Answer to the Skeptics


	23. 'You say that in philosophy nothing can be understood. And, in order to spread you utterance far and wide, you ridicule the quarrels and dissensions of philosophers. And you think that those quarrels and dissensions supply you with arms against philosophers themselves. How, for instance, are we going to adjudicate the contest between Democritus and the earlier cosmologists as to the oneness or the incalculable multiplicity of the world, inasmuch as it was possible to preserve agreement between Democritus himself and his heir, Epiricus? That voluptuary was glad to grasp atoms in the darkness and to make those little bodies his handmaids, but he dissipated his entire patrimony through litigation when he allowed them to deviate from their respective proper courses and to diverge capriciously into one another's paths. Of course, this is no affair of mine, but, if it pertains to wisdom to know anything about those matters, a wise man cannot be unaware of that fact. I myself am as yet far from being even almost wise. Nevertheless, I know something about those matters of cosmology, for I am certain that either there is only one world or there are more worlds than one. I am likewise certain that if there are more worlds than one, their number is either finite or infinite. Carneades would teach that this notion resembles a false one. Furthermore, I know for certain that this world of ours has its present arrangement either from the nature of bodies or from a foresight of some kind. I am also certain that either it always was and always will be, or it had a beginning and will never end, or it existed before time and will have an end, or it had a beginning and will not last forever. And I have the same kind of knowledge with regard to countless cosmological problems, for those disjunctives are true, and no one can confuse them with any likeness to falsity. "Now," says the Academic, "assume the truth of either member of the disjunction." I refuse to do that, for it is the same as saying: "Quit what you know, and say what you know not." "But," says he, "your notion is now hanging in suspense." Very well: better hanging in suspense than falling to the ground. While it is hanging, it is at least in plain view, and it can be pronounced either true or false. Because I know that it is neither true or false, I say that I know it as a proposition. Now, since you do not deny that these matters pertain to philosophy, and since you nevertheless maintain that nothing can be known about them, I ask you to show that I do not know them. In other words, say either that these disjunctives are false or that they have something in common with falsity-some characteristic which renders them absolutely indistinguishable from something that is false.'

	24. '"But," says he, "if the senses are deceptive, how do you know that this world exists?" Your reasons will never be able to refute the testimony of the senses to such extent as to convince us that nothing is perceived by us. In fact, you have never ventured to try that, but you have strenuously exerted yourself to convince us that a thing can be something other than what it seems to be. So, by the term world, I mean this totality which surrounds us and sustains us. Whatever its nature may be, I apply the term world to that which is present to my eyes, and which I see to be holding the earth and the heavens, or the quasi earth and the quasi heavens. If you say that nothing appears to me, then I shall never be in error: the man that is in error is the man who rashly accepts as true whatever appears to him. Indeed, you yourselves say that to sentient begins a false thing can appear to be true, but you do not say that nothing can so appear to them. You are anxious to gain a victory in this dispute. But, if we know nothing, and if nothing even appears to us as true, then the entire reason for our dispute will vanish. And if you maintain that what appears to me is not a world, then you are disputing about words only, for I have said that I call it a world.'

	25. 'But, you will ask me: "Is it the very same world that you are seeing, even if you are asleep?" I have already said that I am using the term world to designate whatever appears as such to me. But, if you think that the term ought to be restricted to that which appears to those who are awake and sound of mind, then contend-if you cab-that sleeping men and deranged men are not in this world while they are asleep or deranged. My only assertion is that this entire mass and frame of bodies in which we exist is either a unit or not a unit, and that it is what it is, whether we be asleep or awake, deranged pr sound of mind. Point out how this notion can be false. If I am now asleep, it is possible that I have said nothing at all, but if-as happens occasionally-words have escaped my lips during sleep, it is possible that I was not talking here, that I was not thus seated, and that I was not talking to these listeners. In any case, it must be true that the world is what it is. Of course, I am not saying that I perceived the same thing that I would perceive if I were awake, but you can say that what I perceive when I am awake could appear to me also when I am asleep. Therefore, it can be very similar to something false. However, if there are one world and six worlds, it is clear that there are seven worlds, no matter how I may be affected. And, with all due modesty, I maintain that I know this. Then, show that either this dilemma or the aforesaid disjunctives can be false by reason of sleep, or mental derangement, or the unreality of sense perception. And then, if I remember it when I am awakened, I shall admit that I am vanquished. But, I regard it as already sufficiently plain that the things which are seen awry through sleep or derangement are things that pertain to the bodily senses, for, even if the whole human race were fast asleep, it would still be necessarily true that three times three are nine, and that this is the square of intelligible numbers. Furthermore, I see that, on behalf of the senses, one could urge many arguments which we do not find reprehended by the Academics. In fact, I believe that the senses are not untrustworthy either because deranged persons suffer illusions, or because we see things wrongly when we are asleep. If the senses correctly intimate things to the vigilant and the sane, it is no affair of theirs what the mind of a sleeping or an insane person may fancy for itself.

	26. 'Inquiry is still to be made as to whether the senses report the truth whenever they report anything. Well, suppose that some Epicurean would say: "I have no complaint to make about the senses, for it would be unfair to demand of them anything beyond their power. And, whatever the eyes can see, they see that which is true." Therefore, as to what they see with regard to an oar in the water-is that true? It is absolutely true. In fact, since there is a special reason for the oar's appearing that way, I should rather accuse my eyes of deception if it appeared to be straight when it is dipped in the water, for in that case, they would not be seeing what ought to be seen. But what is the need of many examples? The same can be said about the motion of towers, the wings of birds, and countless other things. "Nevertheless," says someone or other, "I am deceived if I give assent." Restrict your assent to the mere fact of your being convinced that it appears thus to you. Then there is no deception, for I do not see how even an Academic can refute a man who says: "I know that this appears white to . I know that I am delighted by what I am hearing. I know that this smells pleasant to me. I know that this taste sweet to me. I know that this feels cold to me." Tell me, rather, whether the oleaster leaves-for which a goat has a persistent appetite-are bitter per se. O, shameless man! Is not the goat more moderate? I know not how the oleaster leaves may be for flocks and herds; as to myself, they are bitter. What more do you wish to know? Perhaps there is even some man for whom they are not bitter. Are you contending for the sake of annoyance? Have I said that they are bitter for everybody? I have said that they are bitter for me, but I do not say that they will always be so. What, if at different times and for diverse reasons, something be found to taste sweet at one time, and bitter on some other occasion? This is what I say: that when a man tastes something, he can in good faith swear that it is sweet to his palate or that it is not, and that by no Greek sophistry can he beguiled out of this knowledge. If I am relishing the taste of something, who would be so brazen as to say to me: "Perhaps you are not tasting it: it may be only a dream"? Would I discontinue? Why, that would afford me pleasure even in a dream. Wherefore, no resemblance to falsity can confuse what I have said I know.