There is not much chance of being wrong when one declares the theory of the proper noun to be positioned at a strategic crossroads in Stoic thought. It is fair to say (with the modulated reservations that such a declaration demands) that it was the Stoics who invented the grammatical category of the proper noun and it was by no mere chance that they did so. Their logic, unlike Aristotle's, allots to the singular proposition a place of fundamental importance. Their ontology attributes to every existent an individuality which makes it, in principle, discernible from every other; their theory of knowledge extends to representations the discernibility of the objects that they represent. That is to say, by tugging on the metaphorical string of the proper noun, one could easily unravel the entire skein of Stoicism, thereby vindicating the constant claims of systematicity that partisans of the doctrine were in the habit of advancing. In the limited space available here, I shall do no more than sketch in just such a claim on my own behalf.

The framework for the invention of the proper noun is the theory of the parts of discourse which the Stoics did not themselves invent but to which they attached great importance and also made decisive contributions.

There are many Stoic ways of not being, or – to be more precise – of not being a ‘being’ (őν). The only one with which I shall be concerned here is that which consists in being the intentional object of an impulse (ὁρμή), or of some kind or other or a sub-kind of impulse (őρ∈ξις, tendency; ἐπιθμία, desire; βού λησις, will; aρ∈σις, choice, etc.). The technical formulation of this aspect of Stoic ‘meontology’ can be summed up in three statements: (i) impulses are directed towards (ἐπί) predicates (κatηγορήμaVa); (ii) predicates are incorporeals (as, in general, are the λ∈κτά, of which they are a species); (iii) incorporeals are not beings, for only bodies are beings. Statement (i) is to be found in particular in the Ti text (see Appendix to this chapter). I shall henceforth refer to it as the POI thesis (it is a Predicate that is the Object of an Impulse). Statements (ii) and (iii) crop up all over the place.

To explain my choice, let me take as my starting point two extracts from Long and Sedley's splendid work (1987). On the one hand, they note in their bibliography (vol. II, p. 498) that ‘there has been much interest in the thesis that the object of a practical impulse is a predicate’.

‘The first and chief difference among propositions (ἀξιώματα), the dialecticians say, is that between simple (ἁπλᾶ) and non-simple (οχὐ ἁπλᾶ)'. These are the words of Sextus Empiricus (M VIII.93) and nobody would challenge the importance of that distinction. The declaration introduces a long passage (93 – 129) which sets out the subdivisions within this fundamental division. It is a passage which historians of logic tend to use as one of the sources that provide us with information on the Stoic classification of propositions, despite the fact that the Stoics are not specifically named, for it is generally accepted that Sextus does refer to them as ‘the dialecticians’. The task that faces us, then, is to compare his text with the classification transmitted to us by Diogenes Laertius (VII.68–76), who possibly bases his remarks on Diocles of Magnesia, – a classification which, for its part, is explicitly ascribed to Chrysippus and a number of his successors.

These texts, which have often been studied, present a number of similarities and also a number of differences. They pose many problems involving an inextricable mixture of historical questions, conceptual complications and textual difficulties (Diogenes' text is not in a good state).

Scepticism, as is well known, is a therapy for philosophical illnesses. But it does not spend much time in classifying those illnesses: the disease to fight against, in spite of its manifold forms, is always dogmatism. To the Sceptic, all non-Sceptical schools are dogmatic, whether ‘properly speaking’ (ἰδίως, PH 1.3) or in a particular way: the Academy itself professes a kind of upside-down dogmatism (PH 1.226). Eclecticism is never mentioned by Sextus, although the thing is not unknown to ancient philosophy, nor is the word unemployed. The reason for this silence is perhaps that eclecticism is less a philosophical illness than an alternative medicine, aiming at curing the same ills as Scepticism does (namely, conflicts among the dogmatists), but in an opposite way and on the basis of a different diagnosis. To the eclectic, doctrinal conflicts are superficial conflicts; philosophical doctrines are compatible at bottom, at least piecemeal, and perhaps even globally they converge. When looking at the philosophical stage, the Sceptic sees quite a different play: to him, the disagreement between systems is irreducible. An eclectic philosopher might actually accuse the Sceptic of being himself a kind of metaphilosophical dogmatist, in the sense that he admits not only that philosophers seem to contradict each other, but also that they actually do so; one might remind him of his zētētic disposition and invite him to be more careful before asserting the objective reality of those conflicts.

Timon of Phlius (about 325 to about 235), known as the Sillograph, was ‘spokesman’ (προϕήτης, Sextus Empiricus calls him, M 1.53) for his master Pyrrho of Elis. As his nickname indicates, he is known chiefly for his Silloi, a kind of Homer in disguise into which he had poured all his satirical verve, in the service of Pyrrho. In the fragments by him that have come down to us, the Silloi predominate, thanks to their dashing style and the many explicitly personal attacks directed against a large number of well-known and respected philosophers that they contain. Quite a few fragments of this work are thus preserved, and their spiciness still comes through, despite the sophistication of the vocabulary and the obscurity of the allusions. We also possess an equally valuable and quite detailed general description of the structure of the work and its author's intentions.

However, the Silloi by no means constitute the entire output of the Sillograph. The fragments that remain from Timon's writings testify fully to his many-sided ability. He was an enormously prolific author, who had written in the most varied of genres. Diogenes Laertius (ix.iio–ii) provides the following information on him:

As we know, the conjunctive proposition, called συμπ∈πλ∈γμένον by the Stoic logicians, is a ‘non-simple proposition’, obtained by linking two or more propositions by the conjunction ‘and’. I should like to show that this conjunctive proposition constituted a sort of model in Stoic thought, by reason of the particular features of its truth-conditions. We shall find that the presence of this model may be detected in several different sectors of the Stoic system, – its physics, ethics, psychology and epistemology. I shall be trying to prove that the notion of the conjunctive model may illuminate a number of difficulties and obscurities in the dogmas of the school. If my proposed enquiry proves fruitful, we shall thus possess concrete means to verify the organic unity of Stoic philosophy in one specific instance. It is a unity that is frequently asserted by the Stoics themselves, as well as by their commentators, and is solemnly illustrated by the famous images of the orchard, the egg and the animal, but all too often it remains by and large elusive as an effective reality and so far as details are concerned.

First, it is worth pointing out that what I propose to call the ‘conjunctive model’ in point of fact already appears in certain expressions that the Stoics used to vaunt the systematic coherence of their doctrine.

The few lines in the Letter to Herodotus (39.4–8) that I propose to study here have often been discussed by editors and translators of Epicurus. As early as 1920, Ettore Bignone, in his translation of the fragments, devoted a three-page appendix to this passage, which he described as ‘ very difficult’. More recently, these lines have constituted one of the – in truth, numerous – points over which Jean Bollack, who has proposed a new interpretation of the text, has been strongly criticized, in particular by Pierre Boyancé and Olivier Bloch. One of my own reasons for returning to this controversial passage is that I believe I can suggest for the problem that it poses a solution which I (of course) consider satisfactory. Another is that, by closely linking our analysis of the text with an analysis of the discussions to which it has already given rise, we shall raise questions to do with methodology and, more generally, hermeneutics, the interest of which may even eclipse that of their pretext – questions which are, perhaps, not unconnected with the preoccupations of Joseph Moreau, the Greek scholar and philosopher in whose honour these pages are written.

Our text comes at the beginning of the Letter to Herodotus. It follows on immediately after the statement and demonstration of the first two fundamental physical theses: nothing is born from the non-existent and nothing is lost in it.

The ambition of the present study is a limited one: to explain the use of the expression őσον ἐπί τῷ λóγῳ (hereafter ο∈τλ) in Sextus Empiricus. As it stands, that is to say with no addition of any kind, it does not occur frequently in his work: only on four occasions in all, PH 1.20, 227, III.48 and 72. On the other hand, the general formula őσοτ ἐπί + dative is often to be found not only in Sextus but also in other authors, most of them relatively late. Its general meaning could be expressed provisionally as follows: őσον ἐπί τῷ Ξ = ‘insofar as X is concerned’, ‘insofar as it is a matter of X’. This sense is particularly clear in reflexive uses of the expression, such as őσον ἐφ ἑαντῷ = ‘insofar as it is in him’, ‘insofar as it depends upon him’. But what is the meaning of λóγος in ο∈τλ? That is the question.

The reason why this formula seems to merit examination is above all because its meaning is so obscure where it first appears in PH, at 1.20, which describes a crucial aspect of the Sceptic attitude. To clarify our ideas, let me first suggest a provisional and incomplete translation of this passage. Sextus is replying to those who accuse the Sceptics of ‘suppressing the phenomena’ (ἀναιρεῖ τὰ φαινόμενα).

Many modern scholars have considered that, of all the ancient philosophers' many theories on the origin and nature of language, the most remarkable and interesting is that produced by Epicurus. But the difficulty of the texts through which we know it, in particular the principal one, the famous passage in the Letter to Herodotus (75–6), is also generally recognized, and many widely divergent interpretations of it have been put forward. It is not my intention to embark in this study upon a full examination of the problems of comprehension posed by this theory. My more limited aim is to focus upon a number of specific aspects in the light of a question which is bound to arise when one confronts the various competing interpretations. The question is this: does the Epicurean theory incorporate a notion of what, in our day, is sometimes called a ‘private language’, that is to say, roughly speaking, a language that is not (or not yet) a means of communicating with other users of it, but is simply (or in the first instance) a purely individual way of organizing one' own experience and expressing one's own thoughts without anyone else being able, even in principle, to understand this language?

Epicurus' account is presented as a historical description of the birth and development of language.