When we start exploring philosophy for the first time, we often begin by examining various philosophical positions and picking the ones we find ourselves most in agreement with.

Naturally, this was my experience starting out. I first approached philosophy as an eclectic: aligning myself with Advaita Vedanta, Buddhism, Hermeticism, and Neoplatonism in my college years, followed by Spiritual Naturalism in my early to mid 20s.

Though I still see no problem with exploring different philosophical views out of interest, I can see in retrospect how my approach to sketching out my own stance was almost entirely dogmatic.

The problem was that although I was learning a great deal about philosophy, I wasn’t thinking carefully or even deeply.

Rather, I had fallen for the same common mistake most people fall for when starting out: the infectious habit of shopping for conclusions.

I was treating philosophy like a buffet, picking and choosing the beliefs I wanted to integrate into my worldview. Except the ones I chose were like junk food, and consuming them only made me sick.

Looking back, I find it would have been far more helpful to instead treat philosophy like looking through a magnifying glass: as a process of inquiry instead of consumption.

Why should we approach philosophy this way? Because we all possess dogmas and underlying biases we’re unaware of, most of which were programmed into us when we were children. As a result, we’re more likely to accept philosophical positions that align with our already established beliefs.

But this is like writing a fictional story, and saying it’s true because you like it. By shopping for conclusions, we risk building a belief system that is false.

Philosophy should start with asking questions, not with merely absorbing information and accepting it uncritically.

I find it’s best to start by searching for the least dogmatic approach: seeking to understand how we can justify a belief, and then developing your views through utilizing your standard for justification.

To skip ahead of this step is to risk delusion. Thankfully, we will walk through exactly how to avoid falling for dogmatic arguments, so you can develop a philosophical stance that you can defend with confidence.

The Chain of Beliefs

Stick with me here, as this topic goes deep.

We’ve all disagreed with someone before.

Whenever you enter a disagreement of competing claims, you are usually expected to give reasons in support of your claim.

When asked why you believe the reasons you provided, any of those reasons should either be supported by another reason, or by something sufficient to justify that reason.

But what exactly would that thing be?

The Pyrrhonist philosophers of Ancient Greece were the first to show us that when we reach the end of a chain of reasons, we’re met with one of three options:

1. We make an assumption, or in other words, we simply establish that our belief is true by following the framework of “this belief is true” while giving no reasons to justify why that belief is true. But if we choose to rely on assumptions, then nothing prevents us from assuming the opposite. Assumptions are therefore not reliable for justifying beliefs.

2. We use circular reasoning, which means the belief is used to justify itself. This usually follows the framework of “this belief is true because this belief is true,” which results in the belief being passed around in a circle. But this is just repeating the same claim twice. Like assumptions, circular reasoning can be used to prove just about anything. Therefore, circularity isn’t a reliable option either.

3. We accept the chain of reasons must go on infinitely, and use that infinite chain to justify our belief. This is called an infinite regress, and follows the framework of “this belief is true because this other belief is true because this other belief is true,” and so on for infinity. But this gives us no place to begin or establish anything. Therefore, we cannot rely on regressive arguments to justify our beliefs.

This is sometimes referred to as the Agrippa problem1, named after the Pyrrhonist philosopher Agrippa. We know next to nothing about Agrippa, other than that he is credited with formulating this problem.

What Agrippa compiled was devastating for the other philosophical traditions of his time. What this meant was that no argument can avoid falling into one of the traps of assumption, circularity, or infinite regress. In other words, all arguments are dogmatic.

Now if this is coming across as self-refuting or impractical, bear with me as we will consider how to explore philosophy and make sensible decisions without dogma towards the end of this essay. But in the meantime, it helps to explore exactly why philosophers choose to remain dogmatists.

Many philosophers desire certainty so badly that they’re willing to accept assumptions, circular reasoning, or regressive arguments, instead of simply being honest with themselves that they’re unable to justify their dogmas. Resulting from this are three positions, each corresponding to one of the options in the Agrippa problem:

1. Foundationalism - chooses assumptions as the foundational basis for justifying beliefs.

2. Coherentism - embraces circular reasoning as the basis for justifying beliefs.

3. Infinitism - accepts the use of infinite regresses for justifying beliefs.

These topics are considerably esoteric (and are often approached this way), so I will do my best to avoid the pretentious jargon often found in academic discussions and make these positions readily understandable to readers who are new to philosophy.

No Solid Foundation

When I think of Foundationalism, I often imagine the familiar scenario of a child who continually asks “why?”, only for their frustrated parent to respond with “because I said so.”

The universality of this experience seems to indicate an instance where many of us have been conditioned to accept beliefs on the basis of assumptions from an early age.

Yet, contemporary approaches to Foundationalism at first glance seems far more sophisticated than the mere making of assumptions. The trick here is to use something that isn’t a belief to justify a belief as foundational: appearances.

But this is frankly a jump to conclusions. Over 2,000 years ago, it seems the Pyrrhonists had already pointed out the error of relying on appearances to make objective claims. In his now lost work, On Sensations, Timon of Phlius provides a helpful example regarding the taste of honey when he says:

“That honey is sweet I do not affirm, though I concede that it appears so.”2

In contrast, we can imagine a Foundationalist saying the honey appears sweet to them, and that it therefore is by nature, sweet. Though in doing so, the Foundationalist fails to explain the transition from subjective experience to objective knowledge. Simply perceiving something to be the case doesn’t mean it is the case.

But let’s say the Foundationalist doesn’t think the honey is sweet in an objective sense, but claims it is other appearances that justify foundational beliefs. Then how will they determine which appearances justify beliefs and which ones don’t?

In order to decide, Foundationalists must establish a criterion for determining the appearances that can be accepted.

But this presents another problem: how do we determine the proper criterion? Wouldn’t we need to first know which appearances justify beliefs first in order to construct it? Otherwise, aren’t we just basing this criterion on further assumptions?

It seems no matter what direction they take, the Foundationalist is forced to take a leap of faith.

Don’t Get Caught in the Web

Is there a way to justify beliefs without making dogmatic assumptions?

Coherentists think that instead of building our chain of beliefs on top of a foundation, we should instead rely on circular reasoning to justify our beliefs.

But the basic circular reasoning we’ve discussed is just a bad form of circularity according to Coherentists. As we’ll soon see, Coherentists are no different than Foundationalists when it comes to complicating fallacious reasoning in order to make it more believable.

Instead or a mere circle, most Coherentists argue we can instead weave a complex web of beliefs that are coherent with each other. If a belief is consistent with other beliefs within that web framework, Coherentists will say it’s justified.

In this case though, the beliefs still get passed around in a circles due to the web-like structure. But to Coherentists, this doesn’t matter, because what’s important is how well the web is woven.

Coherentism requires logical consistency. But how can we know if any human belief system is consistent? Aren’t we only able to access a handful of our beliefs at any given moment? Don’t we all hold at least some beliefs that are inconsistent without realizing it? Even if we think our beliefs are consistent, might we hold some inconsistent beliefs that we’re unaware of?

Because Coherentism is holistic, a single inconsistency could corrupt the entire system. So if consistency is required to justify a belief system, we might not be justified in believing in anything. Moreover, we can’t even determine whether this is the case, since it’s impossible for anyone to determine if all of their beliefs are consistent in the first place.

Despite this, multiple incompatible belief systems could be equally coherent. You could even build a fictional world that’s highly coherent, but that wouldn’t entail such a world is real. You simply can’t know something if it’s false. It seems then, that for a coherent system to be justified, it would at the very least have to be constructed in such a way that it could not be false.

But the Coherentists face another problem: since coherence is what justifies a belief, appearances can be completely disregarded, despite being evident to everyone.

We could say, for instance, that right now you believe you are reading and I believe I am walking (let’s just say I’m going on a walk at the moment).

In this scenario, let’s also say we both have perfectly coherent belief systems.

If we were both to switch our belief systems right now, they would remain coherent, but they would contradict what evidently appears to us.

This sounds quite silly. Even Pyrrhonists like Agrippa accepted appearances. For instance, we find Sextus Empiricus (the only Pyrrhonist whose works have survived) stating the following:

“For the Skeptic does give assent to the mental states that are forced upon him by an appearance; for example, when feeling hot (or cold) he would not say ‘I seem not to be hot (or cold).’”3

Sextus makes it clear: appearances force themselves upon us, thus no one seems to dispute them. Not only this, but we don’t even dispute those for whom things appear differently.

For instance, following Timon’s example regarding the taste of honey, Sextus notes how honey tastes sweet to healthy people but bitter to people with jaundice, and emphasizes how nobody would dispute this.

“For surely nobody would bring himself to say that honey does not taste sweet to healthy people and that it does not taste bitter to the jaundiced.”4

So generally, it seems we all agree on what appears to be the case. But Coherentism operates completely independent of this.

As a response, some Coherentists have attempted to give appearances a role by requiring a minimally acceptable system of beliefs about the appearances the subject is experiencing.

But how do we decide on a minimally acceptable system?

Like the Foundationalists, Coherentists must construct a criterion for deciding what’s minimally acceptable, and thus they would run into the problem of already needing to know what’s minimally acceptable in order to establish a criterion for deciding what’s minimally acceptable.

It seems that Coherentism collapses into Foundationalism in this case, as the Coherentist must assume what’s minimally acceptable. But Coherentists reject Foundationalism, therefore they are forced to reject Coherentism.

Falling Down the Rabbit Hole

The least popular response to the Agrippa problem is Infinitism, and it seems understandable why this is so. Around the 2nd century CE, Sextus illustrated the silliness of accepting such an approach:

“But it is impossible to prove an infinite number of things.”5

Similarly, it could be said that no one has an infinite number of beliefs. It seems then that this chain of beliefs would have to end in an assumption, making the Infinitist (like the Coherentist) a closet Foundationalist.

But the Infinitist would likely reply that beliefs corresponding with reality aren’t needed, but only beliefs that are available to the subject in order to continue constructing their chain of beliefs.

In other words, the chain is constantly being constructed. Infinitists thus find themselves falling down a rabbit hole, cherry picking new beliefs to support their already existing beliefs.

Follow What Appears

Going back to when I mentioned no argument can escape the Agrippa problem, I want to emphasize that I only used the word “argument”. I said nothing about observations.

When we describe what appears to us, we’re not making an argument, we’re simply stating what appears. And as I noted earlier, we’re all forced to accept appearances. Pyrrhonists are no exception.

Pyrrhonists also rely on appearances for things that most people rely on dogmatic beliefs for, such as everyday decision making.

For instance, sensations, thoughts, feelings, laws, customs, and skills are all things that appear to us. This is the kind of everyday knowledge we all accept, and the kind of knowledge that a Pyrrhonist embraces.

As an example, we could talk about a Pyrrhonist knowing dinner is being made because they smell it cooking. This doesn’t involve the kind of justification dogmatists demand, and if that same Pyrrhonist were to be pressed about whether they really know dinner is being made, they would simply retreat from the claim.

So even though Pyrrhonists won’t jump to conclude that any belief is justified, they may grant that a belief feels justified. This is a very mild kind of belief that completely rejects certainty. I’d say it’s an honest one.

But what does this mean for the rest of philosophy, is it still worth exploring?

I would say yes, but not in the way you might think.

Why 99% of Philosophy is Mental Illness

“When I told my four-year-old that I’m not a medical doctor, but doctor of philosophy, he retorted with: “is philosophy an illness?” — Mira ‘Assaf Kafantaris

So the Agrippa problem appears unanswerable; no theory of justification has ever been able to work around it, nor has any theory come close to doing so.

Yet, around 99% of philosophy seems to be built on assumptions, circular reasoning, and regressive arguments. Philosophers, for some reason, just can’t let go of the desire to employ these fallacious options.

Because of this, Pyrrhonists find the vast majority of philosophical views to be dogmatic.

Dogmatism also appears to fuel the vast disagreements in philosophy. We can see this in how people don’t dispute evident matters such as appearances, but disagree widely on non-evident dogmas.

Why is this the case?

Because you can use assumptions, circular reasoning, and regresses to prove virtually anything, which allows you to build any belief system you want. Because of this, the Pyrrhonist finds philosophical positions to be as diverse as all other works of fiction.

But when fiction is viewed as truth instead of art, it becomes dangerous.

Religious and political beliefs, for instance, are almost entirely justified by dogmas. Yet, disagreements among such belief systems fuel most of the conflict and violence we see in the world.

Dogmatism also harms us at the individual level. Looking back, I realize how approaching philosophy dogmatically has hurt me in the process. Here are some of the ways it has done this:

• Vedanta and Neoplatonism polluted my mind with the vanity to see myself as a God, and led me astray from the humility to see myself as an imperfect human.

• Buddhism (at least the versions I subscribed to) led me to set impossible expectations for myself, such as thinking I could stop having desires, that I could stop having thoughts, and that I could be completely free from suffering.6

• Hermeticism made me susceptible to manipulation from con artists and persuaded me to engage in goofy occult practices that didn’t seem to do anything.

• Naturalism led me to become a Pessimist and a Doomer, which I discuss in more detail in my first article.

All of this has shown me that dogmatism, and thus 99% of philosophy—is mental illness. Like how schizophrenia drives a patient to experience delusions, philosophy too, deceives us into accepting delusions.

Thankfully, Dr. Sextus7 has a cure for us: the cure by argument. By applying the Agrippa problem to our dogmatic beliefs, we can successfully purge ourselves of the dogmatic mind virus.

In this case, philosophy no longer becomes a disease, but medicine that helps us cultivate a healthy mind. The Pyrrhonists likened this to a cathartic drug that expels themselves along with the illness.

But this is not to say we shouldn’t explore or even appreciate philosophy either.

As a Pyrrhonist, I find I can now learn about philosophy out of interest. I no longer feel rushed to find “the truth” because it seems I’m unable to find it, neither do I feel disturbed by the need to defend a particular position. I can simply explore it.

This has made philosophy far more enjoyable for me, and I hope it does the same for you.

Recently, I came across a brilliant comic that completely changed how I look at beliefs. I highly recommend checking it out—it’s called “How to Change Minds” by Rebecca Fox, and so far I consider it to be one of the best metaphorical depictions of dogmatism I’ve come across.1

The comic is narrated by Anthony Magnabosco, Executive Director of Street Epistemology International. Now let’s pause for a second. What exactly is Street Epistemology? First, we have to start with “epistemology,” a word that looks rather esoteric, but thankfully doesn’t have to be. It’s really just the branch of philosophy that studies knowledge. You can think of epistemology as dealing with the very foundations of philosophical frameworks from which philosophers construct their theories. So Street Epistemology (SE) can be thought of as a conversational framework that explores why people believe what they believe. It also so happens that SE is an exceptionally powerful tool for changing people’s minds.

In her comic, Fox calls us to imagine ourselves walking around with towers of beliefs stacked on our heads. Though we’re not always conscious of these towers, we’re always meticulously guarding them so they don’t topple over. Some of us have towers that are so perilously tall that we’re afraid to move, while others seem to possess the talent for keeping their towers steadily balanced. Reflecting on this, I am reminded of my Protestant upbringing. I recall how I was taught to safeguard my beliefs and shun doubt through what I at the time called “faith” (but now call making baseless assumptions). Though I took pride in how diligently I balanced my tower, I couldn’t see how vulnerable it was to the risk of being knocked over—until it actually happened.

The comic presents other examples. It shows how some of us are reckless, constantly losing blocks and picking up new ones in their place. I find this was the case for me in my college years, when I abandoned Christianity and started cycling through various spiritual practices and traditions. I wanted to try the whole spiritual buffet, and found I often had to purge myself of several blocks to make room for new ones. Though this helped me get more comfortable with changing my mind, I now see that I was merely replacing one set of dogmas with another.

Fox continues to illustrate that some people have constructed towers so high that they can’t enter rooms. It’s easy to see how this metaphor applies to the significant political polarization we experience today. We aren’t talking to each other because we despise towers that differ from our own. Not only do the towers we carry bar us from entering these rooms, but they also keep us stuck in our own rooms—stifling any hope that we will get those who think differently from us to build towers similar to our own.

In the same vein, Fox illustrates those who have towers just tall enough to ride the ride they want to ride. Here we can imagine the “rabbit hole” of echo chambers that indoctrinate people into cultlike thinking. Though these towers are tall enough for the ride, we find that the ride itself is unsafe and at risk of malfunction, accidents, or worse.

The last tower structure that Fox introduces is the version that Street Epistemologists want us to build—the short and sturdy ones. She wholesomely depicts the people carrying these kinds of towers dancing around without fear of their blocks falling. But what prevents us from constructing these short towers? Fox introduces two unpleasant characters: the Prince and the Beast.

The Prince, according to Fox, “guards the tower with wit, eloquence, and charm.” He is a master of misdirection, and when someone gets too close to the tower, he seeks to distract them. If cornered, he might even give up a few top blocks to retain the overall structure of the tower. The Prince seems to represent the dishonest tactics we use to guard our dogmatic beliefs. We find that though he comes across as clever, charismatic, and convincing, the Prince deep down is a con artist. We find him in every grifter, quack, demagogue, and cult leader we encounter.

At the base of our towers is the Beast, who “is always ugly and always scared,” according to Fox. He guards the foundational blocks, and will not under any circumstances let you take those blocks. He fears that losing those bottom blocks will result in a loss of identity, livelihood, and connection to loved ones. So when those blocks become threatened, the Beast resorts to anger and violence. We see this notably in cases of violent extremism—each fueled by a Beast whose bottom blocks felt jeopardized.

Fox cautions that if we want to change someone’s beliefs, we must confront their Prince and their Beast. But doing this poses several risks. If you’re fortunate, you’ll encounter their Prince, who will attempt to disarm you. But if you’re unfortunate, you’ll suffer the Beast’s fury. The comic reminds us that, despite these threats, the Prince and the Beast just want to keep their host safe. This helps us avoid assuming bad intentions, as supposing this can quickly derail the discussion. But despite seemingly good intentions, it helps to remind ourselves that these blocks are mind viruses, and that the Prince and Beast are ultimately keeping their hosts sick. But is there a way we can administer a cure without drawing attention from these characters?

Perhaps you’re quick enough to pull out a few loose blocks. In some of these cases, you might even be thanked for lessening the load, but if you’re not careful, the Beast will lash out at you. Another risk to consider is that you may carelessly choose the wrong block, causing the tower to collapse and leave behind a cataclysmic mess. Doing this could even hurt someone in the process. Fox tells us “either way, rooting around inside someone’s head while they’re not looking seems kinda rude.”

Street Epistemologists find that the best way to change other people’s minds (or even your own), is not through prying out individual blocks, but through first acknowledging the tower, and then asking sincere questions that the Prince and the Beast aren’t guarded for such as:

• “How did you build that?”

• “Why did you build that?”

• “What’s keeping that up?”

Questions such as these seem to be at the root of Pyrrhonism, which to me is no surprise. Not only is Pyrrhonism largely relevant to contemporary epistemology, but it also involves a philanthropic approach to changing minds referred to as the “cure by argument” (name look familiar?).

Like Street Epistemologists, Pyrrhonists examine beliefs through continued inquiry. The very beginning of Outlines of Pyrrhonism opens with Sextus Empiricus describing a Pyrrhonist as someone who hasn’t found the truth but continues to search for it. Not only does a Pyrrhonist investigate claims, but they also investigate the justification for these claims. Questions such as the three examples listed above examine whether we’re justified in building the towers we’ve constructed.

By abandoning adversarial thinking in favor of collaborative thinking, Fox says we’re able to talk to and connect with the person themselves, bypassing their Prince and Beast in the process. We also connect with the person and learn more about them when we do this. We learn, for instance, that they chose their higher up blocks because they made them feel good. Or perhaps they just happened to be lying around. You might even discover that they didn’t choose their bottom blocks at all, and that those foundational beliefs were placed there by their parents, society, or culture. When we learn how different towers are built, we’re not only more likely to succeed in helping others deconstruct them, but we’re also able to step back to examine our own beliefs.

Toward the end of her comic, Fox considers that it would “be a lot easier to get by with a shorter tower made of beliefs we consciously chose because we had solid evidence to support them.” Here is an area where I think Pyrrhonism can go much further than SE.

For starters, what can we say should serve as a Pyrrhonist’s foundational blocks? From one angle, we could say appearances. Verily, it seems we all accept that what appears to us appears to us. I can say, for instance, that it appears to me that I am writing an essay. If I were to deny this, I would either be lying or gaslighting myself. But what I am unable to do is make claims about the nature of what appears to me, such as whether this essay objectively exists, or whether it’s a good one. Such claims are considered dogmatic to a Pyrrhonist.

But as we can see above, Fox is encouraging us to build towers using beliefs we consciously chose, and as Sextus tells us in Outlines (1.13), appearances are forced upon us. Nobody chooses to assent to appearances because assenting to appearances is not a choice. Therefore Pyrrhonism takes us deeper than Street Epistemology by undermining any criteria that would result in us choosing to believe in something.

Pyrrhonists aren’t blockheads. We see that carrying a tower of blocks on our heads not only makes us look silly, but it also makes us sick. We recognize that these towers are illnesses, and that it is through curing by argument that we can purge ourselves of dogmatism. I find that Street Epistemology is incredibly useful for this, and several other Pyrrhonists have told me they also find it useful. Perhaps through these methods, we can run the Prince and the Beast out of their jobs once and for all, and liberate our minds from the trickery and fear that keep us bound to dogmatism.

“Because of his love of humanity the Skeptic wishes to cure by argument, so far as he can, the conceit and precipitancy of the Dogmatists.”

Sextus seems to be presenting a need to combat dogmatism, though I don’t mean “combat” in the sense of destroying someone in an argument. The need to cure by argument isn’t motivated by the desire to be right—Pyrrhonists are perfectly fine with not having the answers. It should also be noted that Sextus isn’t using logic or reason to justify this need. He is simply pointing out what’s evident to him: his love of humanity.

Pyrrhonists accept what appears. We passively receive appearances that lead us to involuntarily assent to them—something no one seems to dispute. Since we cannot be wholly inactive, Pyrrhonists live without dogmas by following appearances. This can include things like sensations, thoughts, compulsions, customs, laws, and skills. In the case of loving humanity, Sextus seems to portray love as a perception that compels us to act. He isn’t commanding us to “love thy neighbor,” but merely observing our capacity to love.

When we love someone, it follows that we also don’t want them to fall prey to misery, deception, polarization, or extremism. To Pyrrhonists, these all-too-relevant issues appear as symptoms of dogmatism, which compels them to cure others. In this sense, Sextus portrays Pyrrhonists not as culture warriors, but as benefactors of humanity.

Yet often, in their attempts to fix the world’s problems, people lead not with love but with arrogance and rashness. This leaves them vulnerable to dogmas that lead them to abandon their humanity, as in the case of extremists. Fascinatingly, it seems that approaching our conversations through love might be the key to combating these dogmas. An inspiring example of this can be found in the musician and activist Daryl Davis, a Black man who has convinced over 200 members of the Ku Klux Klan to shed their racism. The secret to his success resembles the love for humanity that Sextus speaks of. Davis tells us quite plainly:

“Everybody wants to be loved. They want to be respected. They want to be heard. They want to be treated fairly and truthfully. And they want the same things for their family as we want for ours.”

Davis approaches his conversations not by making claims or debunking them, but by seeking understanding. He asks klansmen, “Why do you hate me if you don’t even know me?” He then gives them the space to be heard, making sure they feel like they’re being treated fairly. Davis recognizes that no one wants to be deceived. Indeed, we all want to be guided by honesty. Yet we often speak to people as if they chose to be misled. Pyrrhonists view this tendency as a symptom of a disease, and as a result have more compassionate (and therefore more productive) conversations with dogmatists.

This is not to say we should love extremists. Pyrrhonists make no normative claims about what we should or shouldn’t do. But we do accept what appears useful in practice. And in this case, it seems useful to treat others with love and respect when combating dogmatism—even if the person we’re talking to doesn’t love us back.

“While the Dogmatists egoistically claim that in deciding the facts preference ought to be given to themselves above all other human beings, we realize that this claim of theirs is inappropriate since they themselves are part of the dispute.”

— Sextus Empiricus

It seems most, if not all of us have had moments where we look back on ourselves and cringe.

Perhaps it was a joke that didn’t land, or a dicey outfit that didn’t align with current tastes. Whatever it may be, actions depicted as cringe seem to involve our awkwardly executed attempts to express ourselves. Often, these behaviors are perceived as humiliating, resulting in the impression of secondhand embarrassment for spectators—hence the word “cringe.”

Even more intimidating for some is the notion of “icks”—behaviors that might be perceived as turn-offs to sexual or romantic interests. It seems many of us are terrified of giving those we wish to impress “the ick”—a particularly ego-crushing kind of cringe.

Though behaviors perceived as cringe are largely ridiculed, it appears they aren’t typically treated as taboo—at least not in a moral sense. Other than the discomfort they may appear to cause, cringe behaviors are evidently harmless. No one is going to arrest you for being cringe, nor will anyone think of you as a bad person. But you might get mocked, bullied, or even ostracized. Despite the trouble that comes with it, occasionally coming across to others as cringe seems like a risk none of us can avoid. Indeed, Pyrrho reminds us how it’s “difficult entirely to strip away human nature.” We’re only human after all. We can’t avoid expressing ourselves in ways people might consider unpleasant or awkward. So how might a Pyrrhonist address this fear? In this case, it seems we can benefit from the 10 Modes of Aenesidemus—a set of ten methods in the Pyrrhonist toolkit for examining dogmatic beliefs. The second, fourth, eighth, ninth, and tenth modes will be most appropriate for our discussion.

Sextus Empiricus said, “when the same things are chosen by some people and avoided by others it is logical for us to infer that these people are not affected alike by the same things.” Here, he is outlining the second mode: the observation that we possess physical and mental differences that result in things appearing differently to each of us.

For instance, a joke may seem funny to you, but someone else might find it unfunny. An outfit might appear in good taste to you, but to another it might be seen as unflattering. Likewise, what comes across as an ick to you might seem enchanting to another. The point is that appearances appear differently to different people. So how can we decide which of us, if any, are perceiving the “correct” ones? It seems no such prophet has been chosen. Though there are many who possess the pomposity to declare this for themselves, we find (to our amusement) that the bamboozlers cannot agree among each other either.

Despite this, one might still object that there must be some varieties of self-expression that are preferable to others due to their alignment with what might be considered popular. But Sextus reminds us that this would be a childish proposal: “for no one is able to approach the whole human race and by talking to them find out what pleases the majority.” If we’re unable to grasp the majority view, then how can any of us know what’s truly favorable to the public?

Another useful mode from Aenesidemus is the fourth: that appearances depend on our physical and mental conditions at the time of perception. Suitable to our discussion is the condition of liking and disliking. The idea is that we each experience different preferences and aversions that we’re unable to reconcile with the preferences and aversions of others.

Perhaps you like Star Wars. Even if nothing is better than Star Wars in your mind, there are still plenty of others who could never get into it. Or maybe you enjoy watching anime; once again, you’ll find a considerable number of people who don’t get the appeal. You might also enjoy a niche hobby that others don’t enjoy. It would then follow that there are also hobbies others enjoy which you might find boring.

The same goes for physical and romantic attraction. Unless you’re asexual and aromantic, there will be qualities you’ll find attractive in a partner (or potential partner) that others will find repulsive. There will also be people who find you attractive and others who find you unattractive (that’s just how it is). How then are we able to determine what’s preferable and what’s not preferable? Can we say that anything is truly worth liking or disliking? Sextus reminds us that we are without a criterion to give preference to one appearance over another; thus, we are unable to decide whether anything is by nature likable or unlikable.

The next relevant mode is the eighth. In his outline of this mode, Sextus wrote that what is judged “appears in relation to what does the judging.” In other words, judgments are relative. Thus, what’s judged as cringeworthy is also relative. How then can we consider anything to be objectively cringe if what makes a person cringe rests completely on whoever does the cringing? The same goes for icks. Despite the common misconception that people “give” their romantic interests the ick, it’s really the perceiver that the perception rests on—not the perceived.

Another mode pertinent to our examination of cringe culture is the ninth: the mode of frequency of occurrence. Sextus tells us, “things that are rare seem precious, but things that are familiar and easy to get do not.” We see this when people jump on the bandwagon of “the next big thing.” That thing (whatever it may be) usually blows up because it appears novel and therefore more valuable to people. Conversely, we find trends that become excessively widespread are eventually perceived as “cliché” and “worn-out.” A personal example that comes to mind takes me back to my freshman year of high school, when I was meticulously private about my music tastes. Having been picked on for dressing in clothes perceived as “too emo” in middle school, I entered high school anxiously avoiding clothes I presumed might look too dark or too edgy. I remember my self-consciousness was so pervasive that it drove me to check my earbuds habitually during my bus rides home. I did this so no one could overhear that I was listening to My Chemical Romance—a cornerstone of the emo genre. Amusingly, it wasn’t until my college years that my peers seemed to once again appreciate the music and aesthetic of emo culture. One event I look back on in particular is “emo night”—a party that many of us anticipated with excitement. I was amazed to hear songs I had once been embarrassed to listen to—songs like “Teenagers” and “Welcome to the Black Parade”—now being sung in nostalgic harmony by a choir of highly extroverted college kids. What had become worn-out was now rare again, and what was once cringe had now become cool. But this was due to frequency of occurrence, not some inherent nature to the genre.

The final mode in Aenesidemus’ toolkit is the tenth: the mode concerning differences in ways of life, customs, laws, mythical beliefs, and dogmatic assumptions. For our purposes, we’ll only need to focus on the differences between social customs. Though Pyrrhonists follow social customs so far as they’re useful, they can also oppose custom to custom. For instance, Sextus notes how Persians found brightly covered garments that reach the feet to be flattering, while Roman citizens found them unflattering. Similarly, we can see how one subculture might find a particular form of self-expression praiseworthy, while a different subculture might find that same variety of expression cringeworthy. Another takeaway from this mode is that we can surround ourselves with people we can be freely expressive around. After all, Pyrrhonists follow what appears, and if it’s evident that being around judgmental people leads to more disturbances, Pyrrhonists can choose to gravitate toward those who are more accepting. But regardless of your cultural milieu, it seems any perception of something as cringe is altogether dogmatic.

Returning to the quote I opened with, it’s intriguing how Sextus considered those who decide their opinions should be given preference to be “egoistic.” It does seem that a particular kind of vanity is required to assume one has privileged insight into what’s truly cringeworthy. But following these modes, it’s helpful to remind ourselves that we have no reason to judge the dogmatists for their arrogance either. I find it far more helpful to recognize cringe culture for what it more clearly seems to be: a disease of the dogmatic mind. So rather than shaming or punishing those who are infected, it is through our love of humanity that we can seek to cure others of this disease.

Taking all of this into account, you’ll find that cringe culture is a heaping pile of dogma. You have no reason to accept it, and it’s through Pyrrhonist practice that you can find liberation from it. So the next time you notice yourself worrying about whether people will see you as cringe, remind yourself that nothing is cringe by nature, and enjoy the freedom that follows.

Working with the Council was a fascinatingly unique experience. It was like joining the Avengers, had they been a team of intellectual hippies, Buddhists, Pagans, Pantheists, and Humanists—all with the same strange niche interests that I had. I consider them to be among the most kind, mature, and interesting people I’ve ever met, therefore it would be quite unfortunate not to mention these exceptional figures:

• Daniel Strain, Humanist-Buddhist-Stoic, founder of SNS, and writer at The Beacon Hand.

• Rick Heller, author of Secular Meditation and leader of the meditation group at the Humanist Chaplaincy at Harvard.

• Thomas Schenk, retired research administrator and one of the most (if not the most) prolific writers at SNS.

• Tony Wolf, Cultural Fighting Styles Designer for the Lord of the Rings trilogy (my all-time favorite films), author of the popular Suffraijistu trilogy (among other novels), and martial arts documentarian—who last year published the first volume of his fascinating Poetic Faiths anthology.

• James Jarrett, Humanist Chaplain, Celebrant and blogger at Becoming Human.

• Leigh Anderson, retired aerospace industry professional with degrees in Computer Programming and Cultural Anthropology. I never had the pleasure of having a conversation with Leigh other than over email, though I came to enjoy her articles.

• Kyle Kampa, Newsletter Editor at SNS, who like Leigh, I only spoke with over email. I always appreciated how diligent and punctual he was with reminding me to send my monthly newsletter statement, and with sending our monthly newsletters out.

• Edwin Everly, our Communications Moderator who I also never got a chance to meet, but kept our Facebook page active.

• Daniel Lev, psycho-spiritual guide with a B.A. in Sociology from Yale who is currently pursuing his Masters in Counseling at Loyola University in New Orleans. Daniel is the new Executive Director at SNS and I was delighted to pass the torch to him when I left.

• Gregory Gronbacher, whom I’ve already mentioned. An unmistakable polymath, Gregory has built well-established careers as a Real Estate Advisor, Digital Copywriter & Editor, AI Philosophy & Ethics Consultant, University Professor, and Author. As noted, he was also the SNS Director that preceded me. I also found his articles to be quite insightful.

I very much enjoyed collaborating with these individuals, and I often wished I knew more people in my life like them. I would periodically think about how nice it would be if I had more in-person connections in my life that I could talk about Spiritual Naturalism (SN) with, especially on a day-to-day basis. Interestingly, I feel the same way now about Pyrrhonism.

Leaving the New Age

I first encountered SN after abandoning my supernatural New Age beliefs. This was just after my college years, a period I jokingly look back on as my “hippie-dippie phase”. In this chapter of my life, I explored a smorgasbord of spiritual paths, immersing myself in bhakti yoga, Vedanta, psychonautics, ceremonial magic, and neopaganism, among others. Strangely, I find this period of my life to be fairly Pyrrhonian—not so unaligned with the Zetetic (seeking) approach to Pyrrhonist practice. Though I had assented to many dogmas during this period, my quest orientation to spirituality and religion allowed me to change and revise my beliefs the more I searched. Inevitably, this shattered my supernatural beliefs—receiving their final blow after watching Dr Susan Blackmore’s lectures on Out-of-Body experiences.

Dr Blackmore was once a New Age hippie just like me, who held a strong conviction in favor of a supernatural world. Fascinatingly, it was a decade of research as a Parapsychologist that caused her beliefs to unravel. Gradually, she became a Naturalist, though she typically calls herself a “skeptic” (in the scientific, not Pyrrhonian sense of the word). Despite her “skeptical” inclinations, Blackmore still saw a baby in the spiritual bathwater, and openly welcomed SN in her foreword to the first book in the SNS Anthology Series.

Dr Blackmore’s story resonated with me deeply, and is in large part why I became not just a Naturalist, but a Spiritual Naturalist. Yet, there was a deeper impulse underlying this transition, and surprisingly, it’s the same question that eventually brought me to Pyrrhonism: the question of how to build a nondogmatic world.

The New (Naturalist) Age

One of the most frequently discussed motifs in the New Age movement is the notion of “awakening”. New Agers often exchange stories about their awakening experiences, and the events that led up to it. But what are they waking up from exactly? Often, they explain this quite colorfully: as an awakening from “the matrix”. Though vague, this is typically described as our social conditioning, but other times as a sort of metaphysical prison constructed by our institutions. Pyrrhonists, on the other hand, find the notion of awakening dogmatic, as this word implies that a hidden truth (if not the truth) has been realized. Yet, of the countless other New Agers I came across, most appeared to describe themselves as nondogmatic. Verily, I often thought of myself this way. But my understanding of dogmatism was quite deviant from the Pyrrhonian use of the term.

New Agers typically seem to use the word “dogma” to designate beliefs based on unsupported assumptions. Though Pyrrhonists agree that assumptions are dogmatic, they appear to have identified significantly more unsupported assumptions than the New Agers. Contrastingly, New Agers seem to have mostly identified social norms, religious doctrines, and confidence in institutions as dogmatic.

The narrative that “humanity is waking up” appears to reside at the core of the New Age movement.1 Though this carries significant supernatural dogmas along with it, the collective awakening of humanity also implies an end to the dogmas that are perceived as keeping humanity “asleep”. Not only do New Agers view these dogmas as delusional, they also consider them to be the root of all major problems in the world.2 Because of this, those who have awakened are also called to participate in the global process to help humanity wake up. This seems to be why the New Age is often perceived by its members as a movement, and not a mere subculture.

Following this framework then, it’s (hopefully) not too difficult to see how the hippie calling to “awaken” humanity still resonated with me, even when I became a Naturalist. The narrative that there was the truth that “I woke up to”, and the dogmas that “I woke up from”—still remained. What changed was my conception of the truth, as well as the dogmas I considered most threatening. New Ageism was then replaced with Naturalism, while my distrust toward institutions was replaced with distrust toward supernaturalism.3

And this is what ultimately drew me to SN. Naturalism on its own seemed cold, boring, and Nihilistic. Nothing about it seemed cool nor attractive, other than that it was the truth (or so I thought). Conversely, Spiritual Naturalism brought warmth, wonder, and meaning to Naturalism. It transformed Naturalism into a philosophy that people wouldn’t be repulsed by (and therefore closed off to). In my SNS article, Spirituality for Skeptics, I summarized how Spiritual Naturalism:

“...is not merely a worldview—it’s a growing movement, a subculture that seeks to maximize human flourishing through reason and evidence. If developed successfully, this subculture will compete against the dogmatism and nihilism that have dominated our public discourse for far too long.”

We’ll return to the above quote in a bit (it’s problematic). For now, I want to share how Spiritual Naturalism had eventually brought me to Pyrrhonism.

The Humble Approach to Knowledge

Aside from the call to “awaken” humanity, my Zetetic “quest orientation” to spirituality also remained with me after leaving the New Age, and I continued to apply this orientation as I explored Spiritual Naturalism as a philosophy of life. One tendency I gradually started to notice was how Naturalists disagree on what exactly constitutes “Naturalism”. For instance, the section defining the meaning of “Naturalism” in The Routledge Handbook of Religious Naturalism opens with: “There is no single, agreed-upon meaning of ‘naturalism.’”

So if there’s no agreed-upon definition, how could I determine the correct approach to Naturalism? At this point, I had not yet been aware of the Problem of the Criterion, but I was beginning to take skepticism more seriously—despite being a dogmatic scientific skeptic at the time. By then, Pyrrhonism had already been on my radar; I decided it was time to dive deeper.

To my convenience, SNS founder Daniel Strain had already published several articles discussing Pyrrhonism, which you can check out below:

• Epoché

• A New (old) Skepticism

• Distractions to Spiritual Practice, Pt 1

• Understanding Evidence & Reason in Spiritual Naturalism

It seemed to me that Strain’s outlook on Naturalism was profoundly influenced by Pyrrhonian ideas. I’ve come to suspect that his depiction of SN as a “humble approach to knowledge” is largely (at least in part) due to this. I decided after reading Daniel’s articles that if I wanted my Naturalism to have a solid foundation, Pyrrhonism was well worth exploring.

I started with Pyrrhonism: How the Ancient Greeks Reinvented Buddhism by Adrian Kuzminski. I admit I only listened to an AI audio of the book via Speechify, a practice I regularly underwent to impatiently rush through books—which I don’t recommend and no longer do.4 The parts I picked up were quite helpful though in shaping my understanding of how Pyrrhonism was less dogmatic than Academic Skepticism, in addition to the distinction between evident and non-evident claims. But in retrospect, I wouldn’t say I carefully read the text.

The first book on Pyrrhonism that I carefully read was Pyrrho’s Way: The Ancient Greek Version of Buddhism by Doug Bates. It would be an understatement to say this book changed my life. Bates’ outline of Pyrrhonism was clear, accessible, and persuasive. By the moment I reached the last page, it was apparent that my epistemological approach to philosophy had become fully Pyrrhonian.

But could I reconcile Pyrrhonism with Naturalism? Strain seemed to think so when I told him I became a Pyrrhonist. Emeritus Council Member B.T. Newberg on the other hand, had a very different take:

“The Pyrrhonists were decidedly not naturalistic. Why? Like today’s atheists and agnostics, they did not hesitate to point out the dubiousness of theological dogma, so wouldn’t that make them naturalistic? In fact, the answer is no. Pyrrhonists questioned all beliefs, including naturalistic ones. Strictly speaking, they were no more naturalists than theists. They would have rejected both positions as overly dogmatic.

Naturalists today may not consider their philosophy dogmatic, but ancient Pyrrhonists would have disagreed. Surely they would have looked askance at the elaborate scientific theories accepted by naturalists, such as general relativity or quantum mechanics, which often go beyond what is immediately apparent to the senses. It is commonplace, for example, for scientists to operate on the basis of theoretical constructs long before they are demonstrated by observation. Atoms, for example, have been a staple of science since Gassendi, but were not directly observed till recent years via quantum microscopy. For this the Pyrrhonist would have no patience. Though the naturalist may object that such theories are only taken as provisionally true, contingent on evidence, it is hard to imagine a Pyrrhonist brooking such objections. It was precisely this notion of provisional truth which they found unacceptably dogmatic in the Academics.”

Unable to reconcile these perspectives, I went to other Pyrrhonists for answers. I was fortunate enough to get in touch with Bates, who kindly shared his initial impressions with me after taking a look at the SNS definition of “Spiritual Naturalism”:

SNS: “Spiritual Naturalism sees the universe as one natural and sacred whole – as is the rationality and the science through which nature is revealed.”

Bates: “Except as by definition the universe is natural and whole, I’m not sure what this claim amounts to. “Sacred” is about what people think; it’s not something that exists by nature. As for rationality and science, they don’t seem whole or sacred to me.”

SNS: “It advocates principles and practices that have compassion as their foundation,”

Bates: “I’m not sure what “foundation” means here. It sounds like some sort of first principle, or a dogmatic belief.”

SNS: “Naturalists’ conception of reality consists of the natural world as outlined by the latest scientific understanding. “

Bates: “Scientific understanding is constantly changing. This does not seem to be a secure foundation.”

Bates’ response confirmed my suspicions. I could no longer in good faith call myself a Naturalist.

Naturalist Eudaimonia?

Despite our epistemological differences, I still recommend checking out Spiritual Naturalism, and the SNS Website. There’s a lot of interesting stuff in there, a great deal of which I still consider useful. I would say I now view SN in the same vein that Doug Bates depicts Stoicism: as a philosophy that you can take and leave from.

Like Stoicism, SN is rich with useful practices and advice that can be helpful, even inspiring.5 What should be left behind includes the dogmas associated with Naturalism—particularly the dogma that we can come to knowledge through science. As it turned out, this belief led me to become profoundly miserable.

My assent into dogmatic despair began with my introduction to Michael Dowd, a Naturalist Christian Minister and self-described “Ecotheologian”. Now I by no means wish to disparage Dowd—he seems to have lived a deeply selfless life: living on the road with his wife Connie Barlow, and traveling across the U.S. to preach “The Gospel of Evolution” to secular and religious congregations. These efforts appear to have achieved tremendous success, building bridges between theists and atheists. Tragically, Michael Dowd passed away just a few years ago from a heart attack, leaving behind an inspiring humanitarian legacy.

Proclaiming “Reality” to be his God, Dowd’s Naturalism led him to the dogma that we can come to knowledge through science. So when he read the sociologist William Catton’s book Overshoot: The Ecological Basis of Revolutionary Change, he became a Doomer, concluding that climate change, ecological overshoot, and biodiversity loss would inevitably lead to societal collapse.

At the time, I counted Dowd among my greatest influences. I was particularly drawn to his ability to win over supernaturalist audiences, which spoke to my interest in strategies to “awaken” humanity from supernaturalism. So when I encountered Dowd’s “Post Doom” prophecy and started watching his video talks on the subject, I took my first sips of the Doomer Kool-Aid—before swiftly draining the glass.

This filled me with an unfathomable misery.

How was I to go to work each day, “knowing” that the end is near? What’s the purpose of aspiring toward anything if societal collapse is imminent? I frequently ruminated over how the best parts of my life were behind me—that it will only go downhill from here. I found myself reluctantly agreeing to my then-girlfriend’s perpetual requests to watch post-apocalyptic films and shows, tuning in to fictional scenes that would certainly happen to me.

I scored alarmingly high for depression during my visit to the psychiatrist’s office, where I was prescribed antidepressants for the first time in my life. Sure, there were other contributing factors to my depression at the time—notably my ongoing breakup with the aforementioned girlfriend and working under a boss who treated me like a commodity. But those were just chapters in the story: Doomerism was the entire narrative.

I ironically look back on this era of my life with humor, and it is largely Pyrrhonism that I attribute to helping me escape the Doomer mental prison. First, I was relieved to learn that climate scientists widely disagree on the probability of societal collapse, and after becoming acquainted with the previously mentioned Problem of the Criterion, I conceded that I could not determine which of them (if any) had found the truth.

Pyrrhonism also introduced me to another fundamental problem in philosophy: The Problem of Induction (first advanced in the West by the Pyrrhonists). I was then confronted with new questions: How can we know what will happen, following an incomplete sample of generalized observations? Why aren’t we taking unpredictable black swan events into account? How can we say we know what the future will be like, based on past observations? How can we say any of this without relying on assumptions? I could not answer these questions, so I resorted to suspending judgment.6

This returns me to my problematic quote from earlier, when I said SN “seeks to maximize human flourishing through reason and evidence”. When I reflect on my misadventures through the Doomer landscape, it seems my Naturalism had conflictingly minimized the potential for any flourishing in my life. To ancient Pyrrhonists, the term for “human flourishing” was Eudaimonia, a concept almost universally agreed to be the goal of life among classical Western philosophers. Remarkably, it was Pyrrhonism that produced results in my life far more conducive to Eudaimonia than I ever imagined could be achieved through Naturalism. Besides Doomerism, Pyrrhonist practice has also brought me freedom from Pessimism, Nihilism, and most anxiety over the future. Pyrrhonism has also helped me judge less, and though I still catch myself making dogmatic judgments—Pyrrhonist practice seems to make the judgment quickly dissolve.

Despite the benefits, I’ve found no reason to think I should only rely on Pyrrhonist methods to improve my life. Pyrrhonism is not a panacea. Indeed, Sextus Empiricus tells us in his Outlines:

“We do not suppose, of course, that the Skeptic is wholly untroubled, but we do say that he is troubled only by things unavoidable.”

So despite being a Pyrrhonist, I still listen to my doctor. I go to therapy. I take medications for my ADHD and social phobia. I get vaccinated. I don’t need to believe in Naturalism to do any of these things. I simply do them because they’re useful.

And spiritual practices can be useful too. I find it funny now that despite being more skeptical than I was as a Naturalist, I’m finding the “spiritual” side of Spiritual Naturalism to be the only part worth keeping. So would I still consider myself “spiritual”? Will I continue calling myself a “spiritual skeptic”? Probably not.

Retiring From Spirit-Talk

This returns me one last time to the question of building a nondogmatic world. One of my last articles for SNS was a defense of spirit-talk directed against the polemics of the late Tom Flynn. Flynn was a Secular Humanist who advocated for a Nihilistic approach to Naturalism—an approach I feared would scare people away. In opposition, I argued that promoting Spiritual Naturalism was the best way to combat dogmatism:

“Where I think Flynn ultimately misses however, is that in order for skepticism to better compete against dogmatism, it must existentially and aesthetically appeal to people. Spiritual Naturalism helps skepticism meet this goal without detracting from it or watering it down, allowing skeptical activists to meet supernaturalists halfway, and thus more effectively get their message across. Verily, I would make the case that spiritual language can make skepticism far more rich, colorful, and meaningful in ways that secular or nihilistic approaches to skepticism cannot.”

Of course, I’m referring to scientific skepticism here, but considering my skepticism has now become fully Pyrrhonian, might it still make sense to use spiritual language to make Pyrrhonism look more attractive?

Not really.

Why? Because Pyrrhonism doesn’t suffer from the same problems that Naturalism does.

Look at Stoicism. Visit any book store and chances are, the philosophy section will have shelves filled with titles by Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Ryan Holiday. Search “Stoicism” on social media, and you’ll discover an abundant feed of viral videos with millions of views. Of course, Stoicism does have an innate theological component, and there are those (such as Spiritual Naturalists) who dress up Stoicism in a spiritual aesthetic. But it seems that Stoicism largely (and most effectively) attracts people without being parasitic on religion or spirituality. Instead of positioning itself as a “spiritual path”, it appears to get its popular appeal by positioning itself as a system of self-help.

I find that Pyrrhonism possesses aesthetic characteristics similar to the ones that have benefitted contemporary Stoicism. After all, it too is a system of self-help. It also has appeal as a path to inner peace, in addition to the benefit of not being Nihilistic (though if framed the wrong way it can come across like this). Though it lacks popularity, I suspect this is because most people have yet to recognize what Pyrrhonism is precisely about, or how it could benefit us. It might help to share how Pyrrhonism speaks to a variety of highly relevant concerns—including the rise of extremism, polarization, and the mental health crisis. People want solutions to these issues, and it so happens that the Pyrrhonists have a cure.

Of course, there are ways to talk about Pyrrhonism that seem to attract people, and there are ways that appear to repulse people.7 I’m just starting out on this project, so there will likely be some trial and error as I search for ways to most effectively share the cure by argument with others.

I’m also relatively new to Pyrrhonism, having walked the path for less than a year. I’d say because of this, I only intend to write about Pyrrhonism as an explorer—but it doesn’t seem it will ever be something I become an “expert” in either. Indeed, Sextus dispels the notion that we can distinguish between a skilled and unskilled person in his Outlines and in Against the Ethicists. So I have no intention then of ever going beyond the Zetetic approach to Pyrrhonism. I also want to add that I’m completely open to critiques from other Pyrrhonists who have been on the path longer than I. So if I say anything that misrepresents or contradicts Pyrrhonist ideas, please feel free to correct me. My intention here is to start a dialogue that gets people talking about Pyrrhonism—not to speak with authority on the topic.

Despite my avoidance of spirit-talk, I might talk about Pyrrhonism as my “spiritual path” in the case that I find myself among New Age adherents. or receive an invitation to participate in New Age activities—such as yoga classes or drum circles. Indeed, Pyrrhonists are not at all against participating in religious activities as a matter of following social customs. In such a case, I would be using the word “spirituality” to designate a way of life instead of a belief system. It seems though that this use of language would only resonate with the New Age crowd, so as for my direction for Cure by Argument, I intend to refrain from calling myself “spiritual”.

Uncertainty, Not Dispute

After stepping down from my role as Director and leaving SNS, I received a video from the new Director, Daniel Lev. It was a heartfelt thank you message from all the SNS staff. I was beyond touched, and I hope they all know I give them my very best.

It’s for reasons such as these that I hope this article won’t in any way be read as polemical. My intention here is really to share my experience and process of becoming a Pyrrhonist, and to reflect on my journey through Spiritual Naturalism with gratitude—without burning any bridges.

I’ll give Spiritual Naturalists the benefit of my uncertainty. Perhaps the universe is truly natural in the sense of being material. Perhaps there is a way to precisely define Naturalism, so as to distinguish it from supernaturalism. In this case then, Spiritual Naturalism might make more sense. But I don’t know of any way to determine whether this is the case. Thus, unable to settle the matter, I’ve come to suspend judgment.

7

The link is to a video from Carneades.org, a Pyrrhonist YouTuber and to his credit, my favorite YouTube channel. I highly recommend watching his videos, though when I tried talking to people about Pyrrhonism using the language he uses (aka “a Pyrrhonist doubts everything”, “a Pyrrhonist has no beliefs”), I got visceral responses. It appears this use of language portrays Pyrrhonism as Nihilistic, even though Nihilism is a dogma to Pyrrhonists. I’ve since adopted the language Doug Bates uses, and it seems following this that people have become far more receptive to Pyrrhonist ideas in my conversations.