James Lesher

On a number of occasions in Plato’s dialogues Socrates appears to disavow all knowledge. At Apology 21d, for example, Socrates says of one of his interlocutors: ‘He, having no knowledge, thinks he knows something, while I, having none, don’t think I have any,’ On other occasions, however, Socrates does claim to know some things: ‘It is not a mere guess to say that knowledge and right opinion are different. There are few things I would claim to know, but that at least is among them, whatever else is’ (Meno 98b). Gregory Vlastos has sought to show that Socrates did not contradict himself but operated on the basis of two different senses of ‘know’: ‘know in the sense of having certainty’ and ‘know on the basis of elenctic examination.’ I argue against Vlastos’ interpretation and propose instead that Socrates claimed to know various things, but not the essential nature of virtue.

In fragment B 18 (DK) Xenophanes asserts that ‘Not from the outset did the gods reveal all things to mortals’ but that ‘in time, as they seek, men discover better.’ The remark has been understood in different ways but is usually read as a rejection of the view of the gods as the givers of all good things and an expression of faith in the capacity of human beings to make progress through their own efforts. I argue that the ‘hymn to progress’ reading of B 18 is unjustified by any other aspect of Xenophanes’ thought and at odds with his generally dour view of the intelligence and character of his fellow citizens. A detailed analysis of the fragment supports the view that Xenophanes is here rejecting belief in divine revelation through natural signs and affirming the value of historiê or inquiry in the form of travel and direct observation.

Sophocles’ Oedipus the King is an extended meditation on the limits of human intelligence, or more precisely, on how a man renowned for the power of his intellect could fail to know the most important truths. One could argue, however, that Sophocles intended for his audiences to take away a second, narrower lesson: namely that divinely inspired seers such as Tiresias have a surer claim on truth than do those who, like Oedipus, seek to gain knowledge through their own efforts. Thus, the Oedipus can be seen as a defense of prophecy and a reaction against the complex of scientific and philosophical ideas known as “the 5th-century Enlightenment.” I offer some support for this reading of the Oedipus. I also argue that part of the cultural background of the Oedipus consisted of ideas about knowledge introduced into Greek thought by the outspoken critic of Greek popular religion, Xenophanes of Colophon

Fragment B 1 of Parmenides describes a youth’s journey to the house of a goddess who enlightens him as to the nature of all things. The task of translating Parmenides’ Greek text is beset with many difficulties, most notably the phrase kata pant’ atê at B 1.3. There, the neuter accusative plural panta (‘all things’) combines with the feminine nominative singular atê (‘heaven sent blindness’) to render translation impossible. Some have proposed emending the text to read astê (‘down to all cities’), understood in connection with the pathway of divine inspiration. Others reject the emendation in so far as the youth is said at B 1.27 to travel ‘far from the beaten path of men.’ I argue in defense of the reading kata pant’ a<s>tê in so far as references to pathways of inspiration and poetic journeys to the cities of men occur frequently in the poetry of Parmenides’ era.

In book Zeta of the Metaphysics and elsewhere Aristotle appears to commit himself to the following propositions: (1) No universal can be substance; (2) Form is a universal; and (3) Form is that which is most truly substance. These propositions appear to constitute an inconsistent triad lying at the heart of Aristotle’s ontology. A number of attempts have been made to rescue Aristotle from the charge of inconsistency. Some have claimed that Aristotle did not subscribe to (1), but only to the proposition that nothing predicated universally can be substance. Others hold that, contrary to (2), form is not a universal but peculiar to each individual. Still others argue that the sense of ‘substance’ in which the species form is a substance is not the sense in which no universal is substance. I argue that none of these attempts to rescue Aristotle from the charge of inconsistency is ultimately defensible.

In Posterior Analytics II 19 Aristotle likens the way in which sense perception gives rise to knowledge of the universal to the way in which one soldier’s ceasing his flight from the enemy leads other soldiers to do the same ‘heôs epi archên êlthen.’ Although the remark seems intended to characterize knowledge as the end result of an accumulative process, the concluding reference to ‘a starting point’ or archê has no clear meaning. I argue that the phrase can be plausibly understood in light of Aristotle’s explanation of how a single calm thought can spread calm to other thoughts (Problems 917a29-33) and a single cloud can serve as a starting point (archê) for a revival of stormy weather (Problems 941a9-13). In addition, Aristotle elsewhere (e.g. Generation of Animals 788a13-16) speaks of the archê as the person or thing which initiates a process. Thus, when one soldier’s stopping causes another soldier to stop, this process can continue ‘until they come to the one who initiated the process.’

In his Treatise of Human Nature, Hume offers two definitions of ‘cause’. The first is framed in terms of the precedence and contiguity of objects. The second also mentions precedence and contiguity of objects but speaks also of the mind’s tendency on the appearance of the first object to form the idea of the second. Scholars disagree as to which constitutes Hume’s definition of cause properly speaking. Some hold that the ‘constant conjunction of objects’ version is Hume’s real definition, while others opt for the second, psychological version. I argue that Hume’s method of analysis holds that we explicate the meaning of words by tracing ideas back to their antecedent impressions. Since there are two different sets of antecedent impressions, one consisting of preceding and continuous objects and the other of such objects plus psychological determination, we must attribute to Hume the existence of two non-equivalent definitions of the term.

It is a commonplace in our histories of early Greek thought that philosophical reflection began in the final decades of the 6th century BC when Thales and his Milesian associates launched their inquiries into various natural phenomena. The historians Goody and Watt argue that this sort of thinking could have begun only when alphabetic literacy was fairly widespread. I offer a critique of the Goody and Watt thesis and provide as a counter example various portions of the Homeric poems that merit classification as reflection on the nature of human knowledge and intelligence. The Odyssey in particular features a series of encounters between gods and men who perceive but fail to recognize each other. The contrast between the perceived and the known, the gap between the obvious appearance and the more subtle reality, becomes the space in which human intelligence can either assert itself or come to grief.

In fragment B 1 Heraclitus claims to have achieved a profound insight into the nature of things: ‘distinguishing each thing in accordance with its nature and explaining how it is.’ In a number of similarly cryptic remarks, he offers a series of clues to the nature of that insight. It is properly spoken of as noos or wisdom rather than as learning from experience (B 17, 28a, 40, 45, 54, 104, 107, 123). It consists of xunesis or understanding what is common (B 2, 80, 89, 103) and requires paying attention (B 86, 118, 112) to how things opposed to one another are actually in agreement (B 8, 10, 12, 80, 88). In making these cryptic remarks Heraclitus was seeking to make his audience aware of the possibility that they might achieve a deep insight into the nature of the cosmos and their place within the larger scheme of things.

Xenophanes of Colophon was a philosophically-minded poet who lived in various parts of the ancient Greek world during the late 6th and early 5th centuries BC. He is best remembered for a novel critique of anthropomorphism in religion, a partial advance toward monotheism, and some pioneering reflections on the conditions of knowledge. Many later writers, perhaps influenced by two brief characterizations of Xenophanes by Plato (Sophist 242c-d) and Aristotle (Metaphysics 986b18-27) identified him as the founder of Eleatic philosophy (the view that despite appearances, what there is is a changeless, motionless, and eternal ‘one’. In fact, the Xenophanes who emerges from the surviving fragments defies simple classification. He was a traveling rhapsode who criticized the stories about the gods told by the poets, and he defended a novel conception of the divine nature. But he was also a reflective observer of the human condition, a practitioner of the special form of inquiry introduced by the Milesians philosopher-scientists, and a civic counselor who encouraged his fellow citizens to respect the gods and work to safeguard the well-being of their city.

In his monumental work Das Gastmahl des Platon (1869) the artist Anselm Feuerbach depicted the scene in Plato’s Symposium in which a drunken Alcibiades, accompanied by a band of revelers, enters the dining chamber of the house of the poet Agathon. We have reason to attribute three aims to the artist: (1) to recreate a famous scene from ancient Greek literature, making extensive use of recent archaeological discoveries in southern Italy; (2) through the depiction of a senate and dignified Agathon, to convey a sense of the nobility of the ancient Greeks; and (3) to express in visual terms the contrast of reason with desire. As he set out to accomplish these objectives Feuerbach displayed considerable indifference to the details in Plato’s depiction. Thus, what Das Gastmahl offers us is less Plato’s symposium and more Feuerbach’s symposium, a visually striking but in several respects unfaithful recreation of the Platonic original.

As is clear from the multiple references to knowledge in the proemium of fragment B1, Parmenides presented himself to his audiences as one who had achieved a profound insight into the nature of ‘what-is’. In support of this claim he conducted an elenchos or ‘testing’ of the ways of inquiry available for thinking, in the process revealing a set of sêmata or ‘signs’ indicating that what-is an eternal, indivisible, and unchanging plenum. In each of these respects, Parmenides was speaking the language of discovery heard elsewhere in early Greek poetry. Similarly, his claim that we can neither learn nor know about what-is-not (hence must not say or think ‘it is not’) was justified by the ordinary meaning of the ancient Greek verbs for learning and knowing. Strikingly, Parmenides’ revisionary metaphysics rested in large measure on a widely shared view of what can be learned, known, and made known to others.

According to Hippolytus of Rome, Heraclitus claimed (on one plausible translation) that ‘The teacher of most people is Hesiod. They know (epistantai) he knows (eidenai) the most, he who did not know (ouk eginôsken) day and night; i.e. that they are one thing’ (DK 22 B57). The remark gives rise to three questions: (1) In what manner did Hesiod reveal his ignorance of the unity of day and night? (2) Why did Heraclitus use three different verbs for knowing when one might have sufficed? And (3) How could Heraclitus have consistently asserted that most people know that Hesiod knows the most things while identifying one fundamental truth Hesiod failed to know? I argue that each of the verbs for knowing Heraclitus used in B57 (epistasthai, eidenai, and gignôskein) had a distinctive meaning, and that by using all three, he was able to consistently and accurately characterize the prevailing epistemological situation.

I argue that these inconsistencies in wording and practice reflect the existence of two distinct Aristotelian views of inquiry, one peculiar to the Posterior Analytics and the other put forward in the Physics and practiced in the Physics and in other treatises. Although the two views overlap to some degree (e.g. both regard a rudimentary understanding of the subject as an essential first stage), the view of the syllogism as the workhorse of scientific investigation and the related view of inquiry as a search for the ‘missing middle terms’ turn out to be ideas peculiar to the Analytics. Conversely, the techniques of analysis and differentiation highlighted in the Physics account receive only cursory attention in the Analytics. However, when we consider the character of Aristotle’s own inquiries, on both scientific and philosophical topics, it becomes clear that it is the Physics rather than the Posterior Analytics that gives us Aristotle’s considered view the path to knowledge.

Arthur Danto claims that knowing that S is not a property of some individual knower M but a relation between M and some object O in the world, where O is what makes S true. For if knowledge were a property of M it would be possible to determine whether M knew simply by examining M, which is typically not the case (i.e. unless S happens to be about M). I argue that Danto errs in: (1) claiming that we can determine whether or not some assertion S is true only by observing the truth conditions for S; (2) claiming that we cannot determine whether s is true by examining M; and (3) claiming that since the statement that M knows that S ‘says something about both M and the world’ it must assert a relation between M and the world.

Philosophical reflection on the conditions of knowledge did not begin in a cultural vacuum. Several centuries before the Ionian thinkers began their investigations, the Homeric bards had identified various factors that militate against a secure grasp of the truth. In the words of the ‘second invocation of the Muses’ in Iliad II: “you, goddesses, are present and know all things, whereas we mortals hear only a rumor and know nothing.” Similarly Archilochus: “Of such a sort, Glaucus, son of Leptines, is the mind of mortal man, whatever Zeus may bring him for the day, for he thinks such things as he meets with.” When one adds the truism that the scope of human experience pales in comparison with the synoptic view of events enjoyed by the gods, it follows that for most matters it is for the gods to know and mortals merely to conjecture. Traces of the older ‘poetic pessimism’ can be seen in the teachings of many of the first philosophers. Alcmaeon reaffirms that “while the gods enjoy clear and certain knowledge of all things, mortals must conjecture from signs” (B 1). Although Xenophanes encourages inquiry into a wide range of phenomena, he concludes that “No man has known nor will there be anyone who knows the clear and sure truth concerning the gods and what I say about all things” (B 34). And when philosophers begin to affirm a more optimistic view they often do so in terms that invite comparison with the older outlook. The chief truth Heraclitus claims to have discovered is the logos or ‘basic formula’ which holds everywhere and forever (B 1, 30, 80, and 90). Parmenides provides reason to think that human beings can discover the truth even about things located “far off” (B 4). And both Empedocles and Democritus contrast the inferior awareness of those “who think in terms of what they have met with” with the wisdom available to those who have heard and ponder their teachings (B 131). For these thinkers, separation in space and time—the old ‘locality problem’—no longer posed an impediment to knowledge.

Xenophanes was a poet and rhapsode who lived in Greece during the late sixth and early fifth centuries BCE. Surviving fragments of his poetry touch on proper conduct at symposia, the measures of personal excellence, and aspects of his interactions with various notable individuals. Xenophanes also characterized various natural phenomena as products of a set of basic physical substances and processes. In a series of remarks concerning the stories about the gods told by Homer and Hesiod, the true nature of the divine, and the tendency of believers to conceive of the gods as like themselves, Xenophanes explored questions central to the philosophy of religion. This essay addresses four questions: (1) Did Xenophanes espouse monotheism? (2) On what basis did he repudiate anthropomorphism in religion? (3) Why did he reject the possibility of knowledge concerning divine matters? and (4) How did he understand the relationship between god and the cosmos?

Myles Burnyeat maintains that Aristotelian epistêmê, in so far as it deals with explanations, is properly identified as understanding rather than as knowledge. Although Burnyeat is right in thinking that the cognitive achievement Aristotle typically has in mind is not justified true belief, Aristotelian epistêmê cannot be equated with understanding. On some occasions in Aristotle's writings (e.g. Apo 71a4), the term designates a particular science such as mathematics; on others (e.g. Apo 72b18-20), it designates the grasp of a first principle; on others (e.g. Apo 94a20) it is a systematic grasp of fact and explanation that is properly termed understanding; and on still others (e.g. N. Ethics 1147a22) it is that combination of factual knowledge and competency in demonstration that qualifies as expertise or disciplinary mastery.

In fragment B 12 Anaxagoras asserted: ‘And [Mind] has every gnômê concerning everything and is strong to the greatest degree.’ The definitions of gnômê given in the standard Greek lexicon cover a wide range: ‘mark’, ‘token’, ‘intelligence’, ‘thought’, ‘judgment’, ‘understanding’, ‘attention’, ‘conscience’, ‘reason’, ‘will’, ‘disposition’, ‘inclination’, ‘purpose’, ‘initiative’, ‘opinion’, ‘verdict’, ‘decision’, ‘proposition’, ‘resolution’, ‘advice’, and ‘maxim’. Taking a clue from the assonance of ischei (has) with ischuei (is strong), it would be natural to take both parts of the assertion to be concerned with the extent of Mind’s strength, and this would suggest the translation: ‘for it holds every decision concerning everything and (thereby) has the greatest strength’. So understood, both parts of the assertion would be reinforcing Anaxagoras’ basic claim that Mind ‘rules over’ (kratein) everything. Thus, what Anaxagoras’ cosmic nous does is provide just the kind of intelligent oversight nous typically provides in early Greek poetry and philosophy.

‘Of Ephesus’ begins with a series of vivid impressions of a wild and free nature—vineyards rolling across the landscape, an untrammeled sky, a runaway donkey, flaming pinecones, roosters, and colorful kites and flags. Fire in some form (wildfires, the sun, flames, torches, lightning, sunlight) is the hallmark of a dynamic reality. The reference to ‘St. Heraclitus’ supports this interpretation: Elytis, like Heraclitus, seeks to alert his audience to the possible existence of a higher realm of being. So he fashions a series of striking juxtapositions intended to disrupt our ordinary experience of the world and to spark a vision of an alternative reality. In the process he draws on Heraclitus’ doctrine of the unity of the opposites, on the conception of fire as the basic power that rules the cosmos, and on the conviction that beyond the world we know through ordinary sense experience lies a second, higher reality.

Interdisciplinary or team-taught courses pose special challenges and make special demands on the instructors. Yet they also offer special opportunities for learning—for instructor and student alike. This paper describes one such course taught at the University of Maryland by a historian (Kenneth Holum), an art historian (Elisabeth Pemberton), and a philosopher (James Lesher), focused on the art, politics, and philosophical environment of 5th-century Athens. Three themes emerged over the course of the semester: the centrality of the family in Athenian society, the emergence of the individual as a new focus of interest in art and society, human nature as a new subject of study, and the phenomenon of cross-fertilization or ‘bi-sociation’ as the ideas developed in one field were adapted for use in other disciplines. For all their special burdens and challenges, courses such as this one can provide an opportunity to explore philosophical theorizing from a new perspective.

Xenophanes of Colophon (fl. 530 BC) is widely regarded as the first skeptic in the history of Western philosophy, but the character of his skepticism as expressed in his fragment B 34 has long been a matter of debate. After reviewing the interpretations of B 34 defended by Hermann Fränkel, Bruno Snell, and Sir Karl Popper, I argue that B 34 is best understood in connection with a traditional view of the sources and limits of human understanding. If we hold that mortal beings can achieve certain knowledge only with the assistance of divine powers, while rejecting any possibility of bridging the divine-human gap, a broad skepticism concerning the prospects for human knowledge becomes inevitable. It is therefore of some relevance that Xenophanes repudiated the practice of divination through signs (mantikê) and offered entirely naturalistic explanations of phenomena popularly regarded as indications of the divine will (thunder, lightning, eclipses, rainbows, etc.).

In Republic VI, Plato’s Socrates attempts to explain the nature of human understanding by means of a simile of a line divided into four unequal segments. Socrates directs Glaucon to accept as names for the four states ‘rational knowledge’ for the highest, ‘understanding’ for the second, ‘belief’ for the third, and for the last, ‘perception of images.’ He then directs Glaucon to arrange the four states in a proportion, ‘considering that they participate in saphēneia in the same degree to which their objects participate in reality.’ Although saphêneia here is usually translated as ‘clarity, ’I argue that neither ‘clarity’ nor ‘truth’ nor ‘knowledge’ provides an entirely satisfactory translation. Rather, in this context saphêneia is best understood as ‘a full, accurate, and sure awareness.’ Plato’s simile, properly understood, provides not only an explanation of his rationalist theory of knowledge but also a coherent line of argument in support of that theory.

To what extent were the different aspects of Xenophanes’ philosophy interrelated? I argue: (1) that in fragments B 27-B 33 Xenophanes offered a coherent set of explanations of a wide range of terrestrial and heavenly phenomena in terms of a small number of basic forces and material substances; (2) that in fragments B23-26 he articulated a coherent view of a deity wholly isolated from the natural realm and human affairs; and (3): that in fragments B18 and B 34 he encouraged inquiry into both divine and natural realms while acknowledging that a clear and sure understanding of non-evident phenomena lay beyond human capacities. Xenophanes’ view of a nature unrelated to divine influence neatly complemented his view of the divine as lacking any involvement in nature and human affairs. It is not clear, however, that Xenophanes’ moral concerns and criticisms of current mores drew support from other aspects of his thought.

Jean Delville was a central participant in the Symbolist movement in France and Belgium at the turn of the twentieth century. His monumental work, L’ Ecole de Platon, made its first public appearance at the 1898 Salon d’Art Idealiste in Brussels. Although two contemporary critics showered it with praise, the work has puzzled many viewers. Why, for example, does the central figure (one assumes Plato) bear a striking resemblance to Jesus as he is traditionally depicted? Why are those gathered around Plato (one assumes his students) shown nude or semi-nude, and in this particular arrangement? And how do the unusual colors, flora, and fauna contribute to the message Delville was seeking to convey? I argue that insights into the work can be gained by connecting it with a set of doctrines that go back to the Renaissance philosopher and translator Marsilio Ficino, and beyond Ficino, to the third-century philosopher Plotinus.

Robinson Jeffers’ dark view of humankind is thought to owe much to Friedrich Nietzsche while his admiration for the beauty of nature has been compared to sentiments expressed by Lucretius in de rerum natura. In many respects, however, the philosopher who stands closest to Jeffers in both thought and personality is the ancient Greek thinker Heraclitus of Ephesus. Jeffers’ extended poem ‘The Double Axe’ makes no fewer than five clear references to Heraclitean ideas: (1) ‘Heraclitus’ Sibyl whose voice reached over ten thousand years’; (2) the opposites ‘winter and summer…rain the drought, and peace and war; (3) ‘the eternal fire-wheel; (4) ‘One existence, one music, one organism, one life, one God: star-fire and rock-strength, the sea’s cold flow/And man’s dark soul; and (5) ‘This divine outer universe is after all not at peace with itself, but full of violent strains and conflicts. The physical world is ruled by opposing tensions.’

In an early poem, "Year's End", Jorge Luis Borges takes the turning of the year as an occasion to consider how "something in us" endures, despite the fact that we are products of "infinite random possibilities" and "droplets in the stream of Heraclitus": It is not the emblematic detail of replacing a two with a three, nor that barren metaphor that brings together a time that dies and another coming up nor yet the rounding out of some astronomical process that stuns and undermines the altiplano1 of this night, and compels us to keep listening for those twelve irreparable tollings of a bell. The true cause is a vague, pervasive apprehension of Time's enigma; a certain awe before the miracle that in spite of...

Is there a place in scientific inquiry for guessing? Jonathan Cohen has recently argued that resorting to guesswork entails a loss of objectivity and regard for evidence which are essential to proper scientific investigation. I assess the merits of Cohen’s view first by taking as a test case Aristotle’s positive view of the role of guesswork (anchinoia) and conjecture (eustochia) in the search for the connections essential to the construction of scientific demonstrations. I then argue contra Cohen that one can usefully employ guesswork while also employing reason; that it is possible to guess either intelligently or mindlessly; and consequently, that the use of guesswork need not represent a diminution in respect for the objectivity essential to scientific investigation. Although I would not claim that guesswork has a role to play in all scientific inquiry, there appear to be some datable instances of the useful and respectable scientific guess.

Gerard Manley Hopkins is best remembered for his celebratory 'nature sonnets'— 'Pied Beauty', 'God's Grandeur', and 'The Windhover'. Less than a year before his death, however, Hopkins drew on ideas associated with the ancient Greek thinker Heraclitus of Ephesus to express a darker view of nature. In 'That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Comfort of the Resurrection’ Hopkins offers a vision of nature and human existence marked by dissolution and destruction. But the poet rejects that apocalyptic vision in favor of the Christian promise of salvation: ‘in a flash, at a trumpet crash/ I am all at once what Christ is…’ In articulating his dark vision of nature Hopkins followed Heraclitus’ fragment B 30: ‘this cosmos…a fire.’ However, Heraclitus’ cosmos ‘always was, is, and will be, an ever-living fire, kindled in measures and extinguished in measures.’ It was not, therefore, the one-way descent to destruction Hopkins described.

The second half of the 20th century may fairly be considered a golden age for the study of ancient philosophy. This period witnessed the creation of four English-language journals for specialists and two professional societies. Throughout this period there were numerous regional and national conferences, reading groups, NEH-sponsored summer seminars and institutes on various aspects of ancient thought, successful graduate programs in ancient philosophy at a sizable number of American universities, and a steady supply of jobs for specialists in the field. Seminal studies by Gregory Vlastos and G.E.L. Owen stimulated broad interest in ancient Greek philosophy by showing how the methods and issues explored by ancient thinkers were relevant to contemporary philosophical debates. On a less happy note, in recent years some influential analytic philosophers have discounted the value of work in the history of philosophy, and public funding for philosophy, along with other humanities fields, has declined sharply.