle, Tome II: Heterodoxie et rigorisme. La Haye: Martinus Nijhoff. Laursen, John Christian. 2011. Blind spots in the toleration literature. Critical Review of Social and Political Philosophy 14 (3): 307–322.

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Lennon, Thomas M. 1997. Bayle, Locke, and the metaphysics of toleration. In Studies in Seventeenth-Century European Philosophy, ed. M.A.  Stewart, 177–195. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Locke, John. 1968. Epistola de Tolerantia. A Letter on Toleration. Latin text edited with a Preface by Raymond Klibansky. English translation with an Introduction and Notes by J.W. Gough. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 2010. In Locke on Toleration, Cambridge texts in the history of philosophy, ed. Richard Vernon. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mori, Gianluca. 1999. Bayle Philosophe. Paris: Honoré champion. Rex, Walter. 1965. Essays on Pierre Bayle and Religious Controversy. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Schneewind, J.B. 1997. Bayle, Locke, and the concept of toleration. In Philosophy, Religion, and the Question of Intolerance, ed. Mehdi Amin Razavi and David Ambuel, 3–15. Albany: SUNY Press. Schulman, Alex. 2009. The twilight of probability: Locke, Bayle, and the toleration of atheists. The Journal of Religion 89 (3): 328–360. Solère, Jean-Luc. 2016. The coherence of Bayle’s theory of toleration. Journal of the History of Philosophy 54 (1): 21–46. Vassányi, Miklós. 2009. The philosophical Foundation of Religious Toleration in Spinoza (TTP), Bayle (COMMENTAIRE PHILOSOPHIQUE), and Locke (EPISTOLA DE TOLERANTIA). Bijdragen: International Journal in Philosoph y and Theology 70 (4): 408–422. Vernon, Richard. 1997. The Career of Toleration: John Locke, Jonas Proast, and After. Montreal/ Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Woolhouse, Roger. 2007. Locke: A Biography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 11

Hume’s Teresic Politics Peter S. Fosl

Abstract  This essay argues for a reading of Hume’s political thought as an expression of his skepticism, both Pyrrhonian and Academical. Doing so resolves a number of interpretive questions. Is Hume best read as a conservative or liberal thinker, Tory or Whiggish, or neither? Is it possible to reconcile Hume’s histories, essays, and philosophical treatises in a way that yields a coherent political vision? Hume seems conflicted on many issues, perhaps most revealingly about the extent to which resistance to political authority may be legitimated. Hume’s political theory is informed by the skeptical aspirations to tranquility (ataraxia) and moderation (metriopatheia, moderatio). Negatively, he refuses as a matter of suspension (epochê) and silence (aphasia) transcendent and rationalistic grounds for his normative prescriptions. More positively, Hume develops a critical political theory sensitive to the prolepsis or pre-theoretical understanding of social orders, advancing what I call a teresic political empiricism.

A puzzle faces those who would reckon with Hume’s thoughts on politics. As careful and powerful as he was as a systematic philosopher, Hume’s political work seems, on matters of political principle and ideology, wildly diverse to the point of inconsistency. Sometimes, Hume praises monarchs and passive obedience. At other times, he seems more Whiggish and to support the rising orders that would displace Europe’s monarchs and aristocrats. I wish to argue that the apparent inconsistencies in Hume’s political thought can be largely resolved by reading him as a political skeptic, a thinker whose judgements are guided not only by traditional skeptical isosthenia (balancing), ataraxia (tranquility), and metriopatheia (moderate Earlier versions of some of the ideas appearing here may be found in “Skepticism in Hume’s Politics and Histories,” Araucaria: Revista Iberoamericana de Filosofía Política y Humanidades, 20(40) (2018): 371–401; a special issue edited by Gerardo Lopez Sastre; as well as: Hume's Scepticism, Edinburgh University Press, 2020. P. S. Fosl (*) Transylvania University, Lexington, KY, USA © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_11

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emotion) but also, and in a distinctive way, by a reflective têrêsis (observation) of the prolepsis or pre-conceptions of common life. Now, of course, the variation in Hume’s judgement can be explained and discounted by arguing that he is undertaking something else entirely, something different from systematic philosophy, when he writes about politics. Nineteenth-century interpreter Thomas Hill Grose read Hume this way – that is, as abandoning philosophy when he turned to writing essays and histories.1 Neil McArthur refuses a skeptical reading of Hume’s politics because, in his reading, “there is not a single passage where” Hume “explicitly extends his scepticism to the realm of politics.”2 Evidence for a separation between Hume’s philosophical skepticism and his other work appears when he writes to John Clephane on 1 September 1754 that: “I composed [the History of Great Britain] ad populum, as well as ad clerum, and thought, that skepticism was not in its place in an historical production” (LT 1.189, #93). On the other hand, there is a long and distinguished pedigree that reads Humean politics in specifically skeptical terms. Thomas Merrill, for example, reads Hume’s skeptical turn to politics by analogy with the Socratic turn to the human and the political from the natural philosophy of the pre-Socratics.3 Anrew Sabl argues that Hume’s skepticism is evident in the formal qualities of Hume’s social-political essays.4 Duncan Forbes, in his magisterial work Hume’s Philosophical Politics, perhaps most famously describes Hume as a “sceptical Whig.”5 Forbes draws this attribution from Hume’s remark in a 9 February 1748 letter to his kinsman Henry Home (Lord Kames), where Hume himself maintains, in the context of a discussion of the Protestant Succession, that he is “a Whig, but a very sceptical one” (LT 1:111, #62).

 Hume (1889) Essays, 3.75–76; cited by McCormick, “Skeptical Politics,” p. 77.  McArthur, Hume’s Political Theory, p. 117. Cf. Sabl, “Skepticism in Politics?” p. 149; cf. Sabl, Hume’s Politics. 3  Merrill, Politics, Chap. 1, “Hume’s Socratism”; cf. Merrill’s 2015 article, also called, “Hume’s Socratism.” Merrill writes that he uses Hume’s “Socratic reference” (T Intro. 7) connecting him to Socrates’s turn from pre-Socratic natural philosophy to social-political topics “as a means of thinking about Hume’s skepticism.” Merrill claims “that Hume’s ‘science of human nature’ is a political science that attempts to understand moral and political opinion from the inside” of common life. For Merrill while Hume may foreground provisional progress, there remains background aporia; Merrill, “Hume’s Socratism,” p. 25. I am grateful for Merrill’s comments on earlier drafts of this material. 4  Sabl, Politics, p. 150. Poole, Reason, p. 112. Sabl writes: Hume “… does partake of classic skeptical styles and methods. It is in Hume’s Essays and History that we find the reporter of all sides, the doubter of exclusive claims, the distruster of systems, the person determined to find some possible truth in a variety of viewpoints and exclusive and absolute truth in none. We also find, to a surprising degree, someone who both aspired to and hoped to evoke in others the Pyrrhonian elements that have precisely been noted as absent in Hume’s Treatise: suspension of judgment (epoché) and tranquility (ataraxia)”; Sabl, Politics, p. 151. 5  Forbes, Philosophical Politics, pp. 139–140, 299. James Harris suggests that Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Man (1733–34) may have had some influence on Hume’s project as an anatomist; Harris, Intellectual Biography, p. 82. Laursen, “Custom and Habit,” pp. 90ff., 94ff. McCormick, op cit., p. 78. Hume, E.12.3.25. 1 2

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Ryu Susato locates another telling remark in a 12 September 1754 letter to the Abbé le Blanc, the French translator of Hume’s Political Discourses, that seems to suggest an infusion of philosophical skepticism into at least his History: “The philosophical Spirit, which I have so much indulg’d in all my Writings, finds here” in the History of Great Britain, “ample Materials to work upon” (LT 1.193, #94).6 In Susato’s argument, since Hume’s philosophical spirit is skeptical and since that spirit pervades “all” his writings, then Hume implies in his letter to Abbé le Blanc that his History and political works are skeptical, too. As if in confirmation of that idea, in the first Enquiry, immediately after characterizing himself as an Academic skeptic, Hume pointedly includes history and political thought among those “subjects” he identifies as consistent with skepticism and “... best adapted to the narrow capacity of human understanding” and “common life” (E 12.3.24–25; cf. D 1.10).

11.1  How Can Politics Be Skeptical at All? The important economist and philosopher F. A. Hayek discerns skepticism in the limits to knowledge Hume determines in politics.7 In relation to those limits, tranquility and liberty emerge as more important than establishing theoretical ideals: the study of history confirms the reasonings of true philosophy; which, shewing us the original qualities of human nature, teaches us to regard the controversies in politics as incapable of any decision in most cases, and as entirely subordinate to the interests of peace and liberty. (T 3.2.10.15, SBN 562)

Moreover, for Hume, politics is a field not of epistemê but of mere doxa.8 In his 1741 essay, “Of the First Principles of Government,” an essay that appears just on the heels of the 1739–40 Treatise, Hume writes that it “is therefore, on opinion only that government is founded” (ES 32).9 While considerations of “interest” figure prominently in Hume’s analyses of social-political matters—e.g., in the genesis of 6  Susato, Enlightenment, p. 13. The first volume of the History was published in 1754 and the second in 1757 as The History of Great Britain I and II, its name changed later to The History of England. 7  Hayek, “Legal and Political,” p. 342: Hume’s political ideas “are most intimately connected with his general philosophical conceptions, especially with his sceptical views on the ‘narrow bounds of human understanding.’” 8  Marie A. Martin finds Hume’s repudiation of knowledge as basic to moral life to be what distinguishes him from the stoics; Martin, “Classical Moralist,” pp. 328–329; Wulf, “Skeptical Life,” p. 98, discusses Martin and discerns in Hume a skeptical politics without appeal to knowledge. 9  Susato has it backwards, then, when he reads Hume as transforming “doxa” so that it can be used in dogmatic political science. Susato writes: “For Hume, to recognize the central role of opinion in our everyday social and political life it was necessary to depart from the traditional (negative) connotations of the word ‘opinion’ as doxa, which should be eradicated or suppressed to read the truth”; Susato (2015), 70. Susato follows C. B. Macpherson in suspecting the source of Hume’s view about government being rooted in opinion to be William Temple’s “An Essay upon the Original and Nature of Government” (1679), along with Hobbes, Locke, Bayle, and Shaftesbury;

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rules of justice (T 3.2)—Hume is clear that by “interest” he means people’s opinions of their interest: “though men be much governed by interest; yet even interest itself, and all human affairs, are entirely governed by opinion” (ES 51). In the Treatise, Hume also characterises his own philosophical system – and, it seems, the best possible of scientific systems – as nothing more than a “set of opinions” (T 1.4.7.14, SBN 272). Despite Hume’s rendering the political and philosophical orders as composed of opinions, at times he slips into a dogmatic voice that declares his having acquired political epistemê. When Hume undertakes, for example, to examine the possibility of a proper political science in another 1741 essay, “That Politics May Be Reduced to a Science,” he seems to adopt and use to positive effect Machiavelli’s scientific method of analysing political life into distinct factors (how things go under tyranny, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, etc.; ES 18). The results of Hume’s findings with that method include a “universal axiom” and several “eternal political truths” (ES 18, 21). These hyperbolic and meretricious formulations, however, may be discounted by reading them as precisely the sort of dogmatic lapses about which Hume had warned his readers and apologised two years earlier in the Treatise (T 1.4.7.15). Indeed, a closer and more comprehensive look at the text of “That Politics May Be Reduced to a Science” reveals that the governing concern of Hume’s political science in that essay is not epistemê but rather relief from the stormy contradictions, disputes, and discord of political dogmatism. Hume hopes, he says, not to apprehend epistemically the political “real” but instead to establish a practical a “system of laws,” crafted in light of the best empirical findings for the purpose of cultivating “moderation in every party” (ES 27). When writing in a more sober voice, Hume practices skeptical epochê or suspension of judgment about political truth, but epochê has political implications of its own. Traditionally, skeptical epochê is associated with a stillness like that of the calm sea (galene) Sextus enlists in characterizing ataraxia: “‘Suspense’ [epochê] is a state of mental rest [stasis dianoias] owing to which we neither deny nor affirm anything. ‘Quietude’ [ataraxia] is an untroubled and tranquil [galenotes] condition of soul” (PH 1.4.10). In cases where some disturbance is “unavoidable,” “moderate passion” or emotion will do for both Pyrrhonians and Academics (PH 1.12.25).10 The political import of the centrality of ataraxia in Hume’s political philosophy is evident in his judgment that while Henry I may have been a usurper, his government had “merit” because of the “profound tranquility” it sustained (H 1.6.273).

Macpherson, indeed, describes Temple as “the Hume of the seventeenth century”; Susato, Enlightenment, p. 60; Macpherson, “William Temple,” p. 44. 10  See Immerwahr, “Tranquilizing,” on Hume’s various strategies to tranquilize the passions. Eichorn, “How (Not),” pp. 142–143. Quoted by Laursen, “Natura,” p. 19. Wulf argues that caution as a political principle, especially for political advisers, is also characteristic of Hume’s moderate skepticism; Wulf, op cit., pp. 86ff. 89ff. For a reading of Hume as a cautious and conservative skeptic, see Letwin, Pursuit.

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11.2  Political Isosthenia In order to achieve that peaceful condition, Hume practices Pyrrhonian isosthenia (PH 1.22.196) in his political and historical writing more generally. Hume cultivates, in John Immerwahr’s memorable phrase, “moderation through opposition” – diffusing “passion with passion.”11 The political ataraxia to which Hume aspires through that isosthenia finds expression in the safe disagreement theological opponents Philo and Cleanthes are able to reach in Part 12 of the Dialogues concerning Natural Religion. As Richard Dees observes, Hume’s skepticism in the Dialogues about metaphysical questions and about the capacities of the human mind to settle them is resolved not in favor of a demonstrable, universally accepted conclusion but rather in sociability and “friendship.”12 Sam Hall puts it well when he writes about Part 12 of the Dialogues that: “Hume’s political message is the exemplary performance, and endorsement as ideal, of the life that his characters share, despite their disagreements.”13 The essays and histories exhibit skeptical qualities, as well. As James Harris observes, one finds in the essays “a striking scepticism as to the ultimate importance of the distinction between ‘free’ governments and absolute ones”; and Hume’s political isosthenia shows particularly well in his pair of essays, “Of the Original Contract” and “Of Passive Obedience,” written shortly after the Jacobite uprising of 1745.14 It shows itself in the Treatise, too. In the first place, Hume argues that social contract theory is a fiction that itself presumes prior social agreement. Allegiance to standing authority is in general to be preferred to subversion, and so in the Treatise, Hume writes: “No maxim is more conformable, both to prudence and morals, than to submit quietly to the government, which we find establish’d in the country where we happen to live, without enquiring too curiously into its origin and first establishment. Few governments will bear being examin’d so rigorously” (T 3.2.10.7, SBN 558). Hume seems decidedly Tory, too, when he argues that “long possession” (T 3.2.10, SBN 556), simple “present possession” (T 3.2.10, SBN 557) and even “conquest” can establish sovereign authority over territory, especially once habits of obedience are in place. Not only limited government by consent but even “absolute government” (T 3.2.9, SBN 549) is legitimate for Hume, a suggestion that is anathema to liberals. He found Wilkes and the radical Whigs to be foolish, absurd, and “disgraceful to the Nation” (LT 2.197, #427).

 Immerwahr, op cit., p. 304. J. G. A. Pocock, writes about moderating oppositions: “The World of the Imagination would continue to require the discipline of classical criticism; the civilized monarchy … would continue to require the discipline of republican freedom…. Hume held [both] that authority and liberty could never be reconciled and that neither could replace the other,” at least never finally reconciled, a point Hume seems to affirm at ES 40–41; Pocock American Revolution, pp. 335–336; McCormick, op cit., p. 84. 12  Dees, “Morality Above.” 13  Clark, “Hume’s Uses,” p. 72. 14  Harris, op cit., p. 184. Although this dyad was incorporated as a seemingly dialectical pair into the 1748 “Third Edition, Corrected” of Essays, Moral and Political, the two were also published with a third essay, “Of National Characters,” in a standalone volume in Edinburgh and London that same year as Three Essays, Moral and Political (Andrew Millar in London and Alexander Kincaid in Edinburgh). 11

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In opposition to those Tory proclivities, important dimensions of Hume’s thought push in a decidedly Whiggish direction. Hume was a supporter if not a dogmatic defender of the aspirations of the Glorious Revolution and of American independence, both Whiggish projects. As early as 1766, he expressed sympathy with the colonists in their opposition to the Stamp Act of the previous year (LT 2.21, #307; LT 2.43, #321), and by 1768 he advocated complete independence. Declining a request from Baron William Mure in 1775 to solicit strong action from the crown against the colonies, Hume replied: “I am an American in my Principles, and wish we would let them alone to govern or misgovern themselves as they think proper” (LT 2.303, #510).15 Although the infamous footnote he appended to the 1753 essay “Of National Characters” (ES 208n10) indicates racist beliefs, Hume nevertheless also condemns slavery. In “Of the Populousness of Ancient Nations,” he concludes that slavery is “more cruel and oppressive than any civil subjection whatsoever” (ES 383; see 383–98); and his personal reaction to the practice was “disgust” (ES 384). Like liberal political writers, Hume praised expanding liberties of thought and publication in, for example, in “Of the Liberty of the Press,” “Of Civil Liberty,” and “Of the Independence of Parliament.” More generally, Hume, though he was aware of its potential for vice, also supported the development of new economic relations and the newly developing natural and social sciences (e.g., “Of Commerce”).16 Hume was a friend of Benjamin Franklin, and given all this it should be unsurprising that Hume’s essays were frequently consulted by Whig-like representatives of the newly established United States. George Washington, Samuel Adams, John Dickinson, Charles Lee, John Randolph of Roanoke, Benjamin Rush, and Robert Carter of Nomini Hall, as well as Franklin, are all thought to have been influenced by Hume. The 1780 Committee on Finance in the Continental Congress, for example, studied Hume’s economic essays, and in the 1787 Philadelphia Congress, Hamilton appealed to Hume in arguing against legally penalizing corrupt office holders. Hume also apparently taught Hamilton that an expanding commercial order is consistent, even complementary, with a stable republic. Even Hume’s conservative texts sometimes exhibit a Whiggish counterpoint. While in “Of Passive Obedience,” Hume begins a sentence about resistance with a phrase leaning towards the Tories, he ends it with another that opens in the opposite direction: “I must confess, that I shall always incline to their side, who draw the bond of allegiance very close, and consider an infringement of it, as the last refuge in desperate cases, when the public is in the highest danger, from violence and

 Hayek, op cit., p. 340, reads Hume as a liberal: “it is in Hume and not, as is commonly believed, in Locke … that we find the fullest statement of these doctrines”—i.e. a Whiggish and liberal doctrines. 16  The essay, “Of Civil Liberty,” was originally titled “Of Liberty and Despotism,” and the various editions of his essays between 1741 and 1754 bear the original title. Hume also in the revised essay often substituted “absolutism” for “despotism.” 15

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tyranny” (ES 489).17 In the History, just after discussing the regicide of Charles I without praising those who toppled him and with apparent sympathy for the monarch, Hume recommends “hiding the truth from the populace” of “the doctrine of resistance” (H 5.544). But, characteristically Hume’s phrasing in this remark cleverly turns back upon itself. By recommending that the doctrine of resistance should be hid because it is “the truth,” Hume affirms that it is the truth, and in saying so he does just the opposite of concealing it.18 From a “pragmatic and sceptical” perspective, Hume makes it clear that passive obedience has its limits: “our submission to government admits of exceptions, and … an egregious tyranny in the rulers is sufficient to free the subjects from all ties of allegiance” (T 3.2.9.1, SBN 549). A few pages later, he reaffirms: “‘Tis certain, therefore, that in all our notions of morals we never entertain such an absurdity as that of passive obedience, but make allowances for resistance in the more flagrant instances of tyranny and oppression” (T 3.2.9.4, SBN 552).19 Hume offers implicit support to the Glorious Revolution when he writes about the settled regime that followed that it was “if not the best system of government, at least the most entire system of liberty that ever was known amongst mankind” (H 6.71.531; cf. 2.23.525). Hume also points to Spain’s Philip II and the Roman emperors, Nero and Dionysius (T 3.2.9.4, SBN 552; ES 426), as well as to Tiberius, Caligula, Domitian (ES 94), Nabis, and Agathocles (ES 409–10) as rulers so exceptionally tyrannical that their overthrow was legitimate. Accordingly we may observe, that this is both the general practice and principle of mankind, and that no nation, that cou’d find any remedy, ever yet suffer’d the cruel ravages of a tyrant, or were blam’d for their resistance. Those who took up arms against Dionysius or Nero, or Philip the second, have the favour of every reader in the perusal of their history; and nothing but the most violent perversion of common sense can ever lead us to condemn them. (T 3.2.9.4, SBN 552)

There are, it is true, moments of Whiggish crescendo, even excess, in this line of thinking. Sounding almost like a Whiggish ideologue, Hume writes in Book 3 of the Treatise: “in the case of enormous tyranny and oppression, ‘tis lawful to take arms even against supreme power; and that as government is a mere human invention for mutual advantage and security, it no longer imposes any obligation, either natural or moral, when once it ceases to have that tendency” (T 3.2.10.16, SBN 563). And furthermore: “Those, therefore, who wou’d seem to respect our free government,  Laursen, “Tame Skeptics,” identifies a string of moderate or, in his terms, “tame” skeptics who emerged in German in the late eighteenth century. These thinkers advocated skepticism about epistemological matters, moderation of the passions, but took no issue with the status quo of society: Louis de Beausobre, author of Le Pyrrhonisme du Sage (1754), renamed Le Pyrrhonisme raisonnable (1755); Jean Bernard Mérian, author of “Sur le phénoménisme de David Hume”; and Louis Frédéric Ancillon, author of “Dialogue entre Berkeley et Hume” (1799), “Doutes sur les bases du calcul des probabilités” (1794). Laursen argues that these authors demonstrate that skepticism may be neither conservative nor subversive but merely passive in the face of the status quo. On Mérian’s essay on Hume, see Laursen and Popkin, “Prussian Academy.” 18  Merrill dissects this curious, ironic, and paradoxical moment in Merrill, “Rhetoric of Rebellion.” 19  Harris, op cit., p. 236. 17

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and yet deny the right of resistance, have renounc’d all pretensions to common sense, and do not merit a serious answer” (T 3.2.10.16, SBN 564). A larger view, however, reveals a skeptical backstory. In the very next essay after the two balancing poles “Of the Original Contract” and “Of Passive Obedience,” Hume describes in “Of the Coalition of Parties” his method directly in terms of epistemic limits, balancing, and moderate emotion – and these in not only philosophy but also in history and political action: There is not a more effectual method of promoting so good an end than to prevent all unreasonable insult and trump of one party over the other, to encourage moderate opinions, to find the proper medium in all disputes, to persuade each that its antagonist may possibly be sometimes in the right, and to keep a balance in the praise and blame, which we bestow on either side. The two former Essays, concerning the original contract and passive obedience, are calculated for this purpose with regard to the philosophical and practical controversies between the parties, and tend to show that neither side are in these respects so fully supported by reason as they endeavour to flatter themselves. We shall proceed to exercise the same moderation with regard to the historical disputes between the parties, by proving that each of them was justified by plausible topics; that there were on both sides wise men, who meant well to their country; and that the past animosity between the factions had no better foundation than narrow prejudice or interested passion.20 (ES, 494)

At the closing of the History of England, Hume similarly writes: And forgetting that a regard to liberty, though a laudable passion, ought commonly to be subordinate to a reverence for established government, the prevailing faction has celebrated only the partisans of the former, who pursued as their object the perfection of civil society, and has extolled them at the expense of their antagonists, who maintained those maxims, that are essential to its very existence. But extremes of all kinds are to be avoided; and though no one will ever please either faction by moderate opinions, it is there we are most likely to meet with truth and certainty. (H 6.71.533–34)

Hume here reiterates Sextus Empiricus, who says about the tumult of political life that “extremes of all kinds are to be avoided” in favor of “moderate opinion” (PH 1.12.25).21 That may be the best that finite human beings can achieve. This all confirms what James Harris observes, namely that it is sensible to think of Hume not as a Tory or Whig but instead as “defining and developing a philosophy of politics that was as sceptical about the myths of Whiggism as it was about the myths of Toryism.”22

11.3  Defusing Faction Understanding the skeptical thrust of Hume’s politics makes it possible to see that his principal political adversary is enthusiastic conflict itself, what Pyrrhonian skeptics might have called political diaphonia. In his essay, “That Politics May Be

 Quoted by Sabl, “Skepticism in Politics?” p. 153.  Quoted by Wiley, Theory and Practice, p. 154, cf. 292n121. 22  Harris, op cit., p. 131. 20 21

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Reduced to a Science,” Hume writes that: “There are enow of zealots on both sides who kindle up the passions of their partizans, and under pretence of public good, pursue the interests and ends of their particular faction. For my part, I shall always be more fond of promoting moderation than zeal” (ES 27). Hume holds no illusions about the inclination to division to which people are subject: “Men have such a propensity to divide into personal factions, that the smallest appearance of real difference will produce them” (ES 57); and, again, humankind possesses “a strong propensity to such divisions” (ES 58). Moreover, Hume also understands the profound danger that faction poses as well as the urgent imperative to mitigate it: “Factions subvert government, render laws impotent, and beget the fiercest animosities among men of the same nation, who ought to give mutual assistance and protection to each other” (ES 55; “Of Parties in General”). Hume not only balances the Whiggish principle of revolution against his preference for obedience; he also envisions and advances, in his essay “Idea of a Perfect Commonwealth,” an ideal “imaginary republic” (ES 514) shot through with balancing devices. In part inspired by James Harrington’s 1656 Oceana, Hume’s perfect commonwealth is designed for the sake of a characteristically skeptical result: I would only persuade men not to contend, as if they were fighting pro arts & focis [for altars and hearths], and change a good constitution into a bad one, by the violence of their factions. (ES 31)

Hume’s republic comprises a complex and redundant system of checks and balances designed to cancel out factions, and for that reason, Hume’s essay is often compared with James Madison’s Federalist Papers #10. In this therapeutic function, Hume’s design for his ideal republic is not an expression of dogmatic Whiggish principle but rather instead skeptical technê: “Though it is more difficult to form a republican government in an extensive country than in a city; there is more facility, when once it is formed, of preserving it steady and uniform, without tumult and faction” (ES, 527). For reasons more skeptical than Sabl and Forbes realize, Hume does indeed take a “technological attitude towards politics.”23 Hume’s republic is a technology for sculpting and limiting human political passions. About ideal models and skeptical philosophy in its application, he writes: “It enters more into common life; moulds the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model of perfection which it describes” (E 1.3, SBN 6–7).24 Without explicitly connecting Hume’s strategy to skeptical practice, Duncan Forbes offers this otherwise insightful summary of it: “Whig theory and the conscientious scruples of Jacobites are both condemned by a political philosophy fashioned to meet the needs

 Sabl, “Skepticism in Politics?” p.  163. Forbes, op cit., Chap. 3, “Political Obligations for ‘Moderate Men,’” pp. 91ff. 24  See Stewart, Opinion and Reform, Chapters 5–6, for an optimistic account of the potential for change in Hume’s corrective politics; Merrill, “Rhetoric of Rebellion,” p. 279n26. As Merrill says, too, for a less optimistic account, see Miller, Philosophy and Ideology. Cf. Forbes, op cit., p. 96. 23

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of forward-looking ‘moderate men’ in a modern progressive society” – or, at least, a modern and skeptical society.

11.4  Teresic Politics of Common Life’s Pre-Conceptions To direct this political technê, more than isosthenia and epochê are, however, required. In substitution for the dogmatic claims to political epistemê, skeptics find guidance in observant reflections (biôtikê têrêsis) upon common life. In a similar way, facing down the ‘dangerous dilemma’ (T 1.4.7.6, SBN 267) skepticism has forced upon him between (a) trivial fancies and (b) baseless theories, Hume finds that he “can only observe what is commonly done” (T 1.4.7.7, SBN 268; emph. mine). Common, ordinary, diurnal life for Pyrrhonians (PH 1.11.21, 1.11.23, 1.34.237) is a Fourfold of nature, custom, the passions, and – notably here – technai; and so Hume’s political thinking not only turns to common life but is also part of it.25 Having undermined dogmatic theory and reasoning, Hume cannot at the crucial T 1.4.7.6 mean by “observe” that he can only “watch” or “see” what is commonly done as would a purportedly disconnect philosopher making scientific claims about a transcendent real. What I wish to call, elaborating upon Sextus’s usage, “teresic” philosophical and political practice means self-aware engagement with natural, customary, felt, and instrumental appearances. In Against the Ethicists, Sextus directly appeals to the “non-philosophical observance” (aphilosophon teresin) of common life as the basis of political judgment, and he writes there about “a preconception [prolepsei] connected to … ancestral laws and customs [patrious nomos]” (ADO 5.165–6 [M 11.165–6]; cf. PH 1.11.23).26 In the Outlines, at PH 2.22.246, Sextus elaborates: For it is, I think, sufficient to conduct one’s life empirically [empeíros] and undogmatically [adoxatos] in accordance with the observances and the pre-theoretical understandings of common life [katà tàs koinàs terésies te kaì prolépseis bioun], suspending judgment regarding the statements derived from dogmatic [dogmatikés] subtlety and furthest removed from the usage of common life [biotikes].27  Barnes defends reading bios as ordinary life in this way: ‘Bios means something like “ordinary life”, “everyday life”. Thus, hoi apo tou biou (ADO 5.49 [M 11.49]) are ordinary men, non-professionals ta bioutika kriteria are the standards used in everyday judgements, as opposed to the technical or “logical” standards invented by philosophers (PH 2.15; ADO 1.33 [M 7.33]); bios itself is often used to mean “Everyman” (e.g., M 2.18; 9.50)’; Barnes, “Beliefs,” p. 80. For the sake of consistency, I have here and elsewhere substituted Latin alphabetical characters for the Greek. Spinelli (2015), ‘Neither Philosophy nor Politics?’ p. 23. The whole clause reads: Toîs phainoménois oûn proséxontes katà tèn biotikèn têresin àdoxástox bioûmen…; ‘Adhering, then, to appearances we live in accordance with the normal rules of life, undogmatically’ (PH 1.11.23). 26  Sextus (1997), Against the Ethicists. Spinelli, “Neither Philosophy nor Politics?” pp.  23ff., 33n39. Spinelli translates teresin as “observance,” while Bett and Laursen translate it as “practice” [Sextus (1997), Against the Ethicists, p. 26; Laursen, “Live Their Skepticism,” p. 210] and Mates as ‘regimen’ [Mates, Skeptic Way, p. 92]. 27  Translation mine, revising Bury’s use of têrêsis. 25

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A skeptical têrêsis of the prolepsis of common life stands in stark contrast to the idea of epistemic “common notions” or universal epistemic principles (koine ennoia), an idea irresistible to modern rationalists and other political dogmatists.28 Hume’s empiricism is, therefore, in the context of politics well described as a teresic empiricism. Along these lines, he writes famously in the first Enquiry (1748) that, properly undertaken, “philosophical decisions are nothing but the reflections of common life, methodized and corrected” (E 12.3, SBN 121). In politics, that methodizing correction finds proper root and guidance in a skeptical têrêsis of common life rather than in a purported epistemic apprehension of absolute, independent, or eternal standards of judgment.29 While skeptical epochê, isosthenia, ataraxia, metriopatheia, and doxa explain Hume’s balancing strategies along with his foregrounding peace, sociability, and stability, it is skeptical têrêsis that explains the fine-grained and seemingly inconsistent diversity of his judgments. Displacing politics of dogma, transcendent principle, and ideology, Hume advances a skeptical political practice led by a têrêsis of common life.

Bibliographical References Barnes, Jonathan. 1998. The Beliefs of a Pyrrhonist. In The Original Sceptics: A Controversy, ed. Myles Burnyeat and Michael Frede, 58–91. Indianapolis: Hackett. Clark, Sam. 2013. Hume’s Uses of Dialogue. Hume Studies 39 (1): 61–76. Dees, Richard. 2002. Morality Above Metaphysics: Friendship and Philo’s Stance in Dialogues XII. Hume Studies 28 (1): 131–147. Dyson, Henry. 2009. Prolepsis and Ennoia in the Early Stoa. New York: Walter De Gruyter. Eichorn, Roger. 2014. How (not) to Read Sextus Empiricus. Ancient Philosophy 34 (1): 121–149. Forbes, Duncan. 1975. Hume’s Philosophical Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fosl, Peter. 2018. Skepticism in Hume’s Politics and Histories. Araucaria: Revista Iberoamericana de Filosofía Política y Humanidades 20 (40): 371–401. Harris, James A. 2015. David Hume: An Intellectual Biography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

28  For example, Spinoza (1677) adopts the idea of ‘common notions’ at Ethics 2.38.40, scholium 2. Dyson argues that discussions of prolepsis, especially in relation to the stoics, can be found ‘in Plutarch’s polemical works (especially On Stoic Self-Contradictions and On Common Conceptions against the Stoics), Sextus Empiricus Against the Professors, and Alexander of Aphrodisias’s On Mixture. Without these texts we would have just three passages that directly connect prolepsis to the early Stoa: Diogenes Laërtius 7.54, Ps-Plutarch Plac. 4.11.1–4, and Galen PHP 5.3.1. But if we take a wider look at the use of prolepsis and koine ennoia [common notions] in these later authors, we quickly discover that the terms have become common currency among the philosophical schools’; Dyson, Prolepsis and Ennoia, p. xxiv. 29  Merrill reads Hume’s project as making a space for the political good of radical questioning; e.g., Merrill, “Hume’s Socratism,” p. 26: “Hume’s intention is not simply to promote moderation, as important as that is. He also makes an argument about why radical questioning is necessary for politics and even attractive for its own sake.” One might read what Merrill calls “radical questioning” as a practice in service of what Pyrrhonians call “zetetic” philosophy (PH 1.3.7).

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Hayek, F.A. 1966. The Legal and Political Philosophy of David Hume. In Hume: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Vere Claiborne Chappell, 335–360. South Bend: University of Notre Dame Press. Originally published in Il politico 28 (1963). Hume, David. 1889. In Essays: Moral, Political, and Literary., new edition, ed. T.H. Green and T.H. Grose. London: Longmans, Green, and Co. ———. 1932. In The Letters of David Hume, ed. J.Y.T.  Greig, vol. 2. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Paperback 2011. Abbreviated as LT. ———. 1947. In Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, ed. N. Kemp Smith. New York: Bobbs Merrill. Originally 1779. Abbreviated as D. ———. 1983. The History of England: from the Invasion of Julius Caesar to the Revolution of 1688. Vol. 6. Indianapolis: Liberty Fund. Abbreviated as H. ———. 1985. In Essays: Moral, Political, and Literary, ed. Eugene F.  Miller. Indianapolis: Liberty Classics. Abbreviated as ES. ———. 2000. In Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding: A Critical edItion, ed. T.L. Beauchamp. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Originally, 1748. Abbreviated as E. ———. 2007. In A Treatise of Human Nature: A Critical Edition, ed. David Fate Norton and Mary J. Norton, vol. 2. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Originally 1739-40. Abbreviated as T. Immerwahr, John. 1992. Hume on tranquilizing the passions. Hume Studies 18 (2): 293–314. Laursen, John Christian. 2004. Yes, Skeptics Can Live Their Skepticism and Cope with Tyranny as well as Anyone. In Skepticism in Renaissance and Post-Renaissance Thought: New Interpretations, ed. José Maia Neto and Richard H.  Popkin, 201–234. New  York: Humanity Books. ———. 2010. Tame Skeptics at the Prussian Academy. Libertinage et philosophie 12: 221–230. ———. 2011. David Hume on Custom and Habit and Living with Skepticism [David Hume: Sobre la costumbre, el hábito y el vivir siendo un escéptico]. Daimon: Revista Internacional de Filosofía 52: 87–99. ———. 2016. Natura vs. libertà: The Moral Life of the Ancient skeptics: Living in Accordance with Nature and Freedom from Disturbance. Bollenttino della Società Filosofica Italiana N.S. 219 (September/December): 5–21. Laursen, John Christian, and Richard H.  Popkin. 1997. Hume in the Prussian Academy: Jean Bernard Merian’s “On the Phenomenalism of David Hume”. Hume Studies 23 (1): 153–191. Letwin, Shirley Robin. 1965. The Pursuit of Certainty. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Reissued by the Liberty Fund, 1998. Macpherson, C.B. 1943. Sir William Temple, Political Scientist? The Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science 19 (1): 39–54. Martin, Marie A. 1994. Hume as a Classical Moralist. International philosophical quarterly 24 (3): 323–334. Mates, Benson. 1996. The Skeptic Way: Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McArthur, Neil. 2007. Hume’s Political Theory. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. McCormick, Miriam Schleifer. 2013. Hume’s Skeptical Politics. Hume Studies 39 (1): 77–102. Merrill, Thomas W. 2005. The Rhetoric of Rebellion in Hume’s Constitutional Thought. The Review of Politics 67 (2): 257–282. ———. 2015a. Hume and the Politics of Enlightenment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2015b. Hume’s Socratism. The Review of Politics 77 (1): 23–45. Miller, David. 1981. Philosophy and Ideology in Hume’s Political Thought. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pocock, J.G.A. 1979. Hume and the American Revolution: The Dying Thoughts of a North Briton. In McGill Hume Studies, ed. David Fate Norton, Nicholas Capaldi, and Wade Robison, 325–343. San Diego: Austin Hill Press. Poole, Thomas. 2015. Reason of state: Law, Prerogative and Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sabl, Andrew. 2012. Hume’s Politics: Coordination and Crisis in the History of England. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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———. 2015. David Hume: Skepticism in Politics? In Skepticism and Political Thought in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, ed. John Christian Laursen and Gianni Paganini, 149–176. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Sextus Empiricus. 1968. Against the Physicists and Against the Ethicists. In Sextus Empiricus, ed. R. G. Bury. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 3rd of 4 vols. Loeb Library. Abbreviated as ADO and M. ———. 1976. Outlines of Pyrrhonism. In Sextus Empiricus, ed. R. G. Bury. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1st of 4 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Abbreviated as PH ———. 1997. In Against the Ethicists (adversus mathematicos XI), ed. Richard Bett. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Spinelli, Emidio. 2015. Neither Philosophy Nor Politics? The Ancient Pyrrhonian Approach to Everyday Life. In Skepticism and Political Thought in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, ed. John Christian Laursen and Gianni Paganini, 17–35. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Stewart, John B. 1992. Opinion and Reform in Hume’s Political Philosophy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Susato, Ryu. 2015. Hume’s Sceptical Enlightenment. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press. Wiley, James. 2012. Theory and Practice in the Philosophy of David Hume. Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Wulf, Steven J. 2000. The Skeptical Life in Hume’s Political Thought. Polity 33 (1): 77–99.

Chapter 12

“True Religion” and Hume’s Practical Atheism Paul Russell

And though the philosophical truth of any proposition by no means depends on its tendency to promote the interests of society; yet a man has but a bad grace, who delivers a theory, however, true, which he must confess, leads to a practice dangerous and pernicious. Hume, EM, 9. 14/ 279

Abstract  The argument and discussion in this paper begins from the premise that Hume was an atheist who denied the religious or theist hypothesis. However, even if it is agreed that that Hume was an atheist this does not tell us where he stood on the question concerning the value of religion. Some atheists, such as Spinoza, have argued that society needs to maintain and preserve a form of “true religion”, which is required for the support of our ethical life. Others, such as D’Holbach have argued that religion is not only false it is pernicious and it should be eradicated. This paper argues that Hume rejected both these proposals, on the ground that they rest, in different ways, on excessively optimistic assumptions. The sensible, practical form of atheism that Hume defends has a more modest and realistic aim, which is simply to restrict and limit the most pernicious forms of religion. Understood this way, Hume’s practical atheism is very different from the forms of “old” atheism associated with Spinoza and D’Holbach, as well as from the “new atheism” of thinkers such as Dawkins and Dennett.

P. Russell (*) Lund University, Lund, Sweden University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_12

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In a series of contributions I have argued that Hume’s philosophy should be interpreted and understood in terms of the fundamental theme of irreligion.1 Hume’s concern with problems of religion runs throughout his philosophy, beginning with the Treatise (1939–40) and ending with the posthumously published Dialogues (1779). The label of “atheism”, I maintain, subject to some qualifications, is entirely appropriate when applied to Hume’s position on this subject. According to this account, Hume regards “the religious hypothesis” (EU, 11.18/139; D, 12.5/216), where he takes this to suppose that there exists some immaterial, intelligent power that is the creator and governor of the world, to be false under any of the familiar, orthodox interpretations of that hypothesis. The only concession Hume shows any sign of making in respect of this stance is that he, perhaps, allows that if the concept of God is sufficiently reduced or rendered “thin”, stripping it of all anthropomorphic attributes, we may simply suspend belief relating to this matter, one way or the other.2 There is no version of theism that Hume endorses and, in every familiar form advanced, he firmly rejects the hypothesis as wholly improbable or plainly incoherent. Although this interpretation of Hume’s views is no doubt controversial, it is not my intention in this paper to repeat or rehearse arguments and evidence already presented.3 Instead, my discussion in this paper will use the irreligious/atheistic interpretation as a starting point for investigations into further set of issues and problems that arise from it. Atheists may well agree that the religious hypothesis is false but still disagree about the practical significance of this conclusion. Some claim, for example, that for the good of society, we need to retain and accommodate religion in some preferred or more benign form (e.g. “true religion” of some kind). Others have argued that the atheist should aim to eradicate all traces of religion. The brand of atheism that Hume recommends rejects both these proposals. The first proposal, he maintains, mistakenly supposes that there is some benign and constructive form of religion available to the masses that will effectively support and sustain ethical life. The 1  Russell, The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise; Russell, “Hume on Religion”; Russell “Hume’s Philosophy of Irreligion”; Russell “David Hume and the Philosophy of Religion”; Russell, “Hume’s Skepticism and the Problem of Atheism”. It should be noted that many - if not most - of Hume’s own contemporaries, from the publication of the Treatise on, read him as being an “atheist” of some kind. 2  Hume is well aware, of course, that from the perspective of the orthodox a true conception of God carries with it a full complement of the essential attributes - including, crucially, the moral attributes (D, 10.28/199; and cp. 12.8/219). This is not required, however, for what Hume refers to as “genuine theism”, which involves the minimal notion of an intelligent, immaterial being that explains the origin of the world (qua its creator and governor) – as implied by the religious hypothesis. (NHR, 4.1–2/122). 3  Some argue that Hume retained some sort of belief in theism, such as “attenuated deism” (e.g. Gaskin Hume’s Philosophy of Religion; see also Capaldi, David Hume, Chp. 9). Others argue that Hume was a “skeptic” (i.e. agnostic) and that, as such, he neither asserted nor denied the theist hypothesis (e.g. Mossner, “Religion of David Hume” and Mossner, “The Enlightenment of David Hume”; Norton, David Hume, 50, 246–7). For an illuminating commentary that complements and elaborates on my own irreligious interpretation see Bailey and O’Brien, Hume’s Critique of Religion.

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second proposal fails to acknowledge the extent to which religious propensities are, in various ways, an inescapable feature of human life and society. In the final analysis, both these proposals rest on optimistic assumptions that Hume rejects. The form of practical atheism that Hume defends is founded on a more pessimistic understanding of the human predicament.

12.1  Two Old Atheists – Spinoza & D’Holbach In the context in which Hume was writing (i.e. the first half of the 18thC) there can be little doubt that the dominant atheistic thinker of this period was Benedict Spinoza. Samuel Clarke, the great Newtonian philosopher and theologian, singles Spinoza out as “the most celebrated patron of atheism in our time”.4 This was a view that was widely shared by Hume’s contemporaries, as well as by most contemporary scholars.5 Spinoza is certainly an “atheist” in relation to the account of theism of the kind that Hume describes in his Natural History of Religion (i.e. as cited above). His metaphysical system dogmatically excludes any transcendent being of a kind presupposed by even the most minimalist, reduced form of “genuine theism”.6 These general features of Spinoza’s metaphysical system more than justify Bayle’s famous assessment that Spinoza was “the first who reduced Atheism to a system”.7 Granted that Spinoza is an atheist with respect to the primary question concerning the truth of the religious hypothesis, where does he stand on the secondary question concerning the value of religion? While Spinoza held that religion in its popular forms was full of falsehoods and subject to corruption of various kinds, he did not  Clarke, Demonstration, 20 [Sect. III].  Israel, Radical Enlightenment, 159: “Spinoza then, emerged as the supreme philosophical bogeyman ……” On Spinoza’s influence in British philosophy during the late 17th and early 18th centuries see Colie, “Spinoza and the Early English Deists”; Colie, “Spinoza in England”; and also Jacob, The Radical Enlightenment, esp. 49–53; and Jacob, The Newtonians, esp. 169–71; Israel, Radical Enlightenment, esp.603: “Spinoza, then, to a considerable extent came to displace Hobbes….” 6  According to Spinoza’s metaphysical system, there is only one substance and it is infinite, eternal and self-existing (Ethics, Part I). There are no other substances, nor can one substance create another. On this basis Spinoza claims that God and Nature are one and the same being. There does not and cannot exist any kind of God that is the creator and governor of Nature. God’s being is manifest in and through the world and should not be conceived as distinct or prior to it. Any theistic conception of this kind is demonstrably false. (For some helpful remarks on some of the problems associated with the use of the label of “atheism” as applied to Spinoza, see Curley, Editor’s Preface, 47–9.) 7  Bayle, Dictionary, art. “Spinoza”, note A (Selections, 291). In his Continuation des Pensées diverses Bayle describes his understanding of atheism in these terms: “One may reduce atheism to this general tenet, that nature is the cause of every thing; that it is eternal and self-existent; and that it always acts to the utmost extent of its power, and according to unchangeable laws of which it knows nothing.” It is significant that Hume adds the “Spinozist” to his list of forms of atheism in his “Early Memoranda” (MEM, 503/ #40). 4 5

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take the view that all religion is without value for society. On the contrary, in his The Theological –Political Treatise (1670) Spinoza suggests that there is a form of religion that is essential to the well-being of society and most of those who live in it.8 While religion, as we commonly find it, is corrupted and destructive it would be a mistake, Spinoza maintains, to conclude that we would be better off altogether without it. The framework Spinoza employs for assessing the value of religion is based upon three overlapping distinctions. They are: 1 . A contrast between the aims and function of philosophy and of religion. 2. An account of the difference between “true religion” and “superstition” (or false religion). 3. The contrast between the (learned) philosopher, on one side, and “the common people”, on the other. With respect to the first distinction, Spinoza states, in several contexts, that his “main purpose” in the The Theological –Political Treatise is to differentiate philosophy and theology.9 Philosophy and theology, he argues, belong to two different “domains”. As such, they have very different aims and functions. Philosophy and reason aim at truth and wisdom. By contrast, theology and religion are concerned with “piety and obedience”.10 What Scripture provides is not so much a set of true doctrines but rather historical narratives that serve to influence the imagination and guide human conduct.11 The relevant and essential teachings of Scripture are simple and contain an ethical message that is valid for all: to love our neighbour and practice justice and loving-kindness.12 Related to this point there is, according to 8  Spinoza’s The Theological –Political Treatise was certainly enormously influential throughout the late 17th and much of the eighteenth century. Jacob suggests that it was “much more widely read” than his Ethics (Jacob, The Radical Enlightenment, 52). The first English translation of Spinoza’s The Theological –Political Treatise appeared 1689). John Toland published an abstract of this work in 1720, along with an abridgment of Jean Colerus’ (sympathetic) Life of Spinoza (1706). For details see Colie, “Spinoza and the English Deists”, esp. 25, 32. Useful commentary on Spinoza’s The Theological –Political Treatise is provided in Nadler, A Book Forged in Hell; and see also James, Spinoza on Philosophy, Religion, and Politics, and Curley’s Editor’s Preface to The Theological –Political Treatise. 9  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, Pref. 34, 2.58, 11.22, 14.5, 15.1, 15.21–2 [8, 34, 144, 158–9, 165, 169, 172). Spinoza’s aim to separate philosophy from theology was shared by Hobbes, who was likely an important influence in his thinking on this subject. See, e.g., Hobbes’s remarks about “true religion” in his Postscript to Of Liberty and Necessity (p. 42): “We ought not to dispute God’s nature; he is no fit subject of our philosophy. True religion consists in obedience to Christ’s lieutenants, and in giving God such honour, both in attributes and actions, as they in their several lieutenancies shall ordain.” On the relevance of Hobbes for Spinoza’s views in the The Theological –Political Treatise see Curley, “‘I durst not write so boldly’”. 10  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 14.8, 14.20–3, 15.21 [159, 161,169]. 11  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 1.40–7, 12.33–5, 5.40–6, 6.44, 15.23–5 [19–20, 151,67,79, 169]. 12  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 7.27, 12.33–7, 13.8, 14.9, 14.17, 14.22, 14.33 [91–2,151, 153–4, 159, 160, 162].

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Spinoza, an important distinction to be drawn between faith or “true piety” and philosophical dogmas and truths.13 It is our “works” or obedience to the command to love our neighbour, rather than our particular understanding of God’s being and attributes, that is evidence of faith.14 Spinoza summarizes this point by saying that “the best faith is not necessarily manifested by him who displays the best arguments, but by him who displays the best works of justice and loving-kindness”.15 The distinction between religion and philosophy serves as the basis of Spinoza’s distinction between true and false religion. Only when we separate religion and philosophy can we free religion from superstition and its corrupting influence.16 Any effort to make Scripture conform to philosophy or philosophy to Scripture is liable to distort and corrupt both.17 As each has its distinct “domain”, true religion will confine itself to the simple, core ethical teaching of Scripture and the prophets – that we should practice justice and loving-kindness.18 Similarly, philosophy should not seek to impose itself on Scripture and subject its claims to the standard of reason and truth. Clearly, then, Spinoza’s understanding of “true religion” is not about theological truth or truths but rather about faith, which is essentially a matter of ethical conduct (i.e. “obedience”). Having a set of true theological beliefs is not, on this account, required for true religion, as it is possible to display real faith even on the basis of false and contradictory theological beliefs. The function of Scripture, Spinoza maintains, is to use imagery, metaphor and narrative to direct humans along the path of virtue, which is true piety. What people believe, in respect of their various and contradictory understandings and interpretations of God’s nature is of no consequence for faith, as long as they accept and obey the simple, core ethical message of justice and loving-kindness. …we don’t want to maintain without qualification that nothing which is a matter of pure speculation pertains to the teaching of Scripture… All I maintain is this: there are very few such things, and they are very simple. Moreover, I’ve resolved to show here which these are and how they are determined. This will be easy for us now that we know that the purpose of Scripture was not to teach the sciences. From this we can easily judge that it requires nothing from men but obedience, and condemns only stubbornness, not ignorance.19

Spinoza goes on to argue that as “obedience to God consists only in the love of your neighbour… it follows that the only knowledge Scripture commends is that necessary for all men if they are to be able to obey God according to this prescription”. He continues: “…Scripture does not touch on speculations which do not tend directly to this end, whether they are concerned with knowledge of God or with  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 14.13–38, 15.1–3, 19.16–28 [160–04, 169, 214–6])  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 14.6–33 [159–63]. 15  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 14.33; cp. Pref. 28, 14.16, 18.26 [163; cp. 6–7, 160, 209]) 16  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 11.22 [144]. 17  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 15.1–3, 15.25 [165, 169]. 18  Spinoza summarizes “all the tenets of faith” in The Theological –Political Treatise, Chp. 14 (14.25–8 [161–2]). 19  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 13. 6–7 [154]. 13 14

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knowledge of natural things”.20 In sum, it is Spinoza’s view that ethical conduct is both necessary and sufficient for salvation or blessedness.21 In contrast with this, false religion or superstition resists this conclusion and confuses philosophy and religion, all of which results in quarrels, hatred and intolerance.22 How, then, is “true religion”, so understood, relevant to our social practices and circumstances? Philosophy is, by its very nature, limited to a few individuals who have the aptitude and opportunity to “acquire a habit of virtue from the guidance of reason alone”.23 If the path to love of God, which is man’s highest happiness, relied entirely on reason and philosophy, then almost all the “multitude” or “common people” would be cut-off from salvation and blessedness.24 This is not, however, our situation. Since Scripture is concerned to make us “obedient, not learned”, it employs methods that are suitable to the limited understanding of the common people, appealing primarily to their “imaginative faculty” and not to reason.25 Each person may, therefore, adapt and interpret Scripture as he sees fit, as long as it serves the purpose of guiding ethical conduct – which is all that is required for our salvation.26 It follows from all this that although Scripture is not to be confused with a set of philosophical doctrines or truths about the nature of God or Nature, it is still of considerable value and worth. Its value rests with the “very great comfort” it brings to mankind by making salvation possible for all. Scripture and prophecy are, then, of value, not for the “learned” or philosophers, since they do not need it, but for the masses, who would otherwise be lost without it. Although religion is widely misused and corrupted, by theologians and by others, it is, nevertheless, essential for the well being of society. Spinoza’s aim, therefore, is not to free society from religion but to free (true) religion from superstition.27 Spinoza makes clear that he is writing his own treatise for the “learned reader” and the philosophers who, he claims, will be familiar with the “main points” that he is making. He suggests, however, that “the masses” and “common people” should not read work, since they are not “governed by reason” and are “carried away by

 Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 15.8 [154].  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, Pref. 20–8, 4.9–15, 5.31, 7.27–8, 7.68–9, 11.15, 13.24–9, 14.13–7,14.27, 14.44(note 23), 15.44–5, 18.26, [4–6, 49–50, 66–7, 91, 98, 142, 157, 160, 162, 172, 209, 238n31]. 22  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, Pref. 4, 11.2, 15.10, 18.7–26, 2–.44–6 [4, 144, 167, 206–09, 229]. 23  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 15.45; and also 13.9–19 [172; also 154–6]. 24  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 4.10–5, 7.78–82, 13.1–4, 13.24–9, 15.25–45 [50,101,153, 156–61, 170–2]. 25  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 13.20–9; and also 1.25, 1.35, 1.40–8, 2.52–3, 4.37, 5.41–6, 14.6–10, 14.20–3 [157; and also 17, 19–20, 32, 55, 67–8, 159, 161]. 26  Spinoza points out that due to their limited understanding and reliance on imagination rather reason, the common people are prone to an anthropomorphic (and false) conception of God’s nature (The Theological –Political Treatise, 1.35, 1.43–7, 2.40–5, 4.16, 4.30, 4.37, 13.26 [17, 19–20,30, 50–1,53, 55, 157]. 27  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 11.23; and cp. Pref. 3–9 [144; and cp. 1–3]. 20 21

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impulse”.28 Considered from this point of view, there is sense in which Spinoza’s account of “true religion” should be understood as a philosophical doctrine about the nature and function of religion in relation to philosophy and ethics (i.e. that Scripture and theological doctrine are essentially rhetorical and literary devices to support morality, not to advance human knowledge). Those who practice “true religion”, according to this account, are the (truly) faithful who obey the fundamental command of Scripture and display love of their neighbor through acts of justice and loving-kindness. Clearly, then, it is important to distinguish Spinoza’s philosophy of true religion from the practice of true religion (i.e. “true piety”). The practice of true religion does not, on Spinoza’s account, presuppose or depend on a philosophical understanding of true religion – much less on a philosophical understanding of God, beyond the basic understanding of the command to love our neighbour. Spinoza’s standing as a leading representative of atheism, as we have already noted, was widely accepted in the eighteenth century. Among those who recognized Spinoza as a “celebrated atheist” was Baron Henri D’Holbach.29 D’Holbach’s most important work, The System of Nature, was published in 1770 and it has been described as “the first avowedly atheistic work”.30 In 1772 D’Holbach published Good Sense, a condensed and accessible version of his System.31 While D’Holbach’s System is the lengthier statement of his outlook, Good Sense is not only more condensed, it is also “more completely critical”.32 Although D’Holbach does not adopt Spinoza’s geometric (rationalist) methodology, his stance on the question of the existence of God is no less dogmatic.33 In a

 Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, Pref. 33–4 [7–8].  System of Nature, 214 [II, Chp. 2]; see also p. 226 [II, Chp.3]. D’Holbach was heavily influenced by Spinoza’s philosophy (see, e.g., Blom, Wicked Company, 85–6; and for a rather different perspective Israel, Revolution of the Mind, esp. 20–21). His perspective on Spinoza was influenced in important ways by his accompanying interest in in the writings and thought of Thomas Hobbes and John Toland. In 1768 D’Holbach, in collaboration with Jacques-Andre Naigon, translated and published Toland’s Letters to Serena (1704). Toland’s work contains a (largely) sympathetic account of various elements of Spinoza’s philosophy. 30  Berman, Atheism in Britain, 37; and also Kors “The Atheism of D’Holbach and Naigeon”, 276. Dennis Diderot (who was also good friend of Hume’s) was closely involved with the development and writing of D’Holbach’s System of Nature. See the editor’s Introduction to D’Holbach’s Christianity Unveiled, lxxiv. There is, in particular, some evidence that Diderot played a crucial role in D’Holbach’s “conversion” to atheism (on this see Holoman’s introduction to Christinaity Unvelied, lv; and also Blom, A Wicked Company, Chps. 6 and 9; and Buckley, Origins of Modern Atheism, Chps. 4 and 5). 31  Published under the name Jean Meslier. Prior to this, in 1761, D’Holbach had published Christianity Unveiled, using the name N.A. Boulanger. 32  Lebuffe & Gourdon, “Holbach”, 33; and also 38–9. Blom suggests that Good Sense “made much the same argument more effectively on less than a third of the pages” (Blom, A Wicked Company, 159). 33  There is, as with Spinoza and Hume, some debate about the interpretation of D’Holbach’s arguments and commitments. Some commentators suggest, for example, that there is a more skeptical and less dogmatic aspect to D’Holbach’s views than is generally recognized. Kors claims, in particular, “that from a formally philosophical point of view, materialist atheism was more a moral 28 29

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number of contexts D’Holbach argues that “the notion of God is impossible”,34 on the ground that the idea of God is not only unintelligible and incredible,35 it is actually “contradictory”.36 It is in this (dogmatic) spirit he refers to theology, in general, as “a continual insult to human reason”.37 Despite their methodological differences, therefore, we can place D’Holbach securely beside Spinoza as a representative of dogmatic atheism.38 The question that now concerns us is where D’Holbach stands with regard to the value of religion? Does he, for example, accept Spinoza’s account and defence of “true religion”? It is clear that D’Holbach explicitly rejects any form of “true religion” of a kind that is meant to guide the masses and support morality. There is, according to D’Holbach, no distinction to be drawn between true and false religion because all religion is foolish and wicked. In his Preface to Good Sense D’Holbach identifies his target in the following unqualified and sharp terms: In a word, whoever will consult common sense upon religious opinions… will easily perceive that these opinions have no solid foundations; that all religion is but a castle in the air; that Theology is but ignorance of natural causes reduced to a system; that it is but a long tissue of chimeras and contradictions… [T]he hero himself is made up of qualities impossible to reconcile… The notion of this imaginary being, or rather the word by which we designate him, would be of no consequence did it not cause ravages without number upon the earth.39

In a later passage, D’Holbach explicitly argues that there is no distinction to be drawn between “true religion” and “superstition”. “All religion”, he says, “in reality [gives] us the same ideas of God”, all of which are equally contradictory and at odds with our experience of the world.40 Morality does not, in any case, need religion for its foundations, which actually rest with human nature and human passions.41 Religion, in all its forms, serves only to pervert and corrupt morality and leave the population vulnerable to misery, cruelty and tyranny.42 In general, D’Holbach makes little or no effort to distinguish among the various religions in terms of their foolish beliefs and pernicious consequences, a task that he plainly regards as a distraction from the central message that he aims to deliver. choice than a philosophical choice, a will towards the pursuit of happiness” (Kors “The Atheism of D’Holbach and Naigeon”, 296–300). For a brief and persuasive defence of D’Holbach’s “intellectual atheism” see Lebuffe & Gourdon, “Holbach”. 34  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 16 – this being the title of sect. 8. 35  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 8,14,19,20,31,36. 36  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 8,19,20,114,122,123–4131. 37  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 13. 38  A good summary of D’Holbach’s own views on what he understands by “the name of atheist” can be found in his System of Nature, II, xi. See, in particular, his remarks at II, 219: “This granted…” 39  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 2. 40  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 58–59; and cp. 115, 123–4, 153. 41  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 198–201. 42  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 154–214.

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Not only is D’Holbach not interested in distinguishing the various vulgar and popular religions from each other (e.g. Islam and Christianity; Catholicism from Protestantism; etc.), and adjusting his condemnation of each accordingly, he also firmly condemns both Deism and skepticism. The God of the Deists, he argues, is also full of contradictions and incompatible qualities”.43 Nor is a God of this kind any more useful or necessary for social life.44 Religion, in any form, is unnecessary for morality and serves only to erode and corrupt it.45 Deism, therefore, is not a viable alternative to superstition, it is just another false and problematic version of it. Nor is D’Holbach any more favourably disposed to skepticism. On the contrary, to be a skeptic, D’Holbach claims, “is to lack the motives necessary to establish a judgment”.46 Sensible people deride, and with reason, an absolute pyrrhonism, and even consider it impossible. A man who could doubt his own existence, or that of the sun, would appear ridiculous… Is it less extravagant to have uncertainties about the non-existence of an evidently impossible being? Is it more absurd to doubt of one’s own existence, than to hesitate upon the impossibility of a being whose qualities destroy each other?47

D’Holbach could hardly dismiss the skeptic in a more dogmatic manner. He carries on to suggest that religious skepticism is, in the final analysis, both an intellectual and moral failing. Skepticism results from a superficial examination of subjects and it “arises ordinarily from laziness, weakness, indifference, or incapacity”.48 If D’Holbach entertains any degree of skepticism on the issue of religion, the existence of God is not where this occurs. The upshot of all this is that not only does D’Holbach firmly reject any form of Spinozist “true religion” he also (dogmatically) repudiates both Deism and skepticism. He has no sympathy with any form of “two domain” doctrine and he refuses to discriminate among the various religions. Any effort to accommodate religion, in any form, he maintains, serves only to placate and encourage this enemy of truth, progress and human happiness. What, then, should our practical attitude and policy be in relation to religion? D’Holbach’s response here is similarly decisive and uncompromising. Given the heavy costs of religion, he argues that we need to “annihilate” or “eradicate” it.49 We should, he says, “combat” religion at all levels  - theology, Scripture, church and clergy.50 His stance throughout is aggressive and uncompromising, allowing few, if any, concessions to religion of any kind. It is not inaccurate to describe his stance on this subject as a form of “militant atheism”. At the same time, however, although  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 124.  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 181–2. 45  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 177–80; 190–01; 197–201. 46  D’Holbach, Good Sense,131. 47  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 131–2. 48  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 132. 49  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 8, 115. 50  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 113. 43 44

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D’Holbach may aim to eliminate religion, he acknowledges that this is a very difficult goal to achieve. He who combats religion and its phantasies by the arms of reason, is like a man who uses a sword to kill flies: as soon as the blow is struck, the flies and the fairies return to the minds from which we thought to have banished them…. all religions are easy to combat, but very difficult eradicate.51

Religion is, D’Holbach suggests, deeply rooted in our human nature and our circumstances. Its origins rest, in particular, with our ignorance and fears, along with our established and entrenched prejudices and education.52 Overcoming these obstacles is no easy task. Given the difficulties involved in achieving the eliminativist goal, what is the point of “preaching” or arguing for atheism to “the common man”?53 It would be a mistake, according to D’Holbach, to conclude that this pursuit is simply a hopeless task. On the contrary, there are many other topics of investigation, such as mathematics, medicine, and so on, that are also difficult and beyond the capacity of the ordinary person. It does not follow from this that they are of no value or that no benefit is derived from them.54 The principles of atheism are, in any case, D’Holbach maintains, better secured in “common sense” than those of theism and theology. As long as “sensible and peaceable people enlighten themselves”, he claims, “their light spreads itself gradually, and in time reaches the people”.55 We may conclude, in light of these observations, that D’Holbach’s practical program contrasts sharply with Spinoza’s account of “true religion”. The question we now come to is where does Hume stand on this significant divide within the atheist camp?

12.2  Hume and Spinoza’s True Religion Although Hume mentions the notion of “true religion” in a number of different contexts, the only context in which he discusses this issue in any detail is in the last section of the Dialogues (XII). It is, in any case, his discussion of “true religion” in this context that has been the principal focus of interest and debate among commentators.56 The context in which this discussion arises is an exchange between Philo  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 113–5. Similar sentiments regarding the challenge of using philosophy to defeat religion is like “pretending to stop the ocean with a bulrush” [Hume, NHR, 11.5]. 52  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 16–7, 165,190, 197–8, 230, 231–2, 235. 53  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 231. 54  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 231–2. 55  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 232. 56  There are a number of relevant and interesting contributions to this literature. Among those the reader may consult are: Livingston, “Hume’s Concpetion of True Religion”; Falkenstein, “Hume on ‘Genuine’, ‘True’, and “Rational’ Religion”; Penelhum, “Hume’s Views on Religion”; Lemmens, “‘Beyond the Calm Sunshine of the Mind’; Lemmens, “The ‘true religion’ of the sceptic”; Garrett “What’s True About Hume’s ‘True Religion’?”; and Willis, Toward a Humean True 51

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and Cleanthes (i.e. two of the principal characters in the Dialogues) concerning the practical consequences of religion and atheism for morality.57 Having tried to reconcile the theist and the atheist by encouraging them to agree that there is “some remote inconceivable analogy” that holds between the original cause of “the works of nature” and the human mind (D, 12.1–8), Hume moves on to address the issue of the practical consequences of religion.58 Philo begins by assuring Cleanthes that he has expressed his “unfeigned sentiments” (thus alerting the reader to this worry) and goes on to declare that his “veneration for true religion” is held in proportion to his “abhorrence of vulgar superstition” (D, 12.8/219) – this being, of course, a distinction that was also of central importance to Spinoza’s discussion. Before considering the content or nature of Hume’s understanding of “true religion”, we might begin by asking what reason we have for believing that Hume took an interest in Spinoza’s views on this subject?59 There are at least three important considerations that should be noted in relation to this matter. First, as we have already noted, Spinoza was widely regarded as the most prominent representative of modern atheism in Hume’s context. Any informed discussion of atheism, in this context, would need to take some notice of Spinoza’s views. Second, Spinoza’s The Theological –Political Treatise was not only an especially influential work in this context, it was itself centrally concerned with the issue of the relationship between religion and morality and addressed this issue under the heading of “true religion”.60 Religion. Although these accounts vary significantly in in the interpretations that they offer and defend, a number of them (e.g. Garrett and Willis) argue that Hume endorses belief in an intelligent power as the ultimate cause of nature and claim, on this basis, that Hume was not an atheist of any kind. However, rather than attempt to respond to all these diverse and varying interpretations in the secondary literature, my focus in this discussion will remain on the relevant primary literature (especially Spinoza and D’Holbach). 57  This is a topic that Hume has broached in the first Enquiry but did not pursue at any length (EU, 11.4/133–4). Hume returns to this issue in Dialogues XII (D, 12.19–31), where he discusses the practical consequences of religion. 58  With respect to the argument advanced (i.e. the argument from design), Hume claims: (a) that the analogy in question is “remote and inconceivable”; (b) that there are other equally strong analogies that are available (and imply very different conclusions) (D, 12.7/218); (c) that the moral attributes are especially poorly supported (D, 12.8/219); and (d) any notion of God we are left with is of little or no practical consequence (D, 12.33/227). Even if we grant that these critical arguments fail to support atheism, they (completely) undermine any effort to vindicate the religious hypothesis on the basis of the argument from design. That many humans will continue to retain an (unstable) belief in a “supreme being” of some kind, even though it lacks any rational justification, is not a view that Hume denies - since he offers a detailed explanation for this propensity in his Natural History of Religion. 59  Although the literature on Hume’s views about “true religion” is vast, little, if any, attention has been given to the (potential) relevance of Spinoza’s account of “true religion” for the interpretation of Hume’s views. I am not aware of any extended or detailed discussion of the relevance of Spinoza’s “true religion” for Hume’s views on this subject. Indeed, most discussions of Hume’s views on this subject do not even mention Spinoza in relation to this matter. 60  Spinoza’s influence over the generation of deists and freethinkers who flourished in Britain during the first few decades of the eighteenth century was considerable. Stephen remarks, for example, “that the whole essence of the deist position may be found in Spinoza’s ‘Tractatus

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Third, quite apart from the specific issue of “true religion” and its immediate and direct relevance to Hume’s own discussion of this topic, Hume’s entire philosophy is structured and oriented around an irreligious program in which Spinoza (along with Hobbes) was a pivotal figure in the various debates that Hume was primarily focused on.61 In light of all this it is not credible that Hume would not have considered Spinoza a key figure in this context. At the very least, the burden of proof rests (heavily) with those who would deny this. When we turn to Hume’s various arguments and the way in which he presents the issue of “true religion” the essential features of Spinoza’s account all appear. After Philo expresses his “veneration” for true religion Cleanthes follows by suggesting, first, that even a corrupt religion is preferable to no religion and, second, that the doctrine of a future state is a necessary support for morality (D, 12.10/219). Philo immediately challenges both these claims. In reply to this, Cleanthes claims that “the proper office of religion” is to “humanize” our conduct and support “the motives of morality and justice” (D, 12.11/220)  – a suggestion that could come straight from Spinoza. The irony here, as would be obvious enough to many of Hume’s contemporary readers, is that any such view of religion would entirely undermine Cleanthes’ effort to defend the truth and rationality of the theist hypothesis (since this would be a separate and distinct “domain” of concern). The standard for assessing any religion, on the view proposed, would not be its truth but its practical effects on conduct. We have, in any case, independent reason to conclude that this was, in fact, Hume’s understanding of what “true religion” is. In a suppressed Preface written in 1756 for one of the volumes of his History of England, Hume wrote: The proper Office of Religion is to reform Men’s Lives, to purify their Hearts, to inforce all moral Duties, & to secure Obedience to the Laws & civil Magistrate.62

These remarks are entirely consistent with Spinoza’s account of “true religion”. They serve, moreover, as a succinct and pithy statement of the bare essentials of Theologico-Politicus’” (Stephen, English Thought, I, 27 [i.33]). This influence is especially pronounced in respect of the topic of the relationship between morality and religion. Two thinkers of particular note, in this regard, are Lord Shaftesbury [Characteristics, 1711] and Matthew Tindal [Christianity as Old as Creation, 1730]. Any complete account of Hume’s concern with Spinoza’s “true religion” would need to give further attention to the role of these two thinkers (and others in their circle). 61  Regarding Hume’s knowledge of Spinoza and his The Theological –Political Treatise see Russell The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise, esp. Chp. 7; and also Russell, “‘Atheism’ and the Title-Page of Hume’s Treatise”. For a long time it was assumed that Hume did not read Spinoza and that all he knew about him came through Bayle’s Dictionary article (which may be part of the explanation for the otherwise puzzling neglect of Spinoza in this context). More recently, however, a number of scholars have argued that Hume was immersed in Spinoza’s philosophy – especially his Ethics. See, e.g., Baier, “David Hume, Spinozist”, and Klever, “Hume Contra Spinoza? In The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise I offer a rather different assessment of the relevance of Spinoza for Hume’s philosophy and its development – although I also hold that Spinoza is a figure of considerable importance for understanding Hume’s philosophy in general. 62  Cited in Mossner, Life of Hume, 306.

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Spinoza’s doctrine. In this case, however, the remarks come directly from Hume, not through the voice of Cleanthes.63 If Hume’s understanding of “true religion” is, in its essentials, a Spinozist understanding, what then is his attitude to “true religion”, so interpreted? A proper analysis of this requires that we keep in mind the distinction that we drew above between Spinoza’s (philosophical) account of true religion and the actual practice of true religion (i.e. what Spinoza believes he is giving an account of). Let us, then, distinguish between the philosophical account, call it TRP, and the practice itself, call it TRE. The practice of true religion (TRE) is simply ethical conduct. Ethical conduct, Spinoza argues, requires very little in the way of theological doctrine  – only the most simple of tenets are required for obedience to the “Word of God” or divine law.64 This simple doctrine serves as both a necessary and sufficient condition to move the common person to act in accordance with God’s command. In this way, ethical conduct (TRE) is grounded in the simple content of the Word of God, as presented in Scripture and by the prophets. Call this the doctrine of true religion or TRD. Given these distinct aspects of Spinoza’s “true religion”, where does Hume stand in respect of them? A number of commentators have read the remarks that Philo “venerates” true religion to imply that he endorses true religion.65 For reasons already given, if Hume did endorse “true religion”  – and I will suggest that this claim requires significant qualification and restrictions  – it is “true religion” as broadly understood in Spinozist terms. On a strict understanding, therefore, “true religion” is simply ethical conduct or TRE – which is something that Hume would plainly have reason to “venerate”. What, then, about “the doctrine of universal faith” that guides this ethical conduct (i.e. TRD)? Spinoza describes these doctrines as terminating in this point: “… that there is a supreme being, who loves Justice and loving-kindness, and whom everyone, if he is to be saved, is bound to obey and to worship by practicing Justice and loving-kindness towards his neighbour”.66 Hume, through the voice of Philo, describes this as “so pure a religion as represents the deity to be pleased with nothing but virtue in human behaviour” (D, 12.15/221). He deems it unobjectionable, and even admirable, to the extent that it aims to support the practice of virtue. Be this as it may, however, Hume (through Philo) makes clear that a “refined” or “philosophical” religion of this kind is “utterly incapable” of  See also Hume’s earlier remarks in a letter written in 1743, where he suggests that “what we commonly Religion” may be reduced to “the practice of morality, & the assent of the understanding to the proposition that God exists” (NL, 12–3 – italics in original). Not only is the proposition assented to here stripped of all distinct content, it could not, given Hume’s own philosophical principles, serve as a basis for belief (as there is nothing to believe in). Clearly, then, (true) religion is simply a matter of the practice of morality, as in Spinoza’s account. 64  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 11.22, 13.4, 13.6, 13.27–9, 14.6–10, 15.24–5 [144,153,157,159,169]) 65  See, e.g., Garrett, “What’s True About Hume’s ‘True Religion’?”, 218. Garrett, like many other commentators, also takes Hume to endorse “true religion” as “belief of invisible intelligent power” of some kind. 66  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 14.24 [161–2]. 63

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moving or guiding the vulgar in the manner that Spinoza suggests (D, 12.15/221). Any influence that true religion of this kind may have (qua TRD) will always be “confined to very few persons” (D, 12.22/223). Whereas Spinoza believes that true religion serves to close the gap between the philosophers and the common people, Hume holds that “true religion”, understood in these terms (i.e. TRD), is itself “a species of philosophy and, as such, fails to engage or influence the vulgar. In sum, while it is true that Hume may well “venerate” true religion understood in terms of TRE (ethical conduct), and with it TRD (the simple doctrine that God requires nothing more than virtue from us), he still rejects the core practical claim of TRP – as presented in Spinoza’s account of “true religion”. That is to say, according to Hume it is a mistake to suppose that TRD achieves the practical effect of supporting and sustaining TRE among the masses. It should now also be clear, in light of the analysis provided above, that a Spinozist account of true religion must be (sharply) distinguished from “genuine theism” of any kind – including deism or any reduced form of “thin” theism. These differences include the following: (a) True religion, understood as ethical conduct (TRE), is not a matter of belief in any particular set of philosophical doctrines about the nature of God. By contrast, genuine theism is a matter of belief about the being and nature of God (i.e. as an immaterial, intelligent being who bears some analogy to the human mind). (b) According to Spinoza’s philosophical account of true religion (TRP), genuine theism is a false philosophy. As such, it is not impossible that it might still support ethical conduct (TRE) but it is neither necessary nor sufficient for this task.67 (c) Granted that genuine theism (including attenuated deism of any kind) is an effort to make theology conform to philosophy, it violates Spinoza’s “two domain” doctrine, which involves separating philosophy from theology. (d) True religion, as Spinoza and Hume understand it, is plainly a matter of the regulation and guidance of conduct – this being the relevant function and aim of religion (not truth or knowledge of any kind). Genuine theism not only aims at truth and knowledge concerning God’s being and nature, it has no essential connection with (ethical) conduct. According to Hume, where genuine theism is reduced to its bare content (e.g. as per the “undefined proposition”) it has little or no practical influence over our conduct (D, 12.32/227).68 Since any form of thin theism or (attenuated) deism lacks practical force, it cannot satisfy this essential requirement of “true religion”. Given all these significant points of divergence, it is a mistake to confuse “true religion” (TRE) with “genuine theism” of any kind. On the account defended here, although Hume may “venerate” true religion as ethical conduct (TRE) he,  See Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 13.29 [157].  It is for this reason that Cleanthes seeks to retain an anthropomorphic account of “genuine theism”, otherwise it would, he claims, lose its practical effect. Hume (pace Philo) argues that even thick (anthropological) conceptions of God of this kind have little or no steady or reliable influence over our conduct – a “refined” or reduced conception will have even less (practical) influence.

67 68

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nevertheless, rejects both “genuine theism” and “true religion” understood in terms of Spinoza’s account (TRP). His reasons for rejecting these two doctrines are obviously different. The religious hypothesis fails, according to Hume, because the argument and reasoning behind it (i.e. the design argument) relies on weak reasoning that cannot support its conclusion. Spinoza’s doctrine of “true religion” fails because its claims about the practical influence of “true religion” (TRD producing TRE) are not credible. The tenets or doctrine of “true religion” (TRD) are too “refined” and “philosophical” to have any real influence over the vulgar or the masses. While superstition has little in the way of a steady or reliable influence over the vulgar, a philosophical and pure religion of the kind that Spinoza proposes will have even less (D, 12.20–25/222–5). In sum, Spinozist “true religion” is the form of true religion that concerns Hume (i.e. in D, XII). Although he respects it and grants that it is admirable (qua TRE) and has no destructive or unpleasant consequences (qua TRD), he judges that it is, nevertheless, ineffective in achieving its (essential) end of supporting morality, contrary to TRP. For this reason we may conclude that Hume rejects Spinoza’s philosophical account of “true religion” (qua TRP).69

12.3  Hume and D’Holbach’s Militant Atheism Since Hume rejects Spinoza’s account of “true religion” (TRP), despite its obvious attractions and admirable intent (qua TRE and TRD), should we assume that he endorses “militant atheism” of a kind that d’Holbach presents as an alternative?70 To answer this question we need to distinguish the following two issues: (a) Do we need or want to “combat” and “annihilate religious prejudices”? (b) Granted that we may have reason to eradicate religion, is this an objective that we can achieve – is it possible for us? D’Holbach’s answer to the first question is clear: we have more than good reason to want to achieve this end. His answer to the second question is more hedged or  My discussion in this section has benefitted greatly from comments and suggestions provided by Steven Nadler. 70  There is, of course, an oft-repeated account of Hume attending a dinner party at D’Holbach’s home where he is supposed to have first encountered atheists in the flesh. Commentators such as Mossner have drawn the conclusion from this that “it is certain that Hume did not regard himself as an atheist.” [“Hume and the Legacy of the Dialogues, p.22n38; and see also Mossner, Life, 483f]. Mossner takes Hume’s remarks to be entirely sincere and serious. I will not repeat my (several) reasons for rejecting this view, as they are stated at some length elsewhere [The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise, 386n18. My own comments draw from Berman’s effective response to this suggestion [Berman, Atheism in Britain, 101]. In this context I will simply state that, contrary to this account, Hume’s remarks at D’Holbach’s dinner party do not show that he did not believe that atheists exist or that it is certain that he did not view himself as one. (What they show is that Hume had a sense of humour - something that cannot be taken for granted among all his readers.) 69

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hesitant, since he recognizes that this end will prove “difficult”. He believes, nevertheless, that in time this goal can be realized. As we have noted, however, his response to both these issues leaves no scope for further qualifications based on discriminating among the various religious sects and their particular doctrines and practices. According to D’Holbach, we have reason to want all religions to be “eradicated” and, although difficult, this is an achievable goal. The targets of his eliminativist program would include not only all the familiar forms of orthodoxy (i.e. Christianity, Islam, etc.) but also Deists and even skeptics, along with any other parties who seek to accommodate or offer apology of any kind for religion.71 While Hume’s theoretical attitude to the question of God’s existence is not dogmatic in the manner of D’Holbach, there are, nevertheless, many passages in his writings that give evidence of his sharing D’Holbach’s deep hostility to religion. Perhaps this surfaces most explicitly in Hume’s Natural History of Religion. Consistent with his usual practice, Hume introduces some of his harshest remarks and observations about religion under cover of more orthodox sentiments.72 In the final section of his Natural History of Religion Hume begins by saying: The universal propensity to believe in invisible, intelligent power, if not an original instinct, being at least a general attendant to human nature, may be considered as a kind of mark or stamp, which the divine workman has set upon his work; and nothing surely can more dignify mankind, than to be thus selected from all other parts of the creation, and to bear the image or impression of the universal creator. (NHR, 15.5)

He immediately goes on to point out that when we “consult this image” what we see is how “disfigured” and “degraded” it is. Survey most nations and most ages. Examine the religious principles, which have, in fact, prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded, that they are any thing but sick

 Although D’Holbach speaks in favour of liberty of thought and complains of the intolerance and persecution encouraged by religion (D’Holbach, Good Sense, 175, 178, 224–5, 231–2), it remains unclear to what the limits or constraints should be set for the “war” on religion that he advocates. In defence of D’Holbach, however, it should be noted that, while he sharply criticizes religion, he does not, in contrast with the established doctrine and practice of his religious opponents, advocate their persecution, much less that they should be subject to coercion and violence. 72  One immediate difficulty that we face in interpreting Hume is that the intolerant climate of the times ensured that any theologically unorthodox thinker – atheist or not – had to conceal their real meaning behind the camouflage of evasive language. D’Holbach describes this esoteric technique in the following terms: 71

In all ages one could not, without immanent dangers, lay aside the prejudices which opinion had rendered sacred … all that the most enlightened men could do was to speak and write with hidden meaning; and often, by a cowardly complaisance, to shamefully ally falsehood with truth. A few of them had a double doctrine – one public and the other secret. The key of this last having been lost, their true sentiments often become unintelligible and, consequently, useless to us… (D’Holbach, Good Sense, 245–6) Suffice it to note that Hume was entirely comfortable about practicing the art of “double doctrine” or “hidden meaning” and employs it in any number of contexts. For a helpful account of “the suppression of atheism” as it relates to Hume’s 18thC context see, e.g., Berman, Atheism in Britain, esp. 101–05; and also Russell, “Epigram, Pantheists and Freethought in Hume’s Treatise”.

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men’s dreams: Or perhaps will regard them more as the playsome whimsies of monkeys in human shape, than serious, positive, dogmatic assertions of a being who dignifies himself with the name of rational. (NHR, 15.5)

The severity and scope of these observations and remarks approaches closely the standard set by D’Holbach.73 These scathing and sweeping remarks about religion are also entirely consistent with Hume’s observations, through the voice of Philo, concerning religion “as it has commonly been found in the world” (D, 12.22/223). There is, to say the least, nothing moderate or restrained about them and they accurately represent the general tenor of Hume’s position on this subject. Hume is also in agreement with D’Holbach, in contrast with Spinoza, that morality does not need religion of any kind. Much of his ammunition is spent establishing the various ways that “vulgar superstition” corrupts and distorts moral life and conduct. This is not just an important theme in Dialogues XII but also a prominent feature of both the second Enquiry (EM, 199,270, 279, 341–2) and the Natural History of Religion (NHR, 9, 10 and 14/ 145–50, 175–9). Although “true religion” or any other religions of a more philosophical and rational kind may do no harm to moral practice, they are not required for it. The general force of Hume’s several (extended) discussions of morals, running from the Treatise all the way through to the Dialogues, converge on several of the same basic points that D’Holbach also advances and defends. These are that “morality is founded upon the relations, the needs, and the constant interests of the inhabitants of the earth” and that, to the extent that religion becomes involved, it generally “weakens or destroys the ties which unite man”.74 In all these fundamental respects Hume and D’Holbach are in complete agreement. Given these points of agreement between Hume and D’Holbach we might expect Hume to fully endorse the eliminativist program, insofar as it can be achieved or realized. There are, however, crucial respects in which Hume’s analysis diverges from D’Holbach’s and directs him down a rather different path – a path that is, in some degree, more cautious and measured. One crucial respect in which Hume differs from D’Holbach is that he firmly rejects an indiscriminate attitude to religion. According to Hume, any policy or program for dealing with religion must be sensitive to the significant variations and differences that we find among its sects. It is a recurrent theme, throughout Hume’s writings on religion, to emphasize the ways in which religious sects and parties differ from each other, not only in their doctrines and practices but also in their causes and effects. It is in this spirit that Hume distinguished between superstition and enthusiasm, Christianity and Islam, Catholicism and the several Protestant (Reforming) sects, as well as between polytheism and

 Despite remarks of this nature – and many others could be found in Hume’s works – some scholars continue to present Hume as a “religious conservative” of some kind (see, e.g., Israel, Enlightenment Contested, 692–3; and for effective criticism of Israel’s views in this respect see Vink, “David Hume Sceptical Atheist or Religious Conservative?”). 74  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 198. 73

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monotheism.75 The various comparisons and contrasts that he draws pay particular attention to the way in which some forms of religion pose a threat to human happiness and the peace and stability of society much more than others. It is, therefore, a serious mistake, from this perspective, to simply lump all these sects and groupings together and condemn them all without any further qualification. Our practical situation is considerably more complex and messy than an approach of this kind allows. The importance of these distinctions for Hume is evident in his discussion in the final passages of Dialogues XII. As the dialogue reaches its conclusion, Philo suggests that the disagreement between the theist and the atheist is really “a mere verbal controversy” and that a reconciliation may be achieved on the basis of some reasonable concessions coming from each side (D, 12.7/217–9). The quarrel between these two parties, Philo suggests, is simply about the degree to which there is some analogy between the human and divine mind, based on the reasoning provided by the argument from design. The theist maintains that the analogy is “strong” and the atheist (or skeptic) insists that it is weak or “remote”. At first Philo reverses his skeptical doubts about this argument and allows that there is a “great analogy” between the works of nature and human productions (D, 12.2–4/214–6; and cp. 2.5/143). However, before the dust has settled on this concession, Philo performs a double reversal and argues that there is a “vast difference” between them (D, 12.5/217). This simply reiterates the point about the weakness of this analogy that Hume had made earlier in his first Enquiry (EU, 11.27/146). The specific proposition that Philo suggests as a basis for reconciling the two disputing parties, near the end of the dialogue, is “that the cause or causes of order in the universe probably bear some remote analogy to human intelligence” (D, 12.33/227 – Hume’s emphasis). Even the dullest reader is in a position to recognize that the proposed reconciliation is heavily one-sided and constitutes a complete defeat for Cleanthes’ defence of theism.76 Apart from anything else, the field is left wide open for other equally probable hypotheses and it strips the conclusion of all significant content and practical force. In the Enquiry Hume sums up this situation when he points out that the religious hypothesis, so tamed and restricted, “is both uncertain and useless” (EU, 11.23/142).

 Among the most important of these discussions is Hume’s (early) essay “Of Superstition and Enthusiasm”, where he distinguishes both the causes and effects of these “two species of false religion” (ESY, X). It is a major theme of his Natural History of Religion to contrast polytheism and monotheism, generally to the detriment of monotheism. Similarly, throughout his History of England Hume weaves his account with observations showing the considerable differences between the various Christian sects and the way in which each individual sect may vary and change over time. 76  It has been suggested that Hume’s aim in this context is to reconcile Philo and Cleanthes, where Cleanthes is taken to be a representative of the “moderate party” in the eighteenth-century Scottish context (Penelhum, “Hume’s Views on Religion”, 324–6). While Cleanthes (and the moderates) may well be more tolerant than the evangelical or “popular” wing of the Church of Scotland (e.g. as represented, arguably, by Demea), he remains firmly committed to the existence of a God with moral attributes as well as to the doctrine of future state (D, 12.24/224). Doctrines of this kind are excluded by the terms laid down in the proposed reconciliation arrived at near the end of the Dialogues. 75

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Although the proposed reconciliation that Philo secures at the end of the Dialogues may appear fraudulent and empty, it is not. There is an important subset of participants in this debate who can agree and settle on this final “undefined proposition” – even though it plainly excludes all those (such as Cleanthes) who are in any way or to any degree orthodox theists. The parties who may be reconciled in these terms include (attenuated) deists, skeptics and (non-dogmatic) atheists. All of them are, in the first place, opposed to the pernicious and corrupt influence of “vulgar superstition”. Moreover, although each of them adopts a different position on the theoretical question, and there remain real differences among them in respect of this, all can accept the “undefined proposition”, since its content remains wholly obscure and is largely empty. Most importantly, because the proposition arrived at is so thin and ambiguous in its content it can, as Philo’s remarks suggest, “afford no influence that affects human life” (D, 12.33/227). In other words, the final position settled upon is inert and is of no practical significance. The position arrived at is not Spinoza’s “true religion” (which Hume/Philo has rejected) but an open-ended theoretical conclusion that entirely drains the theoretical issue of any practical force, however it may be interpreted by the parties it aims to reconcile.77 By this means Hume, in evident contrast with D’Holbach, firmly allies himself with Deists and skeptics (agnostics) while continuing to be equally firm in his opposition to vulgar and pernicious superstition. Whereas D’Holbach fails to discriminate between skeptics and Deists, on one side, and vulgar superstition on the other, Hume is careful to separate these groups and associates himself with the former. His lack of dogmatism is, to this extent, matched by a practical attitude of acceptance and pluralism, at least with regard to those who oppose superstition. By itself, however, this provides no guidance about how this broad alliance – let us call it the Party of Enlightenment – should respond to the persisting threat of superstition in all its various forms. To answer this practical question Hume, once again, relies on the importance of distinguishing among the various sects and groups who belong to the opposing Party of Superstition. Hume, as we noted, agrees with D’Holbach and rejects the suggestion that morality requires any form of religion for its support. He is also in agreement with D’Holbach that all forms of superstition (i.e. religion “as it is commonly found”) corrupts and injures both morality and society. They are further agreed that, given the deep roots of religion in our human nature and the human condition, religion will prove very difficult to “eradicate”. Where Hume differs from D’Holbach, in respect of this matter, is on the sort of compromises and measures that need to be taken to contain and limit religion in its most pernicious forms. D’Holbach’s approach is both uncompromising and unqualified. Hume advocates a different approach.

 It is worth emphasizing, again, that it is mistake to suppose that what the parties agree to in this context is “true religion” (i.e. as Hume understands it). The essence of true religion rests with its practical value and force (i.e. to support morality), whereas the “undefined proposition” that serves as the basis of the reconciliation has no practical force or value of any kind – as Philo (and Hume) point out.

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12.4  Subduing Religion: Hume’s Modest Pessimism Among the most important measures we can take to tame and subdue religion are, on Hume’s account, the following78: 1. We should advance and defend a skeptical philosophy that will discourage the abuse of philosophy by theology (EU,1 and 11; LFG; and NHR, XI). A philosophy of this kind will serve to promote a more modest view of the limits of human understanding and encourage a more critical attitude to the more absurd and incredible doctrines and practices of religion. 2. Related to the first point, we need a moral philosophy or moral science that is based on an understanding of human nature, not on the unstable and destructive foundations of religion. This will prove to be something of a barrier to the more pernicious and corrupting doctrines and practices of religion (see, e.g., EM, 1 and 9). 3. We need to secure conditions of liberty, which will encourage moderation and oppose the various forms of persecution and intolerance that generally accompany religion (e.g. T, intro 7/xxi; EU, 11.2/132-3; ESY, 40-1; 89). Social conditions of this kind will, by themselves, reduce human misery. 4. Finally, when conditions of liberty are protected and secured learning and knowledge will be supported and encouraged (ESY, 92; 113-5; 276-8). Where there is greater knowledge and learning we also find that commerce and prosperity tend flourish (see esp. ESY, 92; 115; 253-80). In these circumstances the population is less vulnerable and prone to fear and ignorance, which are the two principal sources of religion in human nature. These are all crucial steps that Hume believes are required and feasible, if we are to control and curtail the troubling dynamics of religion in human society. As we might expect, where the church and the clergy are strong there will be powerful resistance to all of these proposed measures. Progress and hope for humanity depends on finding a way to overcome these religious forces, or at least to hold them in check and push them back. On all these crucial points Hume and D’Holbach are in fundamental agreement.79 There remain, nevertheless, some real and significant differences between Hume and D’Holbach in terms of how best to deliver on these aims and objectives. It is for Hume, as has been pointed out, a matter of considerable importance that a sensible and effective policy for dealing with the problem of religion begins with a clear appreciation of the significant differences among the various religious sects – each of which has its own peculiar dynamics, causes and consequences. These variations and differences dictate very different forms of threat and challenge (i.e. as  The list that follows draws from the discussion in Russell “Hume’s Lucretian Mission”; and Russell, The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise, Chp. 20. 79  This is not to deny that D’Holbach, as we noted, has his own tendencies to dogmatism and, to that extent, falls victim to some of the vices of religion that he condemns. 78

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seen from the perspective of the Party of Enlightenment). Although Hume’s judgments about these features of the various religious sects also changed and evolved over time, he was evidently more favourably disposed to some sects than others.80 His favourable remarks about the Church of England provide a particularly striking example of this. In his (discarded) 1756 Preface to the second volume of his History of England Hume praises the Church of England for avoiding the extremes of either the Reformers or the Catholics.81 In a later volume of his History, covering the Tudors, Hume explains that his preference for an established church is based on the consideration that this is a better alternative than having the clergy depend on attracting an audience and market of their own, as this would simply encourage the wildest and most irresponsible doctrines, resulting in social disorder and chaos (HE, III, 136). Siebert nicely sums up Hume’s attitude and approach in the following: An established church becomes an ineffectual church, and thereby serves the state… Hume’s recommendation is a travesty of religion, but on his terms it is an ideal… [T]he establishment of a state church can be regarded as an inoculation against the religious disease.82

The crucial point that Siebert is making here is that for Hume an established church is a useful expedient, which is hardly evidence that Hume had any latent religious sympathies of some kind. As Hume sees it, it is better to have an established church, under the close control of the state, than have society overrun with warring and fanatical sects of every kind, owing no allegiance to the state or the established order.83 In light of these observations we can agree that there is some truth in the claim that Hume holds that “religion of some sort is both a necessary and a desirable part of society”.84 This is not, however, because Hume supposes that an established church (e.g. the Church of England) serves to advance or represent “true religion” of any kind – since all such institutions are prime examples of (problematic) superstition. The relevant point is that, given our available options, we may be better off keeping religion and the clergy in check by this means. This is the central message of Philo’s remarks in Dialogues XII (D, 12.21/223). Hume’s endorsement of an established church is, in any case, far from being either enthusiastic or unqualified. Philo suggests, for example, that the “wiser” policy may be for the civil magistrate to give “indulgence to several sects” and “preserve a very philosophical indifference to all of them”. Failing this we must expect “nothing but endless disputes, quarrels,  A helpful and illuminating discussion and analysis of these matters is presented in Siebert, The Moral Animus of David Hume, Chp.2. 81  Mossner, Life of Hume, 306–07. Another helpful discussion of Hume’s views on the established church is presented in Susato, “Taming ‘The Tyranny of Priests’”. 82  Siebert, The Moral Animus of David Hume, 115. Another analogy that comes to mind is that you may not love cats but may still keep one in order to make sure that your house does not become infested with rats. 83  An interesting and important response to Hume’s views on this subject is presented in Smith’s Wealth of Nations, II, 788–95 [V, i.g]. 84  Costello, “‘In every civilized community’”, 181–2. 80

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factions, persecutions, and civil commotion” (D, 12.21/223). At no point does Hume show an unqualified enthusiasm for an established church and he makes clear that the only attraction of this policy is that it serves as a means of avoiding the even worse scenario of encouraging competing religious sects.85 We may conclude from all this that while Hume offers no simple, unqualified support for an established church, he does allow that, in some circumstances, it may be our best option for controlling and containing pernicious and destructive forms of religion. A position of this kind is entirely consistent with his atheism and his general aversion to all forms of religion. Nevertheless, with a qualification of this kind in place, Hume’s attitude and approach is different from and more flexible than that which D’Holbach advocates. As Hume understands our predicament, it may be unwise to impose a blanket policy of eliminating all forms of religion, since this may result in inflaming the problem rather than containing it. There is one more “loose end” that needs to be addressed in relation to the differences between Hume and D’Holbach and their practical stances on the subject of religion. Just as D’Holbach fails to make any of the important and necessary distinctions among the various religious sects, he also offers no favourable or kind words in respect of any aspect of religion. His condemnation of religion and all those who act on its behalf is as unqualified as it is severe. In contrast with this, consistent with the importance that Hume attaches to the differences among the religions that we encounter in history and throughout the world, Hume avoids a single-note condemnation of every aspect of religion, church and clergy.86 He points out that just as “no human institution will ever reach perfection” so too “the frailties of our nature mingle themselves with every thing”.87 In a deleted passage to the final section of the Dialogues he returns to the same point. Every human institution and practice is “a mixture of good and ill” (D, 12.22/223n). We should not expect, therefore, that superstition is entirely imperfect any more than that it is entirely perfect. Given that superstition is “composed of whatever is the most absurd, corrupted, and barbarous of our nature” it is hardly surprising that it is far from perfect. To this Hume adds that if there were “any one exception to that mixture of good and ill, which is found in life, this [superstition] might be pronounced thoroughly and entirely ill” (my emphasis). While Hume is careful to avoid D’Holbach’s wholly one-sided and bigoted attitude to everything concerning religion, he in no way retreats from his deep  In his History, in the passage explaining why some preference may be given to the policy of supporting an established church, Hume goes on to point out the dangers of this policy – citing the (unhappy) example of “the Romish church” (HE, III, 136–7). 86  An example of Hume’s willingness to acknowledge that religion is not completely corrupt and evil is to be found in his discussion of the “advantages” and the “inconveniences” of the Church of Rome. Although this is prime case of an established church that is not to be welcomed, Hume allows that it has, nevertheless, several “advantages”. According to Hume, the Catholic church has, for example, “served as a cheque on despotism of kings”, it has encouraged the fine arts and good taste, and it has promoted contact and cooperation among nations. Despite all this, Hume is still clear that these advantages “were but a small compensation for its inconveniences” and that “the balance of evil prevailed in the Romish church” (HE, III, 137). 87  Mossner, Life of Hume, 307. 85

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and systematic hostility to all that religion involves. It is a travesty of his outlook to present him as taking an “impartial” or “balanced” position between religion and its critics. Hume is a strong partisan of the critical side – albeit neither a foolish nor a bigoted one.88 None of the above concessions, in relation to religion, serve to show that Hume in any way wavered in his atheistic commitments or attitudes. Hume sides, decisively, with the Party of Enlightenment against the Party of Superstition – which is the divide that is, as he sees it, of real practical importance and significance. He stands firmly and steadily with D’Holbach in his opposition to religion in all its forms  – even though circumstances may require us to accept and accommodate religion in some of its less pernicious forms in order to prevent something much worse. No form of religion – not even the (philosophical and rational) form “true religion” proposed by Spinoza – is to be recommended as either a reliable prop for morality or an effective sop for the vulgar. Whatever concessions and accommodations to religion Hume is willing to make, they are motivated entirely by his concern that we give priority to weakening and removing the even more destructive and harmful forms of religion that we inevitably and unavoidably confront. The differences that we have found between Hume and Spinoza and Hume and D’Holbach have, arguably, a deeper, common source. Whatever their differences, the atheism that both Spinoza and D’Holbach defend involves an essentially optimistic outlook. In the case of Spinoza this is expressed in terms of his confidence that there is an available form of “true religion”, stripped of all ambitions to truth or knowledge, that can, nevertheless, provide a path to a state of “blessedness” or “salvation” that is open to everyone – not just to the philosopher or the sage.89 Neither Hume nor D’Holbach share this form of optimism. D’Holbach, however, displays his own form of strong optimism with respect to his hopes and expectations for a future state of “enlightenment”, free of all religion, that will secure continual progress in the direction of peace and happiness for all mankind.90 Religion, according to D’Holbach, is the principal obstacle holding back humankind and preventing our progress to this happy state of affairs. There is every reason to believe that Hume did not share an optimism of this kind.91 On the contrary, to the extent that D’Holbach encourages an outlook of this kind, it is one that Hume, in any number of contexts,  It is an odd and implausible assumption of some commentators on Hume’s philosophy that unless an atheist is both dogmatic and bigoted they cannot be entirely committed to or sincere in their atheist principles. Hume was neither dogmatic nor bigoted in his atheism. This certainly puts him at some distance from D’Holbach, who is undeniably more exposed to these charges. 89  Spinoza, The Theological –Political Treatise, 5.40–6, 14.10, 14.27, 15.25–7, 15.45 [67–8, 159, 162, 169, 172]. 90  D’Holbach, Good Sense, 9, 232, 243–5. 91  See, in particular, his comments to Turgot in a letter written in 1768 [LET, 2: 180]: “I know you are one of those, who entertain the agreeable and laudable, if not too sanguine hope, that human Society is capable of perpetual Progress towards Perfection, that the Encrease of Knowledge will still prove favourable to good Government, and that since the discovery of printing we need no longer Dread the usual Returns of Barbarism and ignorance…” (Turgot was, of course, one of those who belonged to D’Holbach’s circle or “coterie”.) 88

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regards with considerable skepticism.92 In his 1756 (discarded) preface to the second volume of his History Hume makes very clear that all aspirations to perfection or some ideal condition or state of affairs is a sign of “enthusiasm”, to which the religious are especially vulnerable.93 What drives this is a psychological state of “unaccountable elevation and presumption, arising from prosperous success, from luxuriant health, from strong spirits, or from a bold and confident disposition…. Hope, pride, presumption, a warm imagination, together with ignorance, are, therefore, the true sources of Enthusiasm.” (ESY, 74). There is no reason to assume that atheists are immune from these “flights of fancy” (ESY, 74), and that this might well include D’Holbach and other (militant) atheists of a similar cast of mind.94 The practical lesson that Hume would draw from all this is that atheism should not aim to cater to or satisfy (illusory) aspirations and hopes of this kind. A sensible atheism must be constructed and put into practice around a more modest and more pessimistic assessment of our options and possibilities in human life. How deep, then, is Hume’s pessimism? In order to gauge this accurately we need to separate the following claims and issues. 1. The human condition is one of considerable and constant misery and suffering (see, e.g., D, X, XI). While there is a mixture of misery and happiness in this world, no life is entirely without both and, for many (in our present condition), misery predominates. 2. Religion, in its various forms, is a significant source of misery and suffering. Although it also combines good and evil features and qualities, in all of its familiar forms the balance falls heavily on the side of evil. 3. Curbing and reducing the role and influence of religion in human life will contribute significantly to human happiness and wellbeing. 4. There are many other sources of misery and evil in the world apart from religion and they will continue to operate even in its absence. Religion is far from the sole source of human misery and it should itself be understood as an (imperfect) effort to cope with suffering and misery in human life. Religion, in this sense, responds to a real human need. 5. The propensity to religion is so rooted in our nature and circumstances that we cannot reasonably expect to entirely escape it. We must reconcile ourselves to always having to deal with religion in some form or other – including dangerous and pernicious forms. 6. It is a mistake to suppose that we can arrive at or achieve a state of affairs where we will successfully transcend or overcome all suffering and misery in this world or in our individual lives. Human life lends itself to no such condition or state

 This attitude is, for example, apparent in his essays “The Epicurean” and “The Stoic”, where the general aspiration to a state of “perfection” – whether for the sage or society –is presented as an unattainable fantasy. See also “Idea of a Perfect Commonwealth”. 93  Mossner, Life of Hume, 306–07. 94  Marx’s brand of materialist atheism, with its delusional aspirations to a perfect society that has overcome all conflict and internal struggle, exhibit these symptoms in particularly stark form. 92

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and it is an illusion to seek perfect happiness or tranquility of any kind. Although religion is particularly prone to such illusory aims and ends, this vulnerability is also apparent in some forms of atheism. 7. Human life is not one of undiluted or uncompensated suffering and misery. We may entertain reasonable hopes, as individuals and collectively, to improve our condition and secure ends that make life worth living and that are of value to us. I take Hume to be committed to all seven of the above claims. The last claim suggests that he should not be understood as either a nihilist or an extreme pessimist of any kind. The sixth claim suggests that it would also be a mistake to take him to endorse any form of extreme optimism. The first five claims suggest that Hume is not only a modest pessimist with respect to the human condition (claims 1 and 4), but that he is a modest pessimist with respect to religion in particular (claims 2 and 5). Hume’s endorsement of modest pessimism with respect to religion is not, however, incompatible with him holding that we can successfully improve and ameliorate the human condition and do a great deal to reduce human suffering (claims 3 and 7). This includes taking effective steps to curb and control religion in its most pernicious forms. Hume’s modest pessimism about religion is, in this way, complemented by a modest optimism. From Hume’s perspective, both Spinoza and D’Holbach are inclined to modes of extreme optimism in respect of religion (i.e. they are both reluctant to accept claim six, although for different reasons). They are both disposed to providing an alternative basis for extreme optimism, of the kind that (false) religion purports to provide. Approaches of this kind, as Hume sees it, manifest the same vulnerabilities and vices that are commonly found in the religious temperament. Atheism is better off without any of this. A sensible atheism is, therefore, best understood as a mixture of modest pessimism and modest optimism.95

12.5  H  ume and the “New Atheism” (the Contemporary Debate) What, if any, relevance does this debate among three prominent old atheists about the practical value of religion have for the contemporary discussion of these matters? Much of the contemporary debate has swirled around the contributions of “New Atheism” The principal representatives of New Atheism are its “four

 It may be noted that there is, on this analysis, no sharp or definitive boundary to be drawn between extreme and modest pessimism (or between extreme and modest optimism) – they may bleed into each other as a matter of degree. D’Holbach’s metaphysical attitude, depending on how he is read, operates along this unstable boundary (in contrast with Marx, who clearly belongs at the extreme end of optimism). The form of sensible, practical atheism that Hume defends insists that we should be just as vigilant and vigorous in rooting out and rejecting these optimistic “flights of fancy” as they arise in forms of atheism as when we are in respect of religious systems and outlooks. It is here that we find the greatest distance between Hume and both Spinoza and d’Holbach.

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horsemen”: Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris and Christopher Hitchens.96 Although their arguments and views (and style) vary greatly, there are certain core themes that their critics have identified as bringing them together into one cluster. Significantly, these critics include other atheists and skeptics.97 For our present purposes, I want simply to identify the following (overlapping) core features that these critics object to. 1. The stance adopted by the New Atheists, it is said, is aggressive and militant in a manner that is similar to their fundamentalist religious opponents. This includes the concern that they (indiscriminately) demonize their opponents – the religious. 2. The intellectual stance of the New Atheism is perceived as dogmatic and close-­ minded. This is manifest, critics say, in their excessive confidence in their assertions and a failure to engage with opposing views and arguments in a respectful and informed manner. 3. Another feature of the New Atheism that critics find objectionable is its “scientism”. This is taken to involve an extreme emphasis on the importance and value of science as a basis for understanding our human situation and what is significant and worthwhile in human life. 4. The New Atheists are also disposed, critics claim, to an excessive optimism about what a society free of religion is capable of. They have, it is said, unwisely encouraged the view that without religion serving as an obstacle to knowledge and scientific progress, we can hope for a world that will satisfy and secure all our fundamental human needs and interests. In this respect they fail to acknowledge the more difficult and troubling aspects of human life that religion serves as a response to.98 5. Finally, the New Atheists are widely accused of failing to distinguish adequately among the various religious groups and sects they criticize and ridicule. They also fail to acknowledge properly the many valuable and significant contributions and admirable qualities of religion and those who have acted in its name.

 See, in particular, Dawkins, The God Delusion; Dennett, Breaking the Spell; Harris, The End of Faith; and Hitchens, God is Not Great. A compendium of their views is presented in Dawkins et al., Dawkins, Dennett, Harris, Hitchens: The Four Horsemen. A review of their main ideas and of the debate that they have generated is provided in Stenger, The New Atheism. 97  E.g., Ruse, “Why I think the New Atheists are a Bloody Disaster”; Nagel, “Dawkins and Atheism”; Kaufman, “New Atheism and its critics”. 98  Williams expresses this objection in the following forceful terms: “Humanism in the sense of militant atheism encounters an immediate and very obvious paradox Its specialty lies not just in being atheist – there are all sorts of ways of being that – but in its faith in humanity to flourish without religion… The general idea is that if the last remnants of religion could be abolished, humankind would be set free and would do a great deal better. But the outlook is stuck with the fact that on its own submission this evil, corrupting, and pervasive thing, religion, is itself a human invention… So humanists in this atheist sense should ask themselves: if humanity has invented something as awful as they take religion to be, what should that tell them about humanity? In particular, can humanity really be expected to do much better without it?” [Williams, “The Human Prejudice”, 135.] 96

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While it is not my particular concern in this context to assess the accuracy or justice of these various criticisms, this list does accurately represent how the critics of New Atheism understand its weaknesses and shortcomings.99 Both the New Atheists and their critics (religious or not) tend to view these issues in a rather ahistorical manner. There are two important consequences of this. One is that the variations and disagreements among atheists are not properly acknowledged. Another is that both sides of this debate – atheist or religious – lack forms of self-criticism that a historical perspective encourages and requires. There is an important sense in which both religion and atheism are not simply static ideologies that stand opposite from each other but are, rather, living and evolving movements, with their accompanying ideologies, that can only be understood and assessed, in practical terms, from a historical perspective. This raises the question of how old and new atheism stand in relation to each other? The first observation to make is that, whatever our perspective or commitments, the New Atheism shares a great deal with D’Holbach’s militant atheism.100 Both the theoretical and practical features of their respective positions are very similar. It may be argued that the eliminativist agenda is, perhaps, even more heavily pronounced in the views and works of the New Atheists. Second, given that there is clearly some distance between Hume and d’Holbach, we should expect to find a similar set of gaps between Hume and the New Atheism. This is manifest not only in the theoretical aspect, where Hume’s stance is obviously less dogmatic, but also in the practical dimension, where Hume’s modest pessimism serves as a check on the more optimistic features of the eliminativist program that the New Atheists advance. One of the most interesting and challenging contributions the current debate about New Atheism has come from Philip Kitcher. Kitcher describes himself as a “secular humanist” but he is troubled by what he regards as the aggressive and bombastic stance adopted by New Atheism. Although Kitcher agrees with the New Atheists that most of the religious doctrines concerning the existence of a transcendent realm are “thoroughly false”,101 he cannot accept the “now dominant atheist idea that religion is noxious rubbish to be buried as deeply, as thoroughly, and as quickly as possible”.102 The essence of Kitcher’s critique is that the New Atheists are “in the firm grip” of a particular model of religion – “the belief model”. The belief  I would point out, however, that even if we agree that these criticisms have some real foundation and merit, they are not made credible when they come from religious apologists of various stripes who are egregiously guilty of displaying great sensitivity to these concerns in relation to atheism, while showing little or no interest or knowledge of the far worse practices and doctrines of religious apologists and functionaries, not only in the past but also in present times. Suffice it to say that none of the New Atheists cited in any way advocate violence or coercion against their religious opponents – however harsh, sweeping and severe their commentary on religion may be. 100  This is noted, for example, by Gottlieb, “Atheists with Attitude”, who presents D’Holbach as laying the way for “today’s militant atheists”. According to Gottlieb, although Hume had “no trace of religion” he “couldn’t have been more different from today’s militant atheists”. 101  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 6,15, 24, 63, 124. 102  Kitcher, Life after Faith, xii, 2–3. 99

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model takes religion to consist of a set of doctrines about the “transcendent” entities and that to be committed to a particular religion is to believe these doctrines.103 The basic question that arises from the belief model is whether or not the beliefs and doctrines in question are true. If they are not, then the religion and its doctrines lack any relevant justification or legitimacy. While the belief model may be one way to think about religion – especially when dealing with fundamentalists – it is not, Kitcher argues, the only conception of religion that we might form. There is an alternative model that frames the question of religion, and our options in respect of it, in very different terms. Instead of beginning with the idea of belief in a transcendental being of some kind, the alternative model begins with the concept of an orientation. A person’s orientation identifies particular goals as valuable, not only with respect to his own life but beyond the compass of that life… I am interested in considering forms of religious life for which orientation is primary.104

The orientation model suggests a different way of understanding religion as “refined religion”. At the core of religion, then, is not a body of doctrine, a collection of descriptions of the transcendent, but a commitment to values that are external to (independent of) the believer, and indeed to all human beings. Doctrine only enters in the guise of metaphors and stories, apt for conveying the most fundamental values and for guiding the devout toward realizing them.105

From the perspective of the orientation model, “religious doctrines held without compelling evidence” may still be “legitimate”. Their legitimacy depends not on their epistemic credentials or reasonableness (e.g. as Hume defines it) but on their effectiveness in sustaining and supporting values that are important to us. “The legitimacy at stake”, says Kitcher, “is ethical”.106 It is evident, I suggest, that Kitcher’s “orientation model”, and the accompanying distinction that he draws between it and the “belief model” of religion, conveys the whole essence of Spinoza’s doctrine of “true religion” and the related distinction between “two domains”.107 The value of religion, from this perspective, is that it fills a void that remains open for secular humanism and it helps us deal effectively with issues of “orientation” in our own lives. It is Kitcher’s thesis that secular humanism leaves many with an “impoverished form of human existence” and a sense of disenchantment with the world.108 A religious orientation, with its commitment to  Kitcher, “Militant Modern Atheism”, 3.  Kitcher, “Militant Modern Atheism”, 4. 105  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 64. 106  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 16–8. 107  Both of these accounts  – Kitcher’s and Spinoza’s  - are also similar in important respects to Gould’s “Nonoverlapping magisteria”, which has been the source of further debate and controversy in relation to New Atheism. See Gould, “Nonoverlapping magisteria”. I will not, however, pursue the significance of this in this paper. 108  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 2. 103 104

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“­ transcendence” of some kind, can fill this void (Life after Faith, 87–8). When religion is understood as refined religion, with primacy given to our inescapable need for an orientation to ethical values rather than true and reasonable doctrines, it can be regarded as an ally of secular humanism.109 All this is consistent, Kitcher continues, with secular humanists envisaging “a broadly progressive future, not one in which religion disappears, but one in which it metamorphizes into something else… refined religion is a way station, not the final destination.”110 In this way, while “soft atheism”111 allows that “militant modern atheism is entirely correct in its assault on those types of religious life that fit the belief model”112 it has no sympathy with the eliminativist program. Religion should not be viewed “as an undifferentiated mass of rubbish, to be carted away as thoroughly and as speedily as possible”.113 This is the very same conclusion that Spinoza reached in his The Theological –Political Treatise three centuries before, when he advanced his account of “true religion”.114 The obvious parallels between D’Holbach’s “militant atheism” and the views of the New Atheists make it clear enough how Hume’s views stand in relation to the New Atheism – and this requires no further elaboration. A few brief remarks are called for, however, in relation to the way that Hume might respond to Kitcher’s “soft atheism”. Hume would, I suggest, reject soft atheism for the same general reason that he rejected Spinoza’s “true religion”. While it may be admirable, it is ineffective and fails to deal with the real challenges that we face in respect of this matter. From a Humean perspective the same basic dilemma presents itself. Religion, as Hume understands it, must take one of two forms. Either it can be seen in the radically reduced terms that Philo describes at the end of the Dialogues, in which case it not only lacks interesting content, it also lacks any practical significance or value. In Kitcher’s terminology, religion of this thin or reduced kind fits the belief model but is entirely lacking force or value as a form of (religious) orientation. Alternatively, religion can retain enough substance and content, in relation to “transcendent existence” of some kind, that it can serve as an effective basis for “orientation” in human life. Any such commitments, however, as Kitcher agrees, are a tissue of falsehoods. Whereas Kitcher (and Spinoza) maintain that we can still appreciate the value and worth of the orientation, without denying that it is wholly unreasonable, considered as a set of beliefs aiming at literal truth, Hume is highly skeptical about this. For Hume this is an unstable and unconvincing case of trying to have our religious cake and eat it too.  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 93.  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 94; and cp. 63–4, 67. 111  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 23–4, 63. 112  Kitcher, “Militant Modern Atheism”, 6. 113  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 2–3. 114  Although Kitcher presents himself as firmly in the atheist camp, and Willis presents himself as situated well outside of it (Willis, Toward a Humean True Religion, Chp. 5, esp.184–5), there is, nevertheless, considerable affinity between their respective views. Certainly Willis’s account of “true religion”, with its emphasis on the practical value of religion, comes much closer to Spinoza’s and Kitcher’s outlook than it does to Hume’s (although Willis seems to be unaware of this). 109 110

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The operating assumption behind the “two domain” doctrine, as advanced by Spinoza and Kitcher, is that the orientation and practical value of religious belief can be stripped-away from its metaphysical moorings at little or no cost to its effectiveness. It is this assumption that Hume is skeptical about and regards as (wildly) optimistic. This problem presents itself in terms of the issue of transparency. According to this view, we are invited to suppose that the general public (i.e. the vulgar, the masses, etc.) need to adopt some set of religious beliefs in order to “orient” their (ethical) lives. On one interpretation, these religious followers are aware that their beliefs are merely useful “myths” and that they lack any real foundation beyond their rhetorical and instrumental force. On another interpretation, this situation is not transparent to the religious adherent and while (per hypothesis, according to soft atheism) their beliefs are literally false, they do not know or believe this.115 The fundamental problem for this retentionist proposal is that if the ordinary religious believer is made aware of their situation, this will erode their ethical confidence and render their religious beliefs, such as they are, significantly less effective in practice – if they have any effect at all. On the other hand, if religiously-oriented are unaware of the false and illusory nature of their beliefs (i.e. that they are really just “myths”) then, as Hume sees it, they will still be prone to the various forms of ignorance and evil that render the belief-model so unattractive in the first place. The fact that they take their beliefs to actually describe how things are in the world – to reveal its real metaphysical structure  - is exactly what results in the pernicious dynamics of superstition. The price of their beliefs being instrumentally effective and having real practical traction in their lives is, therefore, that the beliefs are themselves corrupting and predominantly destructive – generally speaking, such beliefs are no longer benign.116 The “two domain” doctrine that Spinoza and Kitcher advocate is intended to provide a path for the masses that will remove the “darkness” and sense of disenchantment that may prevail in their lives.117 Understood this way, this is an ­admirable  Kitcher distinguishes several different positions that a person may take with respect to the beliefs or “doctrinal sentences” involved in their religious orientation. Some are “mythically selfconscious” and “clearly disavow any interpretation of the statements that implies substantive doctrine about transparent entities”. Others are “doctrinally entangled”, take their beliefs to function “as a description of aspects of the universe”. There is another group who fall between these two: the “doctrinally-indefinite” think of religious language as functioning like great poetry, “in ways that cannot be captured in the preferred modes of speech of their opponents” (“Militant Modern Atheism”, 5–6). However these distinctions may be further articulated and interpreted, the fact remains that with respect to the existence of transcendent beings the religious person is either aware or unaware that their beliefs are false, as judged by reliable epistemic standards (i.e. a point that Kitcher grants: Life after Faith, 15). 116  Kitcher’s (and Spinoza’s) account of the “common man” retaining religious beliefs in the face of the philosopher who knows that these beliefs are false but judges them to be, nevertheless, ethically useful, raises the specter of what Bernard Williams has described as “Government House” morality – where there are two classes of people: those in the know and those who are not. As Williams suggests, this creates “a deeply uneasy gap” between rulers and the ruled (Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy, 120). It is arguable that this is no longer a viable option for a modern society. 117  Kitcher, Life after Faith, 2, 125–6, 142. 115

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ideal. It is, nevertheless, as Hume sees it, a flawed and ineffective ideal. Hume would, no doubt, readily acknowledge that for many, if not most people in this world (in contrast with “closeted intellectuals),118 everyday life can be bleak and provides little hope or comfort. Religion is a response to this real need – much as quack cures are a response to real medical need (where, often, there is none to be had). In this case, however, the cure being offered – religion of some kind – is either wholly ineffective or liable to be worse than the disease. It may also be argued that “the sense of loss” or disenchantment is itself a product of illusory aspirations for a state of salvation or bliss that religion encourages. In the absence of this, the religious believer is prone to a feeling of despair and extreme pessimism. What a sensible atheism should aim at, on this view, is a willingness to affirm the world as we find it – which is a mixture of good and evil. One way to defeat the sense of hopelessness and despair is to purge ourselves of the optimistic ends that religion holds out for us as part of our “orientation”. This stance is neither complacent, nor entirely comfortable – but it is more truthful than the religious alternative. The relevance of Hume’s practical atheism for the contemporary debate, we may conclude, is that it suggests a way between Kitcher’s “soft atheism” and the much harder alternative that the school of New Atheism has served up. Suffice it to say that, judged by these standards, Hume’s atheism remains hard enough.

12.6  Good Reasoners or Good Citizens? In the first Enquiry, in the context of his critical discussion of “the religious hypothesis” and the practical consequences of religion and atheism for morality, Hume considers the objection that the Epicurean view, which denies “a divine existence, and consequently a providence and a future state”, has the effect of weakening morality and destabilizing society (EU, 12.4/133–4). Near the end of this discussion the objection is presented that while atheists may be “good reasoners” it does not follow that they are “good citizens” (EU, 12.28/147). It is this core issue that he returns to in the final, opaque section of his Dialogues. The discussion presented in this paper has proceeded from the position that Hume took atheists to be perfectly “good reasoners”. The religious hypothesis has little or nothing to be said for it from a rational or epistemic point of view. With respect to the question of if and how this can be reconciled with atheists being “good citizens” his answer is more nuanced and qualified. While religion has little to be said in its favour, either in terms of reason or ethics, we have to deal with human nature and the human condition as we find it. A crude policy of “eradicating” all religion may well prove not only difficult to achieve but counter-productive. It is excessively optimistic to suppose that a happy

118

 Kitcher, Life after Faith, 126.

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condition awaits us in a religion free society.119 It is also excessively optimistic to suppose that there is some available form of benign and humane religion that can serve the needs and hopes of the masses, without corrupting or disappointing them. A sensible, practical atheism will avoid both these extremes – elimination or retention. That does not, however, leave us in a condition of extreme pessimism, unable to cope with life or without hope for our future. A sensible, practical atheism will accept and reconcile itself to a mixture of moderate pessimism and moderate optimism, whereby we may aim to curb and contain the worst excesses of religion and accept human beings and human life as we find it.120

Bibliographical References Baier, Annette. 1993. David Hume, Spinozist. Hume Studies 19: 237–252. Bailey, Alan, and Dan O’Brien. 2014. Hume’s Critique of Religion:’Sick Men’s Dreams. Dortrecht: Springer. Bayle, Pierre. 1705. Continuation des Pensées diverses. Rotterdam. ———. 1952. In Selections from Bayle’s Dictionary, ed. E.A. Beller and M.duP. Lee, 1734–1738. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Berman, David. 1988. Atheism in Britain: From Hobbes to Russell. London: Croom Helm. Blom, Philipp. 2010. A Wicked Company: The Forgotten Radicalism of the European Enlightenment. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. Buckley, Michael J. 1987. At the Origins of Modern Atheism. New Haven: Yale University Press. Capaldi, Nicholas. 1975. David Hume. Boston: Twayne. Clarke, Samuel. 1704–05 [1996]. A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God and other Writings. Edited by Ezio Vailati. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Colie, Rosemary. 1959. Spinoza and the Early English Deists. Journal of the History of Ideas 20: 23–46. ———. 1963. Spinoza in England, 1665-1730. Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 107 (3): 183–211. Costello, Timothy M. 2004. ‘In every civilized community’: Hume on belief and the demise of religion. International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 55: 171–185. Curley, Edwin. 1992. “‘I durst not write so boldly’ or, How to read Hobbes’ Theological-Political Treatise”. In Hobbes e Spinoza. D.  Bostrenghi, ed. with an intro. by E.  Giancotti. Naples: Bibliopolis. ———. 2016. Editorial Preface to The Theological –Political Treatise. In The Collected Works of Spinoza, 2 Vols, vol. 2, 45–64. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

 Hume laid bare his own eliminativist ambitions when he was dying and he jocularly remarked to close friend Adam Smith that he had hoped that if he lived a few years longer he might “have the satisfaction of seeing the downfall of some of the prevailing systems of superstition” (LET, 2:451. On this episode see also Mossner, Life of Hume, Chp. 39. Suffice it to say that the fact that Hume was obviously joking in this situation is indicative of his moderate pessimism, since he plainly saw no real prospect of achieving this end. 120  Versions of this paper were presented at the University of Calgary (February, 2014); the Oxford Hume Forum (May, 2016); and at Ferrara University, Italy (October, 2017). I am grateful to those who were present for their helpful comments and suggestions. I would particularly like to thank Steven Nadler for comments and suggestions on an earlier draft of this paper. 119

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D’Holbach, Baron Paul-Henri Thiry. 1766 [2008]. Christianity Unveiled. Trans. and ed. By David Holohan. Kingston upon Thames: Hodgson Press. ———. 1770 [1970]. System of Nature, or Laws of the Moral and Physcial World. With notes by Diderot. 2 vols. In 1. Trans. By H.D. Robinson. New York: Burt Franklin. ———. 1772 [2004]. Good Sense. Trans. By A Knoop. New York: Prometheus. Dawkins, Richard. 2006. The God Delusion. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Dawkins, Richard, et al. 2019. Dawkins, Dennett, Harris, Hitchens: The Four Horsemen. Forward by S. Fry. London: Bantam. Dennett, Daniel. 2006. Breaking the Spell; Religion as a Natural Phenomenon. New york: Viking. Falkenstein, Lorne. 2009. Hume on ‘Genuine’, ‘True’, and ‘Rational’ Religion. Eighteenth-­ Century. Thought 4: 171–201. Garrett, Don. What’s True About Hume’s ‘True Religion’? The Scottish Journal of Philosophy 10 (2): 199–220. Gaskin, J.C.A. 1988. Hume’s Philosophy of Religion. 2nd ed. London: Macmillan. Gottlieb, Anthony. 2007. Atheists with Attitude. The New Yorker, May 14th. Gould, Stephen Jay. 1997. Nonoverlapping magisterial. Natural History 106 (2): 16–22. Harris, Sam. 2004. The End of Faith. New York: Norton. Hitchens, Christopher. 2007. God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. New York: Twelve. Hobbes, Thomas. 1645 [1999]. Hobbes and Bramhall on Liberty and Necessity. V. Chappell, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hume, David. 1729–40 [1948]. Hume’s Early Memoranda, 1729–40: The Complete Text, edited with a forward by E.C. Mossner. Journal of the History of Ideas 9: 492–518. Abbreviated as MEM. ———. 1741–77 [1985]. Essays: Moral, Political, and Literary. Revised edition by E.F. Miller. Indianapolis: Liberty Classics. Abbreviated as ESY. ———. 1745 [1967]. A Letter from a Gentleman to his friend in Edinburgh. ed. E.C. Mossner and J.V. Price. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Abbreviated as LG. ———. 1748 [2000]. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. ed. T.L.  Beauchamp. Oxford: Clarendon. Abbreviated as EU. (References are also provided to the Selby-Bigge/ Nidditch editions of the Enquiries. [See remarks under the Treatise above.]) ———. 1751 [1998]. Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals. ed. Tom L.  Beauchamp. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Abbreviated as EM. ———. 1754–1762 [1983]. The History of England. 6 Vols. Foreword by W. B. Todd. Indianapolis: Liberty Classics. Abbreviated as HE. ———. 1757 [2008]. The Natural History of Religion, in A Dissertation on the Passions; The Natural History of Religion: A Critical Edition, ed. T. Beauchamp. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Abbreviated as NHR. [Citations are to chapter and paragraph numbers.] ———. 1779 [2007]. Dialogues concerning Natural Religion, in Dialogues concerning Natural Religion and Other Writings. ed. D.  Coleman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Abbreviated as D. (Note: Citations are to paragraph numbers (followed by page references to Kemp Smith edition, 1948)) ———. 1932. In The Letters of David Hume. 2 Vols, ed. J.Y.T. Greig. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Abbreviated as LET. ———. 1954. In New Letters of David Hume, ed. R.  Klibansky and E.C.  Mossner. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Abbreviated as NL. ———. 2000. A Treatise of Human Nature. Edited by D.F. Norton & M.J. Norton. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Abbreviated as T. (Note: References are also provided to the Selby-Bigge/ Nidditch editions of the Treatise and Enquiries. Following the convention given in the Nortons’ Treatise (and Beauchamp’s Enquiries), cite Book.Part.Section.Paragraph, followed by page references to the Selby-Bigge/Nidditch editions. Thus T, 1.2.3.4/ 34: indicates Treatise Bk.1, Pt.2, Sec.3, Para.4/ Selby-Bigge/Nidditch pg.34) Israel, Jonathan. 2001. Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity 1650–1750. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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———. 2010. Revolution of the Mind: Radical Enlightenment and the Intellectual Origins of Modern Democracy. Princeton: Princeton University press. ———. 2011. Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of Man 1670–1752. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jacob, Margaret. 1976. The Newtonians and the English Revolution. Hassocks: Harvester. ———. 1981. The Radical Enlightenment: Pantheists, Freemasons and Republicans. London: Allen & Unwin. James, Susan. 2012. Spinoza on Philosophy, Religion and Politics: The Theologico-Political Treatise. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaufman, Whitley. 2018. New Atheism and Its Critics. Philosophy Compass 14 (1). Kitcher, Philip. 2014. Militant Modern Atheism. Journal of Applied Philosophy 28 (1): 1–13. ———. Life after Faith. New Haven: Yale University Press. Klever, Wim. 1990. Hume Contra Spinoza? Hume Studies 16: 89–106. Kors, Alan Charles. 1992. The Atheism of D’Holbach and Naigeon. In Atheism from the Reformation to the Enlightenment, ed. M. Huner and D. Wooton. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lebuffe, Michael, and Emilie Gourdon. 2019. Holbach. In A Companion to Atheism and Philosophy, ed. G. Oppy. Oxford: Blackwell. Lemmens, Willem. 2011. Beyond the Calm Sunshine of the Mind’: Hume on religion and Morality. Aufklärung und Kritik 18 (1): 214–240. ———. 2012. The ‘true religion’ of the sceptic: Penelhum reading Hume’s Dialogues. Canadian Journal of Philosophy 42 (S): 183–197. Livingston, Donald. Hume’s Concpetion of True Religion” In Hume’s Philosophy of Religion, eds. A.  Flew, D.  Livingston, G.  Mavrodes, and D.F.  Norton. Winston-Salem: Wake Forest University Press. Mossner, Ernest. 1965. The Enlightenment of David Hume. In Introduction to Modernity, ed. R. Mollenauer. Austin: University of Texas Press. ———. 1977. Hume and the Legacy of the Dialogues. In David Hume: Bicentenary Papers, ed. G. Morice. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. 1978. Religion of David Hume. Journal of the History of Ideas 39: 653–663. ———. 1980. The Life of David Hume. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nagel, Thomas. 2004. Dawkins and Atheism. Times Literary supplement, May 7. Reprinted in Secular Philosophy and the religious temperament: Essays 2002–2008. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 2010. Norton, David. 1982. David Hume: Common Sense Moralist, Sceptical Metaphysician. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Penelhum, Terence. 2011. Hume’s Views on Religion: Intellectual and Cultural Influences. In A Companion to Hume, ed. E.S. Radcliffe, 323–337. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Ruse, Michael. 2009. Why I think the New Atheists area Bloody Disaster. In Thinking Matters: Defend Faith, Navigate Culture, Reach people; accessed at: http://blog.beliefnet.com/scienceandthesacred/files/import/michael_ruse.jpg. Russell, Paul. 1988. Atheism’ and the Title-Page of Hume’s Treatise. Hume Studies 14: 408–423. ———. 1993. Epigram, Pantheists and Freethought in Hume’s Treatise: A Study in Esoteric Communication. Journal of the History of Ideas 54: 659–673. ———. 2005/2017. Hume on Religion. In Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: (Winter 2005 Edition; revised February 2013; and revised by Anders Kraal, 2017), ed. Edward N. Zalta: URL = < http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/hume-religion/>. ———. 2007. Hume’s Lucretian Mission: Is it Self-Refuting? The Monist 90: 182–199. ———. 2008. The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise: Skepticism, Naturalism, and Irreligion. New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2016. Hume’s Philosophy of Irreligion and the Myth of British Empiricism. In The Oxford Handbook of Hume, ed. P. Russell, 109–137. Oxford University Press. ———. [forthcoming]. David Hume and the Philosophy of Religion. In Wiley-Blackwell Encyclopedia for Philosophy of Religion, eds. Stewart Goetz and Charles Taliaferr.

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———. [forthcoming]. Hume’s Skepticism and the Problem of Atheism. In P. Russell, Making Sense of Hume: Selected Essays on Hume and Early Modern Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press. Shaftesbury, Earl of [Anthony Ashley Cooper]. 1711 [1964]. In Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions and Times, ed. J.M. Robertson. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill. Siebert, Donald T. 1990. The Moral Animus of David Hume. Newark: University of Delaware Press. Smith, Adam. [1981]. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. 2 Vols. R.H. Campbell and A.K. Skinner eds. Indianapolis: Hackett. Spinoza, Benedict. 1670a [2016]. The Theological –Political Treatise. Edited and translated by E. Curley, in The Collected Works of Spinoza, 2 Vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Vol. 2: 65–354. Note: Citations are to Chapter and section #. Page citations to Shirley’s edition (cited below) follow in square brackets. ———. 1670b [1991]. Theological Political Treatise (Gebhardt Edition). 2nd ed. Trans by S. Shirley, with an intro. By S. Feldman. Indianapolis: Hackett. ———. 1677 [1985]. The Ethics, in The Collected Works of Spinoza, 2 Vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Vol. 1: 408–617. Stenger, Victor J. 2009. The New Atheism: Taking a Stand for Science and Reason. Amherst: Prometheus. Stephen, Leslie. 1902 [1962. History of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, 2 Vols. 3rd ed. London: Harcourt, Brace & World. Susato, Ryu. 2012. Taming ‘The Tyranny of the Priests’: Hume’s Advocacy of Religious Establishments. Journal of the History of Ideas 73 (2): 273–293. Tindal, Matthew. 1730 [1978]. Christianity as old as Creation: Or, The Gospel, A Republication of the Religion of Nature. Reprinted; New York/London: Garland. Toland, John. 1704. [1976]. Letters to Serena (London, 1704). Reprinted: New  York/London: Garland. Vink, Ton. 2013. In David Hume Sceptical Atheist or Religious Conservative? ed. David Hume, A. Tercentenary Tribute, and ed.S. Tweyman, 107–123. Ann Arbor: Caravan Books. Williams, Bernard. 1985. Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy. Commentary by A.W. Moore with a foreword by J. Lear. London: Routledge [2010 edition]. ———. 2006. The Human Prejudice. In Philosophy as a Humanistic Discipline. Ed. And intro. By A.W. Moore. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Willis, Andre. 2014. Toward a Humean True Religion: Genuine Theism, Moderate Hope and Practical Morality. University Park: The Pennsylvania University Press.

Chapter 13

The Critical Target of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason: Humean Skepticism or Spinozistic Naturalism? Anders Kraal

Abstract  I offer a critique of Jonathan Israel’s and Omri Boehm’s recent claim that the chief critical target of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason is Spinozistic naturalism and defend the more traditional view that the chief critical target is Humean skepticism. I identify two problems with the traditional view, deriving from remarks Kant makes in the A Preface from 1781 and in a letter to Christian Garve from 1798, remarks which suggest a target other than Humean skepticism. I go on to argue that these two problems can be overcome.

The chief critical target of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason has long been taken to be Humean skepticism. This view can be found, in various forms, in Norman Kemp Smith, Robert Paul Wolff, Lewis White Beck, Angelica Nuzzo, Paul Guyer, and Michael Forster.1 Call this “the Humean approach” to Kant’s Critique. In recent times a “Spinozistic approach” has been put forth according to which the Critique targets not so much Hume as what we may call “Spinozistic naturalism,” by which is meant Spinoza-inspired atheism, materialism, and determinism (or “fatalism” in eighteenth-century terminology). This new Spinozistic approach received its main

 See Norman Kemp Smith, A Commentary to “Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason,” London, MacMillian, [1923] 1979; Robert Paul Wolff, Kant’s Theory of Mental Activity, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1963; Lewis White Beck, Essays on Kant and Hume, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1978; Angelica Nuzzo, Kant the Utility of Reason, West Lafayette, Purdue University Press, 2005; Paul Guyer, “Common sense and the varieties of skepticism,” in Knowledge, Reason, and Taste: Kant’s Response to Hume, ed. Paul Guyer, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2008, pp. 31–70; and Michael Forster, Kant and Skepticism, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2008.

1

A. Kraal (*) University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_13

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impetus from Jonathan Israel, and has more recently been expanded on by Omri Boehm.2 In what follows I defend the older Humean approach over against the newer Spinozistic one. I argue that the Humean approach is better supported by the textual evidence, and that Israel and Boehm draw stronger conclusions than is warranted by this evidence. Towards the end of the paper I also address and seek to overcome two main problems for the Humean approach, deriving from the A Preface of the Critique and from a letter from Kant to Christian Garve respectively.

13.1  The Humean Approach Apart from some vague but suggestive remarks in the first (1781) and second (1787) prefaces to the Critique, the Critique itself isn’t overly explicit about its critical target. Commentators accordingly look elsewhere in Kant’s writings for further light. Here the Prolegomena is of special relevance, as Kant is quite explicit in the Prolegomena as to how the project of the Critique originated, and more specifically about the role that Hume played in this. Kant introduces Hume in the Prolegomena by stressing what he takes to be the unparalleled importance of Hume’s attack on metaphysics in the history of philosophy: Since the Essays of Locke and Leibniz, or rather since the rise of metaphysics as far as the history of it reaches, no event has occurred that could have been more decisive with respect to the fate of this science than the attack made upon it by David Hume. He brought no light to this kind of knowledge, but he certainly struck a spark from which a light could well have been kindled, if it had hit some welcoming tinder whose glow was carefully kept going and made to grow.3

In a next passage Kant goes on to relate the importance of Hume to his own intellectual development, saying that Hume “gave a completely new direction to my researches”: I freely admit that the remembrance of David Hume was the very thing that many years ago first interrupted my dogmatic slumber and gave a completely new direction to my researches 2  See Jonathan Israel, Democratic Enlightenment, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011; and Omri Boehm, Kant’s Critique of Spinoza, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2014. 3  Immanuel Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, ed. and trans. Gary Hatfield, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, [1783] 1997, 7. (“Seit Lockes und Leibnizens Versuchen, oder vielmehr seit dem Entstehen der Metaphysik, so weit die Geschichte derselben reicht, hat sich keine Begebenheit zugetragen, die in Ansehung des Schicksals dieser Wissenschaft hätte entscheidender werden können, als der Angriff, den David Hume auf dieselbe machte. Er brachte kein Licht in diese Art von Erkenntniß, aber er schlug doch einen Funken, bei welchem man wohl ein Licht hätte anzünden können, wenn er einen empfänglichen Zunder getroffen hätte, dessen Glimmen sorgfältig wäre unterhalten und vergrößert worden”; Kant, “Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können,” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4, Berlin, Reimer, p. 257.)

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in the field of speculative philosophy. I was very far from listening to him with respect to his conclusions, which arose solely because he did not completely set out his problem, but only touched on a part of it, which, without the whole being taken into account, can provide no enlightenment.4

This passage is often referred to by commentators who take Hume to be the critical target of the Critique.5 We see in this passage that Kant takes his “new direction” (andre Richtung) to have originated from his exposure to Hume, and also, and importantly, that he considered himself to be “very far” (weit entfernt) from Hume’s conclusions, thus indicating that his reaction to Hume was a negative reaction, despite all his appreciation and respect for Hume’s work. Further on in the Prolegomena, Kant suggests that what he disagrees with most of all in Hume, or is most concerned with overcoming, is Hume’s “skepticism”: Yet these Prolegomena will bring them to understand that there exists a completely new science, of which no one had previously formed merely the thought, of which even the bare idea was unknown, and for which nothing from all that has been provided before now could be used except that the hint that Hume’s doubts had been able to give; Hume also foresaw nothing of any such possible formal science, but deposited his ship on the beach (of skepticism) for safekeeping, where it could then lie and rot, whereas it is important to me to give it a pilot, who, provided with complete sea-charts and a compass, might safely navigate the ship wherever seems good to him, following sound principles of the helmsman’s art drawn from a knowledge of the globe.6

4  Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, op. cit., p. 10. (“Ich gestehe frei: die Erinnerung des David Hume war eben dasjenige, was mir vor vielen Jahren zuerst den dogmatischen Schlummer unterbrach und meinen Untersuchungen im Felde der speculativen Philosophie eine ganz andre Richtung gab. Ich war weit entfernt, ihm in Ansehung seiner Folgerungen Gehör zu geben, die blos daher rührten, weil er sich seine Aufgabe nicht im Ganzen vorstellte, sondern nur auf einen Theil derselben fiel, der, ohne das Ganze in Betracht zu ziehen, keine Auskunft geben kann. Wenn man von einem gegründeten, obzwar nicht ausgeführten Gedanken anfängt, den uns ein anderer hinterlassen, so kann man wohl hoffen, es bei fortgesetztem Nachdenken weiter zu bringen, als der scharfsinnige Mann kam, dem man den ersten Funken dieses Lichts zu verdanken hatte”; Kant, “Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können,” op. cit., p. 260.) 5  See, e.g., Wolff, Kant’s Theory of Mental Activity, op. cit., p. 24; Beck, Essays on Kant and Hume, op. cit., pp. 118–119; Nuzzo, Kant the Utility of Reason, op. cit., pp. 10–11; and Forster, Kant and Skepticism, op. cit., p. 14. 6  Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, op. cit., p. 12. (“Allein diese Prolegomena werden ihn dahin bringen, einzusehen, daß es eine ganz neue Wissenschaft sei, von welcher niemand auch nur den Gedanken vorher gefaßt hatte, wovon selbst die bloße Idee unbekannt war, und wozu von allem bisher Gegebenen nichts genutzt werden konnte, als allein der Wink, den Humes Zweifel geben konnten, der gleichfalls nichts von einer dergleichen möglichen förmlichen Wissenschaft ahndete, sondern sein Schiff, um es in Sicherheit zu bringen, auf den Strand (den Scepticism) setzte, da es denn liegen und verfaulen mag, statt dessen es bei mir darauf ankommt, ihm einen Piloten zu geben, der nach sicheren Principien der Steuermannskunst, die aus der Kenntniß des Globus gezogen sind, mit einer vollständigen Seekarte und einem Compaß versehen, das Schiff sicher führen könne, wohin es ihm gut dünkt”; Kant, “Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können,” op. cit., p. 262.)

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Hume’s skepticism is a beach fit only for decay, and Kant takes his task to be to navigate his ship away from this beach. It is on the basis of the foregoing explicit statements that commentators have long held that the critical target of the Critique is Humean skepticism, and have treated Kant’s explanation of the possibility of a priori synthetic knowledge in the ensuing body of the Critique as aimed at overcoming precisely this skepticism.7

13.2  The Spinozistic Approach: Jonathan Israel’s Case The Spinozistic approach was pioneered by Israel in chapters 25–26 of Democratic Enlightenment. Israel’s general approach to Kant is that “[t]hroughout his earlier pre-critical phase as well as in many passages of the Critique he [i.e. Kant] conducts a kind of silent war against Spinoza.”8 This “war” against Spinoza is said to have been “additionally agitated” by the Pantheism Controversy that broke out in German lands in 1785, but this controversy nevertheless did not initiate the war on Spinoza but merely accentuated and intensified it.9 Despite marvelling over how “modern Kant specialists are often curiously blind” to this war on Spinoza, Israel doesn’t go to any lengths in providing corrective evidence for this alleged blindness. His main sources, which he does not discuss at any length, are the following three items. First, Kant’s essay “What does it mean to orient oneself in thinking?” (1786), which was written in the context of the Pantheism Controversy of the mid 1780s, in which the two main contestants Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi and Moses Mendelsohn clashed publicly over whether it is possible to overcome Spinozistic naturalism on rational grounds.10 Jacobi had denied this, and had made reference to the sections of Kant’s Critique that are critical of natural theology as confirming evidence. Kant’s message in his response essay is that it is not only possible to overcome Spinozistic naturalism on rational grounds, but that this can be accomplished precisely via something like his Critique: It is hard to comprehend how the scholars just mentioned [i.e., Jacobi] could find support for Spinozism in the Critique of Pure Reason. The Critique completely clips dogmatism’s wings in respect of the cognition of supersensible objects, and Spinozism is so dogmatic in

7  Additional support for the Humean approach can be gleaned from reports by Kant’s students as to the importance Kant assigned to Hume in his lectures going back all the way to the 1750s, in particular reports by the two students Ludwig Ernst Borowski and Johann Gottfried Herder from the 1760s. For an overview of these reports, see Manfred Kuehn, “Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 21, 1983, p. 180. 8  Israel, Democratic Enlightenment, op. cit., p. 707. 9  Israel, Democratic Enlightenment, op. cit., p. 707. 10  Israel, Democratic Enlightenment, op. cit., pp. 709–710.

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this respect that it even competes with the mathematicians in respect of the strictness of its proofs.11

Second, the B Preface of the Critique, from 1787.12 Israel doesn’t elaborate on the exact passages from the B Preface that he has in mind, but he is presumably thinking of Kant’s claim that the critique of reason is bound once and for all to prevent, by a fundamental investigation of the rights of speculative reason, the scandal that sooner or later has to be noticed even among the people in the disputes in which, in the absence of criticism, metaphysicians (and among these in the end even clerics) inevitably involve themselves, and in which they afterwards even falsify their own doctrines. Through criticism alone can we sever the very root of materialism, fatalism, atheism, of freethinking unbelief, of enthusiasm and superstition, which can become generally injurious, and finally also of idealism and skepticism, which are more dangerous to the schools and can hardly be transmitted to the public.13

Kant here identifies two hazards the Critique is believed to be able to overcome: hazards to the general public, such as materialism, fatalism, atheism and freethinking unbelief; and hazards to academia (“the schools”), such as idealism and skepticism. Although Kant doesn’t associate any names with the targeted systems of belief, instead designating them exclusively by abstract nouns, it is likely that by “materialism, fatalism, atheism” he is referring to Spinozistic naturalism, which was the most well-known and publicly debated form of materialism, atheism or fatalism in German lands at this time, especially after the outbreak of the Pantheism Controversy in 1785.  Kant, “What does it mean to orient oneself in thinking?” in Kant, Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, and Other Writings, eds. Allen Wood and George di Giovanni, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, [1786] 1998, p. 11. (“Es ist kaum zu begreifen, wie gedachte Gelehrte in der Kritik der reinen Vernuft Vorschub zum Spinozism finden konnten. Die Kritik beschneidet dem Dogmatism gänzlich die Flügel in Ansehung der Erkenntniß übersinnlicher Gegenstände, und der Spinozism ist hierin so dogmatisch, daß er sogar mit dem Mathematiker in Ansehung der Strenge des Beweises wetteifert”; Kant, “Was heißt: Sich im Denken orientiren?” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 8, Berlin, Reimer, 1923, p. 147.) 12  Israel, Democratic Enlightenment, op. cit., p. 710. 13  Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, eds. and trans. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 119. (“Er bleibt immer ausschließlich Depositär einer dem Publicum ohne dessen Wissen nützlichen Wissenschaft, nämlich der Kritik der Vernunft; denn die kann niemals populär werden, hat aber auch nicht nöthig es zu sein, weil, so wenig dem Volke die fein gesponnenen Argumente für nützliche Wahrheiten in den Kopf wollen, eben so wenig kommen ihm auch die eben so subtilen Einwürfe dagegen jemals in den Sinn; dagegen, weil die Schule, so wie jeder sich zur Speculation erhebende Mensch, unvermeidlich in beide geräth, jene dazu verbunden ist, durch gründliche Untersuchung der Rechte der speculativen Vernunft einmal für allemal dem Skandal vorzubeugen, das über kurz oder lang selbst dem Volke aus den Streitigkeiten aufstoßen muß, in welche sich Metaphysiker (und als solche endlich auch wohl Geistliche) ohne Kritik unausbleiblich verwickeln, und die selbst nachher ihre Lehren verfälschen. Durch diese kann nun allein dem Materialism, Fatalism, Atheism, dem freigeisterischen Unglauben, der Schwärmerei und Aberglauben, die allgemein schädlich werden können, zuletzt auch dem Idealism und Scepticism, die mehr den Schulen gefährlich sind und schwerlich ins Publicum übergehen können, selbst die Wurzel abgeschnitten werden”; Kant, “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 2, Berlin, Reimer, 1905, B xxxiv–xxxv.) 11

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Alternatively, Israel may be thinking about another claim in the B Preface, where Kant describes his Critique as providing a sort of vindication of “faith” (Glauben) over against “unbelief conflicting with morality” (Moralität widerstreitenden Unglaubens): Thus I had to deny knowledge in order to make room for faith; and the dogmatism of metaphysics, i.e., the prejudice that without criticism reason can make progress in metaphysics, is the true source of all unbelief conflicting with morality, which unbelief is always very dogmatic.14

As is made clear from the context, the word “faith” here refers to belief in “God, freedom and immortality” (Gott, Freiheit und Unsterblichkeit),15 and what he is accordingly saying here is that by identifying proper limits to the scope of human knowledge we are able to provide a sort of backhanded vindication of belief in God, freedom and immortality. Third, a claim made by Kant in the Critique of Practical Reason (1788): On the other hand, it is quite easy for us to distinguish between the determination of the divine existence as independent of all temporal conditions and that of a being of the sensible world, the distinction being that between the existence of a being in itself and that of a thing in appearance. Hence, if this ideality of time and space is not adopted, nothing remains but Spinozism, in which space and time are essential determinations of the original being itself, while the things dependent upon it (ourselves, therefore, included) are not substances but merely accidents inhering in it […].16

Kant is here implying that it is only via a treatment of space and time like that found in the Critique that it is possible to effectively overcome Spinozistic naturalism. Do the four above quoted passages support Israel’s general claim that Kant “in many passages of the Critique […] conducts a kind of silent war against Spinoza”? I don’t think so, at least not if Israel hereby means to single out Spinoza as Kant’s chief critical target. It is noteworthy that all the passages referred to above were penned after the outbreak of the Pantheism Controversy in 1785, which catapulted Spinozistic naturalism to the forefront of German public intellectual life. Since Kant was dragged into this controversy by Jacobi, who took Kant’s Critique to confirm the  Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 117. (“Ich mußte also das Wissen aufheben, um zum Glauben Platz zu bekommen, und der Dogmatism der Metaphysik, d.i. das Vorurtheil, in ihr ohne Kritik der reinen Vernunft fortzukommen, ist die wahre Quelle alles der Moralität widerstreitenden Unglaubens, der jederzeit gar sehr dogmatisch ist”; Kant, “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” B xxx.) 15  Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 117; “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” op. cit., B xxx. 16  Kant, Practical Philosophy, ed. and trans. Mary Gregor, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996, p. 221. (“Daher, wenn man jene Idealität der Zeit und des Raums nicht annimmt, nur allein der Spinozism übrig bleibt, in welchem Raum und Zeit wesentliche Bestimmungen des Urwesens selbst sind, die von ihm abhängige Dinge aber (also auch wir selbst) nicht Substanzen, sondern blos ihm inhärirende Accidenzen sind: weil, wenn diese Dinge blos als seine Wirkungen in der Zeit existiren, welche die Bedingung ihrer Existenz an sich wäre, auch die Handlungen dieser Wesen blos seine Handlungen sein müßten, die er irgendwo und irgendwann ausübte”; Kant, “Kritik der praktischen Vernunft,” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5, Berlin, Reimer, 1913, pp. 101–102.) 14

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irrefutability of Spinozism on rational grounds, it is only natural that Kant decided to publicize a negative assessment of Spinoza at that point. But clearly this doesn’t warrant taking the project of the Critique to all along have been to take down Spinoza. Although Kant after the outbreak of the Pantheism Controversy speaks of his Critique as the only effective refutation of Spinozistic naturalism, this doesn’t imply that Spinozistic naturalism was the chief critical target of the Critique all along, but may mean simply that at this point Kant appreciated that this was one valuable use to which his Critique could be put. Furthermore, that Spinozistic naturalism wasn’t Kant’s chief critical target is reinforced by Kant’s explicit claims, surveyed in the preceding section, to the effect that the project of the Critique was prompted principally by Hume.

13.3  The Spinozistic Approach: Omri Boehm’s Case I move on now to Boehm’s more recent elaboration of the Spinozistic approach in Kant’s Critique of Spinoza. There are two major novelties with Boehm’s approach in comparison with Israel’s. First, Boehm maintains that offering a critical response to Spinoza was one of the original aims of the Critique, allowing that a critical response to Hume was still the most fundamental aim. More specifically, Boehm holds that offering a critical response to Spinoza is the aim of the section of the Critique concerned with the Antinomies of Pure Reason. And second, Boehm holds that the critical target of the Critique shifted in between the first and second editions of the Critique: whereas in the first edition the main target was to undermine Humean skepticism, in the second edition the main target shifted to that of undermining Spinozistic naturalism. I find both claims problematic. Consider first the claim that one of the original aims of the Critique, though not the fundamental aim, was to offer a critical response to Spinoza, and that this was offered in connection with the Antinomies of Pure Reason. Boehm has in mind particularly the First Antinomy, though he thinks similar things can be said also about the third and fourth antimonies. In the First Antinomy Kant juxtaposes the thesis “The world has a beginning in time, and in space it is also enclosed in boundaries” (Die Welt hat einen Anfang in der Zeit, in der Zeit und ist dem Raum nach auch in Grenzen eingeschlossen)17 with the antithesis “The world has no beginning and no bounds in space, but is infinite with regard to both time and space” (Die Welt hat keinen Anfang, und keine Grenzen im Raume, sondern ist sowohl in Ansehung der Zeit als des Raums unendlich),18 and goes on to make the point that both positions are supported by reason. Many commentators have taken the antithesis to be “Leibnizian,” insofar as the argument that Kant presents in support of it draws on the Principle of Sufficient Reason, which of course is a paradigmatically Leibnizian

17 18

 Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 470; “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” op. cit., B454.  Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 471; “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” op. cit., B455.

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principle. Boehm acknowledges that this is indeed a Leibnizian principle, but notes that the antithesis itself, i.e. that the world has no beginning and no bounds in space but is infinite with regard to both time and space, is not Leibnizian at all, but is rather a Spinozistic claim. Boehm concludes: The metaphysical stance articulated by the Antithesis reflects a Spinozistic position regarding the world’s infinity and eternity—not a Leibnizian position, as is often assumed.19

And again, It is hard to think of any philosopher other than Spinoza who holds a conception so similar […] Leibniz and Wolff certainly did not. It can be safely assumed that Kant either has Spinoza in mind, or invents Spinozistic substance monism independently—construing it as the Antithesis’s cosmological conception.20

Now I think that Boehm has made an interesting case for the general Spinozistic orientation of the antithesis. Nevertheless, since Kant’s point with the antinomies is to show that reason supports both thesis and antithesis, the fact that the antithesis is Spinozistic does not suffice to show that Kant is here aiming at refuting Spinoza’s naturalism, just as little as the widely conceded “Newtonian” orientation of the thesis is evidence of an anti-Newtonian aim. Boehm’s second claim is that the critical target of the Critique shifted from Hume in the first edition from 1781, to Spinoza in the second edition from 1787. Says Boehm: The Preface to the Critique’s second edition (1787) introduces a noteworthy change of tone. […] [T]he B-Preface no longer designates Hume as Kant’s chief opponent or skepticism as his foremost philosophical threat. […] The second edition redefines the goals of the Critique […] In the B-Preface Kant moves the practical interest in destroying metaphysics to the fore and announces it as the Critique’s main motivation: transcendental idealism is now prescribed as the only rational defense against “fatalism, materialism, atheism and Schwärmerei,” as “denying knowledge in order to make room for faith” […] This change of tone is not surprising. The philosophical discussion in 1787 was dominated by the worries Kant now highlights. Does philosophy necessarily lead to materialism, atheism, and fatalism? In the language of the time, does rationality, as such, lead to Spinozism?21

As can be seen, Boehm’s claim about a shift of the critical target is based on the two passages from the B Preface surveyed earlier, the first saying that by “criticism alone can we sever the very root of materialism, fatalism, atheism, of freethinking unbelief, of enthusiasm and superstition,” and the second that “I had to deny knowledge in order to make room for faith.” Boehm thinks it is obvious, in view of the Pantheism Controversy that erupted in 1785, that Kant’s readers would have known that he was here referencing Spinozism. Based on this, Boehm proceeds to conclude that Kant is here “redefin[ing] the first Critique’s official goal,” making the refutation of Spinozism “the explicit positive aim of the book.”22  Boehm, Kant’s Critique of Spinoza, op. cit., p. 69; see also pp. 70–71.  Boehm, Kant’s Critique of Spinoza, op. cit., pp. 77–78. 21  Boehm, Kant’s Critique of Spinoza, op. cit., pp. 191–192. 22  Boehm, Kant’s Critique of Spinoza, op. cit., pp. 193–194. 19 20

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Now, I don’t wish to dispute Boehm’s claim that the new passages in the B Preface were written in the wake of the Pantheism Controversy and took aim at Spinozism. On the contrary, I believe this claim is substantially correct, and worth noting. However, I do believe that Boehm concludes more from these passages than is warranted. To say that the Critique severs the root of (Spinozistic) atheism, materialism and fatalism, could just be to describe one of the effects of the Critique. Even if Kant at this point in his career believed that this was the most important effect of his book, this does still not imply that this had now become the “official goal” or “explicit positive aim” of the book. It is perfectly possible to write a book whose critical target is Hume, but at the same time appreciate, in the midst of a controversy over Spinoza, that the book also has the effect of undermining Spinozism, and this without thereby effectively redefining the book’s critical target. And since this is perfectly possible, it would seem that Boehm’s inference of a new “official goal” or “positive aim” of the Critique is unwarranted. It appears, then, that the evidence for the Spinozistic approach isn’t as compelling as the evidence that for the older Humean approach. Nevertheless, there are two problems for the Humean approach which we need to deal with before we can safely conclude that this approach is the better one. I address these two problems in the following.

13.4  The Problem of the A Preface The first problem, which I call “the problem of the A Preface,” derives from the fact that in the A Preface the project of the Critique is described by Kant as having been prompted by “indifferentists” or “indifferentism” (Indifferentismus) rather than by “skeptics”: There was a time when metaphysics was called the queen of all the sciences […] Now, in accordance with the fashion of the age the queen proves despised on all sides […] In the beginning, under the administration of the dogmatists, her rule was despotic. Yet […] this rule gradually degenerated through internal wars into complete anarchy; and the skeptics […] shattered civil unity from time to time. […] Once in recent times it even seemed as though an end would be put to all these controversies […] through a certain physiology of the human understanding (by the famous Locke); but it turned out […] [that] metaphysics fell back into the same old worm-eaten dogmatism, and thus into the same position of contempt […] Now after all paths (as we persuade ourselves) have been tried in vain, what rules is tedium and complete indifferentism, the mother of chaos and night in the sciences […] For it is pointless to affect indifference with respect to such inquires, to whose object human nature cannot be indifferent. Moreover, however much they may think to make themselves unrecognizable by exchanging the language of the schools for popular style, these so-called indifferentists, to the extent that they think anything at all, always unavoidably fall back into metaphysical assertions, which they yet professed so much to despise. Nevertheless, this indifference, occurring amid the flourishing of all sciences, and directed precisely at those sciences whose results (if such are to be had at all) we could least do without, is a phenomenon deserving our attention and reflection. This is evidently the effect not of the thoughtlessness of our age, but of its ripened power of judgment, which will no

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longer be put off with illusory knowledge, and which demands that reason should take on anew the most difficult of all its tasks, namely that of self-knowledge, and to institute a court of justice […] this court is none other than the critique of pure reason itself.23

We have here a sketch of the history of metaphysics divided into a pre-Lockean and a post-Lockean phase. In its pre-Lockean phase it went from the queen of the sciences to an object of scorn, and this is said to have been brought about by a clash between “dogmatists” and “skeptics.” After an attempted rehabilitation by Locke, certain “indifferentists” came along and reduced metaphysics to an object of “indifference.” Although Kant finds this indifferentism pointless and contrary to the metaphysical interests of human nature, he nevertheless recognizes that it is the outcome not of rashness but of a “ripened power of judgment,” and so rather than dismiss it

 Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., pp. 99–101. (“Es war eine Zeit, in welcher sie die Königin aller Wissenschaften genannt wurde, und wenn man den Willen für die That nimmt, so verdiente sie wegen der vorzüglichen Wichtigkeit ihres Gegenstandes allerdings diesen Ehrennamen. Jetzt bringt es der Modeton des Zeitalters so mit sich, ihr alle Verachtung zu beweisen, und die Matrone klagt, verstoßen und verlassen, wie Hecuba: modo maxima rerum, tot generis natisque potens — nunc trahor exul, inops — Ovid. Metam. / Anfänglich war ihre Herrschaft, unter der Verwaltung der Dogmatiker, despotisch. Allein weil die Gesetzgebung noch die Spur der alten Barbarei an sich hatte, so artete sie durch innere Kriege nach und nach in völlige Anarchie aus, und die Sceptiker, eine Art Nomaden, die allen beständigen Anbau des Bodens verabscheuen, zertrennten von Zeit zu Zeit die bürgerliche Vereinigung. Da ihrer aber zum Glück nur wenige waren, so konnten sie nicht hindern, daß jene sie nicht immer aufs neue, obgleich nach keinem unter sich einstimmigen Plane, wieder anzubauen versuchten. In neueren Zeiten schien es zwar einmal, als sollte allen diesen Streitigkeiten durch eine gewisse Physiologie des menschlichen Verstandes (von dem berühmten Locke) ein Ende gemacht und die Rechtmäßigkeit jener Ansprüche völlig entschieden werden; es fand sich aber, daß, obgleich die Geburt jener vorgegebenen Königin aus dem Pöbel der gemeinen Erfahrung abgeleitet wurde und dadurch ihre Anmaßung mit Recht hätte verdächtig werden müssen, dennoch, weil diese Genealogie ihr in der That fälschlich angedichtet war, sie ihre Ansprüche noch immer behaupte|te, wodurch alles wiederum in den veralteten, wurmstichigen Dogmatism und daraus in die Geringschätzung verfiel, daraus man die Wissenschaft hatte ziehen wollen. Jetzt, nachdem alle Wege (wie man sich überredet) vergeblich versucht sind, herrscht Überdruß und gänzlicher Indifferentism, die Mutter des Chaos und der Nacht, in Wissenschaften, aber doch zugleich der Ursprung, wenigstens das Vorspiel einer nahen Umschaffung und Aufklärung derselben, wenn sie durch übel angebrachten Fleiß dunkel, verwirrt und unbrauchbar geworden. / Es ist nämlich umsonst, Gleichgültigkeit in Ansehung solcher Nachforschungen erkünsteln zu wollen, deren Gegenstand der menschlichen Natur nicht gleichgültig sein kann. Auch fallen jene vorgebliche Indifferentisten, so sehr sie sich auch durch die Veränderung der Schulsprache in einem populären Ton unkenntlich zu machen gedenken, wofern sie nur überall etwas denken, in metaphysische Behauptungen unvermeidlich zurück, gegen die sie doch so viele Verachtung vorgaben. Indessen ist diese Gleichgültigkeit, die sich mitten in dem Flor aller Wissenschaften eräugnet und gerade diejenige trifft, auf deren Kenntnisse, wenn dergleichen zu haben wären, man unter allen am wenig|sten Verzicht thun würde, doch ein Phänomen, das Aufmerksamkeit und Nachsinnen verdient. Sie ist offenbar die Wirkung nicht des Leichtsinns, sondern der gereiften Urtheilskraft* des Zeitalters, welches sich nicht länger durch Scheinwissen hinhalten läßt, und eine Aufforderung an die Vernunft, das beschwerlichste aller ihrer Geschäfte, nämlich das der Selbsterkenntniß, aufs neue zu übernehmen und einen Gerichtshof einzusetzen, der sie bei ihren gerechten Ansprüchen sichere, dagegen aber alle grundlose An|maßungen nicht durch Machtsprüche, sondern nach ihren ewigen und unwandelbaren Gesetzen abfertigen könne; und dieser ist kein anderer als die Kritik der reinen Vernunft selbst”; Kant, “Kritik der reinen Vernunft,” op. cit., A ix–xii.)

23

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he takes it as the starting-point for his Critique. And in suggesting indifferentism as the starting-point of the Critique, he may also be taken to be suggesting that it is the critical target as well. Now here is how this poses a challenge to the Humean approach. There is a tendency in the commentary literature to associate the “skeptics” spoken of in the A Preface with Hume, and the “indifferentists” with a group of eighteenth-century German philosophers called Popularphilosophen (“popular philosophers”). Allen Wood and Paul Guyer make this association in the editorial notes of their Cambridge edition of the Critique. With regard to the “skeptics” they say: Notably, of course, David Hume (1711-1776), who had a considerable following in Germany.24

And with regard to the “indifferentists” they say: This is a reference to popular Enlightenment philosophy, such as that of Johan August Eberhard (1789-1809), J.G.  Feder (1740-1821), Christian Garve (1742-1798), Christoph Friedrich Nicolai (1733-1811), and Moses Mendelsohn (1729-1786). It emphasized appeals to healthy common sense over rigorous argument, and the popular dissemination of progressive ideas with practical import over the investigations of metaphysical questions, toward which they often expressed contempt.25

The identification of the indifferentists with the Popularphilosophen appears to trace back to Manfred Kuehn’s Scottish Common Sense in Germany (1987). According to Kuehn, It really comes quite close to being scandalous that these “popular philosophers,” these “moderate sceptics,” or “indifferentists,” as Kant called them, are not merely neglected, but almost completely disregarded today. For to understand Kant’s metaphysical intentions and motives without them is impossible.26

Kuehn’s list of Popularphilosophen includes J.G.  Feder, Christian Garve, Johan August Eberhard, and Moses Mendelsohn – pretty much the same list as later occurs in Wood and Guyer. So if the Critique was prompted by indifferentists rather than by skeptics, and if with “skeptics” Kant is thinking of Hume and with “indifferentists” of the Popularphilosophen, it would seem that the A Preface makes clear that the critical target of the Critique isn’t Hume after all. Now what is disconcerting about the above association of “skeptics” with Hume and “indifferentists” with the Popularphilosophen is that it isn’t at all argued for by either Wood and Guyer, or Kuehn. This is particularly disconcerting in view of the fact that both Guyer and Kuehn have in other writings conjectured that Kant by “indifferentists” has Hume in mind, a conjecture they apparently abandoned for lack of supporting considerations.27  Guyer and Wood, “Editorial Notes,” in Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p. 714.  Ibid., pp. 714–715. 26  Manfred Kuehn, Scottish Common Sense in Germany. Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1987, p. 274. 27  See Manfred Kuehn, “Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 21, 1983, p.  181; and Guyer “Common sense and the varieties of skepticism,” in 24 25

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I believe, however, that supporting considerations are ready at hand. The characteristics Kant associates with the “indifferentists” in the A Preface suggests a quite different target than the Popularphilosophen. As described by Kant, an indifferentist (a) is indifferent towards “metaphysics”; (b) is indifferent also towards some of the then flourishing “sciences”; (c) writes in a “popular style” rather than in academic jargon; (d) exhibits not “thoughtlessness” but a “ripened power of judgment,” and is on account of this deserving of “our attention and reflection”; and (e) prompted Kant’s “critique of pure reason.” What is striking about this list of characteristics is that it fits Hume much better than any other major philosopher prior to Kant, and way better than any of the Popularphilosophen. Consider, to start with, characteristic (a) (“indifference towards ‘metaphysics’”). Hume is famous for his criticisms of, and resultant dismissive attitude towards, traditional metaphysics. At the end of the Enquiry concerning Human Understanding’s sect. 8, Hume recommends that we content ourselves with “the examination of common life,” avoiding those “sublime mysteries” that are fraught with nothing but “doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction.”28 And at the end of sect. 12 of the Enquiry he famously recommends that any non-experimental book of “divinity or school metaphysics” be “commit[ed] […] to the flames” on account of its containing “nothing but sophistry and illusion.”29 This is a way more dismissive or indifferent attitude towards metaphysics than can be found in the Popularphilosophen, who were typically theists in the Leibniz-Wolff tradition.30 With regard to characteristic (b) (“indifference towards then flourishing ‘sciences’”), it is noteworthy that Hume is famous also for challenging some of the claims of the flourishing natural sciences of his day, in particular Newtonian physics. Hume argues that we have no knowledge of necessary connections beyond constant conjunctions, and that scientific predictions of future events depend on a principle of the uniformity of nature which cannot be demonstrated.31 This was widely perceived by Hume’s contemporaries as posing a threat to the natural sciences, and Kant too in the Prolegomena, makes it clear that he took Hume to pose a significant challenge to the natural sciences. By contrast, the Popularphilosophen

Knowledge, Reason, and Taste: Kant’s Response to Hume, ed. Paul Guyer, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2008, p. 32. 28  Hume, An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, ed. Tom Beauchamp, Oxford, Clarendon, [1748] 2000, p. 78 (EHU 8.36). 29  Hume, An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, op. cit., p. 123 (EHU 12.34) 30  See Frederick Beiser, The Fate of Reason, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1987, pp. 165–169. 31  See Hume, An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, op. cit., chapters 4 and 5.

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were typically keen on aligning themselves with the then flourishing natural sciences.32 With regard to characteristic (c) (“writes in a ‘popular style’”), it is indeed widely appreciated that the Popularphilosophen wrote in a popular style, but Hume did too, so much that Kant explicitly comments on Hume’s style in the Prolegomena, saying that “[i]t is not given to everyone to write so subtly and yet also so alluringly as David Hume” (Es ist zwar nicht jedermann gegeben, so subtil und doch zugleich so anlockend zu schreiben als David Hume).33 So Hume fits this description as good as anyone. With regard to characteristic (d) (“ripened power of judgment deserving attention”), it is clear from the passages from the Prolegomena surveyed in the foregoing that Kant considered Hume’s critical attitude towards metaphysics as expressive of a ripened power of judgment on the part of Hume, and as worthy of serious attention. Indeed, Kant considered Hume’s importance in the history of metaphysics to be second to none.34 There are no equivalent passages where he says anything remotely as appreciative about any of the Popularphilosophen. With regard to characteristic (e) (“prompted Kant’s critique of pure reason”), finally, there is only one philosopher whom Kant ever credits with having prompted the project of the critique of pure reason, and that is Hume. This was seen in the passage from the Prolegomena quoted above, in which Kant famously says that it was Hume who woke him up from his “dogmatic slumbers” and gave a new direction to his researches. Nothing equivalent is ever said with regard to any of the Popularphilosophen. It would seem, then, that Kant’s description of the indifferentist in the A Preface fits Hume way better than any of the Popularphilosophen. It might be objected that since Kant mentions “indifferentists” side by side with “skeptics,” and elsewhere, e.g. in the Prolegomena, directly associates Hume with skepticism rather than with indifferentism, one might naturally take this to suggest that we should understand the term “skeptics” as referring to Hume and his followers and the term “indifferentists” to some other class of thinkers. The objection is easy to overcome, however, for in the relevant passage Kant’s “skeptics” are assigned to the pre-Lockean phase of metaphysics, not to the post-Lockean phase, and so it would clearly be chronologically backwards to associate Hume with the “skeptics” rather than with the “indifferentists.”

 See, e.g., Frederick Beiser, The Fate of Reason, op. cit., pp.165–169.  Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, op.  cit., p.  12; “Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können,” op. cit., p. 262. 34  Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, op. cit., p. 7; “Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können,” op. cit., p. 257. 32 33

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13.5  The Garve Problem What I call “the Garve problem” is a problem for the Humean approach which stems from a statement that Kant makes in a letter to Christian Garve from 1738, to the effect that the project of the Critique was prompted by reflection on the Antinomies of Pure Reason, with no mention of Hume whatsoever. The claim in the letter runs thus: It was not the investigation of the existence of God, immortality, and so on, but rather the antinomy of pure reason – “The world has a beginning; it has no beginning, and so on, right up to the 4th (sic): There is freedom in man vs there is no freedom, only the necessity of nature” – that is what first aroused me from my dogmatic slumber and drove me to the critique of reason itself, in order to resolve the scandal of ostensible contradiction of reason with itself.35

At face value this certainly seems to contradict the claim in the Prolegomena that it was Hume who interrupted Kant’s dogmatic slumber and gave a completely new direction to his researches in the field of speculative philosophy. So, if we were to assign equal weight to the letter, it would seem that the main evidence for the Humean approach is counterbalanced or neutralized. On the basis of this apparent contradiction some commentators, most notably Wood, have taken Kant’s statements about Hume’s influence in the Prolegomena with a grain of salt. In fact, Wood proposes a reinterpretation of Kant’s words in the Prolegomena to the effect that Kant wasn’t making a claim about the actual influence of Hume on his critical project, but was merely employing a rhetorical device intended to invite his audience to make sense of the critical project via a preliminary reflection on Hume’s skepticism: Kant made the assertion that it was the recollection of David Hume that first awoke him from his “dogmatic slumbers” […] Kant’s point in making it was to invite his audience (assumed to have been taught Wolffian philosophy) to find its own path to his critical philosophy through reflection on Hume’s skeptical challenges. […] But it is most unfortunate that the remark has been taken as an authoritative autobiographical report about his own philosophical development.36

What is problematic about this reinterpretation is that in saying in the Prolegomena that “the remembrance of David Hume was the very thing that many years ago first

 Kant, “To Christian Garve, September 21, 1798,” in Kant, Correspondence, ed. and trans. Arnulf Zweig, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, p. 552. (“[I]n Ansehung deren ich protestiren muß. — Nicht die Untersuchung vom Daseyn Gottes, der Unsterblichkeit etc. ist der Punct gewesen von dem ich ausgegangen bin, sondern die Antinomie der r. V.: »Die Welt hat einen Anfang —: sie hat keinen Anfang etc. bis zur vierten: Es ist Freyheit im Menschen, — gegen den: es ist keine Freyheit, sondern alles ist in ihm Naturnothwendigkeit«; dies war es welche mich aus dem dogmatischen Schlummer zuerst aufweckte und zur Critik der Vernunft selbst hintrieb, um das Scandal des scheinbaren Wiederspruchs der Vernunft mit ihr selbst zu heben”; Kant, “An Christian Garve, Königsberg den 21 Sept. 1798,” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 12, Berlin, Reimer, pp. 257–258.) 36  Allen Wood, Kant, Oxford, Blackwell, 2005, pp. 6–7. 35

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interrupted my dogmatic slumber and gave a completely new direction to my researches in the field of speculative philosophy,” Kant is making an unambiguous factual claim about his intellectual development, and to regard this as a mere rhetorical device devoid of historical significance simply strains credulity. If Kant were reinterpreted as suggested by Wood, it would be hard to avoid the conclusion that Kant deliberately misled his audience in the Prolegomena. Three commentators who have sought to overcome the Garve problem without compromising the Humean approach are Lewis White Beck, Manfred Kuehn, and Michael Forster. Beck’s approach is simple but radical, and is based on the idea that Kant’s letter to Garve shows signs of old age: Kant says that the antinomy is “what first aroused me from my dogmatic slumber.” This is indeed puzzling. Can it be due to a lapse of memory? The letter is filled with complaints about Kant’s declining health and mental stabilities.37

This suggestion would certainly neutralize Kant’s remarks to Garve. However, this is clearly an uncharitable interpretation. As Forster notes, Beck is here in effect saving the Humean approach at the price of charging old Kant with senility.38 A second response has been proposed by Manfred Kuehn. Kuehn’s starting-point is a passage that occurs in the conclusion of Book 1 of Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature, which appeared in German translation in 1771. Hume there offers some general skeptical remarks about knowledge claims based on the causal principle, to the effect that what really leads us to make such claims is not reason but the faculty of “imagination,” a faculty that often generates “contradiction.”39 Kuehn says that Hume’s notion of “contradiction” parallels Kant’s notion of “antinomy,” and he accordingly thinks that Kant’s accounts of the origination of his critical project in the Prolegomena and in the Garve letter “supplement” rather than “contradict” each other.40 On both accounts Hume’s influence is crucial. The details of Kuehn’s proposal appear to me to be unjustified. Kant is clear in the Garve letter that his Antinomies of Reason were the starting-point of his critical project, but there is simply nothing like any clear anticipation of Kant’s four antinomies of reason in the conclusion of Book 1 of Hume’s Treatise. A third approach is found in Foster. Foster accepts at face value Kant’s two accounts of the origination of his critical project. He seeks to harmonize these seemingly conflicting accounts by suggesting that the Critique was prompted by several different kinds of skepticism. At one point in his development Kant is said to have been woken from his dogmatic slumbers by his encounter with “Pyrrhonian equipollence skepticism,” which according to Forster is what Kant is reporting in the letter to Garve. Further on in his development Kant is said to have been woken from  Beck, Essays on Kant and Hume, op. cit., p. 119.  Forster, Kant and Skepticism, op. cit., p. 14. 39  Kuehn, “Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 21, 1983, pp. 186–187. 40  Kuehn, “Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’,” op. cit., p. 190. 37 38

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a different dogmatic slumber by his encounter with “Humean skepticism,” which according to Forster is what is reported in the Prolegomena: Both passages contain a large and important measure of truth. They refer to two different, but equally significant, historical steps which Kant took in his protracted escape from the clutches of dogmatic metaphysics […] The letter to Garve refers to an encounter with Pyrrhonian equipollence skepticism which occurred in the mid-1760s, whereas the passage from the Prolegomena refers mainly to an encounter with Humean skepticism concerning the possibility of a priori concepts and synthetic a priori knowledge which occurred either in or shortly after 1772.41

With “Pyrrhonian equipollence skepticism” Forster means a skepticism arising from the ability of reason to provide equally strong arguments both for and against one and the same position. Such skepticism is dealt with in the Antinomies of Pure Reason section of the Critique. With “Humean skepticism,” on the other hand, is meant skepticism about a priori concepts and knowledge, and is addressed by Kant in the Transcendental Aesthetic and the Transcendental Analytic sections of the Critique. These are taken by Forster to be distinct species of skepticism, and so Forster’s proposal is that Kant became impressed by them at different points in his career, and reported his encounter with the first form of skepticism in the Prolegomena and with the second form in his letter to Garve. My main worry with Forster’s proposal is that it fits ill with the clear thrust of Kant’s accounts of the origination of his critical project. In saying in the Prolegomena that the remembrance of Hume woke him from his dogmatic slumbers and “gave a completely new direction” to his researches, he is clearly purporting to explain the origination of the Critique as a whole and not just a restricted section of it. Similarly, in saying in his letter to Garve that the Antinomies of Pure Reason were what “drove me to the critique of reason itself,” he is clearly purporting to explain the origination of the Critique as a whole, and, again, not just a restricted section of it. Is it possible to harmonize Kant’s two accounts of the origination of his critical project in a way that doesn’t subvert their clear thrust? I have two suggestions as to how this might be done. A first suggestion is as follows. Posit that the young Kant, like many young rationalists in the eighteenth-century, felt challenged by the forceful skepticism of Pierre Bayle’s Historical and Critical Dictionary (1697), which – as is well-known – presents rational dilemmas remarkably similar in structure to those later articulated by Kant in the Antinomies of Reason, and recommends on the basis of these dilemmas a skeptical conclusion. Posit, furthermore, that while mulling over these rational dilemmas, the young Kant came over the German translation of Hume’s Enquiry, which with its skepticism about the causal principle reinforced an already existing skeptical challenge and exasperated the then available rationalist response to a breaking point which in turn catapulted Kant along a new trajectory resulting in the first Critique. In older years Kant was thus able to look back upon Hume as the decisive factor in waking him up from his dogmatic slumber, not in the sense that

41

 Forster, Kant and Skepticism, op. cit., pp. 14–15.

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Hume was first to open his eyes to the Antinomies of Reason, but in the sense that Hume reinforced an already existing skeptical challenge going back to Bayle. This suggestion has the benefit of harmonizing with recent work on the importance of Bayle’s skepticism for Kant’s critical project.42 A second suggestion is as follows. At the root of Hume’s attack on traditional metaphysics is a denial of the casual principle that every effect must have a cause. Now this denial in turn draws its rationale from the belief that everything that is non-contradictory or consistent or imaginable or clearly and distinctly conceivable, is possible. This is sometimes called “the Conceivability Principle.”43 As Hume puts it in a succinct passage in the Enquiry: That there are no demonstrative arguments in the case [of “matter[s] of fact”] seems evident; since it implies no contradiction that the course of nature may change, and that an object, seemingly like those which we have experienced, may be attended with different or contrary effects. May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body, falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects, resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning a priori.44

So if everything consistent or imaginable or clearly and distinctly conceivable is possible, the consistency or imaginability or conceivability of an effect without a cause will show that an effect without a cause is possible, and so it won’t be the case that every effect must have a cause. Now since Hume’s Enquiry was the principal source for Kant’s understanding of Hume’s attack on traditional metaphysics, and the Enquiry clearly bases its skepticism about the causal principle on the Conceivability Principle, it is fair to assume that Kant knew that the Conceivability Principle was at the root of Hume’s skeptical attack on traditional metaphysics. Now what is particularly relevant about this is that Kant’s Antinomies of Pure Reason can easily be generated from the Conceivability Principle, and so it is not far-fetched to suppose that Kant’s reflection on Hume’s attack on metaphysics led him to the Antinomies of Pure Reason. To illustrate: consider the First Antinomy, which in shortened form juxtaposes the thesis the world has a beginning with the antithesis the world has no beginning. The thesis is easily generated from the Conceivability Principle, since one can conceive of the world as having a beginning. The antithesis can likewise easily be generated from the Conceivability Principle, since one can conceive of the world as having no beginning. So, both the thesis and the antithesis come out as possibilities

 See, e.g., Smith, “La Critique de la raison pure face aux scepticismes cartésien, baylien et humien,” Dialogue 47, 2008, pp.  463–500; and “Kant’s Criticism and the Legacy of Modern Skepticism,” in Skepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, Dordrecht, Springer, 2013, eds. Sebastien Charles and Plínio J. Smith, pp. 247–263. 43  See René van Woudenberg, “Conceivability and Modal Knowledge,” Metaphilosophy 37, 2006, pp. 210–221. 44  Hume, An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, op. cit., p. 25 (EHU 4.30) (my emphases). 42

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on the Conceivability Principle, and hence neither position need be regarded as necessary, since positions are possible. And this is the main lesson of the First Antinomy. (Similar things can be said about the three other antinomies.) I do not wish to say that Hume’ Conceivability Principle was used by Kant to generate the First Antinomy in its final form, but rather that Kant could easily have used this principle to generate the antinomy at least in broad outline. Nor do I wish to say that versions of Kant’s antinomies cannot be found in pre-Humean philosophers of whose work Kant was aware (they clearly have a long history). What I do wish to suggest is that Kant’s two accounts of the origination of his critical project can be harmonized by positing that reflection on the underlying rationale of Hume’s skeptical attack on metaphysics may have been what propelled the problem of the antinomies to the forefront of Kant’s mind, and in this way got him started down the path that led to the Critique.

Bibliographical References Beck, Lewis White. 1978. Essays on Kant and Hume. New Haven: Yale University Press. Beiser, Frederick. 1987. The Fate of Reason. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Boehm, Omri. 2014. Kant’s Critique of Spinoza. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Forster, Michael. 2008. Kant and Skepticism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Guyer, Paul. 2008. Common sense and the varieties of skepticism. In Knowledge, Reason, and Taste: Kant’s Response to Hume, ed. Paul Guyer, 31–70. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Guyer, Paul, and Wood, Allen. 1998. Editorial Notes. In Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason, eds. and trans. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood, 705–756. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hume, David. 1996. In Dialogues concerning Natural Religion, ed. Richard Popkin. Hackett: Indianapolis. ———. 2000. In An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, ed. Tom Beauchamp. Oxford: Clarendon. ———. 2007. In A Treatise of Human Nature, ed. John Norton and Mary Norton. Oxford: Clarendon. Israel, Jonathan. 2011. Democratic Enlightenment. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1902. An Christian Garve, Königsberg den 21 Sept. 1798. In Kant, Immanuel. Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 12, 257–258. Berlin: Reimer. ———. 1903. Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenschaft wird auftreten können. In Kant, Immanuel. Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 4, 255–383. Berlin: Reimer. ———. 1905. Kritik der reinen Vernunft. In Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 2. Berlin: Reimer. ———. 1913. Kritik der praktischen Vernunft. In Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5. Berlin: Reimer. ———. 1923. Was heißt: Sich im Denken orientiren? In Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 8, 133–150. Berlin: Reimer. ———. 1996. Practical Philosophy, ed. and trans. Mary Gregor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1997. Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, ed. and trans. Gary Hatfield. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1998a. What does it mean to orient oneself in thinking? In Kant, Immanuel. Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, and Other Writings, eds. Allen Wood and George di Giovanni. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1998b. Critique of Pure Reason, eds. and trans. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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———. 1999. To Christian Garve, September 21, 1798. In Kant, Immanuel. Correspondence, ed. and trans. Arnulf Zweig, 551–552. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kemp Smith, Norman. [1923] 1979. A Commentary to “Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason.” London: MacMillian. Kuehn, Manfred. 1983. Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’. Journal of the History of Philosophy 21: 175–193. ———. 1987. Scottish Common Sense in Germany. Kingston and Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Nuzzo, Angelica. 2005. Kant the Utility of Reason. West Lafayette, Ind.: Purdue University Press. Smith, Plínio J. 2008. La Critique de la raison pure face aux scepticismes cartésien, baylien et humien. Dialogue 47: 463–500. ———. 2013. Kant’s Criticism and the Legacy of Modern Skepticism. In Skepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, ed. Sebastien Charles and Plínio J. Smith, 247–263. Dordrecht: Springer. van Woudenberg, René. 2006. Conceivability and Modal Knowledge. Metaphilosophy 37: 210–221. Wolff, Robert Paul. 1963. Kant’s Theory of Mental Activity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wood, Allen. 2005. Kant. Oxford: Blackwell.

Chapter 14

Disciplining Skepticism through Kant’s Critique, Fichte’s Idealism, and Hegel’s Negations Meghant Sudan

Abstract  This chapter considers the encounter of skepticism with the Kantian and post-Kantian philosophical enterprise and focuses on the intriguing feature whereby it is assimilated into this enterprise. In this period, skepticism becomes interchangeable with its other, which helps understand the proliferation of many kinds of views under its name and which forms the background for transforming skepticism into an anonymous, routine practice of raising objections and counter-objections to one’s own view. German philosophers of this era counterpose skepticism to dogmatism and criticism, ancient to modern skepticism, and, importantly, conceptualize the transitions from one form to another, which forms the conceptual matrix in which new disciplinary forms, such as psychology, anthropology, and historicism contend for cultural-intellectual standing beside philosophy. I present this assimilationist trajectory by reviewing three well-known moments of this encounter of skepticism and idealism: (1) Kant’s idealization of skepticism as a floating position amidst various philosophical positions through the dialectic, polemics, systematics, and history of pure reason; (2) Fichte’s schematic conception of skepticism as a dispute of systems in the early Wissenschaftslehre following his review of the skeptic G. E. Schulze’s attacks on Critical philosophy; (3) Hegel’s historicizing conception of skepticism in the context of differences between subjective idealism and speculative thought and his early Jena review of another work by the same skeptic Schulze.

We have deepened our understanding of skepticism in German Idealism and Enlightenment over the last few decades, and, even where we are yet to learn the finer arts of extracting revisionary insights from dimly lit hollows in unsung archives, we have at least learnt to give up one-sided views of its luminaries. Thus,

M. Sudan (*) Boise State University, Boise, ID, USA e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_14

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Kant, for example, no longer seems to be single-mindedly dispatching one transcendental argument after another against the external world skeptic, nor does he seem to oscillate perpetually between accusations of Berkeleyean immaterialism and admissions of Humean inspiration, with the charges and confessions rendering the latter skepticisms themselves in simplistic terms. Rather, we now see skepticism as constitutive of Kant’s own critical viewpoint, and Fichte and Hegel are taken not merely to have responded to skepticism, but as having internalized systematic as well as historical aspects of skepticism. Thus, we have come to speak of Hegel as a “radical skeptic”1 in some instances and of “post-Kantian skepticism”2 more generally, and we have come to see the idealist philosophical project not as rebuffing the skeptic, but as including skepticism within itself.3 This chapter on the encounter of skepticism with the idealist project focuses on the intriguing feature whereby it is assimilated into it. In this period, skepticism becomes interchangeable with its other, as German Idealists, in varying ways and measures, situate skepticism against dogmatism and criticism, and ancient skepticism against modern skepticism, and, moreover, problematize the transitions from one form to another. The encounter of skepticism with idealism thus helps understand the proliferation of several views under the banner of skepticism and contextualizes the closely related rise of new or newly re-conceived disciplines like empirical psychology and history writing. It also forms the background for a certain taming of skepticism, its turning into a preparatory exercise for philosophy or the routine practice in our day of producing objections and counter-objections in regard to one’s own view. I will present this assimilationist trajectory by reviewing three well-known moments of this encounter of skepticism and idealism: (1) in Sects. 14.1 and 14.2, I consider Kant’s statements about skepticism in his lectures on logic and in his Critique of Pure Reason, which put into play numerous historical and schematic senses of skepticism, and I locate the figure of Hume as an idealized composite of these features; (2) in Sect. 14.3, I consider Fichte’s statements on skepticism made in the aftermath of the skeptic Gottlob Ernst Schulze’s attacks on critical philosophy, and we see Fichte sharpening the schematic features of Kant’s conception and taking skepticism to manifest itself in disputes between philosophical systems; (3), in Sect. 14.4, I consider Hegel’s early Jena writings that situate his account of the 1  Brady Bowman (2013, 126) uses the term to describe Hegel’s rejection of all finite forms of knowing, while Michael Forster (2005) sees Hegel’s skepticism as radical in rejecting all beliefs (not only metaphysical ones as Kant does), although this radicality is undermined by the retention of skepticism’s reactionary features. 2  Paul Franks (2014, 23) considers “the logical possibility of post-Kantian skepticism,” given that Kantian critique was supposed to put an end to skepticism once and for all, and Plínio Smith (2013a, 262) talks about post-Kantian skepticisms as certain forms that predate, pass through, and survive Kant’s critique. 3  As Michael Baur (1999, 63–64 f.n.2) puts it: “[T]he strategy of the German Idealists was not merely to offer an externally related alternative to skepticism; instead, their strategy was to show that the dangers of skepticism would be avoided only if self-conscious skepticism and systematic philosophy were shown to be in some sense identical.”

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differences between ancient and modern skepticism in a speculative-historical framework, which both raises skepticism to new heights as the restless form of thought itself and clumps it together with other popular and commonsensical empirical disciplines outside the hallowed gates of philosophy. A canonical selection such as this courts the danger of settling on a meaning for “skepticism” by looking at only a few, highly overdetermined exponents. Two points should be emphasized to address this worry. First, the present interest is directed not so much toward defining skepticism in either monolithic or splintered ways, but toward apprehending skepticism as a transition between forms or as a transitional form, and I believe that the given selection helps spot this feature well. Second, a recent call urging restraint in studies in the history of skepticism is relevant. As we know, these studies owe much to Richard Popkin’s tireless efforts in the area of European seventeenth century skepticism and his doubled efforts to expand the previously restricted view of the legacy of skepticism in the eighteenth century. While the expansion is welcome, Sébastien Charles has also specified guidelines for containing undue exuberance: to combine contextual variations with continuities, to specify historiographical tendencies affecting the variations and to select figures and constellations to bring these things out better.4 The following study of this particular philosophical-historiographical configuration in which a variety of skepticisms was thematically apprehended takes this suggestion seriously.

14.1  Kant and Skepticism: An Overview We are no longer saddled with caricatures of Kantian idealism as a Berkeleyean immaterialism and an external world skepticism, which hounded the publication of the Critique of Pure Reason from the start owing to its earliest review, the so-called Feder-Garve review. That review did draw attention to Berkeley, but its main objection was that Kantian idealism, despite its claims to navigate between dogmatism and skepticism, is really a skepticism that alternatively affirms and denies claims “in order to confuse and undermine everything” (Sassen 2000, 58). Kant’s defense in the Prolegomena (2002, 85–88; Ak.4:290–94) amplified the Berkeleyean force of the charge by clarifying how his idealism, which explains how space and time are not things, differs from a blanket denial of the existence of things. After distinguishing between a Cartesian (or “empirical” or “problematic” idealism, which plausibly 4  Charles does not mean that the selection should necessarily privilege lesser known figures and works, and, in fact, his particular example at this point concerns the need to look at the skepticism that was “at the heart of the debates about Kantian criticism” (Charles and Smith 2013, 13) rather than only attending to relatively secondary figures like Maupertuis or Merian. Charles’s call for restraint interestingly comes as an Introduction to the same volume that also calls for expansion (esp. ibid., x–xi), which is a sign that the said suggestion is meant as conciliatory rather than hostile. Other thoughtful calls for expansion include the editor’s Introduction followed by Popkin’s remarks in Paganini (2003, ix–xix, xxi–xxviii). The development of Popkins’s views is documented in Popkin et al. 1997.

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leads to external world skepticism), a Berkeleyean (or implausibly “dogmatic” or “visionary” idealism) and an unnamed “dreaming” form of idealism (which implausibly transforms representations into things), Kant mentions that he had meant to avoid the latter two extremes with his own idealism. This characterization of idealism amidst certain forms of skepticism neglected Feder’s specific charge of skepticism,5 while embracing certain other skepticisms: the familiar paeans in the Prolegomena to David Hume, which echo remarks in the Critique of Pure Reason about skeptical procedures “awaking it [reason] from its sweet dogmatic dreams” (A757/B785) and “slumber” (A407/B4340), and the less familiar but equally important paeans to Zeno the Eleatic, “a subtle dialectician [who] was already severely censured by Plato as a wanton sophist” (A502/B530; my emphasis), for proving and then immediately overthrowing through another proof the same proposition. The encounter of idealism and skepticism, thus, is at least a little confusing, which may move one to fix the moving pieces through terminology. However, the instability is not merely terminological, but, rather, symptomatic of a deeper movement whereby skepticism itself is being re-thought as a point in transit or a transitional form, whether, as in Kant’s depiction, “skepticism is a resting-place for human reason, which can reflect upon its dogmatic peregrination and make a survey of the region… but it is not a dwelling-place for permanent residence…” (A761/ B790), or in Hegel’s depiction of it as “a purely casual, confused medley, the dizziness of a perpetually self-engendered disorder… the unconscious, thoughtless rambling which passes back and forth from the one extreme of self-identical self-consciousness to the other extreme that is both bewildered and bewildering.” (Hegel 1977c, 125). This restlessness of skepticism underlies, as we shall see, Kant’s denial of ataraxia as a a goal of skepticism, Fichte’s pronouncements on the intrinsic inability of skepticism to generate any systematic position, and Hegel’s view of skepticism, whether modern or ancient, as inherently “fluctuating.”6 Let us start with some features of Kant’s encounter with skepticism. Karl Ameriks (2000, 11–17) has usefully distinguished four phases in Kant’s thought. The Critique of Pure Reason marks the center of the fourth or critical stage, preceded by the third, the skeptical stage. This development is reflected within the theory as well, which affirms an inner relation between skepticism and critical 5  It also left out the complication that Berkeley’s Three Dialogues inverts skeptical values to hold the external-world realist as a skeptic and the external-world skeptic as a common-sense realist. Hylas the realist recounts: “You set out upon the same principles that the Academics, Cartesians, and like sects, usually do; and for a long time it looked as if you were advancing their philosophical skepticism; but in the end your conclusions are directly opposite to theirs” and Philonous the idealist adds: “[T]he same principles which at first view lead to skepticism, pursued to a certain point, bring men back to common sense.” (Berkeley 1979, 94) 6  Paganini 2011 diagnoses a turning point with Montaigne, Descartes, Hobbes, etc., after which “doubt and skepticism are a matter of fluctuation, not equilibrium” (44). I will consider Kant’s denial and Fichte’s pronouncements in the next two sections respectively, but I wish to note that the characterization of Hegel’s view above as historically indifferent does not apply to all of Hegel’s views on skepticism, yet it does apply to the famous characterization of skepticism in the Phenomenology of Spirit, from which the above quoted passage is taken.

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thought. Transcripts of Kant’s lectures on Logic enable studying the relations between the biographical and theoretical development. There is general consensus that through the skeptical period (roughly 1765–1785 with a peak in 1769–1772) Kant’s interest in Pyrrhonean and Humean forms of skepticism becomes intense, even as scholars may differ about the precise significance of this or that timeframe or event within that period and about the precise way the labels for schools and individual positions is meant (Tonelli 1997; Forster Ch.4–5, & esp. 99-100n.4–6, 100-101n.11, 10n.16–17; Kuehn 1983; Makkreel 1998). We can observe the following about the shifts through this period. In the Blomberg Logic of the 1770s, Kant appears to distinguish between skeptics and dogmatists in ancient philosophy, calling the former “reason-haters” and separating them from philosophy, which is for its part divided into dogmatic and critical forms, unlike the later familiar triad of dogmatism-skepticism-criticism (1992, 24; Ak.24:37). Kant is indeed interested in Hume’s skepticism, but also sees in Hume a freethinking stylist affecting excessive doubts and classes him along with Voltaire among the moderns, while counting Bayle as a proper skeptic (Kant 1992, 167, 172–73; Ak.24: 210–11, 217–218). His remarks on skeptical method attend, rather, to ancient skeptics like Pyrrho, who is contending with Socrates to be the founder of this style of thought at this point.7 Kant distinguishes between dogmatic and dialectical thought, accusing the former of enabling error and holding skeptical thought capable of cautioning against error, and between an Academic doubt of decision and skeptical doubt of postponement, the former interrupting and the latter promoting inquiry zetetically, and between the Academic method of proofs of ignorance and the skeptical method of equipollence, which brings particular propositions into conflict (Kant 1992, 164–169; Ak.24:205–14). In the Vienna Logic of the 1780s, Kant understands ‘criticism’ as he did in the Blomberg logic as a conflict of the understanding with itself, but here it is connected directly to skepticism and the method of equipollence, and we encounter the familiar triad of dogmatism-skepticism-criticism (Kant 1992, 331–333; Ak.24:884–886). 7  This issue belongs to a revealing turning point in Kant’s historiography of philosophy. Giuseppe Micheli (2015, 706–713) thinks that Kant begins to look for Greek rather than Eastern “founders” and a more narrowly conceived speculative history of metaphysics around the mid-1760s under the pressure of current beliefs about ancient Greek republicanism and German nationalism. This historiographic interest coincides with the interest in the history of skepticism, which both have an impact on the subsequent conception of metaphysics. In this context it is also worth noting that both ‘skepticism’ and ‘history’ exceed purely rationalist paradigms of thought and ‘dogma’ contrasts with both ‘skepticism’ and with acquired information or mathema. On Kant’s novel handling of these contrasts, see Tonelli 1997, 70–71 and 89–91n.10. For Tonelli, Kant’s main source for ancient thought is Jakob Brucker’s Historia Critica Philosophiae (which would also explain the preference for founders and the lament on degradation through subsequent institutionalization and sectarianism), and, in some cases, Ralph Cudworth, but not Sextus Empiricus directly. Popkin and Laursen (1998) point out the slim but concrete chances for Kant’s access to some texts of Sextus. Given Kant’s fondness for Lucian, I would also add dialogues like Hermotimus as an indirect source. Tonelli holds that Kant’s knowledge of modern skeptics like Huet and La Mothe le Vayer came from Brucker, but he did have direct access to Bayle, which is especially responsible for his high praise of Zeno of Elea to be seen below (on the debt to Bayle, see Smith 2013a).

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The Dohna-Wundlacken Logic, which follows the lectures of 1792, records the maturation of this view, not only repeating claims that criticism is the “middle way” between dogmatism and skepticism (Kant 1992, 479–480; Ak.24:744–746), but also highlighting the conflict of dogmatism and skepticism as an extraordinary moment of self-critique within logic. (Kant 1992, 438; Ak.24:700). The 1780s Vienna Logic also refines historical details (Kant 1992, 262-4Ak.24:803–4) to firmly place Hume with Bayle and Huet as anti-logicians, connoting ‘dialectician’ rather than reason-hater, and enumerates in detail the different Academies that rely on demonstrations and setting beside them the Pyrrhonists, who use demonstration to produce indecision or balanced judgment. This historical standardization, which also persists in the Jäsche Logic, contrasts with the tentative and searching classifications of the Blomberg Logic (170–171; 215–216), which enumerated doubts around logical cognition, physical laws, moral rules, the variety of opinions, and (with contempt) a fifth type that doubts the senses; Kant also takes these skeptics as dogmatists insofar as they rely on propositions to examine beliefs. The comparison of transcripts shows the refinement of the historical picture to tease out different methodological items and the appreciation for Humean skepticism settling into clearer shape. This clarity is not a result of any simplification. Rather, we see the lectures vigorously exploring and re-appraising numerous historical details of skepticism, while the critical writings develop a composite picture of Hume’s skepticism that incorporates different methodological items from ancient skepticism (the doubt of postponement or equipollence), attributes greater philosophical seriousness to him (reflecting his German versus French reception), and combines the moderation that Kant previously attributed to Pyrrho (against the presumptive modern preference for “mitigated skepticism”) with the immoderation earlier attributed to both ancient sects and modern belletrists (but now seen as enabling the “generalization of doubt”).

14.2  Skepticism in the Critique of Pure Reason from Zeno to Hume Let us consider the reconstruction of these themes in the Critique of Pure Reason, which highlights the schematic and suppresses the historical points. This idealizing thrust, of which Hume is the greatest beneficiary, yields a set of possibilities of transformation and expression of philosophical positions, and the historical interest reduces to a quite bare “history of pure reason” at the end of Kant’s magnum opus. The concept of skepticism in particular is developed in the Transcendental Dialectic and in the Doctrine of Method. In the middle of the former, in the chapter on the Antinomies, we find Kant’s crucial distinction between the skeptical method, a search for certainty through the method of impartially watching an essentially nugatory contest between assertions, and skepticism, the systematic destruction of certainty and the production of ignorance (A424/B451). While it remains a question

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whether Kant had access to the works of Sextus Empiricus, a possible basis for this distinction may be reconstructed using some general (thus easily available) ideas from the Outlines of Scepticism. Sextus (PH 1.8 and 1.12) distinguishes between tranquility as a goal of skepticism and the preeminent principle of skepticism, the method of raising counter-­ claims for given claims. Kant denies that any “philosophical tranquility” could emerge or true “satisfaction” of the structural demands made by reason could result from the mere counterposing of claims (A757–8/B785–6), but, at the same time he thinks that the method of equipollence is essential for critical thought. When we consider the structure of reason Kant has in mind, Kant’s own distinction becomes clearer. For, according to Kant, reason itself generates a reflection about itself through the skeptical method, but without a full apprehension of what reason and reflection in general are, one can misuse or only partially use the method of equipollence in order to engender confusion, but this cannot lead to satisfaction. In fact, his critique of Humean skepticism in the Critique of Pure Reason, which we shall see in a moment, rests on this point, and aptly appears in a section titled “On the impossibility of a skeptical satisfaction of pure reason that is divided against itself.” For now, notice that with the structure of reason as a criterion we have either a full or a partial use of the method of equipollence, the skeptical method proper or mere skepticism on the other hand. The former impels investigation to a critique of reason itself, the latter producing general ignorance, which may be useful on its own account for non-transcendental investigations, e.g. by creating caution in empirical or “experimental philosophy,” whose disputes can be settled through empirical observation and the doubt of postponement may be effective (A425/B452). The skeptical method, on the other hand, initiates a specific kind of contest, not over any “sophistical proposition” or “arbitrary question” or “artificial illusion,” but, rather, over principles that discloses the bifurcation of the higher faculties of cognition themselves, the space within reason that shows the split between understanding and reason.8 Let me explain what the said structure of reason is, since this, especially as seen through the antinomies becomes a prime concern for post-Kantian idealisms. The antinomies are sets of antithetical propositions about the world as a sum or series of conditioned parts. The idea (Idee) of the world, like the other ideas or transcendent concepts of pure reason, namely, the self, and God, is constituted as a formal object of inference. Roughly, since the form of inference relates a totalized ground to a consequence, the ideas represent such absolute grounds in accordance with other formal features of syllogistic inference. In virtue of being concepts of absolute grounds they claim applicability beyond experience. But, for Kant, we only have a 8  “Such a dialectical doctrine will relate not to the unity of understanding in concepts of experience, but to the unity of reason in mere ideas, whose conditions, since, as a synthesis according to rules, must first be congruent with the understanding, and yet at the same time, as the absolute unity of this synthesis, must be congruent with reason, will be too large for the understanding if this unity is to be adequate to the unity of reason, and yet too small for reason if they are suited to the understanding…” (A422/B450)

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priori cognition regarding objects of possible experience, and it rests on the constitution of objectivity through a priori syntheses of intuition contained in pure concepts of the understanding. Thus, the objects of pure concepts of reason are constituted merely analogously, and, in the absence of sensible intuition, they vicariously draw upon the perceptual potentials of the understanding. In this sense the object of reason is the understanding itself, and the very possibility of critique as an internal review of mind by mind is evinced in propositions about objects of reason’s concepts. When the antinomies drive reason into conflict with itself, this manifests an internal bifurcation of the higher intellectual faculties of cognition, and, since the antinomies are construed in the form of equipollence,9 the inner possibility of critical thought lies in a skeptical method. Further, the conflict structure of fallacious inferences has to do with the fact that these inferences turn around serial syntheses of appearances (deriving from earlier considerations about three kinds of relations between elements of an inference and the division of objects into appearances and things in themselves), unlike the different structure of fallacious inferences concerning the existence of the soul and of God, which do not concern appearances. Due to the seriality, the unconditioned ground in these syntheses can be represented as either a part or the whole of the series, which generates the two sides of the conflict. Finally, this antithetic is regulated by the principle of non-contradiction, both in that the two sides in conflict threaten contradiction within the principles of reason itself and in that each side is a case of principles of the understanding leading to a contradiction, which is overcome by asserting its own opposite. According to Kant, the contradiction of reason with itself is only apparent and is avoided by adjusting the notion of the object.10

9  While Sextus (PH 1.10, 1.202–203) sees equipollence more loosely as a countering of claims and justifications by other equivalent claims and justifications, Kant’s antinomies relate opposed claims and justifications more strictly through mutually referring apagogic proofs. Smith (2013b, esp. 26–27) finds a precedent for this construal of equipollence in Bayle and Testa (2003, 172) also finds this likely. I thank Plínio Smith for helping see the significance of this and related issues about Kantian antinomies and pressing for clarifications. 10  These points will form the context for Hegel’s objections to be considered below. About the last point, it should be additionally noted that the principle of contradiction had become a veritable battlefield by 1800 (see Gottlob Jäsche’s prefatory comments in his edition of Kant’s logic textbook, Kant 1992, 523–6; Ak.9: 6–9). For Kant, the principle of contradiction is the highest principle of analytic judgments, the possibility of experience is the highest principle of synthetic judgments, and the transcendental unity of apperception the highest principle of the understanding as such. The early Hegel has not entirely renounced Fichtean talk of intellectual intuition and its formulations through Kantian apperception but wants to link the unity of apperception to the unity of reason, rather than to the lower faculty of understanding. Kant’s conception of reason in the antinomies is subordinated to the principle of contradiction at both the levels that generate conflict as well as the level that resolves it, and, since reason is driven by the task of totalizing experience in this sphere, the subordination of reason to the understanding is complete just where it should have been the reverse. Rejecting this result, but preserving the Kantian framework, Hegel declares that the principle of contradiction is valid only for the understanding, while reason essentially opposes it: “every genuine philosophy…always sublates the principle of contradiction” (2000, 325; TWA 2:230).

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In sum, the antinomies reflect the basic structure of mind at many levels, its objects, its capacities, its internal differentiations, and its principles. As this central discovery laden with insights about the systematic structure of rationality itself, it captivates post-Kantian idealists. But also ensconced in it is the problem of skepticism as a changing position. To begin with, each of the two sides of the conflict has a distinct character when judged from the perspective of reason’s interests in the one or the other type of principle. The one side appears to satisfy the need for an absolutist type of theoretical explanation, practical grounds, and popular appeal, and it is labeled “dogmatist,” while the other, serves those interests poorly but richly opens up the realm of reason to inquiry through perceptual understanding, and is labeled “empiricist.” Yet, under certain conditions and under the reevaluation of those interests, the empiricist can become dogmatic, such that the two sides are now both dogmatic, which Kant labels as the conflict of Epicureanism and Platonism, given their respective configurations of theoretical and practical interests. Renouncing all interests leads to a “state of ceaseless vacillation,” where, like the popular legend about Carneades, one affirms free will one day but determinism the next day. This position, however, is a corrective to the dogmatist’s preference for closed unity and practical certainty. All else being equal, or in a balanced state, the empiricist position endorses maxims of modesty and moderation against hard dogmatist decision. If left entirely to itself, the interminable conflict can only lead to a state of sheer exhaustion and a recognition that the dispute is fundamentally nugatory, or at least that the dogmatist’s claims about intrinsic reality are reduced to claims about appearance (A490/B518, A501/B529). Thus, the conflict is not static, and the sides are capable of interactive exchange and this dialectical activity leads to the only possible solution, the transcendental idealist standpoint.11 At this pivotal point between the skeptical method and critical idealism, Kant credits the dialectic of Zeno the Eleatic with the power of Kant’s transcendental dialectic and vice-versa. Similarly, Hume’s skepticism stands for another configuration of the skeptical method, which takes us from the Transcendental Dialectic to the Doctrine of Method. We have already seen one of its aspects insofar as the empiricist’s moderation helps sustain a naturalistic or experimental-philosophical attitude.12 But there is a certain immoderation in Hume as a result of the dynamic  Apprehending this skeptical problematic determines large interpretive strategies. For example, a famous invocation of Hume’s skepticism occurs in the preliminaries (B127–128) to the Transcendental Deduction. The story told here of an empiricism becoming dogmatic on the one side (Lockean “enthusiasm”) and dogmatically skeptical on the other side (an incurably forlorn Hume taking reason itself as illusory) reflects the antinomic-dialectical structure of reason above. Speculative idealists thus approached the deduction’s claim of objective validity as a limited case of reason’s systematic unity, while twentieth century Anglo-American approaches, erasing confusing invocations of Locke and Hume as immoderate empiricists, took it as defeating external world skepticism. 12  Another is the juxtaposition of “the cool-headed David Hume, especially constituted for equilibrium of judgment” with “Priestley, who is devoted only to the principles of the empirical use of reason” (A745/B773) as polemicists defending reason despite their denials of a highest being and of the immortality of the soul. The systematic context of this juxtaposition is the impossibility of a 11

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whereby empiricism becomes dogmatic and skepticism is hardened. Kant’s criticism of Hume (A764–9/B792–7; Kant 1996, 180–185; Ak.5:50–56) is that Hume does not generalize the problem of causality and, when he does, he generalizes it unfairly. Hume’s problem of causality did force the need to produce proofs of the objective validity of this concept and of the necessity in the principle of causality. The proofs and the generalizations of the problem to encompass mathematics and metaphysics13 would vindicate reason as a whole, but, without them, the dogmatist rationalist as well as the dogmatist empiricist have to admit an empiricism in principles (subjective custom, contingency) under the moderate skeptic’s watch. Without the distinction of conditions of perceptual judgment from pure principles of understanding and rational inference and of appearances and things in themselves, however, empiricism runs amok and infects common inferences of existence or the scientific use of reason with uncertainty and results in “universal skepticism [for the learned]” (Kant 1996, 182; 5:52). Thus, Hume represents the transformation of empiricism into skepticism and skepticism into dogmatic skepticism, which suffers its own downfall, because, for Kant, universal skepticism and distrust of reason itself is self-defeating (A767/ B795). The skeptic is, rather, a point in transit, leading the dogmatist towards criticism in a progress towards maturity modeled on the natural ages of a human being (A761/B789). Hume has been examined from all sides, amidst all the switches and shunts that skepticism performs – against the dogmatist and the empiricist, against common reason and scientific reason and against the polemicist denying reason, going between empiricism and dogmatism, between dogmatic empiricism and dogmatic skepticism, between dogmatism and criticism – and, in this schematic sense, he is the apotheosis of the skeptical method more than any determinate historical actuality of skepticism. With this idealization of the skeptic, the historical actuality of skepticism recedes from view, or, more accurately, a parallel idealization of history comes to the fore. This had already started in Kant’s case in the skeptical period (f.n.7 above) and gained momentum in the later phases of his critical period, which work teleology and natural history into the metaphysics of nature, generating the potent brew of biology, anthropology, and developmental narratives of religion and culture, i.e., the context of German idealism, romanticism, enlightenment, and counter-enlightenment. To conclude our examination of Kant let us look at how he himself links history and skepticism. The Critique concludes with a chapter titled “The History of Pure

genuine antithetic of reason around the ideas of soul and God, thus, a negative defense of reason, and here the skeptic helps the empiricist from becoming dogmatic. For the historical context of this juxtaposition, see Popkin (1997, 24–25). 13  This aspect of the Kant-Hume relation needs further research. How did Kant’s thought develop in regard to the generalizations between causality and mathematics (in light of overarching developments in a theory of judgment and categories) in the period, and how does it relate to the development of the skeptical problematic in Kant’s thought and its sources in Hume, Bayle, and others in the same period? A similar pressure of the Kategorien-problematic informs the move to an elevation of skeptical methodology in Hegel’s case, as we shall see below.

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Reason,” whose final paragraph locates skepticism as a method. Kant apologizes for the incredible contraction, a mere three pages, of this “history,” which considers all the works of reason (in ruins) from the standpoint of its nature (A852/B880). The prehistory or infancy of reason passes through crude attempts in natural theology and cosmology to enable abstract rational inquiries or metaphysics, where mature reason enters history proper, the field of “revolutions.” These revolutions turned around three topics: the basic objects of reason (sensible or intelligible), its sources (experience or reason itself), and its methods. The last divides into “naturalistic” (given) and “scientific” (acquired), the former a misology and a vain rejection of reason’s actuality in the name of sound common sense, and the latter proceeds either “dogmatically” (Christian Wolff) or “skeptically” (Hume).14 This harks back to the stages of increasing maturity described earlier of dogmatism followed by skepticism, so that Kant can now say in the penultimate sentence of the book that “[t]he critical path alone is still open.” This implies that dogmatism and skepticism have run their course and in the systems of Wolff and Hume we have completed forms of immoderately rational cognition and immoderately learned ignorance. The entire “history of pure reason” has in this sense led up to the one way remaining open, which depended on extracting the skeptical method from skepticism. Lest one mistakes its brevity for absence of insight and foresight, this chapter’s first sentence said: “This title stands here only to designate a place that is left open in the system and must be filled in the future.” This talk of the history of reason follows upon the preceding chapter on the system of reason, which offers revealing counterpoints. The Architectonic of Pure Reason describes the possible structure of all metaphysics through the fourfold of ontology, rational physiology, rational cosmology, and rational theology. This is just the structure of rationality facing its own unity (A845/B873), which, under the critique’s self-reflection, shows its true significance: ontology points to transcendental philosophy, parts of physiology, cosmology, and theology fund a critical metaphysics of nature and morals, etc. After having apportioned to all metaphysical inquiries their legitimate places in this topography of reason, a final question again remains open for Kant: “where does that leave empirical psychology, which has always asserted its place in metaphysics, and from which one has expected such great enlightenment in our own times?” And in the distinctly Kantian voice of the diligent immigration official of this topography, studiously inspecting ‘birth-certificates’ and ‘titles,’ policing ‘borders’ and ‘boundaries’ of ‘realms’ and ‘fields’ and ‘domains’ and ‘domiciles,’ he answers: “Empirical psychology must thus be entirely banned from metaphysics… [but] in accord with customary usage one must still concede it a little place… [as] merely a long accepted foreigner, to whom one grants refuge for a while it can establish its own domicile in a complete anthropology” (A848–9/B876–7). Since the Critique of Pure Reason is indebted to such a psychology but has no room for either empirical or rational psychology as a science the answer is partially self-serving and partially evocative of an anticipated critical

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 See the remarks above in Sect. 14.1 about the Blomberg Logic.

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purification of the various mixed forms of reason populating the German enlightenment, where skepticisms and dogmatisms and empiricisms combine freely with each other.15 Reinhold and Fichte champion Kantian idealism in this vibrant, volatile intellectual epoch, and we now turn to this second encounter of idealism and skepticism.

14.3  Fichte’s Response and Schulzean Skepticism Foregoing a fuller discussion of Reinhold’s contributions to this epoch, one must minimally recognize the impact of his “Letters on Kantian philosophy” on the task of popularizing Kantian philosophy and of his “Elementar-philosophie” on the task of systematizing Kantian philosophy. He believed that the popular-philosophical polemics of his time was evidence of inner disarray without this systematization,16 and he sought to bring about the needed systematization in a popular-philosophical way as well. Reinhold’s Letters presented Kant’s system in an accessible vocabulary of faith and morality, which was influential as propaganda and pleased Kant too. However, Reinhold progressed with his philosophical inquiries in the same popular vein by mounting analyses of meticulously collected disputes with an aim to find the common element beyond dispute in them.17 He hoped to arrive in this way at a fundamental presupposition permitted by everyone, which he took to be the concept  As a counterpoint to the historical collection of methods lumping Hume together with various “popular philosophers” and Wolff himself, it is important to note that for all of Wolff’s systematizing dogmatisms, there was always in it a catholic embrace of empiricism that bothered Kant’s search for systematic purity (see A843/B871). On the German hybridizations of moderate skepticisms and common sense theories, see van der Zande (1998), Kuehn (1987, ch. 9 and 251–74; and 1998), and, in light of the point made about the transformations between skepticism and its others, see the telling account of the alternating self-stylings of Platner as an anthropologist, empirical psychologist, and skeptic in conjunction with his alternating critiques of Kantian criticism as dogmatic skepticism and skeptical dogmatism in Wunderlich (2018). For the state of empirical psychology at the time, see various texts by Udo Thiel and Corey Dyck, but in particular, see Thiel (2001) for a brief summary of relevant positions and Dyck (2014, esp. chs. 1,2 & 7) for the Wolffian background. 16  Reinhold was quite happy to discuss the elements of the disarray as consisting inter alia dogmatic skeptics, critical skeptics, forms and stages of dogmatic, unphilosophical, and critical doubt – constructing through all this a tower of babble reaching to the highest principles, and all through leaning on Kantian principle in interesting but capricious ways without a deep grasp of Kant’s concepts and arguments. See generally Reinhold (2011), esp. the so-called “Destinies” essay for a survey of the disarray, and Books I and II for his planned exit route. 17  Reinhold (2011, 86): “Representation is the only thing about whose actuality all philosophers are in agreement.” The historical-analytic method used to get to this point was, in fact, derided by a critic “as a ridiculous attempt to substantiate philosophical assertions by majority vote,” which criticism Reinhold narrates to us without any sense of irony (ibid., 34n). Earlier, in his Eighth Merkur letter, he had similarly broached the concept of the soul as an immaterial thing through a long analysis of statements by various ancient philosophers, proceeding throughout on the assumption that this thing is given in introspection and so must lie beneath the variety of those statements. 15

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of representation, and ultimately, at his principle of consciousness, which was to be the highest principle disclosing possibilities of relating to and distinguishing from representation, so as to generate the basic representationalist triad of subject-­ representation-­object. The search for such a principle struck a chord with Fichte, who was in the throes of working out his own fundamental principles when the self-­ styled Humean skeptic Gottlob Ernst Schulze published his critique of Reinhold and Kant under the pseudonym “Aenesidemus” in 1792. Fichte’s review of Aenesidemus was by all counts, including his own, a seminal event. He was forced to contend with the skeptic’s objections to Reinhold’s principle of consciousness, which helped clarify his own struggles with it to yield the distinction between a transcendental-constitutive level of subjective acts and the contents or facts of empirical consciousness that forms the backbone of Fichte’s Wissenschaftslehre. I will not consider the length and breadth of this fascinating exchange,18 but it is of present interest to see how Fichte understands Schulze’s skepticism and skepticism in general. In my view, Fichte reads this skepticism, on the one hand, according to the Kantian staging of thought where skepticism is a transitional point towards idealism otherwise lapsing into a dogmatic form, and, on the other hand, according to Reinhold’s historical-analytical view, such that the variegated skeptical scene reflects a state of dispute amidst (partial) systems and the exit path through the principle of consciousness is in some sense an abstraction from empirical consciousness. Since Kant already subscribed to a schematic and speculative notion of history, and since Reinhold’s view enlarges this aspect,19 Fichte’s interventions enhance the idealization already underway. Since the critical gesture has the further effect of populating the waiting-room of this idealized history with disciplines like empirical psychology, the discussions about the connections of the principle of consciousness and the stages of subjectivity with laws of logic and contents of empirical consciousness have the effect of sharpening questions about what remains on this and what on that side of the system of philosophy, parallel to questions about what of skepticism remains inside and what outside it. Fichte’s Aenesidemus Review allows Schulze two main assumptions for the sake of examining them deeply: the universality of the laws of logic and the fact of representations as contents of consciousness (1988, 60; SW I:4). His review reacts positively and negatively to Schulze’s critique of Reinhold: positive when Schulze  See Daniel Breazeale’s several helpful articles on this topic, including introductory notes to his translation of the text, his (1998) to clarify the role of Reinhold’s own work on skepticism, and especially his (2011), which contains a very useful summary of the contents of Fichte’s review and of recent discussions of it, which have revised initial estimates and energetically delved into some neglected details. Also see Dieter Henrich’s (2003, chs. 10, 11) analysis of the encounter, which goes so far as to say that “[w]e could delineate Fichte’s entire philosophical program by analyzing his two basic thoughts in the Aenesidemus Review and their relationship” (ibid., 177). 19  The abovementioned “Destinies” essay claims that the waning of the dogmatic LeibinizianWolffian system has perforce meant that one populates its rationalistic formalisms with content drawn from the most varied sources. This process, for example, has “brought the light of philosophy to regions where it had never shone in Germany – from the mysteries of the most holy to the cabinets of ministers and princes, and to the toilet tables of ladies.” (2011, 4). 18

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is impelling Reinhold to sharpen the principle of consciousness and negative when Schulze mistakes the fact of representation or mental contents for the form of mind itself, a form that, moreover, will be shown to generate its own content in a peculiar way in the Wissenschaftslehre. Thus, Fichte agrees with Schulze’s worry that Reinhold’s principle of consciousness cannot be the highest principle of all because, qua propositional form, it must itself be subordinate to the principle of non-­ contradiction. Fichte also agrees that the representational content must have a complexity of features to support the differentiations and identifications said to constitute the subject-representation-object triad, which implies that the representational content presupposes those features as more basic than itself. What, however, in any of this reflects Schulze’s skepticism? So far Schulze’s objections simply sound like good questions, without being skeptical in any special way. It is true that Schulze’s own text produces and reproduces various skeptical tropes in the course of its critique, but Fichte ignores those particular aspects. For Fichte reads Schulze from the system-schema holding the skeptic as a critical ally lifting the dogmatist (itself a relative position – in this case, Reinhold rising from the murky waters of post-Kantianism) to criticism (in this case, the future Fichte revising the principle of consciousness), and the skeptic is in danger of becoming dogmatic on account of being a transitional element and, as Kant had said of Hume (Kant 1996, 182; Ak.5:53), of identifying appearances with things in themselves like the transcendental realist. Fichte’s review, precisely at this inherently slippery point, turns from lauding Schulze’s “service to philosophy” to discovering “the nature of Aenesidemus’s skepticism, which ends in a very arrogant dogmatism” (1988, 65–66; SW I:10). The skeptic turns dogmatic by turning against the mind or the critical position with half-thoughts that ask what kind of thing the faculty of representation is, how it causes representations, etc., which not only reify the faculty but, by disconnecting it from representation as such, oppose it to all representation and cast it as a thing in itself. Fichte reminds Schulze of his Humean roots and in the process clarifies that any skepticism (67; I:12), is supposed to create a doubt for the empirical or the rational dogmatist and no more. Possibly adopting Sextus Empiricus’s initial characterization20 of the Pyrrhonist, Fichte defines this general skepticism as a “seeking something that it despairs of finding” (ibid.), which here concerns the uncertainty in applying causal mechanism to mind. Fichte explains that if critical idealism stops with the claim that representations are self-­ caused and denies causal input from a thing-in-itself, then it becomes a negative dogmatist (like the Academic), to which the skeptic still remains opposed as uncertain on the question (71; I:17), in order to lead to the further thought that the not-I conditions the I at a level of analysis that goes beyond the facts of consciousness. Thus, in Concerning the Concept of the Wissenschaftslehre, Fichte (1794) expresses his debts to modern skeptics like Maimon21 and Aenesidemus. But he  Sextus (PH 1.1) describes the dogmatist as declaring that truth has been found, and the academic and the skeptic denying this either through positive decision or through a combination of denial of decision and affirmation of zetetic search. 21  See Franks (2014) for Fichte’s debts to Maimon. 20

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adds a twist to the position of the skeptic as a transitional point by noting that on the connection of cognition and object, “the skeptics have correctly allied themselves with the dogmatists and with healthy common sense” (1988, 95; SW I:29n), while, on the other side, the truly critical thinker needs to unify the claims about representing objects (criticism as negative dogmatism) with the Humean claim of merely subjectively feeling that things in themselves exist. This is no longer a comment on the relative stances of skepticism and other positions, but about the full absorption of the skeptical method into criticism, especially if the resultant position can be articulated as a completed system. It is indeed the task of this text to expound the system or science of knowing and to show that this cognition is complete, both in its own self and in containing in itself the elements of all other sciences. A marginal comment by Fichte (1988, 114n.20) describes the required demonstration of its completeness as an answer to Aenesidemus the critical skeptic,22 whose objection about the superiority of logical laws to the principle of contradiction is directly countenanced in thinking about the science of knowing and through Fichte’s claim that those foundations or principles of the system first make it possible to abstract logical laws from them. Thus, logical laws are neither just empirical rules of thinking, nor are they the highest form of all knowing, and, nevertheless, as the most general conditions of thinking, are contained within the science of knowing. The demonstration also answers Aenesidemus the dogmatic skeptic, because the completeness of the cognition entails the superfluity of presupposing any other thing besides the constitutive acts of mind, and these acts are taken as acts of freedom by Fichte and should satisfy the skeptic opposing the dogmatic critical philosopher’s demands for an openness of the causal relation, which cannot be given as a fact. Thus, the skeptic is roundly answered and the system achieved through the skeptical method, which leads the thinker to reflect on the mind or I or reason itself at the highest points. Yet, Fichte is honest about the presuppositions that have been made along the way, or, rather, from the very start, for the inquiry into the possibility of science began by assuming science itself, namely, that there is such a thing (1988, 101; I:38). The skeptic denies precisely this, but Fichte wrought this admission by a maneuver taken from Reinhold: he reflects on the disarray and the dispute-ridden state of the intellectual world around him and asks whether the dispute does not presuppose the idea of philosophy as a science, just like Reinhold had set up a global dispute, which presupposes the concept of representation in the way that the skeptic is typically held to minimally uphold an appearance.23 Fichte also bases his  This is how the Foundations (1982, 118n.5; SW I:120n) represents him in the locus classicus for Fichte’s definition of skepticism as the consummation of dogmatism, and, since it cannot form a system, genuinely existing only as a critical skepticism. 23  Forster’s (1996) fine analysis shows how Hegel’s critique of modern skepticism works by rejecting the necessity of this minimal endorsement. If that is right, Hegel would undermine easy transformations from skepticism to dogmatism or the inherent transformability of (modern) skepticism. If I follow the argument correctly, however, we still need a justification for Hegel’s understanding of ancient equipollence and its operationality. Early Hegel does not have a science of logic providing that, and needs to assume the Platonic idea (ibid., 79) or Kantian reason as a self-subsistent work, or both together (see Baum 1990) to get his view off the ground, which too seems right. 22

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understanding of science on the subjective notion of certainty,24 and defends it by arguing in a circle, where states of uncertainty or skepticism obtaining in the form of multiple systems or system-fragments are denied for the sake of certainty as such (111–113; I:51–54). Fichte does not have a way out of this quandary25 and, making a virtue out of necessity, declares that the gap or the need within science to constantly deduce itself through other parts of the projected totality bears witness to freedom.

14.4  Hegel’s Synthesis and Schulze Again Hegel takes up this trio of problems – subjectivism, presupposition, skepticism – in a series of early texts, which include his examination of Fichte’s system of philosophy in the so-called Differenzschrift (“The Difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s System of Philosophy” of 1801) and his review of Schulze’s later work in his Skepticism essay (“On the Relation of Skepticism to Philosophy, Exposition of its Different Modifications, and Comparison of the Latest Form with the Ancient One” of 1802). The Differenzschrift negotiates two pressures, the Reinhold-Fichtean pursuit of systematizing Kant’s principles and the Reinhold-Kantian conception of the historical development of thought. It does not deal with skepticism per se. The Skepticism essay, on the other hand, takes up the philosophical and historical problem of skepticism, but does not directly broach the issue of foundations for philosophical systems. The topics seem to come apart, but, in fact, the speculative-historical framework links them together and reinforces an understanding of skepticism as at once schematic as well as historical and, again, as a space for the transformation of positions. Hegel develops his critiques of Fichte, Reinhold, and Schulze in the philosophical-­ cultural context of the times, which he understands variously as a culture of reflection, a mixture of philosophy and unphilosophy, the vanity of the Enlightenment,

 The form of science, for Fichte, is the communication of a primordial certainty to all its parts, and, although this feature by itself is Cartesian, the skeptical scenario is construed in Reinholdian terms. The freedom to abstract and reflect is another expression of the fact that there just is a presupposition. In the “First Introduction” (1994, 17–20; SW I:431–5), Fichte avoids universal skepticism issuing from the interminable dispute between the dogmatist and the idealist by appeal to moral character and practical interests (following Kant’s talk of the conditions bearing on the antinomies as described at the end of Sect. 14.2 above). This section of Fichte’s text is related to the famous master-slave dialectic in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit and thus contextualizes its subsequent discourse on skepticism. The “Second Introduction” (89–90; I:504–5) tries to explain the practical interest through the theoretical confusion of pure with empirical apperception. 25  See Breazeale (1991, 451–2) and Hegel (1977c, 49): “By the former assurance [of being wholly different from ordinary cognition], Science would be declaring its power to lie simply in its being; but the untrue knowledge likewise appeals to the fact that it is, and assures us that for it Science is of no account. One bare assurance is worth just as much as another.” 24

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etc.26 Within this context, his critique of Schulze’s skepticism blends with his critiques of Fichtean subjectivism and Reinhold’s unphilosophical historicism. The dogmatic skepticism, which upholds the certainty of facts of consciousness and of the natural sciences,27 is countered by critical idealism, which attempts to exit the sphere of empirical consciousness but remains conditioned by it, which attempt itself takes philosophical or unphilosophical shapes. Hegel’s historicization also proceeds at a second level as he views skepticism itself as a speculative-historical transformation having purely schematic and historical aspects. Skepticism is thought as a self-differentiating process internal to philosophy,28 as having a historical span (ancient and modern), and as a longer process taking us from philosophy to unphilosophy. These aspects are layered and enmeshed in the early texts but become disentangled in his mature works.29 The larger speculative-historical framework, according to which a genuinely philosophical tendency degrades not only into interchangeably skeptical or idealist or empiricist forms,30 but also into “unphilosophy” (Reinhold, common-sense theories, and popular-philosophy), is, for Hegel, the becoming-history of philosophy, an ossification of the living principle of reason, to put it in the vitalist idiom of the early

 Since Hegel’s interest in skepticism emerges from his battles with the culture of the Enlightenment, Italo Testa (2013, f.n.54) connects Hegel’s epistemological skepticism to the longer arc of religious skepticism painted vividly by Popkin. 27  Not these facts and sciences, then, but, rather, the proper target of skepticism, for Schulze, is theorizing about the absolute. Hegel (2000, 220–6) takes care to show that these attributions are not imposed upon but fairly drawn from Schulze, but see Engstler (1996) for comments cautioning against Hegel’s reading. Schulze responded with two articles (1803 and 1805), including a parody of Absolute idealism to show that skepticism is its ultimate result. These articles and their authorship were known to Hegel. For suggestions about their impact on him and other references, see di Giovanni and Harris (2005, 310–11n.55). 28  Hegel outlines a threefold division of skepticism (2000, 330; TWA 2:237): (1) a skepticism immanent to philosophy is exemplified by Plato’s Parmenides: “skepticism itself is in its inmost heart at one with every true philosophy [such that] there is a philosophy that is neither skepticism nor dogmatism, and is thus both at once” (322–3; 227); (2) a skepticism turned against philosophy, which he identifies with later forms of ancient skepticism captured in the well-known dilemma of the criterion or the Agrippan five tropes; (3) a skepticism not turned against philosophy identified with older forms attacking commonsensical dogmatisms and collected in the ten tropes. As selfdifferentiations within the structure of reason, the tripartition is primarily schematic, although Hegel also presses its historical viability. 29  The Phenomenology of Spirit distinguishes between a “thoroughgoing scepticism” (1977c, 49–50) and the method of doubt or antecedent skepticism generally, and further distinguishes between this methodological conception and the historical formation of skepticism as a stage in the development of self-consciousness (123–6). The Encyclopaedia Logic (§§79–82) talks formally about skepticism as the dialectical side of logic wedged between understanding’s abstractive and reason’ speculative activity, and, interestingly, refers to the 1802 Skepticism essay separately (in a remark upon Humean skepticism) as clarifying historical differences. The Lectures on the History of Philosophy narrates the historical sequence of skeptical personages, schools, and arguments. 30  In Faith and Knowledge, skepticism counts as the flip-side of idealism, while both are jointly opposed to a one-sided empiricism (1977b, 62; TWA 2:295). Extracting skepticism from this system of positions falsifies skepticism itself (ibid., 64; 297) and thus skepticism exists only within it. 26

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texts. According to the Differenzschrift (Hegel 1977, 86; TWA 2:16), Reinhold hopes to sort through these calcified and mummified opinions as a neutrally minded collector when he looks for the common presupposition driving conflicting systems. According to the Skepticism essay (Hegel 2000, 315; TWA 2:216), no common principle obtains between philosophy and unphilosophy, although there may be one in the dispute between philosophical systems. The latter dispute leads us to consider the negativity constitutive of reason, which not only negates finite determinations but also cancels itself to approach the infinity peculiar to the unity of reason. This process underlies the examination of the differences between Fichtean and Schellingian systems and of the stages of ancient skepticism down to its ossification in modern skepticism. The former dispute, however, reduces systematic questions to subjective differences of opinion and generalizes these differences, for “[o]ne who is caught up in his own idiosyncrasy can see in others only their own idiosyncrasies.” (1977, 87; TWA 2: 17). These two types of disputes correspond to Hegel’s division of skepticism into later anti-philosophical, and earlier pre-philosophical forms (see f.n.28 above), which are apprehended in the tropes of diversity common to both the forms distinguished in Sextus by the set of five tropes or ten tropes, respectively. Importantly, however, the two types also meet in the Fichtean system, which described the dispute of philosophical systems in terms of personal differences.31 Hegel himself did not directly accuse Fichte of such a reduction, but it lurks between his claims that transcendental or intellectual intuition32 is the common principle behind the differences of Fichte’s and Schelling’s systems (1977, 173; TWA 2:114); that Fichte’s difficulties in properly identifying empirical consciousness with the philosopher’s pure consciousness of her self-activity lead to the latter being a mere abstraction from the former (ibid., 119–126; 52–62); that Reinhold takes the principle of intellectual intuition common to Fichte and Schelling to be a personal idiosyncrasy (ibid., 182–3; 125–6), and that Fichte’s particular form of expression of his system will be explained through the content of the system itself (ibid., 87–8; 18). The 1801 Differenzschrift took a conciliatory approach and tried to ameliorate the

 For example, the two 1797/8 “Introductions” to the Wissenschaftslehre appealed to essential differences in character (First) and to the philosopher’s self-consciousness (Second), and the 1800 Vocation of Man expressly addressed the lay reader’s non-philosophical self. Also, see f.n.24 above. 32  Kant strictly excluded intellectual intuition as an intuition exceeding sensible forms, but it was revived by Fichte as the consciousness of the activity of the self and held compatible with Kantian premises (Fichte 1994, 55–6; I:471–2). Expressed in the form of propositions about the subject’s fundamental activity, it stands for that which corrects Reinhold’s assumptions about the structure of consciousness and representation, which Schulze had attacked. Hegel recognizes it as a principle expressing the self-sufficient and self-differentiating structure of reason, and he also sees the inevitable inadequacy of its articulation and elaboration in propositional form. Hegel rejects its inherent subjectivism and its presuppositional character, and he rejects its subordination to the laws of logic on account of the propositional form. In the worst instance, the former devolves into personal idiosyncrasy and the latter into a merely formal logic (both belonging to Reinhold’s methodologies); in better circumstances, they amount to provisional dogmas, such as Schulze’s adherence to facts of consciousness and to the principle of non-contradiction. 31

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residual subjectivism by complementing Fichtean formulations of a pure subjectivity intuiting itself with an objective, gradualist account of reason. This account aims at a deeper identity of thinking and being as a processual totality that extinguishes subjectivist shapes of Kantian idealism and generates a higher principle of self-­ consciousness through the systematic overcoming of reflection in and through reason.33 In the 1802 Faith and Knowledge, however, Hegel’s tone changes as H.S. Harris has noted in his introductions to both texts, and he adopts a harsher critical line against Fichte. In the later text, Hegel plots the internal exhaustion of all shapes of Kantian idealism and includes therein, along with Kant and Jacobi, Fichte’s presupposition of subjectivity. Hegel hopes for a truly philosophical cognition to emerge, given the nullity of these shapes, which have run their course according to his analysis (1977b, 189; TWA 2:430–1). In that exhausted system of subjectivity, skepticism is just a link between empiricist and idealist formations, but now Hegel clubs all of these linked formations together under “empirical psychology.”34 Also in 1802, Hegel opens another front against empirical psychology, this time by means of his Schulze-­ critique in the Skepticism essay, where, aside from detailing the differences of ancient and modern skepticism, Hegel repeatedly characterizes the context of Schulze’s skepticism as empirical psychology (2000, 317, 339, 343, 347, 353, 354; TWA w:218, 250, 256, 261, 270, 271). Both attacks on empirical psychology need to be seen together and as contextualizing the significance of Hegel’s shifts between the earlier and later texts, if, in fact, we are to avoid Hegel’s own barbs against reducing systematic issues to personal details of a merely biographical variety. The investigation of skepticism therefore serves to distinguish all subjectivisms (including dogmatic skepticism) from the work of reason (including skepticism immanent to philosophy). Seen from the point of view of the Differenzschrift, then, the object of the Skepticism essay is to provide an account of the work of reason described there as the overcoming of reflection, which was itself two-sided, the negation of finite determinations and a self-cancellation. There, Hegel had only pointed to a system yet to come, but also to Plato as having grasped the principle of rational unity. Plato is again invoked, now more substantively, and Hegel claims that his Parmenides is the “perfect and self-sustaining document and system of genuine skepticism” (2000, 323; TWA 2: 228) and the historical problem of the relation of Platonism to Academic and Pyrrhonist skepticism is worked out in detail.35  A proper resolution would combine the partial truths of the Wissenschaftslehre and of the philosophy of nature, and Hegel hints at a system to come, which would formulate the self-intuition of reason in the triad of art-religion-philosophy (1977a, 160–72; TWA 2:100–113). At the same time, Hegel indicates that the true principle of rational unity was already encountered in Plato’s Timaeus (ibid., 157–8; 97). 34  “Locke and the eudaemonists transformed philosophy into empirical psychology… The philosophies of Kant, Jacobi, and Fichte are the completion and idealization of this empirical psychology.” (Hegel 1977b, 63; TWA 2:297). 35  This historical problem contains the issue of seeing how dogmatism (Plato) is also a skepticism and how skepticism (Academic) is also a dogmatism, and the yet deeper issue of a third position (philosophy itself) consisting in their intrinsic and exhaustive transformations. It belongs substan33

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The Parmenides, for Hegel, demolishes all finite determinations and represents the first side of the work of reason, as do the older ancient skepticism directed against common sense or naïve consciousness and the later ancient skepticism directed against the various disciplinary dogmatisms of a scientific consciousness. The second side of the work of reason is exemplified, for Hegel, by a key passage from Sextus Empiricus (Ad. Log. 310–12), where the skeptic turns against reason (nous) itself, but comes up short, because it is analyzed in terms of wholes and parts. The grounds for misapprehending the work of reason in quantitative terms were laid by Kant’s conception of the unconditioned through a series of syntheses and by Fichte’s third fundamental principle in his Foundations, which conceives of rational syntheses through a scheme of divisibility. Sextus generates a dilemma using the conception of mind that either knows itself as a whole or as a part, where one horn leaves the whole mind intact by itself with nothing left over to be known (absolute subjectivism or idealism) and the other horn divides the mind in infinitely regressing parts attempting self-apprehension as parts, thus leaving the object intact with nothing to know it (absolute objectivism or realism). Hegel tries to understand these two acts of skepticism through the five tropes of Agrippa, by trying to progressively generate each trope out of the preceding ones, albeit in a haphazard way. I cannot enter into the details of his effort but let me make some quick observations in lieu of that required analysis. The Sextus list36 runs as: diversity or dispute, infinite regress, relationship, presupposition, and circularity. Hegel first describes these according to the first act of skepticism (a positive skepticism turned against dogmatism, which takes the finite as absolute) in the order: relationship, reciprocity, presupposition, infinite regress, dispute; and then describes them according to the second act of skepticism (a negative skepticism turned against reason, which takes the absolute as finite) in the order: dispute, relationship, reciprocity, hypothesis, infinite regress. One can thus see (a) that the trope of relationship is adjusted to preserve the inner trilemma of reciprocity-presupposition-infinite regress as constant and (b) that the end of the anti-dogmatic exercise (dispute) is the beginning of the anti-rational exercise. tively to the Schulze-critique, because to miss the problem is to also misunderstand one’s own skepticism. Also note that his early work already begins the critical historiography that later develops into a full-fledged philosophy of history. Hegel’s reading of the historical details of the said problem (323–7; 2:227–234), for example, defends Ficino against Tiedemann to get at Plato’s position and questions Schulze’s reliance on Stäudlin, who downplays the role of the Middle and New Academies valued highly by Hegel both here and more fully in the Lectures on the History of Philosophy. The numerous layers of history writing – general notes on contemporary culture, history of skepticism as given in Sextus, grand narratives of philosophy as a fall into history, finegrained historiographical debates between historians –are all present together in the present works and form an essential context for the philosophical inquiries. Disentangling the various threads and studying Hegel’s own progress towards his philosophy of history and the relation of all this to his conception of skepticism –remains a matter of further research. 36  Sextus himself offers this list but goes on to think about the progression within this list in different ways (PH 1.164–177), and Hegel is following his lead in this, although with a different intent and with different ordering. I am only considering Hegel’s presentation of these lists and progressions above, although a fuller analysis will reveal much about Hegel’s reception of Sextus.

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Comparing this 1802 triple presentation of the Agrippan tropes with the triple presentation recorded in Hegel’s Lectures on the History of Philosophy (1896/1974: 2:357–363) a little later,37 shows Hegel finessing a more streamlined ordering, which (a) also preserves the inner trilemma as constant, albeit as infinite regress-­ reciprocity-­hypothesis, which handles the Kantian antinomic structure better, and (b) shows the anti-dogmatic exercise starting with the dispute about the criterion and ending with the trope of relationship, which latter leads into the Sextus dilemma, and then the anti-rational exercise starts with the trope of relationship and ends with dispute as the mere contraposition of subjective opinions – thus creating a closed circuit more decisively. The latter is especially important because, already for Hegel in 1802, the trope of “relationship” signifies the antinomic work of reason as such, which manifests itself in the method of equipollence that Hegel takes over from Kant, but with the added stress that the mutually referring apagogic structure of Kantian antinomies should characterize reason’s positive work in relating and not just opposing claims to each other. Thus, the inner logic of skepticism is thought as a progression of concepts, which dissolves finite determinations, and self-cancels towards the concept of self-­ consciousness, even if in the deficient forms of skeptical phrasing that claim to only report one’s inner state before an “appearance” (Sextus, PH, I.187–205). For Hegel, then, the schematic and the historical self-dissolution of skepticism leads to this point (2000, 338; TWA 2:248–9). In 1802 Hegel has not developed a method to derive propositions from each other via “determinate negation,”38 which is reflected by the relatively awkward development of the structure of the tropes. Similarly, Hegel has not yet worked out the dialectical interplay of naïve and philosophical consciousness, which his 1807 Phenomenology of Spirit does, and which was deemed essential to overcome Fichte’s residual subjectivism. So, the passage from the transcendental intuition (or rational unity of Platonic metaphysics progressing through the skeptical activity of reason) to ordinary empirical consciousness or unphilosophical idiosyncrasy is proposed equally awkwardly. Likewise, comparisons with the Lectures (1896/1974, 2:366) and the Phenomenology (Introduction) show that the basis in a theory of skepticism of Hegel’s critique of representationalism, which unravels contradictions in shapes of consciousness (comprising subjective and objective poles and representational content), is hovering on the horizon in the Skepticism essay. For Hegel (2000, 341–2; TWA 2:253–5) questions modern skepticism’s central presupposition of intrinsic certainty for facts of consciousness  Since this whole taxonomy is mangled, and altogether missing crucial components like the trope of relationship, in the 1825–1826 version of his Lectures (Hegel 2006, 312–14), Hegel’s working out of the order of the tropes may be dated somewhere between 1805–1817. A more precise dating, a task I must set aside for another occasion, would help understand the development of Hegel’s views on skepticism from the 1807 Phenomenology to the 1817 Encyclopaedia Logic. 38  I have tried to indicate this by calling the second act of skepticism a self-cancelation rather than a negation of negation. I concur with Manfred Baum (1986, 187–92) on this. Baum also sees the above ‘result’ of skeptical self-annihilation, which yields purely subjective attitudes without epistemic content, as either amounting to a claim to know nothing or as having retracted all critical power against another and thus passing over to positivist objectivity. 37

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by pointing out the contradiction between its claim, on the one hand, that the identity of being and thinking is given to or presupposed by ordinary consciousness (to ground certainty of facts of consciousness) and its claim, on the other hand, that we exist in a subjective trap and cannot get past thinking to reach beings (to disable all explanation of cognition by treating “explanation” as a thinking and “cognition” as a thing). The same contradiction between ordinary and philosophical consciousness is developed in terms of the gap between the essence of consciousness (pure) that remains beyond (empirical) consciousness in the Differenzshcrift’s critique of Fichte’s system, and the Phenomenology’s resolution of this by articulating the essence of consciousness as a self-testing to generate experience is only barely on the horizon. Thus, the historical account of skepticism serves to show the work of reason at this point, and crucial to this account is the historical and schematic transformation of positions  – between Platonic, Academic, and Pyrrhonist forms, between anti-­ dogmatic and anti-rational forms, and between ancient-critical and modern-­ dogmatic forms. The last, in particular, helps see the culture of reflection as the predominance of subjective variety or dispute and theories of consciousness in need of systematic grounding. The previous paragraph suggested how, according to Hegel, this need is not met by Schulze and how it might be met by Hegel’s later works. However, how, according to Hegel, Schulze himself proposed meeting these needs, highlights Hegel’s conception of modern skepticism as a variant of or co-­ variant with empirical psychology. For Schulze’s commitment to mental contents belong with his other theoretical commitments, as Hegel points out. From the very outset, Schulze takes his orientation to the question of what philosophy is and what its contents and divisions are from a diluted Kantianism, which, for Hegel, is indistinguishably mixed with empirical psychology. In this case, empirical psychological distinctions between facts of consciousness ground the divisions of philosophy into theoretical, practical, and aesthetic parts (ibid., 317; 218). Hegel emphasizes the contrast between Schulze’s approach, which takes over these given facts from a particular science to consider what philosophy itself is in all its breadth, with the properly skeptical approach of Sextus, who begins by placing scholastic and sectarian divisions of philosophy into question. I would emphasize, in addition, two further contexts of this contrast: (1) Fichte’s “concept” of the Wissenschaftslehre hangs on the assumption (against the skeptic and with Reinhold) that there is science, and the further assumptions that philosophy is not only a science but the science of science; (2) Hegel’s Phenomenology adopts the method of “thoroughgoing skepticism” as the way from natural consciousness to a science of consciousness, ultimately yielding the principle for systematic knowing, and Hegel’s Encyclopaedia Logic assimilates the method of skepticism into the structure of the science of logic, thus taking the skeptic’s questioning of philosophy absolutely seriously before assigning it a place within the

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system of sciences.39 Further, Schulze rests his own conception of cognition on empirical psychology, when he takes the identity of thinking and being to consist in the presence or absence of mental states and contents ascertained through introspection (ibid., 343; 256). Finally, Schulze takes on the grand innatist (Plato, Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz) and aprioristic (Kant) epistemologies of the history of philosophy and measures them by empirical psychology’s yardstick to hold them faulty (ibid., 344–54; 257–52). With this, modern skepticism is classified along with the other empirical disciplines and shows up in passing among shadow shapes cast by ancient skepticism (Lectures on the History of Philosophy), as a footnote to empiricism as a position of thought (Encyclopaedia Logic), and, at best, as a noble but unfruitful urge or instinct (Jacobi in Faith and Knowledge). Ancient skepticism, on the one hand, is raised to the highest principle of philosophy itself and in this form starts becoming assimilated into the method of a systematic philosophy of pure reason, and, on the other hand, ancient skepticism is part of the longer historical story of the degradation of the unity of reason into a subjective singularity of consciousness. Skepticism, for Hegel, just is what transforms metaphysics into subjective idealism and empiricism, rational cognition into empirical psychology and commonsense dogmatism, into lower forms of itself historically, into higher forms of itself schematically, and is absorbed in its consummate form into the method of philosophy or shelved beside various other empirical disciplines in a popular-intellectual culture. Hegel’s conception of skepticism collects and heightens different Kantian and Fichtean stresses on its schematic, transformative roles and its historical forms. This absorption of the many forms of skepticism into the general form of transformation underlies and motors the massive systems of the subject produced by German Idealism. Perhaps this systemic absorption by means of giving skepticism the form of a certain discipline (logic) and placing it beside other sub-disciplines (the new empirical studies of intellect and mind) also underlies the disciplined production of the subject of philosophy today through mandatory, and sometimes desultory, modular exercises of interrogating one’s own convictions.

Bibliographical References Ameriks, Karl. 2000. Kant’s Theory of Mind. An Analysis of the Paralogisms of Pure Reason. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Baum, Manfred. 1986. Die Entstehung der Hegelschen Dialektik. Bonn: Bouvier. ———. 1990. Kosmologie und Dialektik bei Platon und Hegel. In Hegel und die antike Dialektik, ed. Manfred Riedel, 192–207. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp.  See f.n.29 above, Hegel 1977c, 50, 56–7, and on the significance of the designation of skepticism as one of the “sides” of logic, see Michael Wolff’s careful analysis (1996). Wolff’s article also helps us see the particular significance of this designation in light of Hegel’s reformulation and advance upon the Kantian science of logic, which includes a transcendental logic, where the skeptical method plays a key part.

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Baur, Michael. 1999. The Role of Skepticism in the Emergence of German Idealism. In The Emergence of German Idealism, ed. Michael Baur and Dahlstrom Daniel, 63–92. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Berkeley, George. 1979. In Three Dialogues Between Hylaes and Philonous, ed. R.M.  Adams. Indianapolis: Hackett. Bowman, Brady. 2013. Hegel and the Metaphysics of Absolute Negativity. New York: Cambridge University Press. Breazeale, Daniel. 1991. Fichte on Skepticism. Journal of the History of Philosophy 29 (3): 427–453. ———. 1998. Putting Doubt in its Place: Karl Leonard Reinhold on the Relationship between Philosophical Skepticism and Transcendental Idealism. In Popkin and van der Zande, eds., 119–132. ———. 2016. Reinhold/Fichte/Schulze: A Re-examination. In Krankheit des Zeitalters oder heilsame Provokation? ed. Bondeli, Chotaš, and Vieweg, 151–179. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Charles, Sébastien, and Plínio Smith, eds. 2013. Scepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung. Dordrecht: Springer. di Giovanni, George, and Henry Harris, eds. 2000. Between Kant and Hegel: Texts in the Development of Post-Kantian Idealism. Indianapolis: Hackett. ———, eds. 2005. Freedom and Religion in Kant and his Immediate Successors. New  York: Cambridge University Press. Dyck, Corey. 2014. Kant and Rational Pyschology. New York: Oxford University Press. Engstler, Achim. 1996. Hegels Kritik am Skeptizismus Gottfried Ernst Schulzes. In , ed. Fulda and Horstmann, 98–114. Fichte, Johann. 1982. The Science of Knowledge, ed. and trans. P. Heath and J. Lachs. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1988. Fichte: Early Philosophical Writings, trans. and ed. D. Breazeale. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. ———. 1994. Introductions to the Wissenschaftslehre and Other Writings (1797–1800), ed. and trans. D. Breazeale. Indianapolis: Hackett. Forster, Michael. 1996. Hegel on the Superiority of Ancient over Modern Skepticism. In , ed. Fulda and Horstmann, 64–82. ———. 2005. Hegelian vs. Kantian Interpretations of Pyrrhonism: Revolution or Reaction? Kritisches Jahrbuch der Philosophie 10: 53–70. ———. 2008. Kant and Skepticism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Franks, Paul. 2014. Skepticism after Kant. In Varieties of Skepticism: Essays after Kant, Wittgenstein, and Cavell, ed. James Conant and Andrea Kern, 17–58. Berlin: de Gruyter. Fulda, Hans Friedrich, and Rolf-Peter Horstmann, eds. 1996. Skeptizismus und Spekulatives Denken in der Philosophie Hegels. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. 1896/1974 (repr.). Lectures on the History of Philosophy, trans. Haldane and Simon, 3 vols. New York: Humanities Press. ———. 1970. Werke in zwanzig Bände, eds. E. Moldenhauer and K.M.Michel. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. [ TWA, volume: page]. ———. 1977a. Difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s System of Philosophy, trans. W. Cerf and H. S. Harris. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. 1977b. Faith and Knowledge, trans. W. Cerf and H.S. Harris. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. 1977c. Phenomenology of Spirit, trans. A. V. Miller. New York: Oxford University Press. ———. 1991. The Encyclopaedia Logic, trans. T.  Geraets, W.  Suchting, and H.  Harris (Indianapolis: Hackett). ———. 2000. On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy. In di Giovanni and Harris, ed., 313–362.

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———. 2006. In Lectures on the History of Philosophy, vol. 2: Greek Philosophy, ed. Robert Brown. New York: Oxford University Press. Henrich, Dieter. 2003. In Between Kant and Hegel: Lectures on German Idealism, ed. D. Pacini. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Kant, Immanuel. 1992. Lectures on Logic, trans. and ed. J. Michael Young. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1996. Critique of Practical Reason. In Practical Philosophy, trans. and ed. Mary Gregor, 133–271. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1998. Critique of Pure Reason, trans. P.  Guyer and A.  Wood. New  York: Cambridge University Press [Cited per standard A/B pagination]. ———. 2002. Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, trans. G.  Hatfield. In Theoretical Philosophy After 1781, ed. H.  Allison and P.  Heath, 49–169. New  York: Cambridge University Press. Kuehn, Manfred. 1983. Kant’s Conception of ‘Hume’s Problem’. Journal of the History of Philosophy 21 (1): 175–193. ———. 1987. Scottish Common-Sense in Germany, 1768–1800. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. ———. 1998. Skepticism: Philosophical Disease or Cure? In Popkin and van der Zande, ed., 81–100. Makkreel, Rudolf. 1998. Kant’s Responses to Skepticism. In Popkin and van der Zande, ed., 101–109. Micheli, Giuseppe. 2015. Philosophy and Historiography: The Kantian Turning Point, trans. Hilary Siddons. In Models of the History of Philosophy, ed. G.  Piaia and G.  Santinello, 697–768. Dordrecht: Springer. Paganini, Gianni, ed. 2003. The Return of Scepticism: From Hobbes and Descartes to Bayle. Dordrecht: Springer. ———. 2011. The Quarrel between Ancient and Modern scepticism: Some Reflections on Descartes and his Context. Revista Estudos Hume(a)nos 2 (1): 32–50. Popkin, Richard. 1997. Scepticism and Anti-Scepticism in the Latter Part of the Eighteenth Century. In Popkin, de Olaso, and Tonelli, ed., 17–34. Popkin, Richard, and John Laursen. 1998. Sources of knowledge of Sextus Empiricus in Kant’s time: A French translation of Sextus Empiricus from the Prussian academy, 1779. British Journal for the History of Philosophy 6: 261–267. Popkin, Richard, and Johan van der Zande, eds. 1998. The Skeptical Tradition around 1800. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Popkin, Richard, Ezequiel de Olaso, and Giorgio Tonelli, eds. 1997. Scepticism in the Enlightenment. Dordrecht: Springer. Reinhold, Karl Leonard. 2011. Essay on a New Theory on the Human Capacity of Representation, trans. T. Mehigan and B. Empson. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Sassen, Brigitte, ed. and trans. 2000. Kant’s Early Critics. New York: Cambridge University Press. [Contains the Feder/Garve review on pp. 50–58]. Schulze, Gottlob. 1803. Aphorismen über das Absolute. In Neues Museum der Philosophie und Litteratur, ed. F. Bouterwerk, Bd. I, Hf. 2, 107—148. ———. 1805. Die Hauptmomente der skeptische Denkart über das menschliche Erkenntnis. In Neues Museum der Philosophie und Litteratur, ed. F. Bouterwerk, Bd. 3, Hf. 2, 3—35. Leipzig. ———. 2000. Aenesidemus, or Concerning the Foundations of the Philosophy of the Elements Issued by Prof. Reinhold in Jena Together With A Defense of Skepticism Against the Pretensions of the Critique of Reason (Excerpt), trans. G. di Giovanni, eds di Giovanni and Harris, 105–135. Sextus Empiricus. 1994. Outlines of Scepticism, trans. J.  Annas and J.  Barnes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. [Cited per Fabricius “book, section” reference.] Smith, Plínio. 2013a. Kant’s Criticism and the Legacy of Modern Scepticism. In Charles and Smith, ed., 247–263.

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———. 2013b. Bayle and Pyrrhonism: Antinomy, Method, and History. In Charles and Smith, ed., 19–30. Testa, Italo. 2003. Skeptische Antinomie und Anerkennung beim jungen Hegel. In Wissen und Begründung (Kritische Jahrbuch der Philosophie, vol.8), ed. Klaus Vieweg and Brady Bowman, 171–178. Würzburg: Königshausen & Hausen Verlag. ———. 2013. Scepticisme et dialectique des Lumières chez le jeune Hegel. In Charles and Smith, ed., 281–97. Thiel, Udo. 2001. Kant’s Notion of Self-Consciousness in Context. In Kant und die Berliner Aufklärung, ed. Gerhardt, Horstmann, and Schumacher, vol. 2, 468–476. Berlin: de Gruyter. Tonelli, Giorgio. 1997. Kant and Ancient Skepticism. In Popkin, de Olaso, and Tonelli, ed., trans. J. C. Laursen, 69–98. van der Zande, Johan. 1998. The Moderate Skepticism of German Popular Philosophy. In Popkin and van der Zande, ed., 69–80. Wolff, Michael. 1996. Die ‘Momente’ des Logischen und der ‘Anfang’ der Logik in Hegels philosophischer Wissenschaft. In, ed Fulda and Horstmann, 226–43. Wunderlich, Falk. 2018. Platner on Kant: From Skepticism to Dogmatic Critique. In Kant and his German Contemporaries, ed. Dyck and Wunderlich, vol. 1, 155–171. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 15

Skepticism and Negation in the Young Hegel: Schulze, Fichte and Nihilism Eduardo Brandão

Abstract  This paper tries to show that one aspect of Hegel’s review of G.E. Schulze’s Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, a review entitled On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy, is an indirect criticism of Fichte. Hegel’s text, published in 1802, takes up positions developed in the Difference essay (1801) and Faith and Knowledge (1802). In the text on Schulze, Hegel’s critical reference to philosophies of the understanding (a central subject in Difference) is fundamental to the refinement of his understanding of skepticism and dogmatism. One result is that Fichte’s idealism comes to be understood as dogmatic (as in Faith and Knowledge) instead of subjective (as in Difference). At the same time, the text on Schulze incorporates criticisms of Fichte inspired by Jacobi (which are made explicit in Faith and Knowledge), criticisms that are directed against Schulze’s skepticism, which is classified as dogmatic by Hegel, and that may therefore be read as a kind of skeptical development of Fichte’s doctrine of science. Because Fichte chose as an interlocutor one specific form of skepticism, namely Schulze’s modern skepticism, he has to set his doctrine of science within the logic of the understanding; as a result, he is unable to think the idea of negation beyond the strict limits of this very understanding and so abandons the path of philosophy and true speculation.

Hegel’s review of Schulze’s Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, entitled On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy, is one of the central texts for understanding Hegel’s position on skepticism. It is an analysis that—at least according to Hegel’s statements in his Encyclopedia—fits without trouble into his mature system. There are several possible approaches to evaluating the review: we can think about the relation between Hegel and skepticism—both ancient and modern; about his interpretation of ancient skepticism; or about the way he understands the presence of skepticism in modernity. This article takes none of those approaches, though. E. Brandão (*) Sao Paulo University, São Paulo, Brazil e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_15

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The idea here is to attempt to evaluate the review’s entwinement with topics developed in two other works from the same period, the Difference essay and Faith and Knowledge. Thus, we aim at showing that, in commenting on and interpreting Schulze’s book, Hegel might have had another target in mind, one already criticized in the other two earlier texts: Fichte. In other words, we intend to suggest that, for Hegel, Schulze’s skepticism as developed in his Critique of Theoretical Philosophy is but a skeptical caricature of Fichte’s idealism. We will attempt to devise, from Hegel’s review, a way that leads from Schulze’s Aenesidemus to his Critique of Theoretical Philosophy by way of the first formulations of Fichte’s Science of Knowledge,1 a way in which skepticism, instead of preparing the path towards philosophy, ends up diverting it (philosophy) into the form of an idealism that is nihilistic and ends up turning skepticism itself, in its modern version, exemplified by Schulze, into a variant of such nihilism. Schulze’s Critique of Theoretical Philosophy dates back to 1801, the same year in which the Difference essay was published. On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy was published in 1802, a few months prior to Faith and Knowledge and a full ten years after Schulze’s Aenesidemus, a book whose impact was, according to Hartmann,2 much deeper than that caused by the later Critique of Theoretical Philosophy. One might wonder what drove Schulze’s considerations on skepticism and his skeptical reading of Kant’s philosophy in 1801, when Fichte and Schelling were rising to prominence. Regarding this skeptical critique of Kant’s philosophy, we are all aware of the influence of Aenesidemus—not only for its analysis of Reinhold’s philosophy, considered then the most adequate way for the continued development of Kantianism, but also for the points raised against Kantian philosophy itself. Nine years later, in 1801, the tone of Schulze’s critique of Kant seems to remain the same overall. It is evident that in Critique of Theoretical Philosophy it is more well-developed and encompasses more topics (as would be expected due merely to its length). What to us seems to be a central point of Schulze’s skeptical critique of Kant’s philosophy— the, say, supposition of the thing-in-itself understood both externally (thought of, for example, as connected to sensation) as well as internally (connected to the idea of some sort of subject-in-itself)—is present in both texts. To summarize, from this point of view—that of the critique of the Kantian philosophy—the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy seems to bring us close to Aenesidemus. I cannot think of anyone else, apart from Schopenhauer, who might have been as moved by this “new” attack against Kant, not even Hegel. That being so, it seems to us that in Hegel’s review it is above all Schulze’s considerations regarding ancient skepticism that most interest the reviewer. The 1  About the relations between Schulze, Fichte, and Schopenhauer, see E.  Brandão, Fichte et Schopenhauer face au scepticisme de Schulze. In: Sébastien Charles; Plínio J.  Smith. (eds.). Scepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, International Archives of the History of Ideas/Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 210, p.  315–326. Dordrecht: Springer. 2  Hartmann, Nicolai, A filosofia do idealismo alemão, p. 24.

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analysis of Schulze’s skepticism is, as we know, an exemplary exposition of the correct and productive dimension of skepticism according to Hegel. Nevertheless, we believe the text plays still another role in Hegel’s development: it widens the gap between him and Fichte—mainly when we remember the importance Schulze’s skepticism had to Fichte’s doctrine of science. In this way, the publication of the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy wound up being an excellent opportunity for Hegel not only to circumscribe what his understanding of skepticism and dogmatism was, but also to make his distancing from Fichte even clearer. In other words, Fichte’s relation to Schulze’s skepticism showed Hegel he should choose the ancient school of skepticism—as opposed to its modern version—as the one to be dealt with and overcome, so that philosophy would not fall prey to the traps that capture the idealism of the doctrine of science. In a situation that also (and fundamentally) involves reflection on Jacobi’s critique of Fichte, the analysis of the skepticism of Critique of Theoretical Philosophy would be a unique position for Hegel to organize the way he understands the relation between skepticism and philosophy,3 which results from the journey that goes from Aenesidemus to Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, moving past the doctrine of science. Let us see how. Fichte, as is well-known, at the beginning of the doctrine of science, writes about the impact of Aenesidemus on his philosophy; at that time, Critique of Theoretical Philosophy had not been published yet. We know, therefore, that he incorporated Schulze’s critiques of both Reinhold and Kant. Although, as we have suggested, the core of the critique of Kant in Critique of Theoretical Philosophy seems to be already present in Aenesidemus, we believe that Fichte would not regard the skeptical analysis of the Critique as equivalent to the one found in Aenesidemus—given, among other reasons, how important the philosophy of Reinhold was to Fichte then. Besides that, it seems to us that the skepticism in Aenesidemus is not, as Hegel thought, a dogmatic skepticism. For instance, there are formulations in Aenesidemus that suggest a sense of skepticism that wouldn’t be so vulnerable to Hegel’s critique. Let us consider the following passage from Aenesidemus: According to my conception, skepticism is nothing but the affirmation according to which nothing, in philosophy, has been established following principles of indisputable certainty and universal validity, either regarding the existence or not of things-in-themselves and their properties, or regarding the limits of the powers of human understanding… It is therefore excluded by skepticism to declare, as eternally impossible, an answer to the questions raised by human reason regarding the existence or non-existence of things-in-themselves, regarding their real and objective properties, and regarding the limits of the faculties of the understanding. It does not have a closed position about what reason (Vernunft) can achieve in the sphere of speculation (Spekulation), nor about that which it might one day achieve. (Schulze, Aenesidemus, p. 24)

3  See Beiser, F. C., The fate of reason, p. 268: “Like many philosophers who were heavily indebted to Kant, Hegel felt challenged by Schulze’s skepticism; and in taking issue with it, he was forced to define the proper relationship between philosophy and skepticism in general. The conclusion of these reflections -that a true skepticism plays a positive role in every system of philosophy—was an important step toward the development of Hegel’s dialectic in the Phanomenologie”.

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This passage, it seems to us, puts forth a conception of skepticism very much to Hegel’s liking. We are, it seems, quite far from the conception of dogmatic skepticism of the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy that Hegel establishes for the reader: from this passage from Aenesidemus there does not seem to be either facts of consciousness or certainty in science. Here, skepticism does not seem to be that partial and selective skepticism present in the Critique, which ultimately seems to oppose only certain philosophical judgments pertaining to things-in-themselves. But even if we could apply Hegel’s critiques to the skepticism of Aenesidemus, the result we seek here would remain unaltered. As a matter of fact, this sort of narrowing which Schulze’s skepticism undergoes from Aenesidemus to Critique of Theoretical Philosophy fits Hegel like a glove: in this way, reviewing Schulze’s book was an excellent opportunity for Hegel to revisit the theme of skepticism as it was present to some of his contemporaries. And something fundamental can be noticed in Hegel’s position in relation to Schulze: it is as important to understand the characteristics of this new skepticism as to realize where it leads. It is at this point that a reader of Fichte finishes Hegel’s review of Schulze with a suspicion— they have the impression that the critique there is addressed also to the doctrine of science. The following passage illustrates this: This sundering of the rational, in which thinking and being are one, and the absolute insistence (Festhalten) on this opposition, in other words the understanding made absolute, constitutes the endlessly repeated and universally applied ground of this dogmatic skepticism. (Hegel, On the relationship between skepticism to philosophy, p. 339)

It is as if Hegel, with his analysis of Schulze’s book, told Fichte: taking this modern skeptic as an exemplary interlocutor and from that point building your own thought can only lead to a position where the understanding is made absolute. Or, more broadly, starting from modern skepticism can result only in a philosophy that cannot overcome the limits of the understanding. Let us take, in this sense, this passage from Hegel’s Encyclopedia: Incidentally, Humean scepticism, from which the preceding reflection chiefly proceeds, must be clearly distinguished from Greek scepticism. Humean scepticism makes the truth of the empirical, of feeling and intuition its foundation, and from there contests the universal determinations and laws on the grounds that they lack justification through sensory perception. Ancient skepticism was so far removed from making feeling or intuition the principle of truth that to the contrary it turned first and foremost against the sensory. (On modern skepticism as compared to the ancient, see Schelling’s and Hegel’s Kritisches Journal der Philosophie, 1802, vol. I, no. 2.). (Hegel, Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences, Science of Logic §39, p. 82)

Considering this passage—and the reference it makes to Hegel’s review of the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy—it is noteworthy that, whether linked to Hume or to Schulze, modern skepticism is ultimately attached to some sort of certainty (the truth of the empirical in Hume, the facts of consciousness in Schulze)—which means, in the end, to turn the logic of understanding into an absolute. This is apparent throughout the review of Schulze’s book—which, in this sense, can and must be read according to the Difference essay, where Hegel presents the limits of this way of considering things. The section of that essay entitled “Various Forms Occurring

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in Contemporary Philosophy” is largely dedicated to showing the differences between the understanding and reason. These analyses appear in several passages in On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy—which seems natural, considering that the review was written soon before the Difference essay. Thus, the interpretation of Schulze’s modern skepticism that we find in the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy matches that of Fichte’s philosophy—both in the Difference essay and in Faith and Knowledge. Let us consider this more closely. Hegel writes in the Difference essay: The principle, the Subject-Object, turns out to be a subjective Subject-Object. What is deduced from it thereby gets the form of a conditioning of pure consciousness, of the Ego = Ego; and pure consciousness itself takes on the form of something conditioned by an objective infinity, namely the temporal progression ad infinitum. Transcendental intuition loses itself in this infinite progression and the Ego fails to constitute itself as absolute self-­ intuition. Hence, Ego = Ego is transformed into the principle ‘Ego ought to be equal to Ego.’ Reason is placed in absolute opposition, i.e., it is degraded to the level of intellect [Verstand], and it is this degraded Reason that becomes the principle of the shapes that the Absolute must give itself, and of the Sciences of these shapes. (Hegel, The difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s system of philosophy, p. 81)

All it takes for us to notice we are in the vicinity of the distinction between skepticism and dogmatism drawn in Hegel’s mature works is to refer to the Encyclopedia (part I, §32, p. 71): Dogmatism has its opposite at first in scepticism. The ancient sceptics generally called every philosophy dogmatic to the extent that it set up definite doctrines [Lehrsätze]. In this wider sense, genuinely speculative philosophy also counts as dogmatic for scepticism. The dogmatic element in the narrower sense, however, consists in holding onto one-sided determinations of the understanding to the exclusion of their opposites. This is in general the strict either/or and accordingly it is said, for instance, that the world is either finite or infinite, but only one of the two. By contrast, the true, the speculative is precisely what does not possess such a one-sided determination and is not exhausted by it, but rather unites within itself as a totality those determinations that for dogmatism count as something fixed and true in their separation.

Despite the similarity of the Difference essay and the Encyclopedia—the relation between understanding, reason, and reflection presented in the former is ominous of the definition of dogmatism found in the latter—, in Hegel’s Difference essay, the analysis of Fichte’s philosophy does not, it seems to us, take it as dogmatic. Hegel writes: Dogmatic idealism maintains its monism (Einheit des Prinzips) by denying the object altogether: it posits one of the opposites, the subject in its determinateness, as absolute. Likewise, the dogmatism which in its pure form is materialism, denies the subjective… The purely subjective is just as much an abstraction as the purely objective. Dogmatic idealism posits the subjective as the real ground of the objective, dogmatic realism the objective as the real ground of the subjective… Some of the forms in which Fichte has presented his system might mislead one into believing that it is a system of dogmatic idealism denying the opposite principle. Indeed, Reinhold overlooks the transcendental significance of the Fichtean principle which requires one to posit the difference of subject and object in Ego = Ego at the same time as their

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identity. He regards Fichte’s system as a system of absolute subjectivity, that is, a dogmatic idealism. But precisely what distinguishes Fichte’s idealism is that the identity which it establishes is one that does not deny the objective but puts the subjective and the objective in the same rank of reality and certainty; and that pure and empirical consciousness are one. For the sake of the identity of subject and object I posit things outside myself just as surely as I posit myself. The things exist as certainly as I do.—But if the Ego posits things alone or itself alone—just one of the two terms or even both at once but separately—then the Ego will not, in the system, come to be Subject-Object to itself. True, the subjective is Subject-­ Object, but the objective is not. Hence subject is not equal to object. (Hegel, The difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s system of philosophy, p. 126–128)

We see in this passage that the fact that Fichte keeps the opposition subject/object tied to the principle I=I does not turn his philosophy into a dogmatic idealism but into a subjective idealism. And that is because in the Difference essay, the conception of dogmatism is softer than it is in the Encyclopedia. In the 1801 text, a dogmatic system is understood in this way: If the fundamental need has not achieved perfect embodiment in the system, if it has elevated to the Absolute something that is conditioned and that exists only as an opposite, then as a system it becomes dogmatism. Yet true speculation can be found in the most divergent philosophies, in philosophies that decry one another as sheer dogmatism or as mental aberration. (Hegel, The difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s system of philosophy, p.114)

According to this interpretation, Fichte’s system is not dogmatic, for it contains the true principle of speculation—the identity of the opposites subject and object. The fact that this principle is lost (the identity is established solely subjectively, not objectively) and that, in this very movement, reason is reduced to understanding (i.e., that deep down the doctrine of science is a philosophy of the understanding) does not make Fichte’s idealism dogmatic, but subjective. This understanding of Fichte’s idealism is made possible by way of the softer definition of dogmatism put forth in Difference Essay. Nevertheless, in Faith and Knowledge this assessment of Fichte’s philosophy as non-dogmatic is gone: In their totality, the philosophies we have considered have in this way recast the dogmatism of being into the dogmatism of thinking, the metaphysic of objectivity into the metaphysic of subjectivity. Thus, through this whole philosophical revolution the old dogmatism and the metaphysic of reflection have at first glance merely taken on the hue of inwardness, of the latest cultural fashion. The soul as thing is transformed into the Ego, the soul as practical Reason into the absoluteness of the personality and singularity of the subject. (Hegel, Faith and Knowledge, p. 88)

His criticisms of Schulze’s Critique of Theoretical Philosophy refines Hegel’s understanding not only of skepticism, but also of dogmatism. In other words, the conception of dogmatism in the review changed from that in the Difference essay and is essentially that of the Encyclopedia: dogmatic is every philosophy that stays within the limits of the understanding, whether or not it has found a speculative principle. Hence, Hegel characterizes Schulze’s skepticism as dogmatic, for it remains tied to the logic of the understanding. It is this fundamental displacement, it seems to us, that is incorporated in Faith and Knowledge in the analyses of Kant, Jacobi, and Fichte. The definition of dogmatism becomes wider and more rigid, so that Kant’s and Fichte’s idealisms are now considered dogmatic, regardless of

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having reached, each in its own way, the principle of speculation. The same reasoning applies to Jacobi’s philosophy. Given how closely in time the review and Faith and Knowledge were written (only a few months separate them), it is natural to suppose that the texts shed light on each other. If we are right to think that the analysis of Schulze’s skepticism is fundamental for Hegel’s understanding of dogmatism, we must by the same token suggest that Jacobi’s analysis of Fichte’s philosophy—we are considering particularly the famous 1799 letter from Jacobi to Fichte—is pivotal regarding his stance towards the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy. Hegel, when discussing that branch of ancient skepticism that not only has to do with philosophy but also goes against it, observes that, as an extreme consequence, said skepticism closes itself (and is lost, ceasing to be skepticism) in an absolute subjectivity, a nothing: Because of the orientation of skepticism against knowing in general, it is impelled, since it sets one thought against another, and so combats the “is” of philosophical thought, to sublate the “is” of its own thought likewise, and thus to keep itself within the pure negativity which is, per se, a pure subjectivity. How sickening the skeptics were about this, we have already seen above in the case of the New Academy, who asserted that everything is uncertain, and that this proposition embraced itself within its own range; yet this is not skeptical enough for Sextus, he distinguishes the Academy from Skepticism, because even in asserting this, they are setting up a proposition and dogmatizing; yet that proposition expresses the height of skepticism so well that Sextus’ distinction becomes something entirely empty. (Hegel, On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy p. 337–338)

Hegel’s argument in this intricate passage suggests that the ancient skeptics (including the Academics, according to Hegel) managed to deal with this extreme, i.e., they did not shut themselves in an absolute subjectivity, thus keeping their stance against dogmatism. But this is not the case with Schulze’s skepticism: it shuts itself off into a pure subjectivity, falling into dogmatism, destroying the objective pole: In this extreme of supreme consistency, the extreme of negativity, or subjectivity, which no longer limited itself to the subjectivity of character, which is also objectivity, but grew into a subjectivity of knowledge, which directed itself against knowledge, skepticism was strictly bound to become inconsistent; for the extreme cannot maintain itself without the opposite; so pure negativity or subjectivity, is either nothing at all, because it nullifies itself at the extreme, or else it must at the same time be supremely objective. (Hegel, On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy, p. 338)

Schulze’s skepticism goes astray from the true skepticism—in the three variants Hegel offers us in the review—and becomes dogmatic by not restricting subjectivity to the limits of character, i.e., of a certain skeptical ethos. That means that the character of this subjectivity, of this negativity, is not restricted to a skeptical position: on the contrary, it advances towards an epistemological position which is no longer epoqué, but instead an affirmation of a definitive position regarding knowledge, shutting itself into a negativity that excludes objectivity. As we have seen earlier, said skepticism becomes dogmatism insofar as its stance is placed within the logic of the understanding, which shuts itself off into one of the opposing poles, abiding by the principle of noncontradiction. Let us return to the passage quoted above:

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This sundering of the rational, in which thinking and being are one, and the absolute insistence [Festhalten] on this opposition, in other words the understanding made absolute, constitutes the endlessly repeated and universally applied ground of this dogmatic skepticism. (Hegel, On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy, p. 339)

The opposition between thinking and being can be taken as a higher genre of the opposition between subject and object. If the domain of the facts of consciousness pertains to the sphere of thinking, the forbidden region of the thing-in-itself (the place where the skepticism of the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy finds its reason to exist) should correspond to the field of being. Here is a skepticism that, by restricting itself to the positivity of the facts of consciousness, ends up separating this subjectivity from any real objectivity, and becomes an attitude that shuts itself off into a pure negativity (where there would be only subject, thought, and nothing outside of it)—a movement that only reprises what Kant had established in the Critique of Pure Reason about the relation between thinking and being. In this analysis of skepticism as pure negativity, or a subjectivity that shuts itself off into itself, Hegel seems to direct at Schulze the critique Jacobi aims at Fichte, for example, in his 1799 letter—critique whose influence is clear in Faith and Knowledge. This is one of the reasons for the conceptual similarity between Relationship of Skepticism and Philosophy and Faith and Knowledge, a conceptual kinship which manifests itself in this movement in which the conception of dogmatism becomes more encompassing (linked to the perspective of the understanding), the philosophies of subjectivity (Kant, Jacobi, Fichte) are labeled dogmatic, and these philosophies can be considered nihilistic—in the sense that they turn the absolute into a nothing for the understanding without ever reaching the absolute nothing: We have already shown why Jacobi so violently abhors the nihilism he finds in Fichte’s philosophy. As far as Fichte’s system itself is concerned, nihilism is certainly implicit in pure thought as a task [to be accomplished]. But this pure thought [of Fichte’s] cannot reach it because it stays strictly on the one side [i.e., the side of the Ego] so that this infinite possibility has an infinite actuality over against it and at the same time with it. So the Ego is forever and ever affected by a Non-Ego. This has to be the case because infinity, or thought, which is only one relatum in the antithesis, is to be posited as being in itself. And for this reason the correlatum cannot be absolutely nullified. With inexhaustible elasticity the correlatum springs back; for almighty fate has forged the pair of them together with fetters of adamant. The first step in philosophy is to recognize the absolute nothing. Fichte’s philosophy does not achieve this, however much Jacobi may despise it for having done so. On the contrary, both of them dwell in the nothing that is the opposite of philosophy. Appearance, the finite, has absolute reality for both of them. Both agree that the Absolute and eternal is the nothing for cognition. Jacobi reproaches the Kantian system for being a mishmash of idealism and empiricism. Of these two ingredients, however, it is not the empiricism, but the idealistic side, the side of infinity, which incurs his reproach. Although the side of infinity cannot win through to the perfection of the true nothing, still Jacobi cannot bear it because it endangers the absoluteness of the empirical, and because the demand for the nullification of the antithesis is implicit in it. (Hegel, Faith and Knowledge p. 168–169)

The sense in which Hegel understands these philosophies as nihilistic already announces, in 1802, the importance that the idea of negativity has in his intellectual journey, which refines the Hegelian reading of skepticism and dogmatism—a

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subject already explored by commentators such as Ferreira.4 One has but to refer to the introduction of the Phenomenology of Spirit to see the connection between the interpretation of skepticism and the notion of determinate negation. But in the context of this article, we must observe how in 1802 the notion of negativity operates as an index to suggest an interpretation of Schulze’s skepticism that finally equates his skepticism with Fichte’s idealism: both, as philosophies of the understanding, are dogmatic. And both are subjective philosophies that shut themselves off in a sort of negativity, a sort of nihilism that has a price, which is that of every philosophy of the understanding, i.e., shutting the doors to the understanding of the absolute, given that they are unable to reach the absolute nothing—a mistake that only a position built from a true skepticism can avoid. Hence the limits of Kant’s and Fichte’s philosophies, which take modern skepticism as their fundamental interlocutor. That is why it was so important for Hegel, in the Relationship of Skepticism and Philosophy, to establish an interpretation of ancient skepticism in contrast to its modern variant. In the case of Fichte, having taken Aenesidemus as his main interlocutor soon showed there would be a price to pay, and the doctrine of science seals the rupture between subject and object, thus abandoning the knowledge of the absolute in favor of an absolute subjectivity. In other words, and from a different perspective: would not the skepticism of the Aenesidemus regarding the thing-in-itself lead those who start from it—in this case, Fichte—to the nothing that is this subjectivity? The way the notion of the thing-in-itself is explained from the relation between I and not-I is but the idealistic version of the movement that encloses the doctrine of science in a nihilistic subjectivity, where there is nothing outside the subject. Or, if we read Hegel’s text on Schulze in light of Jacobi’s critique of Fichte, the doctrine of science could seem merely as a sort of non-skeptical continuation or result of the skepticism of Aenesidemus. And vice-versa: withholding judgments about things-in-­ themselves, as Schulze does in the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, is the skeptical version of this subjectivity. Or, as we suggested at the beginning of this article, we would find in Schulze’s position in his Critique a skeptical caricature of Fichte’s idealism. In this framework, it is important to restate the central role Jacobi plays in this movement. It seems to us that it is mainly from the assimilation of his critique of the doctrine of science that the content of Hegel’s analysis of Fichte’s philosophy becomes more corrosive. But in this shift, Schulze’s book as well as his skepticism end up working as a kind of “catalizer”. In his review of the Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, Hegel finds an occasion not only to refine his conception of skepticism—which will be pivotal in his intellectual journey, and seems to us the most important point in Hegel’s review—but also to refine his conception of dogmatism, which can then be applied more confidently in the analysis of Kant’s, Fichte’s, and Jacobi’s philosophies. In this framework, reviewing Schulze’s book is another important step for the construction of an idea of negativity that opposes the narrow limits of the understanding.

 Ferreira, Manuel J. Carmo, Hegel e a justificação da filosofia. See, for example, chapter 14.

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Bibliographical References Beiser, Frederik C. 1987. The Fate of Reason. German Philosophy from Kant to Fichte. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Brandão, Eduardo. 2013. Fichte et Schopenhauer face au scepticisme de Schulze. In Scepticism in the Eighteenth Century: Enlightenment, Lumières, Aufklärung, International Archives of the History of Ideas/Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 210, ed. Sébastien Charles, and Plínio J. Smith, 315–326. Dordrecht: Springer. Ferreira, Manuel J. Carmo. 1992. Hegel e a justificação da filosofia. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional/ Casa da Moeda. Fichte, Johann Gottlieb. 1973. Obras Incompletas. Trad. Rubens Rodrigues Torres Filho. São Paulo: Abril Cultural. Hartmann, Nicolai. 1983. A filosofia do idealismo alemão. Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. 1977a. The Difference Between Fichte’s and Schelling’s System of Philosophy. Translated by H.S. Harris and Walter Cerf. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. 1977b. Faith and Knowledge. An English Translation of G.  W. Hegel’s Glauben und Wissen Prepared and Edited by Walter Cerf and H.  S. Harris. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. 1986. Werke im 20 Bänden mit Registerband. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. ———. 2000. On the Relationship Between Skepticism to Philosophy. Exposition of Its Different Modifications and Comparison of the Latest Form with the Ancient One. Translation and Notes by H.S. Harris. In Giovanni, G., Harris, H. S., (trans.) Between Kant and Hegel. Texts in the Development of Post-Kantian Idealism. Indianapolis/Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company Inc. ———. 2010. Encyclopedia of the Philosophical Sciences in Basic Outline. Part I: Science of Logic. Translated and Edited by Klaus Brinkmann and Daniel O.  Dahlstrom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schulze, Gottlob Ernst. 1973. Kritik der Theoretischen Philosophie, 2 vols. Brussels: Culture et Civilisation. ———. 1996. Aenesidemus. Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag.

Chapter 16

Nietzsche: Experimental Skepticism and the Question of Values Kathia Hanza

Abstract  After presenting the general state of the field regarding Nietzsche and skepticism in specialized studies, I explain why it is essential to contextualize this topic through a comparative analysis of Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil. Both books raise the issue of skepticism in relation to the possibility of knowledge, the end of metaphysics, and the problem of values. Nietzsche seeks to overcome epistemological skepticism by means of an alliance between philosophy and history in the so-called intermediate books Daybreak and The Gay Science, and then concludes in Beyond Good and Evil that skepticism is a good instrument in the pursuit of knowledge and of that which has value, and that precisely skepticism, as an instrument, is essential for philosophy, which is nonetheless responsible for not being skeptical about what has value.

K. Hanza (*) Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP), Lima, Perú e-mail: [email protected] © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_16

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16.1  State of the Field In recent years, the question of Nietzsche’s position on skepticism has taken on new vigor.1 On the first hand, although it cannot be easily ascertained what sources of ancient skepticism he was familiar with,2 Nietzsche’s point of view is closer to the Pyrrhonian version, at least in the sense that it is more an attitude, virtue, or method than a logical or epistemological position.3 However, Nietzsche in fact deals directly with the versions of skepticism that, in his opinion, are contemporary and mainly in line with Kantianism,4 although there are some notable exceptions, for example, 1  Among the relatively recent works are those of authors such as A. Sommer, “Criatividade e ceticismo en Nietzsche”, in Cadernos Nietzsche 34 (1), 2014, pp. 11–31; A. Sommer, “Nihilism and Skepticism in Nietzsche” in A Companion to Nietzsche, Pearson, K.A. (ed.), New Jersey, WileyBlackwell, 2006, pp. 250–269; C. Santini, “Nietzsche und der antike Skeptizismus” in NietzscheStudien 42, 2013, pp.  368–374; S.  Busellato, Nietzsche e lo scetticismo, Macerata, Edizioni Università di Macerata, 2012; J.N. Berry, Nietzsche and the Ancient Skeptical Tradition, Oxford/ New York, Oxford University Press, 2011; K.  Hanza, “Escepticismo como voluntad de poder. Nietzsche, lector de Lange” in Nietzsche e as ciencias, de Barrenechea, M.Á., Feitosa, C., Pinheiro, P. and Suarez, R. (eds.), Rio de Janeiro, Viveiros de Castro Editora, 2011, pp. 46–59; P. Wotling, “‘Cette espèce nouvelle de scepticisme, plus dangereuse et plus dure’. Ephexis, bouddhisme, frédéricisme chez Nietzsche” in Révue de métaphysique et de morale 65, 2010, pp.  109–123; P.  Wotling, “‘L’ultime scepticisme’. La vérité comme régime d’interprétation” in Revue Philosophique de la France et de l’Étranger 196 (4), 2006, pp. 479–496; L. Lupo, Le colombe dello scettico. Riflessioni di Nietzsche sulla coscienza negli anni 1880–1888, Pisa, ETS, 2007; D. Wilkerson, Nietzsche and the Greeks, London/New York, Continuum, 2006, especially chapter 3; J.I. Porter, Nietzsche and the Philology of the Future, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 2002, especially chapters 1 and 2; P. Poellner, Nietzsche and Metaphysics, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000, especially chapters 2 and 3; R.  Bett, “Nietzsche on the Skeptics and Nietzsche as Skeptic” in Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 82, 2000, pp. 62–86. Some pre-2000 works are those of K. Mosser, “Should the Skeptic live his Skepticism? Nietzsche and classical Skepticism” in Manuscrito – Revista Internacional de Filosofía 21, 1998, pp. 275–292; D. Conway and J. Ward, “Physicians of the Soul. Peritropé in Sextus Empiricus and Nietzsche” in Nietzsche und die antike Philosophie, Conway, D. and Rehn, R. (eds.), Hamburg, Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 1992, pp.  193–223; G.  Martin, “A Critique of Nietzsche’s Metaphysical Skepticism” in International Studies in Philosophy 19, 1987, pp.  51–59; B.  Magnus, “Nietzsche’s mitigated Skepticism” in Nietzsche-Studien 9, 1980, pp. 260–267; A. Parusch, “Nietzsche on the Skeptic’s life” in Review of Metaphysics 29, 1975/1976, pp. 523–542. It is worth mentioning what is likely the first study on Nietzsche and skepticism: that of R. Richter, Der Skeptizismus in der Philosophie, Leipzig, Dürr, 1904. Although already Paul Michaelis, on a first review of Beyond Good and Evil, proposes that Nietzsche departs from a “radical skepticism”. See P.  Michaelis, “Jenseits von Gut und Böse (review)” in Rezensionen und Reaktionen zu Nietzsches Werken 1872–1889, Reich, H. (ed.), Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2013, pp. 634–639. 2  This is the position of Santini, Busellato, and Sommer, against Berry and Conway and Ward. 3  This is the interpretation of Berry, Busellato, and Wotling. Important in Berry’s interpretation is outlining what is common between ancient skepticism and that of Nietzsche in its difference with modern skepticism. To do this, he uses Alan Bailey’s characterization of post-Cartesian skepticism as “an abstract theoretical construct which lacks all psychological authenticity” (J.N. Berry, op. cit., p. viii). 4  Both Busellato and Sommer deal with Nietzsche’s modern sources. Sommer’s work includes a list of the main ones (A. Sommer, “Nihilism and Skepticism in Nietzsche”, op. cit., p. 266) and

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among modern philosophers, Montaigne.5 On the other hand, his own epistemological theses, mainly those that propose the paradox of truth as error, prompt us to consider whether he falls into relativism, negative dogmatism, or simply a dead end.6 For any scholar of Nietzsche’s philosophy, in addition to the difficulty of establishing what skepticism actually is, there is an additional one: the wide range of Nietzsche’s questions and positions. His skepticism may well be both a praxis used to undermine dogmatic positions and an instrument used to reveal paradoxes. In this paper, I do not intend to discuss what should count as skepticism. I choose the general meaning that Long clarifies for modern philosophy: a skeptic is someone who questions the foundations of knowledge.7 Nietzsche uses the term in this sense, though not exclusively, because, as we will see, he experiments with skepticism even while maintaining a constant position. He is in favor of skepticism when it helps undermine dogmatic pretensions, but rejects it when, using the vocabulary of his last works, it is a symptom of decline. The problem is complicated, because if he is skeptical in absolute terms, he runs the risk of falling into a negative dogmatism. As we will see, Nietzsche avoids this danger through an experimental skepticism. Meanwhile, “suspension of judgment” leading to tranquility of the soul—as in the ancient skeptics or in the variants Nietzsche detects in his contemporaries—is not a position that he shares. For Nietzsche, philosophy performs a critical and

correctly deals with the relationship between nihilism and skepticism. This relationship is particularly important in Beyond Good and Evil, because there, as we will see in section 5 (“Skeptics and scholars”), Nietzsche diagnoses modern skepticism as a kind of “paralysis of the will.” Probably, because of his interest in skepticism Nietzsche acquired Brochard’s book Les Sceptiques Grecs, in 1887–88; but he had confronted skepticism much earlier in the works of Lange, Spir, and Teichmüller. In History of Materialism, Lange follows the trajectory of a few modern skeptics: Montaigne, Pierre Charron, Blaise Pascal, and the French moralists. Meanwhile, Nietzsche had a copy of Hume’s Dialogues on Natural Religion. It is also pertinent to consider Gustav Gerber and Georg Christoph Lichtenberg as sources of Nietzsche’s studies, as well as Kuno Fischer’s History of New Philosophy or, on religious questions, W.E.H. Lecky’s History of the Origin and Influence of the Enlightenment in Europe, Jean-Marie Guyau’s L’irreligion de l’avenir, or Eugène de Roberty’s L’Ancienne et la nouvelle philosophie (ibid., p. 259). And, of course, we must not forget Diogenes Laertius, whose impact on Nietzsche has been very well studied by Jessica Berry (2011). 5  See V. Vivarelli, “Montaigne und der ‘freie Geist’. Nietzsche im Übergang” in Nietzsche-Studien 23, 1994, pp. 79–101; D. Molner, “The influence of Montaigne on Nietzsche: A raison d’ être in the sun” in Nietzsche-Studien 22, 1993, pp. 80–93. 6  Nietzsche’s epistemological theses center on his doctrine of “perspectivism.” For a good survey, see M. Navratil, “‘Einige Sprossen zurück’. Metaphysikkritik, Perspektivismus und die Gültigkeit der Perspektiven in Nietzsches Menschliches, Allzumenschliches” in Nietzsche-Studien 46, 2017, pp. 58–81, which offers an excellent review on the issue of perspectivism in the specialized bibliography (ibid., p. 76, note 22). 7  See A.A.  Long, “Skepsis; Skeptizismus” in Historisches Wörterbuch, vol. 9, ed. Ritter, J. and Gründer, K. (eds.), Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995, vol. 9, p. 938. In modern languages, as A.A. Long points out, “skeptical” can mean several things. In addition to a philosopher who questions the foundations of knowledge, it may also be a religious agnostic or someone who refuses to give a final say on matters that have been settled in the general opinion (ibid.).

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evaluative function: it engages in a dispute on what has value.8 In proposing one’s philosophical work as a dispute, suspension of judgment or tranquility of the soul would be, at best, a truce in the struggle waged by the philosopher over value, including the value of truth itself. I will try to show that skepticism plays an operative role in Nietzsche’s philosophy. To this end, I will consider the ways in which two books stem from a common concern driving Nietzschean thought: Human, All Too Human (MAM, 1878)9 and Beyond Good and Evil (JGB, 1886). I will argue that, within the framework of the critical and experimental philosophy that Nietzsche develops beginning in MAM, skepticism is a valuable tool, but never an end in itself.

16.2  Human, All Too Human and Beyond Good and Evil It is useful to explain why I focus on MAM and JGB in particular. In the first place, there is substantial textual support for the claims (a) that there is a connection between the problems dealt with in both works and (b) that, with respect to those problems, JGB represents an important conceptual progression over MAM.  The project of the second book arose from a plan to revise the first.10 As we will see below, between one book and the other, Nietzsche makes the epistemological and axiological questions more concise and sharper. In general terms, the books begin by treating subjects that may sound abstruse or of interest only to philosophers (“first and last things,” “the prejudices of philosophers”), then deal with others that are near (“State,” “peoples and fatherlands”); even extremely near (“man alone with

8  Regarding this dispute, see H. Siemens, “Agonal Communities of Taste: Law and Community in Nietzsche’s Philosophy of Transvaluation,” op. cit.; H.  Siemens, “Nietzsche’s agon with Ressentiment: Towards a therapeutic Reading of critical Transvaluation,” op. cit. For an overall interpretation of Nietzsche’s philosophy, with emphasis on value, see V.  Gerhardt, Nietzsche, Munich, Beck, 1995; and also see P. Wotling, “‘Cette espèce nouvelle de scepticisme, plus dangereuse et plus dure’. Ephexis, bouddhisme, frédéricisme chez Nietzsche”, op. cit.; P.  Wotling, “‘L’ultime scepticisme’. La vérité comme régime d’interprétation”, op. cit.; P. Wotling, “La culture comme problème. La redétermination nietzschéenne du questionnement philosophique”, in Nietzsche-Studien 37, 2008, pp. 1–50. 9  In 1886, that is, in the same year JGB is published, MAM becomes a two-part book. The 1878 edition is reissued as Part I, preceded by a Preface and followed by Part II, containing both Assorted Opinions and Maxims (1879) and The Wanderer and His Shadow (1880), with their own, separate Preface. Regarding this subject, see the “Caveat” in the second volume of Nietzsche’s Kritische Studienausgabe. Henceforth all Nietzsche’s quotes refer to the German critical edition of his complete works, for which is used the acronym KSA, followed by volume and page numbers. 10  See A.  Schirmer, Friedrich Nietzsche. Chronik in Bildern und Texten, Munich, DTV, 2000, p. 640. The publication of Beyond Good and Evil has its origins in Nietzsche’s difficulties with his editor. Originally, he wanted to reformulate Human, All Too Human, buying all copies of the first edition in order to destroy them. When this plan failed, he wrote Beyond Good and Evil. In 1886, he published the latter work and managed to reprint some of his previous works with new (and now famous) prefaces.

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himself,” “among friends,” “what is noble”). Let us compare the chapter headings of both works: Human, All Too Human. A Book for Free Spirits (1878) 1. Of First and Last Things 2. On the History of the Moral Feelings 3. The Religious Life 4. From the Souls of Artists and Writers 5. Signs of Higher and Lower Culture 6. Woman and Child 7. A Glance at the State 8. Man Alone with Himself 9. Among Friends: An Epilogue

Beyond Good and Evil. Prelude to a Philosophy of the Future (1886) 1. On the Prejudices of Philosophers 2. The Free Spirit 3. The Religious Essence 4. Maxims and Interludes 5. On the Natural History of Morals 6.We Scholars 7. Our Virtues 8. Peoples and Fatherlands 9. What is Noble? From High Mountains: Aftersong

This simple comparison is instructive. (a) In JGB, the “First and Last Things” of MAM has been transformed into the “Prejudices of Philosophers.” This explains why JGB includes a section that is missing in MAM: “The Free Spirit,” because it is necessary to explain which “prejudices” one is “free” from. (b) The sequence between morality and religion is reversed: in MAM, morality comes first, then religion; in JGB, it is the other way around. (c) Art (including, of course, writing) is approached very differently in the two books: in MAM it is “introspective” (“From the Souls of Artists and Writers”); in JGB it is “performative” (“Maxims and Interludes”). (d) A thematic approach prevails in MAM, while in JGB it is a “psychological” or “anthropological” one: “Philosophers,” their “Prejudices,” “The Free Spirit,” “The Religious Essence,” “We Scholars,” “Our Virtues,” “Peoples and Fatherlands,” etc. (e) The “Higher and Lower Culture” of MAM seems to be the subject of “We Scholars” in JGB. If so, this aspect is important in relation to skepticism, since JGB discusses it in the context of the difference between philosophy and science; clearly, an issue of “rank,” which is a more accurate way of describing the “Higher and Lower Culture” of MAM. Beyond the table of contents, let us point out that MAM discusses skepticism in the first section (“Of First and Last Things”), while, strictly speaking, in JGB it becomes a main subject only in the sixth section (“We Scholars”). Basically, skepticism plays a critical role in MAM in relation to metaphysics, whereas in JGB, skepticism deals with an issue of “rank” between philosophy and science, which are situated historically. There is yet another reason to review the parallel approaches of MAM and JGB. In a posthumous note, from the winter of 1882 to 1883 (four years after MAM and in the winter during which the first part of Thus Spoke Zarathustra was being

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written),11 Nietzsche sums up the path he took in the first section of MAM.  He writes that, at that time, when arguing against metaphysics, he “believed that he was beyond good and evil.”12 According to this note, a particular question remains: not simply “to believe,” but “to be beyond good and evil,” whose meaning, we might expect, would be clarified precisely in Beyond Good and Evil, written immediately after Thus Spoke Zarathustra. In the following section, we will explain the general features of the MAM project in order to clarify the role skepticism plays in it. Then, in section 4 we will analyze the path that Nietzsche follows in the books that came between MAM and JGB. In the final section, we will conduct a detailed review of Nietzsche’s position on skepticism in JGB.

16.3  Fundamental Truths and Errors MAM establishes an important change in Nietzsche’s philosophy. Metaphysics and art can no longer be justified in terms of “conceptual poetry” (Begriffsdichtung), in the wake of F.A. Lange’s Kantianism.13 The importance of the theses of Kant and Schopenhauer involved, for the young Nietzsche, limiting knowledge to give space to metaphysics; but the revision of the “first and last things” ousted metaphysics from its privileged position: it “can be defined as the science that deals with the fundamental errors of man, but as if they were fundamental truths.”14 Art and metaphysics are no longer the ways by which man finds the truth or expresses his most compelling needs—both of which are assumptions of the entire line of German speculative philosophy from Kant onwards, and also, of course, of the multiple variants of romanticism. The shift that Nietzsche establishes in MAM is radical, but not to the point of endangering scientific work, whether, for example, Lange’s physiological work or his own philological, historical, and linguistic work, which were previously safeguarded when art and metaphysics were expected to produce the great human transformation. But what is the role of skepticism in the MAM project? Convinced that philosophy, in alliance with history, provides good arguments against metaphysics,  I hereby list very briefly the series of books published during this period: Human, All Too Human. A Book for Free Spirits was published in 1878; the “Appendix,” Assorted Opinions and Maxims, in 1879; The Wanderer and His Shadow, as a second part of Human, All Too Human, in 1880; followed by Daybreak in 1881 and The Gay Science in 1882. Between 1883 and 1885 the four books of Thus Spoke Zarathustra appear; and in 1886, Beyond Good and Evil. 12  KSA 10, 231. On this, see P. Heller, “Von den ersten und letzten Dingen”. Studien und Kommentar zu einer Aphorismenreihe von Friedrich Nietzsche, Berlin/New York, Walter de Gruyter, 1972, pp. 485–488. 13  On this line of work in Nietzsche’s philosophy, see M. Brusotti and H. Siemens (eds.), Nietzsche, Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics, London, Bloomsbury, 2017; also see G. Stack, Lange and Nietzsche, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1983. 14  KSA 2, 40. 11

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Nietzsche presents these arguments one after another in the first nineteen aphorisms. However, in the twentieth there is a shift (“A few rungs back”),15 and in the twenty-first we run into skepticism (“A presumed triumph of skepticism”).16 The arguments against metaphysics are basically founded on (a) the unknowability of metaphysical truth, (b) the uselessness of such knowledge even if it were attainable, as spelled out in § 9, and also (c) on the idea that the entire human world is historical, as expressed in § 1. Consequently, metaphysical concepts also have an origin, and historical philosophy illustrates this for us. For Nietzsche himself, the series of arguments against metaphysics could be seen as skeptical attacks. Hence, the title of the twentieth aphorism, “A few rungs back,” evokes an image used by Sextus Empiricus in Adversus Mathematicos. In response to the difficulties that the skeptic points out regarding demonstrations, the dogmatist uses the counter-­ argument that the skeptic’s evidence is self-refuting. But Sextus replies that: And again, just as it is not impossible for the person who has climbed to a high place by a ladder to knock over the ladder with his foot after his climb, so it is not unlikely that the skeptic too, having got to the accomplishment of his task by a sort of step-ladder—the argument showing that there is no demonstration—should do away with this argument.17

Nietzsche uses the image of the ladder, and we cannot know if this is a direct allusion to the locus classicus, in order to introduce a variant with notable differences: A few rungs back.—With respect to philosophical metaphysics, I now see more and more people who have reached the negative goal (that every positive metaphysics is an error), but still only a few who are climbing a few rungs back; one should, of course, look out over the final rung of the ladder, but not wish to stand upon it. Even the most enlightened people get only far enough to free themselves from metaphysics and to look back on it with superiority: while here, too, as in the hippodrome, it is still necessary to bend back around the end of the track.18

The last rung is not, as in Sextus, the rung used to reach the top, making it possible to throw the ladder down, that is, to dismiss the arguments against demonstrations and thus to overcome the objection of self-refutation. For Nietzsche, the last rung, in the logical way of thinking that illustrates the errors of metaphysics, is the opportunity to look beyond that last rung. The end of the aphorism is significant. Nietzsche discards the image of the ladder in favor of a different one: to turn, to change direction, as on a racetrack. Indeed, in the first part of the aphorism, Nietzsche has prepared the way for that “turn.” He argues that “One stage of cultivation [hohe Stufe der Bildung], certainly a very high  On this particular figure of speech, see M. Navratil, op. cit.  The first part of MAM (“Of First and Last Things”) has a total of just thirty-four aphorisms, from the six hundred and fifty of the first volume. 17  Sextus Empiricus, Against the Logicians, Bett R. (ed.), New York, Cambridge University Press, 2005, pp. 408–481. On peritropé, or the charge of self-refutation, in Sextus and Nietzsche, see D. Conway and J. Ward (1992), op. cit. Conway and Ward find commonality in Sextus Empiricus and in Nietzsche following the strategy of using a non-assertive discourse to battle dogmatism. 18  KSA 2, 41–42. For an interpretation of the aphorism in relation to the problem of perspectivism, see M. Navratil, op. cit. 15 16

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one, has been reached when human beings get beyond superstitious and religious concepts and fears,”19 but that a still greater one is reached when one overcomes metaphysics. “But then a backward movement is necessary: [man] ​​ must conceive a historical, as well as a psychological, justification for those representations [of metaphysics], he must know how humanity has obtained the highest incentive from them, and how, without this backward movement, we would deprive ourselves of the highest achievements of humanity thus far”.20 In light of this aphorism, we could conclude that Nietzsche, aware of the skeptical doubts he has sown in revealing that “the fundamental truths of metaphysics are, in reality, the fundamental errors of man,”21 believes that skepticism is at best a means for performing another task. This task consists of “overcoming” metaphysics by understanding “the historical and psychological justification” of its errors. It is essential to understand how those errors, those ideals camouflaged sub specie aeternitatis, have turned man into what he is. The war waged by the “free spirit” against metaphysics in the first twenty aphorisms of Human, All Too Human seems to reach a truce. With the help of history and psychology, many centuries-old ingrained errors will be explained rather than justified. They become a rich object of study about the human species.22 Nietzsche clearly sides with a position that accepts the validity of knowledge. But this does not come without tensions. On the one hand, history and psychology will discover the primary errors, the falsehoods of metaphysics. On the other hand, if such errors and falsehoods are nothing more than human, all too human, what is the criterion for deciding among them? The next aphorism (“Presumed triumph of skepticism”) offers an answer, always following the idea that knowledge is attainable. Nietzsche raises the question of what would happen if we adopted the skeptical starting point, namely, that there is no other, metaphysical world and that all metaphysical explanations are unusable for the “only world we know.”23 According to Nietzsche, that historically probable case raises the question of how human society will be formed under the influence of such a skeptical “attitude” (Gesinnung). If society as a whole could become skeptical, the result, Nietzsche concludes, would be similar to what would happen if metaphysics had been refuted. What remains is a sociological question: what will human society be like when we think, for example, that there are no ultimate or absolute truths for the “only world we know”?24  KSA 2, 41.  KSA 2, 41–42. Emphasis is mine. 21  KSA 2, 40. 22  To the extent that all the books from MAM to JGB (Daybreak, The Gay Science, Thus Spoke Zarathustra) can be seen as studies, routes in this broad landscape. 23  KSA 2, 42–43. 24  KSA 2, 42–43: “Presumed triumph of skepticism. Let us accept for the moment the skeptical starting point: assuming there were no other, metaphysical world and that we could not use any metaphysical explanations of the only world known to us, how would we then look upon men and things? One can imagine this; it is useful to do so, even if one were to reject the question of whether 19 20

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Here it is worth pointing out the conceptual link between axiology and epistemology in the project common to MAM and JGB. We shall do so based on two entries from Nietzsche’s Nachlass. The first explains what “a few rungs back” means: Metaphysics: a few rungs back, only the man of knowledge must always look beyond the ladder; as full men, we are not only knowledge.25

Let us simply observe that, although it may be justified that the “man of knowledge” looks beyond the ladder, he is not a “full” man; going down the ladder means paying attention to other, properly axiological, aspects of existence. These are vividly characterized in the second note, from the winter of 1882 to 1883, halfway between MAM and JGB. Here the axiological problem is fundamental: one can be skeptical in epistemological terms (in the sense that “things are unknowable”) without putting at risk what is most important: the question of value. Cultus of error: he has made man so tender, profound, inventive. The world as an error is so rich in meanings and wonderful. We are from the beginning illogical and unjust beings—without this there is no life. Mistaken all approaches to the value of life. Last lack of goal. Dissipation. General disclaimer: to know better and better, move beyond assessments, the only consolation. Result: I need to believe in nothing Things are unknowable. I do not need to suffer because of my injustice. Despair eliminated by skepsis. I have earned the right to create (...) I had merely [nur] believed myself to be beyond good and evil.26

Let us recall that the arguments against metaphysics in MAM were basically founded on the idea that the entire human world is historical.27 To this idea, Nietzsche adds another: the “value of metaphysics” “originates” from “errors and passions,”28 that is, from meanings attributed on the basis of “bad interpretations,” not from the

Kant and Schopenhauer proved anything metaphysical scientifically. For according to historical probability, it is quite likely that men at some time will become skeptical about this whole subject [im Ganzen und Allgemeinen]. So one must ask the question: how will human society take shape under the influence of such an attitude [Gesinnung]? Perhaps the scientific proof of any metaphysical world is itself so difficult that mankind can no longer keep from distrusting it. And if one is distrustful of metaphysics, then we have, generally speaking, the same consequences as if metaphysics had been directly refuted and one were no longer permitted to believe in it. The historical question about mankind’s unmetaphysical views remains the same in either case”. 25  KSA 8, 384. 26  KSA 10, 232. 27  The arguments put forward by Nietzsche are not proof that there is no metaphysical world: “It is true that there could be a metaphysical world; the absolute possibility of it can hardly be disputed” (KSA 2, 29). The point he wishes to make is that, even if it existed, since it has nothing to do with the “only world we know,” we would be completely indifferent to its existence (KSA 2, 29). 28  KSA 10, 232.

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“small, firm, and hard truths”29 that are characteristic of knowledge. The world that concerns us can be known; it is possible to offer better “interpretations” thanks to various methods: historical, psychological, linguistic, etc.30 If this is the case, if knowledge is thus possible, why does Nietzsche insist that this “world that concerns us” is immersed in “error”? The most direct answer is: “we are from the beginning illogical and unjust beings—without that there is no life.”31 Thus, Nietzsche understands that value (to be or not to be just) and thinking (being or not being logical, coherent, cognizant), in the only world we know, are related to life. More specifically, they are negatively related to it: being unjust and illogical is a condition for human life. The “world that concerns us” is not only, or simply, a web of anthropomorphisms related to certain circumstances that are worth clearing away for the sake of knowledge. To live in the human way is to be illogical and unfair, a thesis that could very well be considered a negative dogmatism. It is difficult to know to what extent Nietzsche is aware of the inversion, that is, of the dogmatic shift that many of his positions exhibit. What is certain is that he looks for ways to adopt other angles, as he also does in this case. Therefore, the passage quoted above from the Nachlass qualifies the position adopted in MAM as “general resignation: to know better and better, to move beyond assessments, the only consolation.”32 In other words, it describes the path chosen by the “free spirit.” However, “resignation” and “consolation” are no longer the consequences to be awaited five years after completing the “know better and better” program. For that reason, Nietzsche reaches another, more radical conclusion, the one mentioned previously: Result: I need to believe in nothing Things are unknowable. I do not need to suffer because of my injustice. despair eliminated by skepsis. I have earned the right to create (...).33

Let us observe that skepsis has a positive function: it eliminates “despair” by recognizing that “things are unknowable,” that necessarily one is “unfair.” Skepsis is not an end in itself, but a means. More specifically, it is an instrument in the interest of experimentation: “Skepticism! Yes, but one of experiments! Not the apathy of

 KSA 2, 29.  In MAM, Nietzsche says that discovering the origin of metaphysical errors is eo ipso to refute them (KSA 2, 29). This idea is consistent with the program of “historical philosophy”: to unravel the origins of centuries-old ingrained errors (KSA 2, 22). To do so, it is useful to employ various methods that Nietzsche will gradually refine. On this, see C. Denat, “‘Les découvertes les plus précieuses, ce sont les méthodes’: Nietzsche, ou la recherche d’une méthode sans méthodologie” in Nietzsche-Studien 39, 2010, pp. 283–308. 31  KSA 2, 29. 32  KSA 10, 232. 33  KSA 10, 232. 29 30

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despair.”34 Finally, let us point out another theme in the note: the earning of certain “rights.” Such a gain is consistent with the role that Nietzsche assigns to the philosopher in JGB (and, indeed, also in The Genealogy of Morals): he is not the guardian of truth and value, but the one who must create them.35 But before dealing with JGB, let us observe how skepticism is treated in the works published between MAM and JGB.

16.4  “The Skepticism of Experiments” We have seen that MAM begins with an attack on metaphysics from the position of a “historical philosophy.” This does not evade the question of society as a whole becoming skeptical. In addition, “historical philosophy” is skeptical in the sense that it assumes that things are “unknowable”, if knowable means what metaphysics intends. This risk falling into a negative dogmatism, which is nonetheless overcome through the logic of the experiment: proving, under certain hypotheses, the origin of metaphysical assumptions. Skepticism appears to be a marginal issue in the intermediate works until Beyond Good and Evil, a book in which Nietzsche renews his interest in skepticism and discusses the historically situated differences between the philosopher, the scientist, and the skeptic in the section entitled “We Scholars.” But if we review the mentions of skepticism in the period between the first part of MAM and JGB, we will notice that Nietzsche is adding more psychological approach to the historical approach of skepticism highlighted in my previous section.36 It is already prominent in MAM, because there– the underlying question is what humanity will be like if it is skeptical about its ultimate assumptions, whatever they are in particular. In this respect, the titles of the aphorisms that deal with skepticism in MAM II are instructive regarding the psychology of skepticism: “The Obscurantists”37 and “The Fanatic of Distrust and His Warranty,”38 Skepticism is associated with the most radical distrust; but just as there is a dark version (when the “ingenious metaphysicians” “prepare the way for skepticism and through their excessive acuteness invite mistrust of acuteness”39), there is also one that laughs, with Pyrrho.40

 KSA 9, 287: “Skepticismus! Ja, aber ein Scepticismus der Experimente! Nicht die Trägheit der Verzweiflung”. 35  See especially W. Stegmaier, Nietzsches “Genealogie der Moral”, Darmstadt, WBG, 2010. 36  On this subject, see P. Wotling, “‘Der Weg zu den Grundproblemen’. Statut et structure de la psychologie dans la pensée de Nietzsche” in Nietzsche-Studien 26, 1997, pp. 1–33. 37  KSA 2, 391. 38  KSA 2, 645. 39  KSA 2, 391. 40  Later, Nietzsche’s judgment of Pyrrho will be more drastic: he is a nihilist or a Buddhist. See KSA 13, 264–265, 276, 324, 347, 378, 446. 34

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From a psychological perspective, in The Gay Science, those who do not have “faith in themselves” are skeptical; hence they are the “most dissatisfied with themselves.”41 In this book the question of skepticism is addressed on just a few, but very important, occasions. The issue here is to consider skepticism as consistent with the program announced in MAM: “overcoming” metaphysics by understanding “the historical and psychological justification” of its errors. One of these involves determining what knowing is. For Nietzsche, the “origin of knowledge” lies in the vast periods of time in which the intellect produced nothing but errors (for example, “there are things that are the same”42). Only much later did man question these “erroneous articles of faith,” which are, moreover, almost “fundamental and specific component(s) of man.” Nietzsche insists that “only very late did the truth arise as the form of knowledge most lacking in strength [die unkräftigste Form der Erkenntnis].”43 The idea that truth is lacking in strength is consistent with a psychological experiment that Nietzsche uses, beginning with MAM, concerning the idea of Wollen (“wanting”). To understand it better, to provide better interpretations than those based on metaphysical assumptions, Nietzsche employs a heuristic resource: using the body as a main theme.44 The body provides a fundamental clue about the “only world we know.” Indeed, for that “only world we know” it is not the case that we can exist without a body. In that world, it is not important to ask what the body is by using the Socratic Method. One can be perfectly skeptical and seriously doubt any answer to that question. The body is, rather, a clue used to speak about certain matters. The body is indifferent to the question of truth; its determinations are in the realm of life, forces, impulses, etc., not the intellect. This is why he says: In and of itself, every high degree of circumspection in conclusions, every skeptical inclination, is a great danger to life. No living being might have been preserved unless the contrary inclination—to affirm rather than suspend judgment, to mistake and fabricate rather than wait, to assent rather than deny, to decide rather than to be in the right—had been cultivated with extraordinary assiduity.45

For Nietzsche, “to question the truth” and to question ancient errors are synonymous46 with “probity” and “skepticism.”47 These are virtues, which, as we will see

 KSA 3, 527.  KSA 3, 469. 43  KSA 3, 469. 44  KSA 11, 249. For the question of the body as a “main theme,” see E. Blondel, Nietzsche le corps et la culture, Paris, PUF, 1986. 45  KSA 3, 472. On this question, see J.N. Berry, op. cit., pp. 30–31. Notice that the beginning of the aphorism eludes the performative contradiction that exists when speaking of “in and of itself,” when it is supported by “degrees.” 46  Nietzsche gives as examples of such errors: “that there are lasting things, that there are things that are the same, that there are things, matters, bodies, that a thing is as it appears, that we have free will, that what is good for me is also good in and of itself” (KSA 3, 469). 47  KSA 3, 470. “Probity” and “skepticism” develop and become more subtle, specifically “where two opposing propositions seemed applicable to life because both were compatible with fundamental errors” (KSA 3, 470). 41 42

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in the following section, can be attributed to the “scholars” of JGB, though it is important to point out that in this book they are historically situated. On the strictly epistemological question, from a psychological perspective, the problem of skepticism is not devoid of humor, as in the famous aphorism of The Gay Science: “Last skepsis.—What are the truths of man, ultimately?—They are the irrefutable errors of man.”48

16.5  Skeptics and Scholars In JGB, Nietzsche addresses skepticism in several sections (10, 46, 48, 207–211).49 In section 10 (from the book’s first part, “The Prejudices of Philosophers”) refers to the “current skeptics and anti-realists and microscopists of knowledge,” and Nietzsche declares that one should “agree with them” when they seek to “move away from modern ideas,” because, among other things, they are moving away from “positivism” or from the “reality-philosophasters.” However, his “distrust” and “lack of faith,” justifiable in relation to “modern ideas,” is also indicative of a weakness.50 This approach is consistent with what Nietzsche asserts in section 6, namely, that the “interests” of “scholars” are different from those of philosophers.51 And, indeed, this is also consistent with the statements he makes on skepticism in a small number of sections (207–211). The issue, for Nietzsche, is summarized in the question of “rank” between the philosopher and the scholar.52 Now we would like to highlight how section 10 of JGB ends: – what do the retrograde by-paths [of the “current skeptics”] concern us! The main thing about them is not that they wish to go “back,” but that they wish—to get away. A little more strength, flight, courage, and artistic power, and they would go further—and not go back!53

If in MAM “going back” was a way to avoid succumbing to skepticism, if “turning as if on the racecourse” was the only viable way out for the “free spirit,” now, in JGB, such a “free spirit” would have the possibility of going “further.” To achieve this, he would have to maintain the difference between the “scholar” and the philosopher, which is clear in JGB: he has “a little more strength, flight, courage, artistic power;” thus, he would wish to “go further.” The trope of the “turn” used in MAM acquires a further dimension: it is strength, flight, art.

 KSA 3, 518.  For a more detailed analysis, see the comments on JGB by D. Burnham, Reading Nietzsche. An Analysis of Beyond Good and Evil, Stocksfield, Acumen, 2007, and L. Lampert, Nietzsche’s Task. An Interpretation of Beyond Good and Evil, New Haven, Yale University Press, 2001. 50  KSA 5, 23–24. 51  KSA 5, 20. 52  KSA 5, 20. 53  KSA 5, 23–24. 48 49

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Let us now return to the sequence of issues discussed in relation to skepticism in JGB. In section 46, Nietzsche refers to the “southern skeptics and freethinkers” (this is a reference to the Romans against whom the early Christians revolted)54 and also to the “recent French skeptics”.55 In section 48, he offers a clarification on the latter: they are his “antipodes” (KSA 5, 69–70). Now, more important than explaining why Nietzsche characterizes all of them as generically “skeptical” is observing the specific forms taken up by skeptics: they are also very “near” figures in historical memory, and because they are “near,” they can also be precisely “antipodes.” Indeed, they are so specific and “proximate” that one (208) of the five sections (207–211) in part six of the book, “We Scholars,” where Nietzsche expands on skepticism, begins with “today.” “Today,” he says, “it is received with disgust when a philosopher does not declare himself a skeptic.”56 In the ears of those who study the “objective,” the rejection of skepticism sounds like something “evil,” a pessimism that “not only says no, but also does nothing.” When a philosopher declares himself not to be a skeptic, one of his rivals, the one dedicated to the “objective,” understands the position of the philosopher the other way around: he attributes to him a thinking and a doing of no. The “scientific” spirit sees a danger in not being skeptical. This may be explained, according to Nietzsche, because, for him, science is a sort of “will to the veritable, actual negation of life,” which has “no better soporific and sedative than skepticism, the mild, pleasing, lulling poppy of skepticism.”57 The characterization of the skeptic is specific and definite: he is a “delicate creature, far too easily frightened.” He fears “Yea and Nay!” He “loves to make a festival to his virtue by a noble aloofness,” but he is also “the most spiritual expression of a certain physiological temperament.”58 Let us recall the most important characterization: (...) most of what places itself nowadays in show-cases as “objectiveness,” “the scientific spirit,” “l’art pour l’art,” and “pure knowledge,” “independent of the will,” is only decked-­ out skepticism and paralysis of will—I want to be responsible for this diagnosis of the European disease.59

 KSA 5, 66–67. Here Nietzsche deals with skepticism in the historical context of the Christian faith and the “Enlightenment.” The faith of the early Christians, “in the midst of a world of southern skeptics and freethinkers,” is “sacrifice.” Modern “obtuse” men are incapable of feeling the “terribly superlative conception which was implied to an antique taste by the paradox of the formula, ‘God on the cross.’” It was “freedom from the faith, the half-stoical and smiling indifference to the seriousness of the faith, which made the slaves indignant at their masters and revolt against them. ‘Enlightenment’ causes revolt (…) his many hidden sufferings make him revolt against the noble taste which seems to deny suffering. The skepticism with regard to suffering, fundamentally only an attitude of aristocratic morality, was not the least of the causes, also, of the last great slaveinsurrection which began with the French Revolution” (KSA 5, 67). 55  KSA 5, 69. This appear in the section dedicated to “being religious.” 56  KSA 5, 137. The following quotations are also from JGB part VI, section 208. 57  KSA 5, 137. 58  KSA 5, 138. 59  KSA 5, 139. 54

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“Decked-out skepticism and paralysis of will” is a diagnosis that the philosopher makes about his “today.” Thus, even if he has to “travel the entire path of man’s values and sentiments of value [and] to be able to see with many eyes and consciences,”60 his “task” is more ambitious: to create values.61 The philosopher cannot abstain, cannot always honor distrust to which the scholar is mainly faithful; he must value. In the face of skepticism and paralysis of the will, the philosopher puts the question of value first. The skeptic may be the most honest type among philosophers for his will to find truth62 (the great spirits, Nietzsche maintains, are skeptical and Zarathustra is one of them),63 but their virtues are insufficient to give life value. The “authentic philosophers,” says Nietzsche, are the “men who legislate.”64 There is no room for skepticism there.

Bibliographical References Bailey, Alan. 2002a. Sextus Empiricus and Pyrrhonian Scepticism. New  York: Oxford University Press. ———, ed. 2002b. Sextus Empiricus: Outlines of Scepticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barnes, Jonathan. 1986. Nietzsche and Diogenes Laertius. Nietzsche-Studien 15: 16–40. Berry, Jessica N. 2011. Nietzsche and the Ancient Skeptical Tradition. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Bett, Richard. 2000. Nietzsche on the Skeptics and Nietzsche as Skeptic. Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 82: 62–86. Blondel, Eric. 1986. Nietzsche le corps et la culture. Paris: PUF. Brochard, Víctor. 1945. Los escépticos griegos. Buenos Aires: Losada. Brusotti, Marco, and Herman Siemens, eds. 2017. Nietzsche, Kant and the Problem of Metaphysics. London: Bloomsbury. Burnham, Douglas. 2007. Reading Nietzsche. An Analysis of Beyond Good and Evil. Stocksfield: Acumen. Busellato, Stefano. 2012. Nietzsche e lo scetticismo. Macerata: Edizioni Università di Macerata. Campioni, Giuliano. 2005. Nietzsche y el espíritu latino. Buenos Aires: El Cuenco de Plata. Constantinidès, Yannis. 2000. Nietzsche législateur. Grande politique et réforme du monde. In Lectures de Nietzsche, ed. J.F. Balaudé and P. Wotling, 208–282. Paris: Le Livre de Poche. Conway, Daniel, and Julie Ward. 1992. Physicians of the Soul. Peritropé in Sextus Empiricus and Nietzsche. In Nietzsche und die antike Philosophie, ed. D.  Conway and R.  Rehn, 193–223. Hamburg: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag.  KSA 5, 145.  KSA 5, 145. 62  KSA 6, 236. Also see section 3 of the chapter “Why I am so intelligent” from Ecce Homo, where Nietzsche refers to skeptics as “the only respectable type of people among philosophers” and the book by Víctor Brochard (KSA 6, 284). It should be noted that Nietzsche appreciates the skeptical weapons that, particularly, German historians from Wolff onwards have developed. 63  KSA 6, 178. 64  KSA 5, 145. On this particular problem, see the excellent article by Y. Constantinidès, “Nietzsche législateur. Grande politique et réforme du monde”, in Lectures de Nietzsche, Balaudé, J.F. and Wotling, P. (eds.), Paris, Le Livre de Poche, 2000, pp. 208–282. 60 61

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Danto, Arthur C. 1980. Nietzsche as Philosopher. New York: Columbia University Press. Denat, Céline. 2010. “Les découvertes les plus précieuses, ce sont les méthodes”: Nietzsche, ou la recherche d’une méthode sans méthodologie. Nietzsche-Studien 39: 283–308. Gerhardt, Volker. 1995. Nietzsche. Munich: Beck. Hanza, Kathia. 2011. Escepticismo como voluntad de poder. Nietzsche, lector de Lange. In Nietzsche e as ciencias, ed. M.Á. de Barrenechea, C.  Feitosa, P.  Pinheiro, and R.  Suarez, 46–59. Rio de Janeiro: Viveiros de Castro Editora. Heller, Peter. 1972. “Von den ersten und letzten Dingen”. Studien und Kommentar zu einer Aphorismenreihe von Friedrich Nietzsche. Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter. Hiley, David R. 1992. The Politics of Skepticism: A Reading of Montaigne. History of Philosophy Quarterly 9: 379–399. Himmelmann, Beatrix. 2011. Jessica N.  Berry. Nietzsche and the Ancient Skeptical Tradition. https://ndpr.nd.edu/news/nietzsche-and-the-ancient-skeptical-tradition/. Accessed 10th Feb 2018. Lachtermann, David R. 1992. Die ewige Wiederkehr des Griechen: Nietzsche and the Homeric Question. In Nietzsche und die antike Philosophie, ed. D. Conway and R. Rehn, 13–35. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag. Lampert, Laurence. 2001. Nietzsche’s Task. An Interpretation of Beyond Good and Evil. New Haven: Yale University Press. Lange, Friedrich Albert. 1950. The History of Materialism and Criticism of Its Present Importance. New York: The Humanities Press. Long, A.A. 1995. Skepsis; Skeptizismus. In Historisches Wörterbuch, ed. J. Ritter and K. Gründer, vol. 9. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Lupo, Luca. 2007. Le colombe dello scettico. In Riflessioni di Nietzsche sulla coscienza negli anni 1880–1888. Pisa: ETS. Magnus, Bernd. 1980. Nietzsche’s Mitigated Skepticism. Nietzsche-Studien 9: 260–267. Martin, Glen. 1987. A Critique of Nietzsche’s Metaphysical Skepticism. International Studies in Philosophy 19: 51–59. Meijers, Anthonie, and Martin Stingelin. 1988. Konkordanz Nietzsche-Gerber. Nietzsche-Studien 17: 350–368. Michaelis, Paul. 2013. Jenseits von Gut und Böse (review). In Rezensionen und Reaktionen zu Nietzsches Werken 1872–1889, ed. H. Reich, 634–639. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Molner, David. 1993. The influence of Montaigne on Nietzsche: A raison d’ être in the sun. Nietzsche-Studien 22: 80–93. Mosser, Kurt. 1998. Should the Skeptic Live His Skepticism? Nietzsche and Classical Skepticism. Manuscrito—Revista Internacional de Filosofía 21: 275–292. Navratil, Michael. 2017. “Einige Sprossen zurück”. Metaphysikkritik, Perspektivismus und die Gültigkeit der Perspektiven in Nietzsches Menschliches, Allzumenschliches. Nietzsche-Studien 46: 58–81. Nietzsche, Friedrich. 1980. Sämtliche Werke. Kritische Studienausgabe, ed. G.  Colli and M. Montinari, 15. Munich: DTV and Walter de Gruyter. ———. 1995–2020. The Complete Works, ed. E.  Behler and B.  Magnus. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Parusch, Adi. 1975/1976. Nietzsche on the Skeptic’s Life. Review of Metaphysics 29: 523–542. Poellner, Peter. 2000. Nietzsche and Metaphysics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Porter, James. 2002. Nietzsche and the Philology of the Future. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Richter, Raoul. 1904. Der Skeptizismus in der Philosophie. Leipzig: Dürr. ———. 1908. Der Skeptizismus in der Philosophie und seine Überwindung. Leipzig: Dürr. Ritchie, E. 1909. Der Skeptizismus in der Philosophie und seine Überwindung by Raoul Richter. The Philosophical Review 18 (5): 557–558. Santini, Carlotta. 2013. Nietzsche und der antike Skeptizismus. Nietzsche-Studien 42: 368–374. Schirmer, Andreas. 2000. Friedrich Nietzsche. Chronik in Bildern und Texten. Munich: DTV. Sextus Empiricus. 2005. Against the Logicians, ed. R. Bett. New York: Cambridge University Press.

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Siemens, Herman. 2001. Nietzsche’s Agon with Ressentiment: Towards a Therapeutic Reading of Critical Transvaluation. Continental Philosophy Review 34: 69–93. ———. 2002. Agonal Communities of Taste: Law and Community in Nietzsche’s Philosophy of Transvaluation. The Journal of Nietzsche Studies 24: 83–112. Sommer, Andreas. 2006. Nihilism and Skepticism in Nietzsche. In A Companion to Nietzsche, ed. K.A. Pearson, 250–269. Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell. ———. 2014. Criatividade e ceticismo en Nietzsche. Cadernos Nietzsche 34 (1): 11–31. Stack, George. 1983. Lange and Nietzsche. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Stegmaier, Werner. 2010. Nietzsches “Genealogie der Moral”. Darmstadt: WBG. Vivarelli, Vivetta. 1994. Montaigne und der ‘freie Geist’. Nietzsche im Übergang. Nietzsche-­ Studien 23: 79–101. Wilkerson, Dale. 2006. Nietzsche and the Greeks. London/New York: Continuum. Wotling, Patrick. 1997. “Der Weg zu den Grundproblemen”. Statut et structure de la psychologie dans la pensée de Nietzsche. Nietzsche-Studien 26: 1–33. ———. 2006. “L’ultime scepticisme”. La vérité comme régime d’interprétation. Revue Philosophique de la France et de l’Étranger 196 (4): 479–496. ———. 2008. La culture comme problème. La redétermination nietzschéenne du questionnement philosophique. Nietzsche-Studien 37: 1–50. ———. 2010. “Cette espèce nouvelle de scepticisme, plus dangereuse et plus dure”. Ephexis, bouddhisme, frédéricisme chez Nietzsche. Révue de métaphysique et de morale 65: 109–123.

Chapter 17

The Missing End of the Threefold Cord in the Transmission of Ancient Skepticism into Modernity: The Lives by Diogenes Laertius Jorge Ornelas

Abstract  The orthodox position regarding how ancient Skepticism first arrived in the Reinassance and later into Modernity has been dominated by the work of Charles B. Schmitt and Richard Popkin. They jointly defended what I call here “the Popkin/ Schmitt thesis”: the transmission of skeptical ideas and arguments took place via a threefold cord made up of Cicero’s Academica, Sextus Empiricus’s Opera and Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers; in which the first two are dominant over the last one. This paper is intended to challenge this historical hypothesis through a twofold movement: on the one hand, I will argue that, from a historical perspective, unlike Cicero’s Academica and Sextus’s Opera, Diogenes’s Lives was one of the primary sources of ancient philosophy since the Middle Ages. I will also argue that, given its particular compositional features, Diogenes’s Lives transcended the philosophical context, influencing other branches of science like history and literature, through which Diogenes’s characterization of Skepticism became commonplace in the Western world. Furthermore, and from a philosophical perspective, I will argue that Diogenes’s version of Pyrrhonian Skepticism has some explanatory advantages that provide us with a more comprehensive image of it, one that is not centered on epistemological topics as in Sextus’s version. Both elements allow us to understand why Diogenes’s Lives has, by its own right, a central place among the Holy Trinity of texts responsible for the transmission of ancient Skepticism into Modernity.

For the past few years I have had the good fortune to count professor John Christian Laursen as a close interlocutor. I am even more fortunate to count him as a friend. Laursen revised an earlier version of this text, and his comments contributed substantially to the improvement of the ideas presented here. My understanding of modern skepticism is indebted to his work. J. Ornelas (*) UNAM, Mexico City, Mexico © Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3_17

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Introduction: The work of Richard Popkin1 and Charles B. Schmitt2 paved the way for our contemporary understanding of how ancient skepticism was introduced into the philosophical discourses of the Renaissance and early modernity. Before them, a lacuna existed regarding how and why modern thinkers found the ancient skeptics’ ideas alluring. Popkin’s and Schmitt’s reconstruction of that history is so rich in detail that it surpasses the limits of the present work. Consequently, here I will focus only on one of their main theses, namely, that the transmission of ancient skeptical ideas and arguments came by way of a threefold cord made up of Cicero’s Academica, Sextus Empiricus’s Opera, and Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers (early third century CE), of which the last was the least important, probably because it was the least explored. Henceforth, I will refer to this thesis as ‘P/S,’ short for ‘Popkin/Schmitt.’ In this chapter, I take a critical look at P/S in hopes of improving our understanding of the transmission and reception of ancient skepticism in modernity. I present an alternative to P/S, one that, although similar to the original thesis in some respects, transforms the role assigned to each of the parties that make up the threefold cord.

17.1  The Threefold Cord in the Transmission of Skepticism Recent decades have seen an explosion of historical studies concerning the history of the Greek and Roman manuscripts through which ancient skeptical ideas were transmitted to modern philosophers. In the present, it is generally accepted that Renaissance philosophers engaged ancient skeptical positions rather chaotically, by way of a kind of skeptical summa consisting of fragmentary information from several sources: Aulus Gellius, Cicero, Plutarch, Ptolemy, Galen, Augustine, and Eusebius, among others. However, the orthodox position in the historiography regarding the reception of ancient skepticism is still P/S.  As part of his study, Schmitt (1983: 227–228) argued that the main ancient works containing ancient skeptical ideas (Cicero’s Academica, Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines of Pyrrhonism, and Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers) were, with a few minor exceptions, first translated from Greek to Latin and then into vernacular languages during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and that it was precisely their appearance that led to the crise pyrrhonienne of the seventeenth century.

1  Richard Popkin, The History of Scepticism. From Savonarola to Bayle, Revised and Expanded Edition, Oxford, 2003, Oxford University Press. 2  Charles B. Schmitt, “The Rediscovery of Ancient Skepticisms in Modern Times,” in: M. Burnyeat (ed.), The Skeptical Tradition, Berkley and Los Angeles, 1983, UC Press, pp. 225–251. Originally published in Rivista critica di storia della filosofia, 27 (1972), pp. 363–384. Here I am following Burnyeat’s edition.

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17.1.1  The First Strand: Schmitt on Cicero’s Academica Schmitt (1983: 240) argued that Cicero’s Academica was the most important text in the resurrection of ancient skeptical ideas, which was why he undertook the Herculean task of tracing back all editions and translations of Academica beginning with the original (by Pier Vettori in 1536) and ending with Pedro de Valencia’s commentary of 1596. Schmitt also argued that ancient skepticism was much better known in the East than it was in the West, maintaining (ibid: 235) that the first Greek skeptical manuscripts were brought to Italy from Constantinople by Francesco Filelfo in 1427.3 Around 1490, and probably motivated by his quarrel with Pope Alexander VI, Girolamo Savonarola asked his circle of students to translate Sextus Empiricus’s Outlines. He most certainly suspected that it might contain some arguments that could be useful for his own purposes. During that time, Sextus’s Greek manuscripts were available in some Italian intellectual centers, such as the Medici Library, the Vatican Library, and in the Convent of San Marco at Florence. Schmitt (ibid: 236), however, argues that there is no evidence of Sextus’s ideas beyond the Alps before the sixteenth century; and even if they were relatively popular in Italy, Sextus’s works were used only as historical and philological reference texts regarding ancient Greek thought, not as a philosophical work strictu sensu: The name of Sextus was, indeed, known to a circle of important fifteenth-century humanists, and some minimal use was made of his ideas. Moreover, ideas deriving from Cicero’s Academica and other sources had a somewhat greater role in the religious controversies of the first half of the sixteenth century than has hitherto been believed.

According to Schmitt (ibid: 237), it was not until 1621, with the editio princeps of Sextus that Pyrrhonian ideas finally arrived in the main northern European intellectual centers, while Academic skepticism was already common in Paris by the middle of the sixteenth century.

17.1.2  The Second Strand: Popkin on Sextus’s Outlines Though Popkin (2003: 17) also subscribed to P/S, he chose to track the influence of Sextus Empiricus in the transmission of skepticism during the Renaissance. Alongside Schmitt, he established that the rediscovery of Greek manuscripts and their first Latin translations were a product of the Quattrocento and also that the first Latin translation of Sextus’s Outlines was the work of the French Protestant Henri Estienne (1562), while the first Latin translation of Adversus Mathematicos was 3  Cfr. Philelphi Epistolae, f.14v, lib. XVII f.121v, (1441), collected in Remigio Sabbadini (ed.), Le Scoperte dei Codici Latini e Greci nei secoli XIV e XV, Firenze, 1905, G.C. Sansoni, vol. 1. Also H. Mutschmann, “Der Überlieferung der Schriften des Sextus Empiricus,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie, 64 (1909), p. 250.

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done by the Roman Catholic Gentian Hervet (1569). More recently, Luciano Floridi4 reinforced Popkin’s thesis, tracking the seventy-three (not seventy-six, as Schmitt initially reported) Greek manuscripts of Sextus’s works. Facing this new evidence, Floridi (1995: 76) argues that even if Sextus’s epistemological ideas were not discussed during the Renaissance, his works were known in some intellectual circles. He also hypothesizes that there was interest in Sextus’s work in the Byzantine world during the fourteenth century, which explains why most of the Greek manuscripts came to Italy from Byzantium. Given that Popkin’s position is well known, I will not dwell on the details. Instead, I will only emphasize some points relevant to my argument.5 Popkin (2003: chap. 1) argues that Sextus’s ideas were relevant in theological debates regarding the criterion of religious knowledge or “the rule of faith.” This problematic appeared first in Savonarola’s struggle against Pope Alexander VI and later during the Reform movement led by Luther (1483–1546) against the authority of the Roman Catholic Church. Popkin saw in this kind of religious conflict an instance of “the problem of the criterion of truth” that Sextus explored perspicuously in Book II of Outlines (but also in Against the Logicians): Is it possible to establish a criterion of truth without falling into vicious circularity, arbitrary assumption, or an infinite regress? If it is not possible, Catholics such as Hervet argued, then we should trust tradition (the papal authority); this is the conservative aspect of Pyrrhonism that is also present in Outlines (1.24). But in order for these arguments not to function as a double-edged sword, one that would also put Catholicism at risk, it was necessary to domesticate them by using Pyrrhonian arguments in the service of fideism. Popkin holds that Montaigne became the most important champion of this new version of domesticated Pyrrhonism.6 (Schmitt agrees—see 1983: 242.) What is important to bear in mind here is that Popkin’s entire history of the reception and transmission of Pyrrhonism seems to be oriented toward a preconceived end: giving a positive account of Montaigne’s importance for the history of philosophy.7

4  Luciano Floridi, “The Diffusion of Sextus Empiricus’s Works in the Renaissance,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 56 (1995), pp. 63–85; and Sextus Empiricus: The Transmission and Recovery of Pyrrhonism, Oxford, 2002, Oxford University Press. 5  Here I am following Emmanuel Naya, “Renaissance Pyrrhonism: A Relative Phenomenon,” in G. Paganini and J. Maia Neto (eds.), Renaissance Scepticisms, Dordrecht, 2009, Springer, p. 18. 6  “Montaigne’s genial ‘Apologie’ became the coup of grâce to an entire intellectual world. It was also to be the womb of modern thought, in that it led to the attempt either to refute the new Pyrrhonism or to find a way of living with it. Thus, throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Montaigne was seen not as a transitional figure, or a man off the main roads of thought, but as the founder of an important intellectual movement that continued to plague philosophers in their quest of certainty” (Popkin, op. cit., p. 56). 7  Naya, op. cit., p. 16, holds that in his exaltation of Montaigne, Popkin is following P. Villey (Les Sources et l’évolution des Essais de Montaigne, 1908) and H. Busson (Les Sources et le développement du rationalisme dans la littérature française de la Renaissance (1533–1601), 1920), who in turn echoes Pierre Bayle.

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In the remainder of this paper, I will present some historical evidence for attributing a larger role to Diogenes Laertius’s Lives in the recovery and transmission of skepticism in modernity. In doing so, I will demonstrate that P/S exaggerates the relevance of the Academica and the Outlines. Before making my case, however, I will make a brief stop to discuss some relevant claims advanced by the P/S thesis regarding Diogenes Laertius’s work. These claims will be rejected in the final section.

17.1.3  Braiding the Two Strands (A) The Sextan corpus has only doxographical value Schmitt8 and Popkin9 agree with the widely accepted idea that Sextus was an excellent copyist who recorded with great detail the positions of his Pyrrhonian ancestors, but that practically nothing original can be found in his works. The value of his work lies instead in the systematicity and detail of his presentation. Sextus’s compendia are also valuable, according to this view, because they include complete works from a member of the ancient Pyrrhonian movement. Regarding this issue, Popkin writes: The stress in this study on the revival of interest and concern with the texts of Sextus Empiricus is not intended to minimize or ignore the collateral role played by such ancient authors as Diogenes Laertius or Cicero in bringing the classical skeptical view to the attention of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century thinkers. However, the writings of Sextus seem to have played a special and predominant role for many of the philosophers, theologians, and scientists considered here, and Sextus appears to have been the direct or indirect source of many of their arguments, concepts, and theories. It is only in the works of Sextus that a full presentation of the position of the Pyrrhonian sceptics appears, with all of their dialectical weapons employed against so many philosophical theories. Neither the presentation of Academic skepticism in Cicero and St. Augustine nor the summaries of both types of skepticism—Academic and Pyrrhonian—in Diogenes Laertius were rich enough to satisfy those concerned with the skeptical crisis of the Renaissance and Reformation. (Popkin 2003: xx; italics added)

(B) The Renaissance’s interest in classical works Schmitt (1983: 226–7) and Popkin (2003: xix) also agree with the historiographical thesis according to which skepticism disappeared from the philosophical scene

8  “The number of writings produced by skeptical school must have been quite substantial, though the only primary sources still extant are the compendia of Sextus Empiricus, who seems to have been an accurate compiler, but to have contributed nothing original to the movement itself” (Schmitt: op. cit., p. 226). 9  “Sextus Empiricus was an obscure and unoriginal Hellenistic writer” (Popkin, op.  cit., p.  12). However, in the revised and expanded edition (2003) Popkin (p. 18) recognizes the possibility of some originality in Sextus’s work, given the evidence adduced by Richard Bett, Pyrrho, His Antecedents and His Legacy, Oxford, 2000, Oxford University Press.

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shortly after the Hellenistic schools were closed. Even if some skeptical discussions have been documented in the Middle Ages, they are too isolated to be considered seriously.10 According to P/S, skepticism reappeared due to both the interest in classical works during the Renaissance and the urgency for then-contemporary thinkers to find useful arguments to deploy in their own disputes. (C) A lacuna and some prejudices about Diogenes’s work We already saw that, from the bibliographical point of view, there was a significant presence of skeptical sources in the Renaissance. P/S considers that the outstanding works were the threefold cord (Academica, Sextus’s Opera, and Lives). However, P/S’s position regarding the last is ambiguous. Here is Schmitt’s stance: Of the three major ancient writings on skepticism still extant—Sextus Empiricus’s Opera, Diogenes Laertius’s Life of Pyrrho, and Cicero’s Academica—the first and the third were known to very few in the West during the Middle Ages, while the second was apparently wholly unknown. […] Walter Burley’s Lives of the Philosophers is somehow partially based on Diogenes Laertius’s work, either proximately or remotely, it does not have a chapter on the ancient skeptic Pyrrho of Ellis, and I know of no evidence that Life of Pyrrho was known to anyone in the Latin-speaking world before the fifteenth century. (Schmitt 1983: 227)

And here is Popkin’s: Information about ancient scepticism became available to Renaissance thinkers principally through three sources: the writings of Sextus Empiricus, the sceptical works of Cicero, and the account of the ancient sceptical movements in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers. To fully appreciate the impact of scepticism on Renaissance thought, one would need studies of when these sources became available, where, to whom, and what reactions they produced. Charles B. Schmitt has done this with Cicero’s Academica […] It would take painstaking work like Schimitt’s and Luciano Floridi’s to complete the picture of who read Sextus, Diogenes, and sceptical antirational Muslim and Jewish authors like Al-Ghazzali and Judah Halevi. (Popkin 2003: 17)

I say that P/S has an “ambiguous” position regarding Diogenes’s Lives because, on the one hand, it recognizes the Lives as part of the Holy Trinity in the transmission of skeptical ideas in the Renaissance; on the other hand, however, it places Lives one step below Academica and Sextus’s Opera in importance. It seems to me that two reasons form the basis of this stance: the first is, as Schmitt affirms, that Diogenes’s reconstruction of the Pyrronian position was “apparently wholly unknown” in the Middle Ages. Furthermore, that Academica and Sextus’s writings came from two confessed members of their respective skeptical schools, which is a reason why it can be assumed that they endorse their sayings in propia persona; a trustworthy advantage over Diogenes’s work. The second reason is, as Popkin holds, because no one had undertaken the task of tracing Diogenes’s manuscripts. In the next section, I will present some evidence that will allow me to challenge both reasons, thereby establishing the importance of Diogenes’s work as part of the threefold cord that made possible the recovery of ancient skepticism in modern

 For opposing views that explore the relevance of skepticism in the Middle Ages, see: Henrik Lagerlund (ed.), Rethinking the History of Skepticism, Leiden/Boston, 2010, Brill.

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philosophy. At the same time, I will try to share some doubts on the three points of P/S noted above.

17.2  T  he Missing Strand: Diogenes Laertius’s Lives of Eminent Philosophers For most modern historians, Diogenes’s Lives has been considered the ugly duckling of the historiography of the classical world:11 a bunch of anecdotes that are supposedly biographical, but most of the time appear contradictory and ready-made to present each philosopher as an epic hero who takes his own philosophy to unimaginable extremes. Furthermore, Diogenes’s philosophical acumen has been challenged in order to discredit his presentation of philosophical doctrines. I suggest here that the caution regarding Diogenes’s work on behalf of P/S has to do with this kind of prejudice, but before elaborating a defense of the philosophical virtues of Lives, I will account for the other obstacle noticed by Popkin: the lack of a “painstaking work” on the history and transmission of Diogenes’s manuscripts. That labor, fortunately, has been accomplished by a group of researchers12 and recently systematized by Tiziano Dorandi.13

17.2.1  F  illing the Lacuna: The History of the Manuscripts of the Lives Resulting from extensive palaeographical, philological, and codicological research conducted by a formidable group of specialists, ninety-three Greek manuscripts of Diogenes Laertius’s Lives have been traced: thirty containing the entire or partial text of the Lives, and sixty-three that are fragmentary. There are also another twenty-­ six manuscripts that refer to Diogenes’s Lives. Among the complete manuscripts, three are dated between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. Among the  The locus classicus is G.W. Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of World History, vol. 1, Edited and translated by Robert Brown and Peter Hodgson, Oxford, 1995, Oxford University Press, Introduction, p. 67–8. 12  Cfr. A. Gercke, “Die Überlieferung des Diogenes Laerios,” Hermes Einzleschriften, 37 (1902), pp. 401–34; G. Donzelli, “Per un’edizione critica di Diogene Laerzio: i codici VUDGS,” BollClass, 8 (1960), pp.  93–132; M.  Gigante, “Biografia e dossografia in Diogene Laerzio”, Elenchos, 7 (1986), pp. 7–102; D. Knoepfler, La Vie de Ménédème d’Érétrie de Diogène Laërce. Contribution à l’histoire et à la critique du texte des Vies des philosophes, Basel, 1991, Verlag, 214 pp.; among many others. 13  Tiziano Dorandi, Laertiana: Capitoli sulla tradizione manoscrita e sulla storia del testo delle Vite dei filosofi di Diogene Laerzio, Berlin and New York, 2009, Walter de Gruyter. Also, Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers, Edited with Introduction by Tiziano Dorandi, Cambridge, 2013, Cambridge University Press. 11

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fragmentary texts, three collections (excerpta Vaticana) from the twelfth century stand out; the rest are dated between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. According to Dorandi, of the three complete manuscripts, the one that stands out is the text from the Biblioteca Nazionale of Naples, written in the twelfth century in southern Greek-Italian (maybe in Palermo), because it is the least contaminated by fourteenth-century revisions. There is a second complete manuscript in Paris, at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, written in Constantinople (or somewhere in the eastern Greek world) in the twelfth century.14 There is another manuscript in the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana at Florence, written in the thirteenth century. Also, in the Laurenziana collection there is another one written by Demetrio Scarno to Ambrogio Traversari (between 1419 and 1420) with which Traversari worked in preparing the first Latin translation (1424 and 1433) and that was published in Rome in 1472 and in Venice in 1475.15 Dorandi’s study gathers every single edition and translation of Diogenes’s Lives and also contains a perspicuous account of their several genealogical relations up to Marcovich’s edition of 1999. The immense quantity of information and the high level of detail in Dorandi’s study are impressive, which is why I can here only refer to his work in order to get acquainted with this fascinating history. The truth is that Dorandi’s results confirm Floridi’s hypothesis that there must have been a skeptical crisis in Byzantium,16 given that most of the skeptical manuscripts found in the West were copied in Constantinople in the twelfth century. What is important to bear in mind here is that all these findings debunk P/S according to which, there was “no evidence that Life of Pyrrho was known to anyone in the Latin-speaking world before the fifteenth century.” On the contrary, unlike Academica and Outlines, of which there is no evidence of its presence during most of the Middle Ages, Diogenes’s Lives seems to have had a continuous presence as one of the most essential and accessible sources of information about ancient philosophy.17 However, Diogenes’s version of Pyrrhonism was not transmitted during  Knoepfler (1991: 154) holds that this manuscript was brought to Italy from Byzantium by Guarino Veronese (between c. 1370 and 1460) and that from it came the copy that Traversari worked with for his Latin translation. 15  Dorandi, Laertiana, (pp. 185–94) also reports an older (incomplete) Latin translation attributed to Henricus Aristippus (d. 1162). There is only some reference to it in Burley’s (1274 to midfourteenth-century) the Liber de vita et moribus philosophorum and in Geremia da Montagnone’s (1255–1321) Compendium moralium notabilium. However, Dorandi holds that Burley’s work is a copy of Aristippus’s translation, which is why he suggests calling it as having been written by Pseudo-Burley. 16  This crisis had been raised to a political and religious level during the Second Palaiologan Civil War (1341–1347), which cast doubts on the model of Roman Imperial institutions and also on the Greek city-state (cfr. Methochites, Semeioseis and Miscellanea, 8 and 93), as well as by the Hesychast Controversy, in which a skeptical defense of the Orthodox Church from Barlaam monk’s “westernizing” critics took place (cfr. A. Louth, Denys the Areopagite, New York, 2002, Continuum, p. 120). 17  The oldest preserved copy of Diogenes’s Greek manuscript is dated 28th July 925, and it reproduces some fragments of book III “Life of Plato.” Schmitt also affirmed that the Latin word “scepticus” was introduced for the first time by Traversari’s Latin translation of Lives (1433). 14

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the Renaissance via philosophical works strictu sensu, but instead through historical (dictionaries, encyclopedias, and thesauri) and literary texts, just as Naya (2009: 21) has convincingly argued: The rediscovery of scepticism consisted first in rediscovering the main figures of the Pyrrhonian school, from the 1480s onwards. These figures provided a general setting in which the doctrine itself could be conceived; this setting was sometimes neutral, sometimes biased and critical towards Pyrrho’s illusory apatheia, as in N. Perrotti’s Curnucopia. This popularization of illustrious Pyrrhonian figures shows that the New Academy was not a major link in the rediscovery of scepticism between the end of the fifteenth century and the middle of the sixteenth: the main figure remained Pyrrho, and it is under his ægis that doctrinal elements were diffused and interpreted, until 1550, which saw a decrease in the importance of Pyrrho to the benefit of Sextus Empiricus.

On the one hand, the Laertian biographical-historical model became commonplace in the methodology of the historiography of the late Middle Ages. Among the oldest and best-known instances of this model are the following: John of Salisbury’s Policraticus (1159), Grosseteste’s translation of the Suda (c. 1235), and John of Wales’s Compendiloquium (1270s). All those works use material from Diogenes or follow his biographical model. The popularity of the Laertianan historical model was very significant in the British Middle Ages. Copeland18 argues that was so because Pseudo-Burley’s De vita became very popular among “academically-­ trained readers, aristocratic readers, urban professionals, clergy.” Even Stanley’s History of Philosophy (1655–1661) used the Laertian model. Histories written on the continent seem to have been even more influenced by the Laertian model: Giovanni Colonna’s De viris illustribus (1330) and Leon Battista Alberti’s Autobiography (1462) in Italy. Without a doubt, it was in France where this model became orthodoxy: Vincent of Beauvais’ Speculum historiale (c. 1229); Robert Estienne’s Dictionarium, sive latinae linguae thesaurus (1543); Pierre Godart’s Lexicon Philosophicum. Item, accuratissima totius philosophia summa (1675); Gilles Ménage’s Historia mulierum philosopharum (1692); climaxing with Pierre Bayle’s Dictionnaire Historique et Critique (1674), a work that popularized Pyrrhonism all over Europe. In Bayle’s Dictionary, however, Sextus Empiricus does not have the leading role in his exposition of Pyrrhonism; and in Sanchez’s Quod nihil scitur (1581) there is not even a single mention of Sextus. Bayle’s reconstruction of Pyrrhonism not only follows the Laertian biographical-historical model, but Diogenes is also his primary source for ancient Pyrrhonism.19 On the other hand, the Laertian biographical model also had a very great influence on Middle Age and Renaissance literature, particularly in all those works that  Rita Copeland, “Behind the Lives of Philosophers. Reading Diogenes Laertius in Western Middle Ages,” Interfaces, 3 (2016), p. 257. 19  The influence of the Laertian biographical model on historical methodology was so great that even the great German historian Jakob Brücker wrote an essay on Pyrrho (1761), De Pyrrhone a Scepticismi universales macula absolvendo, and he also followed the Laertian model in his great work Historia Critica (1766–7). However, in his Institutiones historiae philosophicae (p. 31–38), he criticized this very same model because it had produced only historiae philosophiae instead of historiae philosophicae. 18

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present characters who embody a stereotype through some anecdotes, the same way in which Diogenes depicts philosophers in the Lives (infra, 2.2): Lives is the main source of the Sapiential literature, among which are Bocados de oro and the Libro de los buenos proverbios (both from middle thirteenth century), which contains a series of gnomologies (maxims) and anecdotes (khreía) supposedly attributed to some pagan or Christian sage.20 The Laertian model is also present in the Dybinus’s Declaracio oracionis de Beata Dorothea (1369) and Perotus Nicolaus’s Cournucopia (1489). Giovanni Felice Astolfi’s Officina Historica (1602) used the anecdotes on Pyrrho’s life (DL. 9.62-9) to illustrate an eccentric life.21 Even Popkin (2003: 27) notices that the character Trouillogan in François Rabelais’s Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532–1552) is based on Diogenes’s “The Life of Pyrrho,” and something similar occurs in the abrégé (Breviarium), as in the case of Laurent Bordeleon’s Théatre philosophique (1692). More recently, Maureen Ihrie (1982) and Bárbara Mujica (1993) have found some skeptical attitudes in some of Cervantes’s works, such as Don Quijote (1605), Los trabajos de Persiles y Sigismunda (1617), and El retablo de las maravillas (1615). And finally, Montaigne’s famous Essais (1580) also deserves a special mention. Thus, it seems that the first thing that caught the attention of Renaissance thinkers was the eccentric behavior attributed to Pyrrho, behavior that supposedly followed from ‘living’ his skeptical doctrine, and these anecdotes are reported only by Diogenes. Sextus’s work, on the contrary, is more philosophical, interested in the doctrinal background of Pyrrho’s behavior. Diogenes’s version of Pyrrhonism not only appeared before Sextus’s and Cicero’s, but, having a moral purpose, it became a more digestible version to the general public; in fact, it prepared the way for these other skeptical works. The transmission of Greek manuscripts of the Lives into Europe reinforces this claim, because now it is documented that they crossed the Alps long before Sextus’s texts did.22 In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, copies of the Lives could be found in Paris, Cambridge, Wien, Leiden, Brussels, Münich, Heidelberg, Moscow, and Prague,23 contributing to the expansion of Pyrrhonism in the North of Europe. In sum, I suggest that there is plenty of evidence indicating that Diogenes’s Lives was the primary source of ancient Pyrrhonism in the Renaissance and that it is the axial strand of the threefold cord postulated by P/S. Unlike Academica and Sextus’s  Cfr. F.  Rodriguez-Adrados, Greek Wisdom Literature and the Middle Ages. The Lost Greek Models and their Arabic and Castilian Translations, Bern, (2009), Peter Lang, (chap. IV). 21  Cfr. Naya, op. cit., p. 22. fn 21. 22  Exploring the ancient catalogs of the main Italian libraries in the fifteenth-centrury, Gian Mario Cao (“The Prehistory of Modern Scepticism: Sextus Empiricus in Fifteenth-Century Italy”, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 2001, 64: pp. 229–280) showed that Sextus’s manuscripts were a “rarity” exclusive to two main intellectual Italian institutions (Medici and Vatican libraries), but were absent from most of the public and private Italian collections, even from collections belonging to religious institutions all over Italy. 23  Dorandi (Diogenes Laertius. Life of Eminent… p. 11) holds that despite being corrupted, the Prague manuscript (fifteenth century) was the basis of the Frobeniana edition of Lives (1533), one of the best known in Europe. 20

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Opera, Lives played a crucial role in the configuration of Western culture itself, one that goes beyond philosophy to penetrate other essential cultural domains, such as history and literature, in a much more important way than we have previously thought. So far, I have attempted to remove the first obstacle pointed out by P/S against Lives. In the next two sections, I will try to remove the second one, namely, the putative anxiety regarding the philosophical relevance of Diogenes Laertius’s Lives.

17.2.2  “Life of Pyrrho” in Diogenes Laertius’s Lives In the previous section, I suggested that Popkin and Schmitt agreed with the common prejudice regarding Diogenes’s lack of philosophical acumen and historical reliability. As I mentioned, Hegel was the first to popularize this prejudice, and after him, Werner Jaeger called Diogenes a “great ignoramus.”24 Such prejudice has extended into the present, even among scholars of ancient philosophy,25 and that is why it would be unsurprising that Schmitt and Popkin also partially shared it. To combat that prejudice, we must first take note of Diogenes’s original objective.26 In the Lives several interests converge, which results in a work that cannot be classified by any of the genres that compose it, but rather as a novel product, defined precisely from the combination of all its elements. First of all, we need to bear in mind that Lives is an hairetic work, that is, it belongs to a genre within literature that aspires to give an account of the publicly recognized schools (hairesis). This genre (Peri haireseón) had its origin in medical literature (Serapion, Ad sectas, c. 225 BCE), and its principal antecedent in philosophy is Hippobotus’s On Sects,27 one of the primary sources for Diogenes himself (DL, 1.18–9). These considerations are relevant to the case of “Life of Pyrrho,” since Diogenes himself hesitates to consider Pyrrhonism a sect (DL, 1.20). There is a great debate regarding the requirements that a school had to satisfy in order to be considered a hairesis, and surely these changed from one era to another. The fact is that by Diogenes’s time, it was necessary for schools to have a doctrine (dogmata) that had been transmitted from master to disciple in a recognized lineage—a requirement that Pyrrho and Timon did not satisfy, but which probably Aenesidemus and

 Werner Jaeger, Paideia: The Ideals of Greek Culture, Vol. III, trans. by G. Highet, Oxford, 1944, p. 330, fn 2. 25  Cfr. J. Mejer, “Diogenes Laertius and his Hellenistic Background,” Hermes Einzleschriften, 40 (1978), p.  1. And also, Richard, Rorty, “The historiography of philosophy: four genres,” in R. Rorty, J. Schneewind and Q. Skinner (eds.), Philosophy in History, Cambridge, 1984, Cambridge University Press, p. 62. 26  See on this topic James Warren, “Diogenes Laërtius, biographer of philosophy,” in J. König and T. Whitmarsh (eds.), Ordering Knowledge in the Roman Empire, Cambridge, 2007. Cambridge University Press, pp. 133–149. 27  But there are also hairetic works by Eratosthenes, Philodemus, and Panaetius. 24

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the rest of the so-called “neo-Pyrrhonians” did (Agrippa, Sextus, Favorinus). Given the indeterminacy of Pyrrhonism’s status, Diogenes decided to include the Pyrrhonians in Book IX, dedicated to all those “scattered” thinkers who did not belong clearly to any philosophical school, such as in the case of Heraclitus. The hairetic character of Diogenes’s work is very eloquent about ancient Pyrrhonian tradition; it shows that there was a significant difference between early Pyrrhonism (Pyrrho and Timon), which bestowed relevance to the “way of life” (agogé), and late Pyrrhonism (Aenesidemus, Agrippa, Sextus), which privileged doctrine (dogmata) instead.28 Closely related to its hairetic character, it is important to notice that Lives also has a structure belonging to another literary genre called “successions” (Diadochai), which consisted in the construction of a genealogy for philosophical schools based on successive generations of headmasters supposedly deriving from a venerable ancestor; the genre’s main goal was to emphasize the importance of tradition. This genre flourished within Hellenistic schools29 as a prevalent strategy to contribute to the sects’ prestige and to attract more disciples. Diogenes’s “Life of Pyrrho” also illuminates one of the obscure periods of the Pyrrhonian tradition, namely, what happened in the two centuries between Timon and Aenesidemus, the latter of whom was the first to use Pyrrho as a figurehead for a philosophical school. This break in succession probably explains why Pyrrhonism had not achieved the status of a hairesis in Diogenes’s time. Without a doubt, however, the most relevant aspect of Diogenes’s work is the biographical information about the philosophers reported there. Biography begins by establishing a toponym and a patronym and then moving on to anecdotes and finally to doctrines and successions. This is the reason why the Lives turn out to be one of our primary sources for the place and the date of birth of many ancient philosophers. Biography did not, however, possess the historical implications in antiquity that it does nowadays. This confusion about biography’s ancient role has been the source of the main complaints against Diogenes’s work in modern times: Diogenes’s biographical reports are not historically reliable because they did not pretend to be. Biography in antiquity was understood instead as a literary genre through which a kind of stereotype was produced by attributing certain feats to the subject of the biography. Nevertheless, these anecdotes present a moral character based on some philosophical doctrine, which is one reason why some scholars have

 Diogenes’s Lives is also the main source of Pierre Hadot’s La Philosophie comme manière de vivre (Paris, (2001), Le Livre de Poche), in which Hadot holds that the distinctive mark of ancient philosophy is the perfect harmony between doctrines and a particular way of life, which is why the case of Pyrrho is one of his main pieces of evidence. However, in my “El lugar de la Bíos escéptica: contra la interpretación rústica del pirronismo” (forthcoming), I argue against Hadot’s thesis. 29  The paradigmatic work in this tradition is Sotion’s Successions of Philosophers (early secondcentury BCE), one of Diogenes’s primary sources. 28

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found resemblances among Lives and the epic poetry30 and the New Comedy.31 In all of these genres, characters correspond to certain stereotypes: the hero, the tyrant, the drunk, etc. Philosophy lends itself very well to this biographical model, since philosophical doctrines provide the archetypes for the feats that philosophers had to perform. The “Life of Pyrrho” illustrates this point perfectly: although he did not leave a written doctrine, it is said that he preached indifference, which is why Diogenes reports him as someone who did not avoid perils on the road (traffic, cliffs, and dogs) (DL. 9.62) and did not help his master when he was in danger (DL. 9.63)—descriptions unlikely to be true if, as Diogenes himself reports (DL. 9.62), Pyrrho lived close to ninety years. The anecdotes never pretended to be historically reliable, but rather to illustrate the life that each philosophy invoked. On the coherence between life and doctrine inside the Pyrrhonian tradition, Diogenes’s work is the most eloquent of all sources available to us. It is clear that Pyrrho and Timon, even if they had a moral creed, did not have any pretension to building a hairesis and not even a philosophical doctrine; Pyrrho preached by example. In Sextus this relationship is reversed: he does seem interested in developing and systematizing the arguments of his predecessors, but Pyrrho’s vital attitudes (diathésis) do not appear in his writings. It is significant that anecdotes about Pyrrho’s life have survived in historical and literary works, as I tried to show in the previous section, which shows that by bringing to life the Pyrrhonian character, Diogenes was creating a stereotype still present in our contemporary understanding of this tradition. Finally, Diogenes’s Lives is the paradigmatic example of that literary genre that Diels32 refers to as “doxography”: the presentation of philosophers’ opinions on certain issues (ethics, metaphysics, epistemology, etc.) with the intention of composing a catalog, a reference work. Among the oldest examples of this literary genre is Hippias the sophist (c. fourth century BCE), as well as Theophrastus’s Peri phusikón doxón; however, the paradigm of this tradition is the so-called Placita (Tenets) (c. second century CE). With some exceptions, doxography sought only to report philosophical opinions from a neutral perspective; there were no criticisms or comments on the opinions reported, as there are not in Diogenes’s Lives. Clearly, Diogenes’s work is much more complicated than Hegel’s dismissive remark—“nothing more than a compilation of previous writers’ opinions”—suggests. Diogenes’s work may be read at least in the four dimensions pointed to above. Only by doing so is it possible to capture all its richness, which has made it one of our primary sources of information about the philosophy and culture of the classical world.

 Cfr. Lorenzo Corti, “Mind and Language of the Laërtian Pyrrhonism: Diog. Laert. 9.74–77,“in K.  Vogt (ed.), Pyrrhonian Skepticism in Diogenes Laertius, Tübingen, 2015, Mohr Siebeck, pp. 123–145. 31  Cfr. Andrea, Lozano-Vásquez, “The Pyrrhonian Language” (forthcoming). 32  Hermann Diels, Doxographi Graeci, Berlin, (1879), Weidmann. For an excellent discussion on the relevance of doxography in ancient philosophy, see: Gábor Betegh, “The transmission of ancient wisdom: Texts, doxographies, libraries,” in L.  Gerson (ed.), The Cambridge History of Philosophy in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, 2010, Cambridge University Press, pp. 25–38. 30

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17.2.3  D  iogenes’s Version of Pyrrhonism: Some Philosophical Advantages In this final section, I would like to point out some of the philosophical advantages of Diogenes’s version of Pyrrhonism over Sextus’s, many of which not only require us to reject the supposed lack of expertise of Diogenes, but also place his Lives as an indispensable work for a robust understanding of the Pyrrhonian tradition. We have previously seen that the reason why P/S explicitly privileges Sextus’s presentation of Pyrrhonism over Diogenes’s has to do with the degree of detail in its content: “It is only in the works of Sextus that a full presentation of the position of the Pyrrhonian sceptics appears…” (Popkin, 2003: xx). Sextus’s presentation of Pyrrhonism in Book I of Outlines is more abundant in details (examples) than that of Diogenes’s, but as several scholars33 have pointed out, Diogenes’s condensed version holds the essential elements of Pyrrhonism, particularly those emphasized by Popkin, namely, the problem of the criterion and the Modes for suspension of judgment. Diogenes’s presentation of the Ten Modes of Aenesidemus (DL, 9.78–88), the Five Modes of Agrippa (DL, 9.88–9), and the problem of the criterion (DL, 9.94–5) are as rigorous as all other versions available and are quite close to Sextus’s exposition.34 In his presentation of Pyrrhonism, Diogenes manages to show clearly that both topics (the Modes and the problem of the criterion) are part of the same argumentative strategy: the postulation of any criterion of truth is vulnerable to Agrippa’s Modes (DL, 9.94). But he also shows that the problem of the criterion is also vulnerable to the disagreement Mode (DL, 9.95): the lack of universal consensus on the criterion of truth implies a disagreement, which is the starting point of Aenesidemus’s Ten Modes. Qualifying Diogenes’s presentation of Pyrrhonism as “condensed” does not necessarily mean that it is superfluous; there are certain contexts in which condensed elements are more useful than expanded ones (in cycling, for example, a CO2 cartridge is more useful than a standard air pump in order to deal with a puncture). But also, the omission of examples could result in a virtue by leaving aside some elements that could lead to misunderstandings. Furthermore, it seems to me unfair to reproach Diogenes for a lack of detail, given that, as we already saw, his purpose was quite another than Sextus’s. That Sextus’s presentation of Pyrrhonism looks more perspicuous to us today than Diogenes’s does is probably because we enjoy a much more robust understanding of Pyrrhonism and its place in Antiquity. The reason why we scrutinize all details, searching for new elements, is to allow us to sustain novel interpretations. But our contemporary preference for novelty is a prejudice  Cfr. Katja, Vogt (ed.), Pyrrhonian Skepticism in Diogenes Laertius, Tübingen, 2015, Mohr Siebeck. 34  On the Ten Modes of Aenesidemus see: Philo, de ebrietate 169–205; Aristocles ap. Eusebius, Prep. Evan. 14.18.11–12; Sextus Empiricus, HP: 1.36–163. On the Five Modes of Agrippa see: HP, 1.164–177 and HP. 2.18–79. 33

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that we should not project onto the Renaissance thinkers who received skeptical ideas and for whom Diogenes’s presentation was more accessible precisely for its condensed character. Proof of this is that, as I showed above, while Sextus’s works were preserved for a limited number of scholars, Lives was circulated earlier and more widely all over Europe. Furthermore, the emphasis that Sextus gives to the problem of the criterion and the Modes in his presentation is a double-edged sword because it may well provide the image that the rest of the topics are less important (skeptical expressions, the hairetic character of Pyrrhonism, the role of appearances as a criterion for action, the internal coherence of Pyrrhonism, etc.). Diogenes’s presentation instead places them at the same level as the rest of the other topics. Probably the importance that Popkin himself gave to those two epistemic topics goes hand in hand with the fact that he privileged Sextus’s presentation.35 Even restricting the comparison ­exclusively to the presentation of the Modes, some elements tip the balance in favor of Diogenes. David Sedley36 has argued that the presentation of the Ten Modes of Aenesidemus in Diogenes is “more refined” than that of Sextus insofar as the former allows the avoidance of the charge of dogmatism and the classical objection of incoherence. According to Sedley, Sextus presents the Modes as a systematic “generalized methodology” oriented toward the attainment of a preconceived end, epoché (Outlines: 1.30), and even Sextus seems to notice this danger and points out that his presentation of the Modes is “arbitrary” (Outlines: 1.35); that amendment itself shows that incoherence lies near. Diogenes, on the other hand, avoids presenting the Modes as preconceived logical products, since he introduces them as products that make clear the evidential conflict for any dispute. These nuances, apparently insignificant, shed light on critical discussions regarding the heart of Pyrrhonism itself, such as the nature of skeptical research and the famous debate between “rustic” and “urbane” interpretations of Pyrrhonism.37 In this direction, there have been authors who have read Sextus’s Pyrrhonism as argumentative machinery designed to undermine a priori any belief in any domain, a reading that seems to fit well with

 In this direction, Katja Vogt (“Introduction: Skepticism and Metaphysics in Diogenes Laertius”, in: K, Vogt, Pyrrhonian Skepticism in Diogenes…, p. 3–4) affirms that those scholars who focus on Sextus’s presentation of Pyrrhonism tend to empathize an “epistemic” version of Pyrrhonism over a “Metaphysically Inclined Pyrrhonism.” Where the latter “designate the ideas of early skeptics who seem to have arrived at conclusions about reality, human thought, language, and action”, and the former “can be described entirely in epistemic terms –terms that refer to activities and attitudes such as being puzzled or disturbed, examining premises and arguments, and eventually suspending judgment.” Here I maintain that Popkin (but also Schmitt) privileged the “epistemic” version of Pyrrhonism. 36  David, Sedley, “Diogenes Laertius on the the Pyrrhonist Modes,” in K. Vogt (ed.), Pyrrhonian Skepticism in Diogenes Laertius, Tübingen, 2015, Mohr Siebeck, pp. 171–185. 37  As I already noted above, Diogenes’s presentation of Pyrrhonism sheds light on the fact that the early Pyrrhonians (such as Pyrrho and Timon) were more interested in establishing a “way of life” than in doctrinal inclinations, which can be used as evidence in favor of a “rustic” interpretation of early Pyrrhonism. On this topic, see my “El lugar de la Bíos escéptica…” (forthcoming). 35

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the so-called “rustic” interpretations, in which the discovery of truth does not figure into the Pyrrhonian agenda.38 It is worth remembering here the doxographical commitment of Diogenes: to review the philosophical opinions without intervening in them. In this sense, the report of Diogenes can be considered more trustworthy than Sextus’s because it has no doctrinal commitments at all. Roberto Polito has argued convincingly that at the time Sextus wrote the Outlines, he was immersed in the project of achieving for Pyrrhonism the status of a publicly recognized hairesis, which would explain Sextus’s inclination toward the consolidation of a doctrine and its respective “dogmatic” theses.39 In this way, despite the condensed presentation of the main elements of Pyrrhonism that appears in Diogenes’s “Life of Pyrrho,” it is possible to find some philosophical advantages over Sextus’s work. These advantages were surely appreciated by the first readers and likely also contributed to the dissemination of Pyrrhonian ideas throughout the intellectual milieu of the Renaissance and modernity.

17.3  Conclusion I have tried in this essay to establish that the Lives of Diogenes Laertius, as one of the three primary sources of ancient skepticism in the Renaissance, played at least as important a role in the resurgence of ancient skeptical ideas in Europe as did Cicero’s Academica and the works of Sextus Empiricus. Not only have I tried to recall some of the limitations of the reconstruction of the reception and diffusion of skeptical ideas according to P/S; I have also attempted to remove some of the prejudices surrounding Diogenes’s work. I suggest that those very same prejudices have prevented us from appreciating the enormous impact of Diogenes’s work on Western culture. At the same time, I have tried to show that even if Popkin’s and Schmitt’s work opened important fields of inquiry into Sextus’s and Cicero’s influence in the mainstream discussions of modernity, the recent interest in Diogenes Laertius has begun to do the same for his work. I hope to have contributed to that project in these pages.

 Cfr. J. Palmer, “Skeptical Investigation,” Ancient Philosophy, 20 (2000), pp. 351–375; and also, David Sedley, “The motivation of Greek Skepticism,” in: M.  Burnyeat (ed.), The Skeptical Tradition, Berkley and Los Angeles, pp. 225–251. For a criticism of this kind of defense of the “rustic” interpretation of Pyrrhonism, see my “Sképsis escéptica: contra la intepretación rústica del pirronismo sexteano”, in: J. Ornelas (Ed.), Rústicos vs. Urbanos: Disputas en torno a la interpretación del escepticismo pirrónico, México: UNAM-IIF, 2020. 39  Roberto, Polito, “Was Skepticism a Philosophy? Reception, Self-definition, Internal conflicts,” Classical Philology, 102.4 (2007), pp. 333–362. 38

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Name Index

A Adam, M., 21, 29, 42, 78 Ameriks, K., 250 Annas, J., 45, 80, 110 Arcesilaus, 8, 45, 46, 66 Aristotle, 5, 7, 48, 78, 83, 111, 149 Augustine of Hippo, 10, 22 B Bacon, F., 10, 43, 44, 47, 49–51, 56, 59 Bahr, F., 5, 11, 105–120 Baier, A., 202 Bailey, A., 284 Barnes, J., 45, 80, 82, 110, 186 Baum, M., 261, 267 Baur, M., 248 Bayle, P., 11, 105, 108, 109, 112, 116, 118, 120, 131, 144, 146, 161, 162, 165–169, 304, 309 Bayod, B.J., 125 Beck, L.W., 227, 241 Beiser, F.C., 238, 239, 275 Benítez, M., 106, 124, 132, 136, 140 Berkeley, G., 2, 7, 249 Berman, D., 197, 205, 206 Berry, J.N., 284, 285, 294 Betegh, G., 313 Bett, R., 7 Birchal, T.S., 31 Blom, P., 197

Blondel, E., 294 Boehm, O., 228, 233–235 Bolzani, F.R., 8 Bonadeo, A., 102 Bonazzi, M., 8 Bowman, B., 248 Brahami, F., 4, 24, 67, 74 Brandão, E., 13, 14, 273–281 Breazeale, D., 259, 262 Bredel, M., 131 Brochard, V., 285, 297 Broughton, J., 79 Brunschvicg, L., 20, 21 Brush, C.B., 101 Brusotti, M., 288 Buckley, M.J., 197 Bueno, O., 140 Burnham, D., 295 Burnyeat, M., 80–82, 302, 316 Busellato, S., 284 Busson, H., 304 C Cao, G.M., 310 Capaldi, N., 95, 192 Carneades, 8, 23, 45, 46, 48, 60, 66, 72, 73, 77, 151, 152, 255 Carraud, V., 23, 25–29, 32, 33 Carriero, J., 79 Castellion, S., 127

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3

341

Name Index

342 Cavallo, G., 133 Charles, S., 23, 26, 42, 97, 124, 243, 249, 274 Charron, P., 21, 106, 285 Chartier, R., 133 Chiesara, M.L., 21 Cicero, 23, 24, 46, 60, 61, 65, 66, 72, 112, 155 Cíntora, A., 7, 24 Clark, S., 181 Clarke, S., 193 Colie, R., 193, 194 Commynes, Phillipe de, 130, 131 Conche, M., 23, 24 Constantinidès, Y., 297 Conte, J., 5 Conway, D., 284, 289 Copeland, R., 309 Coppin, J., 69 Corti, L., 313 Costello, T.M., 211 Courcelle, P., 20, 22

E Eichorn, R., 25, 42, 180 Engelsing, R., 133 Engstler, A., 263 Erasmus, 2, 3, 7, 97, 140, 144 Eva, L.A.A., 5, 7, 23, 42, 43, 49, 50

D Dal, P.M., 8 Dawkins, R., 216 de Crousaz, J.-P., 117 Dees, R., 181 Deleule, D., 49, 56 Delvolvé, J., 144, 145 Denat, C., 292 Dennett, D., 216 Desan, P., 24, 30, 36, 129 de Sá Pereira, R.H., 5 Descartes, R., 2, 3, 7, 10, 21, 29–31, 35, 77–86, 88–93, 95, 97, 100, 101, 112, 131, 140, 153, 155 D’Holbach, B.P.-H.T., 197–200, 205–207, 210, 213, 215, 217 Diderot, D., 117 Diels, H., 313 di Giovanni, G., 263 Dommanget, M., 130, 134 Donzelli, G., 307 Dorandi, T., 307, 308, 310 Dotoli, G., 128 Du, M.C.C., 119 Dupin, L.E., 112 Dutra, L.H.de.A., 7 Dyck, C., 258 Dyson, H., 187

G Galenkamp, M., 162 Garavini, F., 34 Garrett, D., 200, 201, 203 Garve, C., 228, 237, 240–244 Gaskin, J.C.A., 192 Gaukroger, S., 59 Gerber, G., 285 Gercke, A., 307 Gerhardt, V., 286 Gigante, M., 307 González, C., 11 Gottlieb, A., 217 Gouhier, H., 20 Gould, S.J., 218 Gounelle, A., 20 Gourdon, E., 197, 198 Granada, M., 42–45, 49, 125 Greco, J., 8 Greenblatt, S., 30 Guerrier, O., 37 Gusdorf, G., 34 Guyau, J.-M., 285 Guyer, P., 94, 227, 231, 237, 238

F Falkenstein, L., 200 Fénelon, F., 131, 132, 134, 135 Fichte, J.G., 13, 247–269, 273–281 Fine, G., 78 Fischer, K., 285 Floridi, L., 23, 304 Fogelin, R., 7, 82 Forbes, D., 178, 185 Forster, M., 227, 229, 241, 242, 248, 261 Fosl, P., 12, 177 Frame, D., 21, 99, 126 Franks, P., 248, 260 Frede, M., 9, 80, 81

H Hadot, P., 312 Hamlin, W., 42, 45

Name Index Hankinson, R.J., 8, 81 Hanza, K., 14, 284–297 Harris, H., 216 Harris, J.A., 178, 181, 184 Harris, S., 216, 265 Hartmann, N., 274 Hayek, F.A., 179, 182 Hegel, G.W.F., 13, 14, 248, 250, 254, 256, 261–269, 273–281, 307 Heller, P., 288 Henrich, D., 259 Hickson, M.W., 12, 161–175 Hitchens, C., 216 Hobbes, T., 179, 193, 194, 197, 202, 250 Huet, P.-D., 106, 108, 251, 252 Hume, D., 117, 178 I Ihrie, M., 310 Immerwhar, J., 95 Ioppolo, A.M., 8 Irwin, K., 11 Irwin, M., 143–160 Israel, J., 162–165, 197, 207, 228, 230–233 J Jacob, M., 129 Jacobi, F.H., 13, 230, 232, 265, 269, 275, 278–281 Jaeger, W., 311 Jardine, J., 44 Jenny, L., 35 Joukovsky, F., 24 K Kant, I., 4, 13, 227–244, 247–269 Kaufman, W., 216 Kemp, S.N., 227 Kessler, E., 34 Kilcullen, J., 166, 167 Kitcher, P., 217–221 Klever, W., 202 Knoepfler, D., 307, 308 Kors, A.C., 124, 197, 198 Kovadloff, S., 126 Kraal, A., 13, 227–244 Kuehn, M., 237, 241, 251, 258

343 L La Bruyère, Jean de, 131 La Charité, R.C., 25 La Mothe Le, V.F., 126, 251 Labrouse, E., 12, 144, 146–149 Lactantius, 153–155 Lærke, M., 8 Laertius, D., 8, 14, 69, 112, 285, 302–316 Lagerlund, H., 306 Lampert, L., 295 Lange, F.A., 285, 288 Lanson, G., 140 Larmore, C., 25 Laursen, J.C., 4, 6, 7, 44, 178, 180, 183, 186, 251 Lebuffe, M., 197, 198 Le Comte, L., 108, 113, 118 Leeuwen, H.G. van, 43 Lemmens, W., 200 Lennon, T.M., 145, 150–157, 162–164 Lessa, R., 4, 5 Letwin, S.R., 180 Lichtenberg, G.C., 285 Limbrick, E., 23 Lin, M., 8 Livingston, D., 200 Locke, J., 162, 169 Long, A.A., 285 Louth, A., 308 Lozano-Vásquez, A., 313 Lupo, L., 284 Lutaud, O., 133 M Machiavelli, N., 115, 180 Machuca, D.E., 7, 8, 43, 50 Macpherson, C.B., 179, 180 Madanes, L., 5 Maestroni, A., 135 Magnard, P., 20 Magnus, B., 284 Maia, N.J.R., 4, 6, 10, 63–74 Maimon, 260 Makkreel, R., 251 Malebranche, N., 131, 135, 144, 148 Malherbe, M., 44 Manent, P., 128 Manzo, S., 5, 42–44, 60, 61 Marana, P., 131, 132 Marchand, S., 8

344 Marcondes, D., 5, 6 Marion, J.-L., 25, 26, 29, 33, 37 Marquard, O., 96–98 Martin, G., 284 Martin, M.A., 179 Mates, B., 186 McArthur, N., 178 McCormick, M.S., 178, 181 McKenna, A., 106–108, 148 Mejer, J., 311 Merleau-Ponty, M., 28 Merrill, T.W., 178, 183, 185, 187 Meslier, J., 197 Michaelis, P., 284 Micheli, G., 251 Miernowski, J., 24, 26, 36 Miller, D., 185 Molner, D., 285 Montaigne, Michel de, 4, 7, 9, 20, 63–74, 124–140 Morehouse, A., 135 Mori, G., 144, 148–150, 175 Mosser, K., 284 Mossner, E., 192, 202, 205, 211, 212, 214, 222 Mújica, B., 310 Mutschmann, H., 303 N Nagel, T., 216 Nakam, G., 129 Navarro, R.J., 126 Navratil, M., 285, 289 Naya, E., 121, 304, 309, 310 Nehamas, A., 32 Nichols, R., 8 Nietzsche, F., 14, 284–297 Norton, D., 95, 192 Nuzzo, A., 227, 229 O O’Brien, D., 192 Olaso, Ezequiel de, 2, 3, 5–7, 140 Oliveira, B.J., 44, 49 Ornelas, J., 14, 302–316 P Paganini, G., 4, 6, 124, 304 Palmer, J., 316 Park, K., 34

Name Index Parusch, A., 284 Pascal, B., 10, 20–38, 64, 68, 92, 285 Pécharman, M., 23, 24 Penelhum, T., 95, 102, 200, 208 Perin, C., 8, 79, 80 Phillips, H., 21, 92 Pintard, R., 21, 128 Plato, 7, 8, 21, 23, 46, 48, 49, 53, 111, 136, 138, 250, 263, 265, 266, 269, 308 Plutarch, 24, 46, 69, 111, 113, 129, 187, 302 Pocock, J.G.A., 181 Poellner, P., 284 Polybius, 115, 116 Pomponazzi, P., 109, 120 Poole, T., 178 Popkin, R.H., 9, 14, 43, 44, 69, 74, 81, 97, 105, 112, 135, 140, 146, 147, 150, 153, 183, 249, 251, 256, 263, 302, 305 Porchat, O., 2, 5–8, 140 Porter, J., 284 Prior, M., 43, 44, 59, 133, 197 Pyrrho of Elis, 107 R Raga-Rosaleny, V., 1–14 Reed, B., 7, 8 Reinhold, K.L., 258, 259, 261, 263, 264, 275, 277 Rex, W., 169 Richter, R., 284 Roberty, Eugene de, 285 Rodriguez-Adrados, F., 310 Rorty, A.O., 81 Rorty, R., 311 Rossi, P., 56 Ruse, M., 216 Russell, P., 12, 192–222 S Sabl, A., 178, 184, 185 Sandberg, K.C., 147, 148 Santini, C., 284 Sassen, B., 249 Schirmer, A., 286 Schliesser, E., 8 Schmitt, C.B., 3, 14, 302–306, 308, 311, 315, 316 Schneewind, J.B., 162, 163, 165, 311 Schofield, M., 80, 82

Name Index Schopenhauer, A., 274, 288, 291 Schröder, W., 114, 124 Schulman, A., 162 Schulze, G.E., 13, 248, 259, 260, 262, 263, 265, 268, 269, 273–281 Sedley, D., 315, 316 Seneca, 100, 131 Servet, M., 127 Sève, B., 24, 25 Sextus Empiricus, 2, 3, 8, 9, 14, 21, 23, 45, 66, 77, 78, 106, 107, 110, 114, 121, 184, 187, 251, 260, 266, 284, 289, 302–306, 309, 310, 314, 316 Shaftesbury, Earl of [Anthony Ashley Cooper], 179, 202 Siebert, D.T., 211 Siemens, H., 286, 288 Silva, F.W.J., 5, 7 Smith, A., 222 Smith, P.J., 1–14, 42–61 Socrates, 46, 48, 53, 154, 251 Solère, J.-L., 162, 169, 174, 175 Sommer, A., 284 Spinelli, E., 186 Spink, J., 124, 140 Spinoza, B., 131 Stack, G., 288 Stegmaier, W., 293 Stenger, V.J., 216 Stephen, L., 201, 202 Stewart, J.B., 185 Striker, G., 80, 82 Stroud, B., 7, 9, 95 Sudan, M., 13, 247–269 Susato, R., 179, 180, 211 T Tacitus, 127, 131 Taylor, C., 32, 35 Testa, I., 263 Thiel, U., 258 Tindal, M., 202

345 Tizziani, M., 11 Toland, J., 194, 197 Tonelli, G., 3, 6, 251 Toulmin, S., 140 Tournemine, R.-J., 131 V van der Zande, J., 258 van Woudenberg, R., 243 Vassányi, M., 162 Vernon, R., 163, 164, 170 Villar, A., 29 Villey, P., 21, 23, 47, 49, 74, 126, 135, 304 Vink, T., 207 Vivarelli, V., 285 Vogt, K., 91, 313–315 Voltaire, 108, 109, 119, 135, 140 W Wade, I., 140 Ward, J., 284, 289 Warren, J., 311 Wiley, J., 184, 284 Wilkerson, D., 284 Williams, B., 153, 216, 220 Williams, M., 7, 81 Williges, F., 5 Willis, A., 200, 201, 219 Wittmann, R., 133 Wolff, M., 269, 297 Wolff, R.P., 227, 229, 234, 238, 257, 258 Woolhouse, R., 163 Wotling, P., 284, 286, 293, 297 Wulf, S.J., 179, 180 Wunderlich, F., 258 Z Zagorin, P., 43 Zeno of Elea, 251 Zuluaga, M., 10, 77–86

Subject Index

A Academica, 2, 3, 8, 14, 46, 48, 60, 61, 65, 155 Academic skepticism, 3, 4, 8, 10, 23, 42, 45, 48, 60, 64–69, 73, 74, 150, 151, 153, 155, 157–159 Aenesidemus, 8, 21, 49, 50, 82, 138, 259, 314 Agrippa, Modes of, 78, 82, 84, 314 Akatelepsia, 45 Antinomies, 148 Apology for Raymond Sebond, 36, 63, 69, 74, 120 Aporia, 26, 84, 174 Appearance (impression), 8, 37, 46, 50, 66, 70, 78, 93, 95, 105, 106, 110, 111, 137, 139, 140, 148, 153, 167, 185, 186, 206, 232, 254–256, 261, 267, 276, 280, 302, 315 Apraxia, 90 Atheism (old and new), 124–141, 193, 197, 198, 201, 202, 205, 206, 213–220, 231 B Beliefs, 4, 8, 64, 65, 67, 68, 70–73, 79–83, 85, 86, 89–91, 93–96, 102, 103, 110, 111, 114, 115, 118, 119, 135, 138, 139, 150, 154, 163, 164, 166–168, 170–174, 182, 192, 195, 198, 204, 217–220, 248 Beyond Good and Evil, 14, 284, 286, 295 Bible, 63, 68, 73, 130, 133, 134

C Calvinism, 10, 72, 73, 148 Catholicism, 65–69, 72–74, 156, 199, 207 Certainties, 8, 25, 29, 45, 47, 49, 60, 61, 67, 70, 79, 83, 85, 91, 93, 101, 106, 139, 144, 147, 151, 153, 173, 184 Circularity, 78, 84, 85 Clandestine literature (Clandestine philosophy), 105–121, 124, 125, 133, 136, 140–141 Cogito, 29, 31, 78, 83–85, 88 Confessions, 30, 64, 65, 67 Consciences, 12, 90, 148, 151, 160–165, 168, 169, 171, 173–175 Conservatism, 125 Contra Academicos, 68, 72 Criterion, 10, 24, 25, 37, 64, 66, 68, 69, 71, 77–86, 113, 166, 263 Criticism, 9, 11, 13, 28, 30, 48, 51, 66, 69, 125, 136, 138, 154, 155, 181, 249, 258 Critique of Pure Reason, 13, 94, 227, 231–233, 236, 237 Critique of Theoretical Philosophy, On the Relationship of Skepticism to Philosophy, 273–276 Cymbalum Mundi sive Symbolum Sapientiae, 114 D Daybreak, 288, 290 Deaths, 91, 99, 101–103, 111, 114, 127, 130, 132

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 V. R. Rosaleny, P. J. Smith (eds.), Sceptical Doubt and Disbelief in Modern European Thought, International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 233, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-55362-3

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348 Deism (Theism), 199, 204 De Officiis, 126 Dialectics, 1, 151, 275 Dialogues on Natural Religion, 285 Dictionnaire historique et critique, 108, 112, 120, 144 Disagreement (Diaphonia), 25, 184 Disbelief, 2, 9, 11, 14, 121, 123–141 Dogmatism, 1, 8–10, 13, 25, 36, 55–58, 79, 90, 91, 93, 96, 98, 99, 180, 209, 210, 231, 261, 265 Doubt (Methodological Doubt), 10, 77, 79, 92 Doubt and Dogmatism. Studies in Hellenistic Epistemology, 80 Doutes des pyrrhoniens, 11, 105–121, 137 Dreams, 80, 88, 92, 154, 207 E Empiricism, 12, 187, 258 Encyclopedia of the philosophical sciences in basic outline, 276 Enlightenments, 3, 6, 97, 98, 125, 141, 143, 145, 164, 180, 192, 207, 209, 211, 213, 228, 230, 231, 243, 274, 296 Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, 95, 117, 238, 243 Epistemological skepticism, 14, 263 Epistola de tolerantia, 162 Equipollence (Isostheneia), 23, 25, 28, 66, 79, 82 Errors, 22, 27, 57, 65, 66, 68, 81, 89, 91, 92, 94, 99, 101, 137, 138, 154, 155, 166–168, 292, 294 Essays (Essais), 9–11, 20–28, 30–38, 47, 64, 69–73, 101, 125–129, 131, 132, 134–139, 178, 181, 182, 184, 241 Experiences, 26, 33–35, 64, 89, 92–94, 96, 97, 102, 109, 129, 166, 198, 253, 254 Experimental skepticism, 284–297 External world, 4, 81, 88, 250, 255 F Faith, 11, 36–38, 60, 63, 64, 91–93, 98, 103, 106, 120, 121, 126, 136, 139, 145–148, 151, 172, 195, 203, 216 Faith and Knowledge, 13, 263 Fallibilism, 95 Fantasies, 25, 36, 37, 129, 214 Fideism, 11, 102, 144, 146, 147, 150, 151 Foundationalism, 83–85

Subject Index G God, 22, 32, 33, 63, 64, 67, 70–72, 74, 78, 80, 81, 84–86, 91, 93, 95–98, 103, 107, 110–115, 119, 120, 127, 148, 149, 166–174, 192, 195–199, 203, 204, 206 Good sense, 153–156, 197–200, 206, 207, 213 H Human, All Too Human, 286, 288 Human nature, 21, 32, 92, 94, 96, 99, 101, 106, 178, 179, 198, 200, 206, 209, 210, 221 I Idealism, 3, 5, 13, 263 Idols, Theory of, 10, 42–44, 49–51 Infinites, 37, 70, 82, 85, 92–94, 113, 148, 193 Instauratio Magna, 42, 43, 48, 59, 60 Intellectual integrity, 24, 66, 68–70, 73, 155 Irreligion, 11, 123–141, 192 Irresolution, 11, 88–91, 97, 100, 134 J Justifications, 64, 74, 82, 83, 85, 95, 158, 169, 218, 254, 261 K Knowledge, 2, 4, 8, 9, 14, 22, 28, 36, 41–61, 67, 79, 80, 83–85, 91–93, 110, 116, 124, 133, 143–160, 168, 179, 195–197, 204, 210, 213, 216, 217, 238, 243, 262, 285, 311 L Liber creaturarum, 63, 69, 74 Libertinism (erudite libertines), 21 Life after Faith, 217–221 Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, 8, 14, 302, 306–316 M Manicheanism, 10, 64–69, 73 Materialism, 13, 65, 124, 132 Melancholy, 11, 94–97, 99 Mémoire des pensées et des sentiments, 11, 125, 130

Subject Index Mémoires pour l’histoire de sciences et de beaux arts, 106 Metaphysics, 4, 8, 14, 31, 33, 93, 95, 97–99, 129, 147, 251, 288, 291, 315 Moderation (metriopatheia), 12, 71, 110, 121, 136, 177, 180, 181, 184, 185, 187, 210 Modes, 32, 33, 49, 50, 78, 82, 84, 133, 215, 315 Morals, 2, 4, 12, 21, 23, 25, 26, 68, 89, 91–93, 101, 108, 110, 114, 115, 117, 118, 136, 137, 151, 157–160, 162–169, 172–175, 181, 183, 192, 197, 199, 202, 207, 210, 211, 293 N Natural History of Religion (NHR), 193, 201, 206–208 Naturalism, 13 Negativity, 14 Nihilism, 98, 273–281, 284, 285 Nouvelles lettres critiques (NLC), 162 Novum Organum, 42–44, 49, 51, 56 O Observation (têrêsis), 178, 186, 187 On the Relation of Skepticism to Philosophy, 13, 262, 273, 274, 276, 279, 280 Opinions, 3, 4, 24, 25, 35, 50, 65–67, 70–72, 84, 88, 90, 97, 110, 111, 118, 126–128, 137, 139, 152, 179, 180, 184, 198, 286 Orthodoxy (Heterodoxy), 126 Outlines of Pyrrhonism, 3, 9, 21, 26, 46, 49, 77 P Pantheism, 230–235 Parité de la vie et de la mort. La Réponse de médecin Gaultier, 107 Passions of the Soul, 89 Peace of mind (ataraxia), 2, 11, 23–25, 33, 103, 177, 180, 181, 187 Pensées, 20–22, 26, 27, 29, 31, 32, 35, 64, 68, 91–93, 117, 148, 149, 151, 158, 159, 193 Persecutor paradox, 162, 169, 173–175 Phenomenology of Spirit, 250, 262, 263 Philelphi Epistolae, 303 Pithanon, 66, 153, 157 Politics, 4, 73, 107, 117, 118, 172, 177–187 Popular-philosophy, 263

349 Prejudices, 32, 88, 95, 124, 126, 184, 200, 205, 216 Probabilities, 44–46, 58–61, 66, 68, 71–74, 152, 153 Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics, 228, 229, 239 Prolepsis, 12, 178, 187 Provisional morals, 90 Pyrrhonian Reflections on Knowledge and Justification, 82 Pyrrhonism, 3, 5, 6, 10, 11, 19–38, 42, 43, 45, 48, 50, 65, 74, 91, 99, 101, 107, 109, 116–119, 124, 125, 135, 136, 140, 150, 151, 153, 156, 157, 199, 304, 313, 315 R Radical Enlightenment, 164, 193, 194 Rationalism (religious), 10, 63–74 Rational theology, 143 Reasons, 5, 10, 11, 22, 32, 34, 45, 52, 55, 57, 63, 64, 66–73, 79, 80, 84, 89, 92–95, 103, 106, 107, 110–112, 120, 121, 127, 129, 135, 138, 139, 144, 146–151, 153–159, 164, 167, 170, 171, 173, 174, 184, 185, 194–196, 198–206, 213–215, 219, 221, 229, 238, 239, 255, 264 Reformation (Counter-Reformation), 121 Religions, 4, 8, 11, 12, 21, 65, 67, 70, 73, 74, 93, 102, 107–109, 111, 113–120, 126, 130, 132, 134, 136–139, 144, 145, 147, 152, 163, 166, 168, 169, 171, 172, 174, 175, 181, 192–222 Renaissance, 3, 9, 14, 20, 23, 24, 30, 34, 44, 69, 99, 105, 121, 127, 304 République des Lettres, 42, 128, 148 Rétorsion, 151, 153, 159 Revealed religion/Revelation, 37, 92, 93, 118, 139, 147, 159 S Science (New Science), 9, 229 Secularism, 172, 173, 175 Self, 19–38, 117, 248, 267, 316 Self-refutation, 289 Senses, 47, 51, 52, 54, 58, 70, 72, 73, 79, 92, 93, 95, 107, 110, 135, 139, 151, 153–157, 159 Skepticism (ancient, modern, moderate, radical), 63–74, 105–120, 124–140, 161–175, 227–244, 247–269, 273–281, 284–297, 302–316

Subject Index

350 Stoicism, 100, 126 Strato (“Stratonian” position), 149, 151, 153 Subjectivity, 36 Superstition, 114, 115, 117, 119, 194–196, 198, 199, 201, 205, 207, 209, 211–213, 220, 222 Suspension of judgment (epochê), 2, 9, 11, 12, 33, 43, 46, 52, 59, 60, 69, 70, 77, 79, 80, 103, 178, 180, 186, 187 Systems, 11, 13, 56, 57, 83, 85, 86, 97, 116, 117, 119, 165, 180, 183, 185, 193, 197, 198, 215, 259 T The Advancement of Learning, 42, 49 The Difference between Fichte’s and Schelling’s System of Philosophy, 262, 264, 277, 278 The Gay Science, 294, 295 The History of Great Britain, 178, 179 The History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle, 3, 43, 97, 105, 135, 140, 146, 150 The Modes of Scepticism: Ancient Texts and Modern Interpretations, 80 Theological–Political Treatise, 194–197, 201–204, 213, 219 Theophrastus redivivus, 106, 116 The Original Sceptics: A Controversy, 80 The Philosophical Works of Descartes (Oeuvres de Descartes), 78

Therapy, 11, 26 The Riddle of Hume’s Treatise, 192, 202, 205, 210 The Skeptical tradition, 2, 7, 81, 302, 316 The System of Nature, 197 Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 288, 290 Toleration, 12, 158, 160–175 Treatise of Human Nature, 94 Truths, 10, 12, 22–25, 36, 37, 44, 46, 47, 49, 52, 54, 57, 59–61, 64–69, 71–73, 77–79, 83–86, 88, 90–95, 107, 110, 113, 120, 124, 126, 129, 136, 138, 139, 146, 147, 150–154, 157–159, 166–168, 171–173, 180, 183, 184, 193–196, 199, 202, 204, 211, 213, 219, 260 V Values, 12, 14, 66, 72, 98, 102, 103, 121, 159, 171, 173, 193, 194, 196, 198, 200, 215, 216, 218–220, 286 Various Thoughts on the Occasion of a Comet, 116, 118 W Wager, 93 Wissenschaftslehre, 13, 264, 265 Z Zetetic, 12, 125, 187, 260