Grief, Stoicism, and the Limits of Scepticism

A gentle rejoinder to Doug Bates

In a recent article I read courtesy of Ataraxia or Bust, Doug Bates writes a fascinating article about grief. In this article, Mr Bates's central thesis is that the Stoic approach to grief, which seeks to eradicate it as an undesirable passion, is fundamentally flawed because it denies the inherent meaning and significance of personal loss. Bates argues that grief is not inherently bad, as the Stoics claim, but rather a natural and meaningful emotional response that can lead to personal and intellectual growth. Drawing from Pyrrhonism and Buddhist philosophy, Bates suggests that a healthier approach to grief is not suppressing it but acknowledging it while maintaining a balanced perspective. While I agree with this conclusion, I critically examine Mr. Bates’s Pyrrhonist stance on grief in this essay. Upon asking for clarification on this article, Bates asserted, in essence, that evaluative judgments such as “good” and “bad” are merely subjective opinions rather than intrinsic properties of our experiences. Mr. Bates argues:

“If X were by nature bad, it would not be perceived as good by some people. For example, death is widely viewed as bad, but it is good for the undertakers. Therefore, one cannot conclude that X is by nature bad. … Good and bad are relative to the perceiver. They are opinions. They are to be found in minds, not in nature” (Corrospondence).

At first glance, this assertion offers a compelling appeal to intellectual humility by refusing to impose fixed moral categories. Indeed, it suggests an engagement in metaethics. However, I shall demonstrate that a purely Pyrrhonist suspension of judgment fails to account for grief's multifaceted, embodied, and transformative nature. Unlike grief, seen merely as a subjective opinion, our experience of loss unfolds as a deeply interwoven process: one that reshapes personal identity sustains relational bonds, and confronts us with the fundamental reality of our mortality. In doing so, I aim to show that while the Pyrrhonist position may serve as an important corrective against dogmatism, it ultimately leaves the bereaved without a sufficient framework for transforming pain into self-knowledge and renewed connection.

Bates offers that the Stoics believe that grief is a pathos, an irrational passion that arises from false judgment; according to Stoicism, emotions such as grief result from mistaken attachments to external things, ultimately beyond our control. The solution, therefore, is to cultivate a worldview that eradicates grief by eliminating the perceived significance of personal loss. As Bates explains, for the Stoic, “because grief is a psychological perturbation, grief is therefore bad. Since grief is bad, one needs to develop a worldview that eliminates the possibility of grief” (Bates).

To accomplish this, Stoics train themselves to perceive all losses as indifferent events, no more significant than breaking a cup or a traveller's departure from an inn. Bates highlights Epictetus’ prescription:

“If you kiss your child, or your wife, say that you only kiss things which are human, and thus you will not be disturbed if either of them dies…. What difference is it to you who the giver assigns to take it back? While he gives it to you to possess, take care of it; but don't view it as your own, just as travelers view a hotel” (Enchiridion 11, qtd. in Bates).

This analogy, Bates argues, reveals a fundamental tenet of Stoicism: to grieve is to misinterpret reality by falsely ascribing meaning and significance to relationships and possessions that, by nature, are impermanent. Stoicism holds that grief arises from the false belief that we have lost something of intrinsic value. But in the Stoic worldview, nothing external, relationships, status, or even one’s life, can truly be owned. As Bates puts it,

"A Stoic is to consider the death of their child or spouse to be no different from the death of a person they’ve never met.”

To grieve, then, is not merely an emotional disturbance but a failure to align one’s judgments with reality. As Seneca writes in his letter to Marullus, grieving is not just unnecessary; it is irrational:

“Is it solace that you look for? Let me give you a scolding instead! You are like a woman in the way you take your son’s death; what would you do if you had lost an intimate friend? A son, a little child of unknown promise, is dead; a fragment of time has been lost. We hunt out excuses for grief” (Seneca, qtd. in Bates).

For the Stoic, it is not the loss that causes distress but the mistaken judgment that something bad happened. Bates appeals to Epictetus:

“When you see anyone weeping in grief because his son has gone abroad, or is dead, or because he has suffered in his affairs, be careful that the appearance may not misdirect you. Instead, distinguish within your own mind, and be prepared to say, ‘It's not the accident that distresses this person, because it doesn't distress another person; it is the judgment which he makes about it.’” (Enchiridion 16, qtd. in Bates).

Thus, the Stoic stance on grief rests on two key claims:

1. Grief is a cognitive error: a mistaken evaluation of an indifferent event.

2. To eliminate grief, one must eliminate attachment, seeing relationships and possessions as transient and ultimately meaningless.

As Bates argues, this leads to an extreme and arguably inhuman conclusion:

“The Stoics say that grief is by nature bad, but the fact that we can see right here the good things that come from grief, grief cannot be by nature bad. The Stoics are wrong.”

This forms the basis for his critique: in denying grief, Stoicism also denies the value of deep human relationships, effectively proposing a worldview that, Bates suggests, resembles psychopathy rather than wisdom. Moreover, Bates forcefully critiques this approach, arguing that it requires such a level of detachment that it:

"resembles the worldview of a psychopath. Only a psychopath would consider the loss of an important relationship to be nothing to them" (Bates).

The implication is that by eradicating grief entirely, Stoicism risks eradicating the bonds that make life meaningful.

Bates’s argument against what he views as the Stoic rejection of grief draws from Pyrrhonism, a school of scepticism that seeks to suspend judgment (epoché) on matters of truth and value, thereby achieving a state of mental tranquillity (ataraxia). Unlike Stoicism, which dogmatically asserts that grief must be eradicated, according to Bates, Pyrrhonism makes no fixed pronouncements about whether grief is good or bad (for what I am discussing in this article). Instead, it questions whether grief is intrinsically negative at all.

Pyrrhonian scepticism, as outlined by Sextus Empiricus, is an ability (dynamic) to oppose appearances and thoughts in any way whatsoever, leading to mental suspense and, ultimately, tranquillity. This is fundamentally different from the Academic Skeptics, who argue against the possibility of knowledge but may still hold certain beliefs. On the other hand, Pyrrhonists suspend all judgment, neither affirming nor denying the nature of grief (again, the focus of this article) as inherently good or bad.

Bates’s Pyrrhonist stance aligns with this suspension of judgment. Instead of declaring grief to be an objective evil, as he claims the Stoics do, Bates challenges this assumption by pointing out the variability of human responses to loss. He explicitly states:

“The Stoics say that grief is by nature bad, but the fact that we can see right here the good things that come from grief, grief cannot be by nature bad. The Stoics are wrong.” (Bates)

His argument follows the Pyrrhonist strategy of demonstrating the equipollence of opposing claims. For every argument that grief is bad, one can find an equally compelling argument that grief is not bad. Bates highlights this by pointing out that grief has led to significant contributions, such as Cicero’s philosophical works, which were written as a way of coping with the loss of his daughter:

“Consider the case of Cicero. Nearly all of Cicero’s philosophical works were created as a way of consoling himself for the loss of his daughter. The entirety of subsequent Western philosophical thought rests, to a sizable degree, on these works, which even today remain widely read. Cicero’s grief was to great benefit to mankind.” (Bates)

Since grief has demonstrably positive effects in some cases, it cannot be universally categorised as bad. This leads to a state of epoché, where no firm conclusion is reached. Bates further reinforces this when he states:

“How can one ever be certain that grief is a bad thing?” (Bates).

This question, emblematic of Pyrrhonist scepticism, resists the attributed Stoic inclination to impose an absolute judgment on grief. Like Sextus Empiricus, Bates shows that grief is neither necessarily harmful nor necessarily beneficial but something whose value is contingent on individual experience and context.

The Pyrrhonist critique of the ascribed Stoicism is particularly sharp because, on the characterisation given by Bates, Stoics hold a rigid, normative stance on emotions. The Stoics claim that grief stems from false judgment and must be eradicated, whereas Pyrrhonists argue that such a stance is a dogmatic assertion unsupported by conclusive evidence. The Pyrrhonist sceptic, by contrast, withholds judgment, recognising that grief can be experienced in different ways depending on circumstances.

Bates’s position follows this Pyrrhonist approach by emphasising the diversity of grief experiences. He challenges the claim that grief is universally detrimental, citing examples where grief has led to personal and intellectual growth, such as Cicero’s philosophical works, which emerged from his mourning for his daughter. This directly mirrors Sextus Empiricus’s scepticism about whether anything can be inherently good or bad, given that different people assign different values to the same experiences.

Pyrrhonists distinguish between two burdens in experiencing emotions: (1) feeling the emotion itself and (2) the belief that the emotion is bad. According to Sextus Empiricus, ordinary people and dogmatists suffer from both. In contrast, by suspending belief in the “natural badness” of an emotion like grief, the Pyrrhonist experiences it with less distress. This aligns with Bates’s argument that grief need not be eradicated but can be understood more flexibly.

While Stoicism, on Bates’ account, seeks to eliminate grief, Pyrrhonism merely suspends judgment on its value. Bates’s critique of Stoicism, which resembles “psychopathy rather than wisdom,” fits neatly within this framework. The Pyrrhonist does not deny that grief exists or is painful but questions whether the Stoic response is necessary or reasonable.

Furthermore, Bates forcefully critiques the Stoic approach to grief, arguing that its insistence on eradicating grief amounts to emotional deadening rather than genuine wisdom. According to Stoicism, grief is a false judgment that must be eliminated, but Bates argues that such a response to loss does not reflect emotional mastery; it reflects emotional suppression. He writes:

“Epictetus is saying that that meaning and significance is to be denied.” (Bates).

The implication is clear: rather than acknowledging the deep personal significance of relationships, the Stoic seeks to sever any attachment to them. This detachment, Bates argues, is unnatural and psychologically extreme. He critiques Epictetus’ claim that one should treat the death of a loved one as no different from that of a stranger, writing:

“A Stoic is to consider the death of their child or spouse to be no different from the death of a person they’ve never met.” (Bates).

By eliminating grief, the Stoic also eliminates the relational bonds that give life emotional depth. The logical consequence of this philosophy, Bates suggests, is that a Stoic could look upon the death of their child with the same indifference as one might feel upon hearing that an unknown person has died in another city. Bates pushes this critique further, framing it as an ethical and psychological failure:

“The worldview Epictetus encourages one to cultivate is the worldview of a psychopath. Only a psychopath would consider the loss of an important relationship to be nothing to them.” (Bates).

This is a damning accusation. If Bates is correct, then the Stoic project of eradicating grief is not just misguided but pathological. To eliminate grief is to eliminate an essential aspect of what it means to be human. A person who does not grieve the loss of a loved one is not wise; they are inhuman.

Bates reinforces this point with a rhetorical question that exposes the absurdity of the Stoic position:

“Was all of the time you spent with that significant other, the joys and sorrows you shared, the things you did for each other, were those things no different from what you shared with someone who was at the same hotel as you were?” (Bates).

The implication is devastating: Stoicism does not merely temper grief; it erases the foundation of meaningful human relationships. If all relationships are as transient as a brief hotel stay, then no relationship carries any deeper significance. In this way, Bates exposes what he sees as the self-defeating nature of the Stoic position: in attempting to eliminate grief, Stoicism must also eliminate love, connection, and attachment itself.

If the Stoic position is followed to its logical conclusion, it suggests that the ideal Stoic would be indifferent to loss and all human relationships altogether. Bates makes this implication explicit when he notes that grief is not just about pain; it is about the value we place on others:

“Surely, the loved one meant something. Why else would one be grieving? Yet, the Stoics say that this meaning must be denied.” (Bates).

This raises a fundamental problem: if we must deny the meaning of loss, must we not deny the meaning of love itself? Stoicism demands that one detach from grief, but such detachment presupposes that one should never have been attached in the first place. The danger of Stoic thinking, Bates argues, is that it does not merely curb destructive emotions, it eradicates the conditions that make life meaningful.

Thus, Bates’s critique of Stoicism is that it is emotionally repressive and reduces human relationships to mere accidents, stripping them of any intrinsic value. He suggests this is a price too high to pay for tranquillity. What exactly do I find wrong with such a reasonable and well-argued position? I have two points.

1.

Bates's argument is based on a fundamental misrepresentation of Stoicism, framing it as a philosophy of emotional repression that “resembles psychopathy rather than wisdom.” Moreover, it ignores the nuanced Stoic theory of emotions and distorts the Stoic approach to grief, reducing it to an extreme and inhuman caricature. A fair reading of Stoicism reveals that it does not advocate the eradication of grief as an emotion but its rational regulation.

At the heart of Bates’ misrepresentation of Stoicism is his failure to engage with one of the most crucial Stoic distinctions: the distinction between pathē (irrational passions) and eupatheiai (rational emotions). By ignoring this, Bates constructs a false equivalence between the Stoic regulation of emotion and its outright suppression. The Stoics never claim that grief should be eradicated in the sense that we feel nothing at all; rather, they distinguish between the destructive, excessive grief that stems from false judgments and the rational, measured emotional response that aligns with virtue.

For the Stoics, the key to emotional life is not repression but rational governance. Emotions arise from our judgments about the world, and these judgments determine whether an emotion is rational (apatheia) or irrational (pathos). The Stoics do not say, "Do not feel," but rather, "Examine what you feel and why." On the one hand, The Stoics highlight irrational emotions (Pathē). These arise from false beliefs: judgements that attribute intrinsic value to things outside our control. These Pathe are disruptive, which lead to suffering, despair and irrational behaviour. Thus, grief, left unchecked, would fall into this category as it assumes an externality (death of a loved one) has damaged one’s well-being.

On the other hand, the Stoics identify rational emotions (Eupatheiai). These are emotions aligned with reason and nature, measured emotional responses that recognise the reality of loss. The Stoic sage is not an unfeeling machine but experiences emotion guided by reason. The difference, then, is not between feeling and not feeling, as Bates suggests, but between being ruled by emotions and being guided by reason. The Stoic does not become a lifeless husk devoid of grief; rather, they cultivate a form of grief that is healthy, measured, and does not disrupt one’s capacity to act virtuously.

Bates falsely assumes that the Stoics leave no room for emotional response to loss. His argument follows this implicitly implied chain of reasoning:

1. The Stoics say grief is a passion (pathos).

2. The Stoics say passions should be eradicated.

3. Therefore, the Stoics say grief should be eliminated entirely, leading to emotional deadness.

However, this misrepresents Stoic doctrine by ignoring the middle ground: the recognition that emotions exist on a spectrum. The Stoics argue that excessive, irrational grief should be tempered, but this does not mean that the bereaved should feel nothing. A Stoic who loses a child or friend still feels a sense of loss, but they do not descend into self-destructive despair, nor do they attribute to their grief a significance beyond what is reasonable. Bates also fails to recognise that Stoicism is not an abstract doctrine devoid of human practice but a practical philosophy aimed at living well. Stoic training in emotional discipline does not aim at creating unfeeling beings but at helping individuals develop resilience in the face of suffering. This is why Epictetus and Seneca offer detailed advice on dealing with grief rather than simply commanding its suppression.

Now, this is an implied argument, which I am saying is needed for Bates’ position to stand. However, without this, Bates's position falls if he granted that Stoicism allows for a measured, rational form of grief.

Let’s test what happens if we grant that Stoics allow for eupatheiai: rational emotions, including a tempered sense of grief:

• If Stoics allow for rational, measured grief, then grief is not psychopathy (contradicting Bates' strongest claim).

• If Stoics allow for rational, measured grief, then they do not treat the death of a loved one like the death of a stranger.

• If Stoics allow for rational, measured grief, then their doctrine is not an inhuman suppression of emotion but a philosophy of emotional discipline.

This undoes Bates’ argument completely.

In other words, Bates' argument only works if he assumes that Stoicism allows for no grief. Since he never engages with the distinction between pathē and eupatheiai, he never grants Stoicism the possibility of rational grief. That omission forces him into the extreme interpretation, whether he admits it or not.

This is the end of the first issue. Now, I address the second.

2.

Bates presents Pyrrhonism as a philosophically superior response to grief, arguing that epoché, or the suspension of judgment, allows the bereaved to avoid excessive suffering and rigid dogmatism. According to his interpretation, grief is neither inherently good nor bad but a matter of perspective, and by refusing to commit to any fixed evaluation of grief, one can cultivate a state of detached tranquillity. Unlike the Stoics, whom he claims to suppress grief outright, the Pyrrhonist remains open, allowing grief to be experienced without imposing beliefs about its necessity or harm.

Yet, as compelling as this position may seem, it is built on a series of fundamental misunderstandings about grief’s nature. At its core, Pyrrhonism assumes that grief is something one can evaluate, interpret, and ultimately suspend judgment on, as if it were a purely cognitive stance. But grief is not simply a matter of belief; it is an existential rupture, a transformation in how one experiences the world, relationships, and even one’s selfhood. Bates’s argument operates only at the level of de dicto belief, treating grief as an object of theoretical consideration, but grief is fundamentally de re, an immediate, lived reality that resists the kind of neutrality Pyrrhonism demands. This distinction alone undermines Pyrrhonism as a viable response to grief.

A key distinction in philosophy is between de dicto beliefs (beliefs about descriptions) and de re beliefs (beliefs about things themselves). This distinction allows us to clarify where Pyrrhonism fails to account for grief’s true nature.

A de dicto belief about grief would be something like:

"I believe that grief is bad" or "I believe that grief is good."

A de re belief about grief, by contrast, is not about what one thinks of grief, it is about experiencing grief directly:

"I am grieving because my spouse is dead."

Bates’s Pyrrhonian argument treats grief as merely a de dicto phenomenon, a stance one takes, which could be bracketed through epoché. But grief is not primarily an intellectual commitment; it is a de re transformation that occurs regardless of what the bereaved think about it.

If Pyrrhonism were a viable response, it would need to show that grief can be neutralized at the de re level. But it cannot do this because grief is not a judgment that one can rationally withhold; it is an ontological fact that forces itself onto experience. One does not grieve because one holds the belief that “I should grieve”; one grieves because the world has changed irreversibly.

By failing to recognise this distinction, Pyrrhonism reduces grief to a matter of perspective, when in reality, grief is an inescapable restructuring of one’s very mode of being-in-the-world.

Bates’s Pyrrhonism can be turned against itself. Pyrrhonism relies on the principle of equipollence—the claim that for every argument in favour of X, there is an equally strong argument against X. This principle leads to epoché, the suspension of judgment.

However, if we apply this principle to Pyrrhonism, we see that Bates’s argument collapses into contradiction.

1. If grief is neither good nor bad, then Pyrrhonism cannot claim it is better to suspend judgment on grief.

If Pyrrhonism suspends all value judgments, then it must also suspend the claim that suspending judgment is preferable to engaging with grief directly.

But if there is no basis for preferring one response over another, then Pyrrhonism cannot justify its neutrality because neutrality becomes just another ungrounded stance.

1. If all judgments are to be treated equally compellingly, then so must the judgment that Pyrrhonism is inadequate.

Bates argues that Stoicism is flawed because it imposes a rigid doctrine on grief. But if one can always find an opposing argument of equal strength, then this criticism of Stoicism must itself be met with an equally strong defence of Stoicism. Therefore, Pyrrhonism is committed to suspending judgment on whether it is a better framework for grief than Stoicism.

1. If Pyrrhonism cannot commit to itself, it provides no actual guidance.

A Pyrrhonist in mourning might say: “Perhaps grief is significant, or perhaps it is not.”

But what practical action follows from this? Does one grieve fully? Does one detach? Does one search for meaning in grief, or treat it as arbitrary?

If one truly suspends judgment, then no course of action is any more justified than any other.

At this point, Pyrrhonism dissolves into inaction—it does not help the griever process loss, but merely renders them passive in the face of their suffering.

In short, if Pyrrhonism is applied consistently, it collapses into self-refutation. It cannot claim that suspending judgment is better than engaging with grief, because this would itself require a commitment to a value judgment that Pyrrhonism forbids. Thus, Pyrrhonism does not just fail to provide an answer to grief, it fails to justify itself as an answer in the first place.

Let us assume the Pyrrhonian position on grief:

• Grief is neither good nor bad by nature.

• Any argument that grief is significant can be countered by an argument that it is insignificant.

• Therefore, we should suspend judgment on whether grief matters.

If we apply this logic consistently, we are forced to accept the following absurdities:

1. One must suspend judgment on whether one’s deceased loved one was significant.

   If we cannot affirm that grief is meaningful, then we also cannot affirm that the lost individual mattered in any real sense. This leads to an emotional detachment indistinguishable from apathy.

2. One must suspend judgment on whether grief should be processed at all.

   If grief is neither good nor bad, working through it is no better than remaining in it indefinitely. This would make grief resolution itself a meaningless endeavour.

3. One must suspend judgment on whether Pyrrhonism is an adequate response to grief.

   If no belief is superior to another, then Pyrrhonism itself cannot be claimed to be superior to Stoicism, existentialism, or even full emotional indulgence. Thus, Pyrrhonism’s neutrality does not provide a pathway through grief; it blocks any pathway from forming at all.

This shows that Pyrrhonism does not simply fail to provide an answer; it actively prevents one from being formed. Refusing to affirm or deny grief’s significance leaves the bereaved suspended in an epistemic and emotional void, unable to integrate their loss into a meaningful structure.

Bates’s Pyrrhonian neutrality also suffers. It assumes that grief can be bracketed at the level of belief, but grief is a lived reality that cannot be suspended. Worse still, Pyrrhonism collapses under its weight; if all judgments are equally valid, then so is the judgment that Pyrrhonism itself is useless.

Thus, Pyrrhonism fails not just as a response to grief; it refutes itself. Far from being a superior alternative to Stoicism, it leaves the griever trapped in a philosophical dead end, unable to affirm or deny their suffering.

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Objection (forgive me, Doug, for arguing for you).

You say my Pyrrhonian view cannot handle grief’s lived, non-optional dimension and that it collapses under self-refutation. Here is why that critique is off the mark:

1. Pyrrhonism Addresses De Re Experience Indirectly
You argue that grief is primarily an existential rupture (a de re phenomenon) and thus not subject to the de dicto bracketing that Pyrrhonism performs. But Pyrrhonism does not claim to extinguish or suspend the raw experience of grief itself. We acknowledge that sorrow arises as a natural, perhaps visceral, response to a loss.

Our sceptical practice focuses on how we interpret and elaborate on grief. Even if the experience initially overwhelms us, a Pyrrhonian approach, by withholding dogmatic labels like “I’ll never recover” or “My life is irreparably destroyed” helps us loosen the mental fixation that intensifies suffering.

In other words, we recognise the inescapable reality that a loved one has died (the ‘fact’), but we do not dogmatically affirm that losing them must lead to a permanent ‘identity-shattering’ state. Thus, even if we cannot bracket the immediate feeling, we can bracket the thought constructs that reinforce it.

2. Emotional Relief Via Suspending Secondary Judgements
You suggest Pyrrhonism is unhelpful because it stops short of providing a framework to transform grief into meaning. But our aim is not to impose new metaphysical or moral structures onto the mourner, rather, it is to relieve them of the untested convictions that lock them into deeper anguish.

Consider the mind’s habit of piling on beliefs: “I should have done more,” “This means I’m cursed,” “My life is ruined.” A Pyrrhonist asks, “Are we sure of these claims?” We temper grief's most destructive forms by methodically revealing that we lack conclusive evidence for such self-defeating beliefs.

This approach is psychologically efficacious even if we do not produce a robust philosophical “story” about grief’s higher meaning. Removing rigid dogmatic overlays allows a more organic, less oppressive passage through mourning.

3. Pyrrhonism Is a Practice, Not a Dogma
You claim that Pyrrhonism self-refutes because if all beliefs are equally questionable, we cannot prefer Pyrrhonism to other stances. Yet the Pyrrhonist need not dogmatically assert, “Pyrrhonism is the correct theory.” Instead, we see it as a practice or technique that yields tangible benefits in the face of uncertainty.

When we find ourselves consumed by grief, it is experientially verifiable that questioning absolute gloom-laden beliefs can reduce psychological pain. We don’t dogmatise that this “must” work for everyone; we simply encourage an experiment: Try suspending your certainty about the negativity of this situation and see whether it eases the intensity of your suffering.

Because this is pragmatic rather than metaphysical, it evades the direct “self-refutation” charge. We are not claiming a universal truth of “Pyrrhonism is best” but rather offering a method of toggling the mind away from fixations, letting the mourner find some calm without new dogmas.

4. Pyrrhonism Doesn’t Deny Meaning; It Denies Imposed, Fixed Meaning
Another worry you raise is that the Pyrrhonian stance strips grief of meaning altogether and leaves mourners “directionless.” Pyrrhonism only declines to impose an absolute meaning claim. It leaves the possibility that an individual might develop or discover meaning in their loss as long as they acknowledge it is neither self-evident nor universally binding.

If someone does find solace in new forms of purpose or reflection, writing, community support, or spiritual practice, Pyrrhonism allows that. It merely refrains from pronouncing that “grief is purposeful, full stop.”

In this sense, far from being emotionally inert, Pyrrhonism fosters a gentle approach that allows new meanings to emerge organically, unconfined by dogmatic pronouncements about grief’s essential negativity or positivity.

5. On the De Re/De Dicto Distinction
You press that Pyrrhonism only suspends propositional (de dicto) beliefs and cannot grapple with the existential transformation (de re) that grief entails. We Pyrrhonists reply: by moderating the dogmatic spin we put on that transformation, we indirectly shape the existential experience.

Even a heartbreak can be made more manageable by refusing to encrust it with absolute beliefs like “This loss is cosmic injustice” or “I can’t go on.” The raw pain remains felt, but mental absolutes do not magnify it. Over time, the existential dimension softens.

So, we do not claim direct control over the de re phenomenon from day one, but transforming the interpretive lens can gradually alter how that phenomenon is lived.

My Pyrrhonian approach is not a denial of grief’s reality nor an evasion of its existential weight. It’s an attitude or method that meets suffering with careful questioning of beliefs that feed it. In practice, this can lessen sorrow without imposing an alternative dogma or undermining humanity’s capacity for genuine empathy and growth.”

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Reply

According to my attempt at Bates' defence, Pyrrhonism suspends judgment only at the interpretive (de dicto) level, never seeking to extinguish grief's raw existential (de re) dimension. Further, it argues that by suspending dogmatic, absolute interpretations, such as "I will never recover", one might soften grief’s harmful intensification and find a more "organic" meaning. At first glance, this seems plausible. Yet, I don’t think it does.

The Pyrrhonian defence commits a subtle but crucial philosophical error. It presents grief as though the dimensions of existential (de re) and interpretive (de dicto) could be neatly separated. It suggests one might endure grief as a purely sensory or affective "raw" phenomenon, independently from interpretations. But grief is never a purely non-interpretative, bare event. It is always within a complex narrative web, one's identity, values, and life-world. Bates' Pyrrhonism imagines grief’s meaning as an overlay or optional interpretative spin, which can be lifted or bracketed away. However, grief is inherently hermeneutical, fundamentally structured by meanings woven into the bereaved’s identity and relational bonds.

For example, consider the death of a beloved spouse. Their death transforms the survivor's identity and life-structure irreversibly. Grief is not an intellectual stance towards loss; instead, this very existential restructuring itself is impossible without interpretation. Interpretation is inseparable from lived experience. Thus, Pyrrhonism's attempt to suspend judgment fails precisely because grief does not simply "happen"—it is always actively lived through interpretive frameworks integral to the grieving person’s identity.

Furthermore, the Pyrrhonian claims they suspend judgment only about the meanings of grief, not the grief itself. Yet, consider how grief unfolds existentially: it imposes itself upon one's consciousness and demands to be experienced and integrated. To suggest that the mourner can consciously suspend interpretation in practice misunderstands the immediacy and urgency of grief. Grief compels us towards meaning-making: it asks questions that demand answers ("Who am I now?" "How will I continue to exist without the other?"). To suggest the mourner withholds all interpretative judgments in the face of loss is existentially unrealistic. Pyrrhonism, in practice, is impossible precisely when it matters most.

This impossibility shows Pyrrhonism's inadequacy. It doesn't just refuse to provide a framework, it asks mourners to do something fundamentally contrary to how grief manifests. Rather than providing a philosophical tool for living, it asks mourners to withhold their humanity, the natural interpretive engagement that defines their being-in-the-world.

Ironically, refined Pyrrhonism, despite claims to neutrality, implicitly advances its hidden dogmatic assumption: that suspending judgments about grief’s ultimate significance is always or usually psychologically beneficial. Bates’ defence explicitly presents Pyrrhonism as a pragmatic "experiment" with tangible benefits, easing suffering and freeing individuals from painful certainties. Yet this precisely asserts what Pyrrhonism must deny: a stable claim about which interpretive strategy ("suspension") is superior.

Thus, Pyrrhonism faces a deeper self-refutation than initially suggested: to advocate its therapeutic usefulness, Pyrrhonism must dogmatically assert its stance's correctness or at least practical superiority, thereby betraying its foundational neutrality. Suppose Pyrrhonism genuinely suspends judgment about all beliefs’ value, including its own. In that case, its very recommendation collapses, rendering it incapable of justifying why one should adopt it in the first place.

Finally, if we consistently adopt Pyrrhonism's neutrality, we encounter severe practical absurdities. If grief’s meaning is always in suspension, so is any action or choice derived from that meaning. Should one attend a funeral? Seek grief counselling? Memorialise the deceased or try to forget them? These questions cannot be neutrally bracketed.

Pyrrhonism’s refusal to commit to any interpretive framework makes it practically useless when grief demands immediate decisions about action and responsibility. The grieving person must inevitably choose how to act, and action always presupposes some meaning evaluation, precisely what Pyrrhonism forbids. Thus, neutrality is not just theoretically problematic; it obstructs mourning as a necessary human practice.

In short, while initially attractive, the refined Pyrrhonian defence fails under scrutiny. By misunderstanding grief’s inherently interpretive and existential nature, it offers an unrealistic and impossible recommendation. Furthermore, it implicitly relies on hidden dogmatic assumptions, ultimately falling prey to its sceptical principles. And finally, in practical terms, it leaves the mourner stranded in harmful paralysis rather than guiding them toward any meaningful response.

Rather than offering genuine guidance, Pyrrhonism reduces grief to a false dichotomy of “raw experience” and “optional interpretation.” But grief is never purely raw or neutral; it is always interpretative, meaningful, and existentially transformative. Any viable philosophical approach to grief must acknowledge and engage this interpretive dimension, not attempt its impossible suspension.

Therefore, even in its strongest form, Pyrrhonism collapses philosophically, practically, and existentially as a meaningful response to grief.

Andrew.

Refrences

Bates, D., Good Grief: The Psychopathology of the Stoic Attitude about Mourning