I am more comfortable arguing against Scepticism than I am for it. If that wasn’t already obvious then it’s about to be!
Scepticism is pointless
Scepticism is pointless. If true, it gives you no reason to study it. According to Scepticism, there is no such thing as knowledge, only opinion, and therefore no discernable difference between knowledge and opinion. But if there is nothing to know, then there is nothing to learn. And in that case, what difference can there be between the learned and the unlearned? And if there’s no difference between the learned and the unlearned, then what does the Sceptic learn when they learn their scepticism? Nothing?!
This is just another example of the self-refuting nature of Scepticism. They are inconsistent with themselves. Clearly the Sceptic thinks that they do learn something in learning Scepticism. Before Scepticism, they think there is knowledge; after Scepticism they think there is no knowledge. Scepticism is making a difference, turning one thing into another thing. But what is turning into what? Ignorance into knowledge? Surely not, because there is no knowledge. Opinion into knowledge? Of course not! False opinion into true opinion? But how can this be when there is no reliable way to tell the true from the false?
Not only is this another way that Scepticism is inconsistent with itself, it also undermines its own motivations: Scepticism removes any reason to study Scepticism. All that a schooling in Scepticism can do is turn one opinion into another opinion. But both of these opinions are on equal epistemic footing; you cannot know that either is better than another, or which if it is. And so if there is a difference between the schooled Sceptic and the unschooled Sceptic, then it isn’t an important difference; if there’s a difference, it’s a difference that makes no difference. But if there is no important difference between being schooled or unschooled, then what reason is there to become schooled? You come with an unreliable opinion and you leave with an unreliable opinion. You leave the school with no more than you entered, and so what have you gained from your schooling? And if you gain nothing from Scepticism, then what’s the point in learning it?
The Sceptic might say that this is only right, and that once you’ve learned Scepticism you understand that it makes no important difference: like the ladder that you climb and then throw away because you realise that you no longer need it and, as it turns out, never needed it. But what reason would we have to climb the ladder in the first place? Why should we enter their school? How is the Sceptic any better off than the non-Sceptic? If they are to remain consistent with themselves, what could the Sceptic say to any prospective student other than ‘I don’t know’?
But if there is a reason to climb the ladder and become schooled in Scepticism, then there is something to be gained, and that something is wisdom and understanding. And if there are these things then there is a difference between the schooled Sceptic and the unschooled Sceptic. But that means that there is something to learn from Scepticism, meaning there is something to be learned, meaning there is a difference between ignorance and, if not knowledge, then wisdom. And if that’s true then the Sceptic is no longer totally sceptical, because they do recognise a difference between knowing less and knowing more, or between true opinion and false opinion, or good judgement and bad judgement, and they would think that they have good reasons to believe these things, and all the rest. And philosophy follows. Theirs would be no different from Socrates’ starting point, but Socrates poses it as a question – ‘where can I find knowledge?’ – not the assertion that there is no knowledge to find.
You can start with Socrates’ question but not with the Sceptic’s assertion. That would be like seeing a ladder to nowhere and already understanding there to be no reason to climb it. If this were the case then you wouldn’t bother. If you would climb the ladder, you must start with at least a question: I wonder if there’s anything to be gained by climbing this ladder?
Scepticism and the collapse of all reason
Sceptics use reason to show that reason is not a reliable way to get knowledge. In their eyes, they climb a ladder in order to throw it away. But how do they know they are reasoning rightly? And if, for all they know, they are reasoning wrongly, then why would they take their conclusions over any others?
This is yet another way that Scepticism refutes itself. You cannot use reason to undermine reason because it’s as if you cut off the branch on which you are sitting. Or, to preserve the ladder analogy, it’s as if you throw away the ladder whilst you are still climbing it. The resultant collapse will leave you with nothing but a sore head.
Fortunately this line of reasoning leads us back to Wittgenstein’s response: there can only be doubting behaviour if there is non-doubting behaviour; in order to doubt, some things must be held firm. You must fix the ladder in order to climb it.
In order to understand or conceive of scepticism, you must understand the meaning of your words. The non-Sceptic says something like ‘I know that 12×12=144’. This is a claim to knowledge. The Sceptic, who believes there is no knowledge, must say that this statement is false: ‘you do not know that 12×12=144.’ The Sceptic understands that they disagree with the non-Sceptic. But then the Sceptic must understand what it means to say that something is ‘not’ the case. And in this there is some knowledge: the Sceptic knows what it means to say that something is ‘false’.
What would it look like if they did not have this knowledge? Could they say anything at all? The non-Sceptic says ‘I know that 12×12=144’. Is this true or false? The Sceptic doesn’t know what ‘true’ or ‘false’ means. So what do they say? Do they agree with the non-Sceptic, or not? How do they know? If they are serious about withholding judgement about everything and saying only ‘I don’t know’, then they would have to say that they don’t know whether they agree with the non-Sceptic or not. But if they don’t know this, then what defines them as Sceptics?
What does Scepticism mean without any understanding of the meaning of your words? What can you say without that minimal requirement for meaningful thought? If you do not even have this knowledge, then you say nothing. And if you say nothing then what is there for me to listen to?
In order to understand Scepticism, you must understand your own thoughts. But having any understanding of your own thoughts builds some meaning into those thoughts. Knowledge is built into that meaning: you know what you mean. These meanings can be modified and corrected over time but they cannot be thrown out entirely. Some things must always be held firm, even if only your understanding of what it means to say that something ‘is’ or ‘is not’. In this way the Sceptics show that they know far more than they would have you believe.
Scepticism is fickle
If you refuse to be guided by knowledge, thinking that there is no such thing, then you can only be guided by opinion. But opinions change. As a Sceptic, you move with this change, becoming a weather-vane to opinion, turning to whatever wind is blowing at the moment, inconstant and true to nothing.
Some Sceptics see this as a virtue. Cicero, in particular, notes how useful and pleasant it is to not be committed to any particular approach. He finds he is free to pick and choose as suits his purposes. Now he is faced with a problem that benefits from a Cynic approach, now something to which it is more helpful to respond in an Epicurean way, and later he will be an Aristotelian. In not holding any of these theories to be true but only ever, at most, useful, he is free to pick them up and drop them without commitment, as his opinions of the moment dictate. What is wrong with this picture?
Any one of these schools of thought would have ready replies. For a start, many of these approaches require practice and training and, therefore, a degree of commitment. If you are ready to drop them at the first sign of difficulty then you are not likely to get very far and so will not see the benefits. It is reminiscent of a rudderless ship, always blown off course, now heading one way, now another; you are always all at sea and perpetually vulnerable to being wrecked. Secondly, most of these schools of thought have the reasons for their particular approach contained within them. It is a recognition of those reasons to be true (or at least reasonable) that motivates and drives the philosophical way of living. An Epicurean pursues pleasure because they recognise pleasure to be the only indicator of the good, and their theory about how to go about maximising pleasures over pains follows from this recognition. But if the Sceptic does not recognise those reasons, saying ‘I think Antisthenes would disagree’, then what reason would they have to adopt the approach that follows from them? And if they adopt the approach without endorsing the reasons for it, can they really be said to understand the philosophy, or just playing a game of make believe that advertises their lack of understanding? And if it’s just a game of make believe then call it for what it is and don’t pretend it’s anything grander or more noble than a child playing dress-up, who today is a princess and tomorrow is a soldier.
Scepticism paralyses choice
The Sceptic fears nothing, not knowing whether anything is rightly to be feared. The Sceptic desires nothing, not knowing whether anything is rightly to be desired. Now the Sceptic is faced with a choice between two possible courses of action. One possibility seems to be desirable, but for all they know it is not really desirable; the other possibility seems fearful, but for all they know is not really fearful. What should they choose? How can they choose? They have nothing on which to base a choice.
Should they arbitrarily choose one over the other for the sake of doing something rather than nothing? But how are they to know whether it is better to do something rather than nothing? Should they choose to do nothing then? But that is still a kind of choice, and so what reason would they have to choose that?
Should they refuse to choose? But this, too, is still a choice: to choose not to choose. How can they know that they should make this choice, to not choose, rather than make the choice to choose something rather than nothing or nothing rather than something?
It’s pretty confusing. And in their confusion, the Sceptic falls into the choice of choosing nothing. Left with nothing, they can’t complain for getting what they choose.
If you really commit to Scepticism, it seems to me that you would end up paralysed in your decision making. We make choices on the basis of something. Even if we choose on the basis of uncertain speculations, we still choose for some reason that we see to be good or probably good. The Sceptic removes the possibility of any reason being any better, to our minds, than any other. For all we know, our reasons are bad reasons; we should withhold judgement and not assent to them. But if we can’t assent to any reasons, even speculative reasons, then we can’t have any reason for action; we can’t base our choices on anything at all. And if there’s nothing to base our choices on, then we can’t choose.
But we need to choose. Choice is necessary. It is unavoidable. It is essential to the kind of thinking thing that we are that we must navigate our way through life. Even if we choose not to think about it all that much, to go with the flow and be led in whichever way life directs us, that is still a kind of choice.
In later philosophical ages, Kant will map out the necessary connections between our capacity for thought and our capacity to choose, in the end showing that choice is a practical necessity and that, if we must choose, then we must choose wisely, autonomously (by ourselves and for ourselves), and according to a set of rules of our own making. I’ll leave a further exploration of those extremely important ideas for later, but a brief summary will serve the purpose here. As we’ve seen, it is essential to the idea of a human being that we are things that think: that is what defines what we are. But our capacity to think enables us to recognise our own capacity for thought – I think, therefore I am; and therefore I am a thing that thinks – and in knowing that you have a capacity for thought, you cannot help but think about what you’re doing: in being it, in recognising that you are it, you are already doing it. You are thinking about what you are doing, and because of that you are forced into the position of having to think about what to do. You have no choice but to choose. This is as necessary to the kind of thing that you are as the fact that you must exist in space and time.
You are a thing that thinks, but it would be just as true to say that you are a thing that chooses. And so if Scepticism removes your capacity for choice, then it removes an essential part of what it means to be a human being.
Moral scepticism and the limits of moral thinking
Not only does Scepticism remove our capacity for choice, which is damaging in a wholesale way, it is specifically damaging to our capacity for moral choice. Scepticism prevents us from recognising any reasons as good reasons to do or not do a certain thing, undermining our capacity for rational choice. But Scepticism also removes our capacity to recognise specifically moral reasons, preventing us from recognising any moral reasons to do or not do a certain thing. This is a bigger problem. Since these are not just any reasons but specifically moral reasons, it raises the question not only of whether we can reject these reasons but whether we ought to. The question is not only whether it is possible to reject the reality of these reasons but whether it is permissible. Even if we could live like Sceptics, should we?
There is a natural adolescent temptation towards moral scepticism. You often find it in the philosophy seminar room. Young people are rightly inclined towards questioning the moral perspectives of their elders. They look around and see many different moral opinions, in different times and places and cultures. They are tempted to say, with the Sceptics, that since there is so much disagreement about moral matters there manifestly cannot be any truth about the matter. It is only a matter of opinion, there are no true moral beliefs, and so all moral beliefs must be false. ‘Morality’ is a kind of big trick played on the weak-minded to keep us in line. It is the product of religion, or outdated prejudice, or the patriarchy. It is something to be resisted, rebelled against, overthrown in the name of individual freedom. Nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Those of us who are regularly engaged in discussions of moral philosophy, in a professional capacity, hear this kind of thing all the time. We hear it, but does anyone really believe it?
It’s relevant that the discussion is taking place in the context of a philosophy seminar room and not in ‘real life’ (so to speak), and that those of us engaged in the discussion are acting in a professional capacity. Certain responses are characteristic in this context; we entertain questions that wouldn’t ordinarily be entertained outside of that context. This affords the question a kind of faux seriousness, in the philosophy seminar room, that wouldn’t translate beyond it. If someone were to seriously defend the possible permissibility of rape or murder or genocide – ‘in real life’ as it were – the response probably wouldn’t be to entertain the question or offer a counter-argument. More likely, we’d rebuke them; we’d express our stunned incredulity: ‘How can you suggest such a thing?!’ We’d dismiss this person as being someone who has nothing to say to us, morally. It’s too absurd to take seriously, like someone claiming to be a cosmologist and trying to convince us that the Earth is flat. Anyone who would suggest such a thing only shows themselves to be someone who doesn’t understand what they’re suggesting.
More often than not, moral scepticism is a kind of philosophical bogeyman, always threatening from the shadows but never really real. It is exposed as such by the briefest investigation. Young people tend to be the most questioning of ‘morality’, but they are often the most vociferous defenders of their own moral concerns. They will say that everything is relative and it’s all a matter of opinion, but they will also (inconsistently) say that certain injustices – such a racism, sexism, or rape, murder, and genocide – are absolutely wrong. They will say there is no such thing as justice or fairness, only the rules made by the powerful to impose their will on the weak, but see how they react when you give them an unfair grade! You could say there is a hypocrisy in this, but it would be fairer to say that it’s the kind of thing that happens when something is being worked out. There is an inconsistency, but it’s on its way to being resolved. It shows the healthy role that scepticism can play: we doubt everything, question everything, subject everything to examination and put it to the test, and in this way we settle on what we really believe. Ordinarily, at the end of this process there remain some firmly-held moral beliefs, some beliefs that pass the test, and these beliefs will be clearer and better understood for having been tested. In this way, a moral-philosophical education helps a young person to make up their own moral minds, hopefully equipping them to govern themselves and guide their lives in a way that seems right and fitting to them.
A sincere and life-guiding moral scepticism is rarely the outcome of a moral-philosophical education and few philosophers make any serious attempt at granting this view validity. The 19th century philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche is an exception. He says that morality as we know it is nothing but a resentful corruption of the ancient virtues held by the rightful masters of the human race. Once upon a time, what it meant to be ‘virtuous’ was to triumph, overcome, and conquer the world by your abilities and sheer strength of will. Those who had these virtues assumed power, naturally. Look at Alexander the Great. Look at the Roman Empire. The right to rule was not given by the people but taken by the powerful. But then the weak objected to being subjected to the tyranny of their superiors. And so they took the ‘virtue’ of the powerful and turned it against itself, insisting that it was shameful to be proud, to be powerful, to be wealthy. They said blessed are the meek. They said you should turn the other cheek. They said it was more difficult for a rich man to enter heaven than it was for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Those who were too weak or meek to protect themselves were not pitiable but admirable, elevated to moral sainthood. The ancient virtues of powerful masters were mutilated to fit the needs of the new martyrs. They called this virtue ‘morality’ and constructed elaborate stories of eternal rewards or punishments for those who adhered or failed to adhere to the new law. They had to promise everything in the next world because they could give nothing in this one.
But these are empty promises and their stories are fairytales and morality is a disease of the weak-minded. Nietzsche identifies Christianity as the source of infection and so he proclaims himself the antichrist: the remedy to Christianity’s poison. He announces the death of God; he says we have killed God with our scientific age. And with the death of God, there is no morality either, since we have taken away the eternal punishments and rewards that gave us any reason to be meek and turn the other cheek. We are now free to do as we will. In this brave new world, we should reevaluate all values, reject the pitiable Christian morality that keeps the strong enslaved to the weak, and become masters of our own destiny. We should move beyond good and evil and become the ‘Übermensch’: the ‘overman’ or ‘superman’, the next stage in human kind.
Nietzsche is the philosopher of teenagers and tyrants. Few people can maintain a sincere commitment to it into adulthood. Most of his better ideas are found in better form elsewhere, principally Schopenhauer and the Stoics, and his worst ideas should be avoided at all costs. Read Nietzsche if you want to be inspired by a kind of Romantic self-reliance and independence of spirit. Don’t read Nietzsche if you want to find the truth, because he will convince you that there is no truth to be found. Truth is not found, he will say; it is made by extraordinary individuals. That is an easy idea to bandy about but it does not stand up to scrutiny. Nietzsche’s is the philosophy of teenagers, because they tend to believe they are extraordinary; but also of tyrants, because they know they are. It is a philosophy that needs an antidote, not a counter-argument. Dostoevsky is a good antidote to Nietzsche.
If you want to love your fate, read the Stoics. If you want to rebel against society’s norms and values, read the Cynics, because at least then you will have something to replace those lost values with. If you just want to feel that you’re better than other people, and feel justified in feeling so, go ahead and read Nietzsche. But understand that there is nothing admirable at the end of that road.
Because there is nothing virtuous about moral scepticism. (That’s a sort of joke.) It is a shameful thing and not something to be taken seriously. But moral scepticism necessary follows from the Sceptic school of thought. It is the main reason I cannot defend Scepticism and would not choose to try. I don’t think it’s really possible to live as a Sceptic, but even if you could, I don’t think you should. It would be wrong. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did; not consistently, at least.
That’s not to say that moral scepticism can’t play an important role in abstract philosophical investigations. As with all Socratic questioning, investigating the ideas that you have about morality pushes you to find your moral limits. And in finding those limits, you find your boundaries and your shape, and in that shape you find your moral picture of the world. The picture can be changed, modified over time, but it cannot be thrown out entirely. As Wittgenstein says, in order for there to be reasonable doubt, some things must be held to be beyond reasonable doubt. There are ‘hinge’ moral beliefs just as there are ‘hinge’ beliefs about other paradigmatic examples of knowledge and understanding. No one who understands the language of mathematics can seriously doubt that 12×12=144; no one who understands the language of physics can seriously doubt that the Earth is round; and no one who understands the language of morality can seriously doubt that rape is impermissible. These are expressions of the limits of reasonable thought and also of reasonable moral thought. If Scepticism denies these things then that puts Scepticism out of the picture. It’s not worth taking seriously.
The proper application of moral scepticism – used as a tool for understanding yourself and the world, a way of getting true beliefs about what really matters – is to pose it as a question: what do I know, morally? Philosophers teach me the concept of virtue and lived experience puts the flesh on these bones. I find more than enough in mammalian life to ground an absolute sense of moral obligation. I could only avoid that sense of obligation by blinding myself to the realities of life. I don’t think it’s in my power to do this, anymore than it’s in my power to blind myself to my need for adequate hydration, and I don’t think I should try to anyway. I don’t think I should try to pretend that life’s suffering means nothing. It means everything; that is why it matters. If life’s suffering means nothing, then life does not matter: and am I content to look life in the eye and tell it that it does not matter? It’s easy to say this of yourself, harder to say to others. Their life, that they are a living being, forces me to recognise their worth. And with that recognition comes a sense of obligation to them. I cannot honestly deny that. And so the only way I could deny it would be dishonestly, in a way that would leave me inconsistent with myself. That’s not a choice any philosopher will choose.
And so I cannot be a Sceptic. This is a moral incapacity, an expression of the same kind of necessitated impulse that would make me say ‘I couldn’t bring myself to…’ or ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I were to…’. Imagine you are out walking with a friend and you see someone fall and injure themselves. They lie there in need of help and there is no one else around to help them. ‘We can’t just leave them there’, you might say. But a Sceptic could. And a good Sceptic would.
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