James Lesher

On some accounts, early reflection on the nature of human cognition focused on its physical or physiological causes (as, for example, when in fragment 105 Empedocles identifies thought with blood). On other accounts, there was an identifiable process of semantic development in which a number of perception-oriented terms for knowing (e.g. gignôskô, oida, noeô, and suniêmi) took on a more intellectual orientation. Although some find evidence of this transition in the poems of Solon and Archilochus, appreciation for a distinction between sensing and knowing is more plausibly credited to the Presocratic thinkers Heraclitus and Parmenides. It is unclear whether Heraclitus regarded sense perception as an essential first stage in acquiring knowledge (or an inherently inferior form of awareness), but the goddess in Parmenides’ poem unambiguously urges the youth to whom she speaks to set aside the testimony of eye and ear and instead ‘judge by reason’ the nature of what-is.

This article explores Presocratic epistemology, arguing that divine revelation is replaced as a warrant for knowledge with naturalistic accounts of how and what we humans can know; thus replacing earlier Greek pessimism about knowledge with a more optimistic outlook that allows for human discovery of the truth. A review of the relevant fragments and testimonia shows that Xenophanes, Alcmaeon, Heraclitus, and Parmenides—even Pythagoras and Empedocles—all moved some distance away from the older “god-oriented” view of knowledge toward a more secular and optimistic outlook. But to get some sense of the dynamics at work in this transition this article begins, as virtually every account of early Greek thought must begin, with Homer and Hesiod.

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...

Western philosophy begins with Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes. Or so we are told by Aristotle and many members of the later doxographical tradition. But a good case can be made that several centuries before the Milesian thinkers began their investigations, the poets of archaic Greece reflected on the limits of human intelligence and concluded that no mortal being could know the full and certain truth. Homer belittled the mental capacities of ‘creatures of a day’ and a series of poets of the archaic period declared that mortals think only in terms of ‘what they meet with’ while failing to detect the larger cycles that make for success or failure. While Xenophanes embraced this pessimistic tradition, a number of early thinkers (Heraclitus, Parmenides, Empedocles, and Philolaus) expressed a more positive view of the powers of human intelligence, at least in those who heard and took to heart their novel philosophical teachings.

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 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.