The Problem of Essence and Being

 

   I have been thinking (again) about the problem of essences today. It is the question of whether my love for my children is a response to their reality, their being, or is just in my head. Whether my response to the beauty of a sunset or the sublimity of a clear night sky is a response to the independent reality of those phenomena or is just in my head, projections onto an indifferent or radically different screen. It's about whether my inner life is real or whether reason compels me to believe the Matrix is a good metaphor for my relation to the world. An essence grounds an idea or concept that is an expression of something intelligible in the world. A denial of essence amounts to the claim that my response is not to the independent reality of my children or the sky but is a construction of my own mind or society. That is the issue.

     The belief that the issue between realists (and thus essences, universals) and nominalists or skeptics (Kantian or otherwise) is a scientific question is mistaken. Science can in theory map out how the brain works, etc. but whether our experience, our inner lives (on which science depends) reveals reality cannot be a possible scientific question. I personally think one could come up with a consistent nominalist redescription of reality and language: not "the sunset is beautiful" but "I am, or my brain is, experiencing a feeling called Beauty occasioned by the sunset." But this is already a philosophical move, not a scientific one. The shift from perceiving beauty as a property of the world to considering it merely a subjective reaction is an interpretation – not something science proves, but a way of framing reality. Science may describe how neurons fire when someone sees a sunset, but it cannot adjudicate whether Beauty is a real property of the world or just an emergent cognitive pattern. Whether there is an essence of anything and if so, how that essence is to be understood, is not a possible scientific question.

. . .

       Before getting into the philosophy, I want to imagine how a child comes to intuit (meaning: it is a mystery how) that a series of different objects and pictures of these objects are all one kind of thing: apples. I am interested in using the idea of patterns and the rules that inform them: e.g. a game I played with my child about car license plates: P: WT 239, P: RG 449, P: HG 785, etc. The rule: P + two letters + three numbers. Then we see one P: TF 2023. That breaks the pattern; there are four numbers. Then we see a couple more with four numbers and change the rule: either ‘P: two letters + three numbers’ or ‘P: two letters + 4 numbers.’ Thus we expand the concept so to speak.

           I wonder whether a child’s concept formation of “apple” unfolds as an intuitive, pattern-based recognition process, much like the license plate game I played with Kilian. The child is exposed to different instances – perhaps a red apple in their hand, a green apple in a picture book, a sliced apple on a plate, an apple emoji on a screen, and even the word-sound “apple” spoken by a parent. These experiences do not initially seem connected, but over time, the child’s mind begins to detect patterns and the implicit rules that inform them.

      At first, the child encounters an apple as a singular thing: a round, graspable object with a sweet taste and a crisp texture. Then they encounter another apple – similar in shape but perhaps greener and sour. Another time, they see a picture of an apple, which lacks taste and texture but shares the roundness and color. Just as in the license plate game, each new instance provides an opportunity for the child’s mind to extract (not construct) a rule:

• Apples are round. (But so are oranges.)
• Apples are red. (But sometimes green or yellow.)
• Apples can be eaten. (But not all round things are edible.)
• Apples are sweet. (But not always.)

Each new exposure refines or expands the working “hypothesis” much like discovering a new license plate format that forces a revision of the original rule.

      Once the child has an internal rule (e.g., “apples are round and red”), they may encounter an exception – perhaps a green apple. This breaks their initial rule, forcing a refinement: “Apples are round and can be red, green, or yellow.” They encounter a sliced apple and must decide: is this also an apple? If so, they start to intuit that an apple is not just its outer shape but something deeper. (Or I remember Kilian’s original concept of “real” as ‘if you can’t see it, it’s not real’ was challenged by the concept of ‘God’, whose reality at the age of 4 he did not doubt and whom he could not see. He had to revise his original understanding.)

   Some experiences will challenge their emerging and still quite hypothetical concept formation in surprising ways. If they see an apple in a painting or a cartoon, is that an apple? If they hear the word “apple” without seeing one, does it still fit? Like the revised license plate rule, their mental framework expands: an apple is not just an object but also something that can be represented symbolically.

      At some point, something remarkable happens: the child no longer needs to test each new apple against a rigid checklist of attributes. They simply see it as an apple. Their concept is no longer a mere collection of features but an intuition of “appleness.” This is the moment when the mind perceives an essence – something that unites all these varied instances beyond any single attribute. This final step remains mysterious, much like how we instantly recognize a face, even if the lighting or angle changes. It is as if the mind, through repeated exposure to patterns and revisions of its implicit rules, suddenly grasps the “rule beneath the rules”—an abstraction that is more than the sum of its parts. This is a Wittgensteinian way of imagining it. (This is all speculative, but based on my experience with my three children.)

     In my part of the world, moreover, apples are not merely objects in a child’s world but part of a rich form of life. They appear in nursery rhymes (“An apple a day keeps the doctor away”), in picture books, in school lunches, in autumn outings to apple orchards, in the sweet wonderfulnesss of freshly made apple juice (glorious!), and in warm apple cobbler with vanilla ice cream after Sunday dinner (oh how I miss those days!). The child does not just learn what an apple is but how apples fit into the rhythms of life, traditions, and shared human practices.

   In other words, from early on, the child does not encounter apples in isolation but always in meaningful contexts:

• Eating and Taste. Their first encounter might be as puréed apple in baby food, then as a fresh slice offered by a parent. It is not just an object but something given, something shared. Later, they learn to bite into a whole apple, feeling the crispness, the tart sweetness – a distinct (and glorious!) experience tied to childhood itself.
• Play and Stories. The apple appears in fairy tales: Snow White’s poisoned apple is dangerous, but Johnny Appleseed is kind. Apples become part of riddles, counting games, and even the first lessons in letters: “A is for Apple.”
• Seasons and Nature. The child notices that apples are abundant in autumn, that people go apple-picking, that certain trees bear fruit. Apples are tied to harvest festivals and traditions like bobbing for apples at Halloween. They begin to associate the fruit with cycles of the year, with cool, crisp air, with change and abundance. How happy I am just recalling all of this!
• School and Culture. Perhaps they give a bright apple to a teacher as a symbol of appreciation, though they do not quite know why. They learn that apples are made into cider, that they were once called “the forbidden fruit,” that Newton’s apple tree is part of their nation’s scientific heritage.

And so on.

       Because of these varied experiences, “apple” is no longer just a kind of thing among other things. It is embedded in a network of human activities, meanings, and associations. It is not only recognized but valued. (This corresponds to something Wittgenstein taught me.) The child’s concept of apple is enriched by its role in human life. It is not just a red, round fruit but something that is picked, eaten, shared, stored, baked, given, used in metaphors. The concept of apple is thick with meaning, not thinly defined by physical traits alone.

Therefore, just as Wittgenstein might say that the meaning of a word is its use in language, the meaning of an apple is found in the ways people use it in life. There is no single essence of appleness apart from the myriad ways it is woven into human activity. Or in other words: what an apple is reveals itself in the ways it can be intelligibly woven into human life. Indeed, as the child grows, the concept continues to deepen. They learn that apples come in many varieties – Gala, Granny Smith, Braeburn, Pinova, Elstar, Augustäpfel, etc. They learn that apples once symbolized temptation in Christian iconography, that they can be pressed into cider, that they were a symbol of wealth in medieval England. The concept of apple, once a simple mental pattern, now carries historical, cultural, and personal layers of meaning. Thus, in growing up, the child does not merely know what an apple is. They live what an apple means.

     And this goes on if the child is lucky enough to live in a functional culture. Once the child has learned what an apple is through sensory experience and social life, the concept of apple continues to be deepened as it is enriched by stories, art, science, and metaphor. These elements do not just add associations to the apple; they deepen its meaning, giving it layers that reach beyond its physical reality.

    Stories take the apple from an ordinary fruit to a symbol charged with meaning.

• Genesis and the Fall. Though the Bible does not name the forbidden fruit, in the Western imagination, it is often an apple. The child, upon hearing the story, learns that an apple can be more than food – it can be a temptation – it’s wonderful sweetness! – a test, something laden with consequence. The concept of apple is no longer neutral; it takes on a moral and theological dimension.
• Snow White and the Poisoned Apple. The apple, a gift from the disguised queen, carries the idea of deception. It looks good but is deadly. Now the child understands that an apple, like people, can have hidden depths.
• The Golden Apples of Greek Myth. The child later encounters the golden apples of the Hesperides or the Apple of Discord that sparked the Trojan War. Apples are not just food; they are things fought over, things sought after. This transforms the apple into a sign of beauty, power, and desire. (cf. the Norse apples of Iduna).
• The Apple of William Tell. The idea of the apple as a test returns in the Swiss legend. The child might sense that an apple can be something dangerous yet triumphant—a stand-in for fate.

Each of these stories shifts the concept of apple away from a simple edible object toward something more layered, charged with meaning beyond its everyday use.

     Art takes the apple and transforms it yet again.

• In a Cezanne painting, t he apple is no longer just a piece of fruit but a study in form, color, and light. The child may see that an apple is not just what it is, but also how it appears, how it is arranged, how it interacts with the world around it.
• In Magritte’s The Son of Man, a floating apple obscures a man’s face. Now the apple represents mystery, concealment, even identity. An apple is no longer only an apple – it is a veil, a question. I am no fan of surrealism as it often breaks the concept, defies the rules of application. Thus I cannot connect most surrealist paintings to life in general. At their best, surrealism may depict the sublime.
• The way apples are depicted in glossy magazines or in supermarket displays adds a modern layer: they become commodities, images, things arranged to attract and persuade. The child learns that an apple is also something sold, something packaged.

      

Science, rather than mythology or art, gives the apple yet another dimension – the realm of laws and principles.

• Isaac Newton and Gravity. Every schoolchild hears the story of Newton and the falling apple. Here, the apple is no longer just a fruit but a key to understanding the natural order of the universe. It represents discovery.
• Botany and Agriculture. The child eventually learns that apples are cultivated, that there are thousands of varieties, that they have a long history stretching back to Central Asia. The apple is no longer just "picked from a tree"—it is part of human civilization, breeding, and agricultural science.
• The Apple in Medicine. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” The apple, in this light, becomes a symbol of health, of nature’s ability to nourish and sustain.

     

Once the apple enters stories, art, and science, it is no longer just a fruit: it is a carrier of meaning, a tool for thought.

• “The apple of my eye.” The apple becomes a metaphor for something beloved, something precious. Now the concept of apple is linked to love and attention.
• “One bad apple spoils the bunch.”  Here, the apple represents moral character, corruption spreading through a group. The fruit now symbolizes the fragility of virtue.
• Computers and Knowledge (Apple company). The child grows up in a world where "apple" no longer refers only to fruit but to technology, innovation, and creativity. The name "Apple" carries an echo of the forbidden fruit, the acquisition of knowledge. The devil can take over the reality of something as wonderful as an apple; Hell has a linguistics department. Apple (the corporation i.e. the giant pile of money whose only raison d’etre is to get bigger: Wendell Berry’s definition of a corporation) reverses Genesis. It is a though the biblical serpent is speaking to us through the brand name.

   

By the time the child becomes an adult, the word “apple” will no longer simply call to mind a round fruit. It will carry within it:

• A personal dimension (childhood tastes and memories)
• A cultural dimension (fairy tales, religious stories, idioms)
• A scientific dimension (botany, gravity, nutrition)
• An aesthetic dimension (the way apples appear in art and photography)
• A philosophical dimension (the apple as a sign of knowledge, choice, and even mystery)

The child, who once saw only an object, now sees a world in an apple.

. . .

     Aristotle, if I am correct, believed for each substance (in his sense; I assume he would consider apples a substance, a particular kind of being) there are essential features that make it what it is and not something else. That the intellect (nous) can abstract these from particular instances. How does that fit in to the picture I have just sketched of concept formation?

      In Aristotle’s view, knowledge begins with the senses. A child does not start with the universal concept apple but encounters individual apples: this red one, that green one, this small one, that large one. Through repeated experience, the mind (nous) begins to recognize a pattern (and thus a rule): despite differences, these all share something essential.

The process follows something like this:

• The child perceives apples repeatedly through sight, touch, taste.
• The intellect detects a common (strongly analogous) pattern (form, idea, eidos, rule) in them: a roundish fruit, growing on trees, edible, juicy.
• The child abstracts this common pattern and (without being fully conscious of it) forms a rule, distinguishing what is essential (its appleness) from what is accidental (its color, size, sweetness). It as though the mind were setting up an hypothesis to be tested against experience: “If x is a round and red thing that I can hold and eat, and tastes sweet and crunchy, it’s an apple." Then something like a process similar to Wittgenstein’s exploration of games happens but with a core concept based on essential traits crystallizing.  This allows linguistically for a clear definition and a term with clear borders to pears, tomatoes, and such.
• Eventually, the child can recognize an apple even if it looks quite different from the first ones they encountered. The idea has become internalized and codified in language through a sound-symbol.

Thus, the essence of apple is grasped through experience, but it is not identical to any single apple. It is a universal—the what-it-is-to-be an apple.

     Essences for Aristotle are stable yet enriched concepts. Now, how does this essentialist account fit into the broader picture just sketched in the above section? After all, the concept of an apple is not static. It may deepen (i.e. more is its being disclosed) through stories, art, science, and metaphor. Would Aristotle’s philosophy allow for such changes? The key is that essence does not mean fixed mental definition. Aristotle does not say that grasping an essence means knowing everything about a thing. Rather, the essence of an apple (whatever it is that makes an apple an apple) remains stable, but our understanding of it grows through experience, learning, and culture. At least nothing in Aristotle flatly contradicts this possibility.

• The child first understands an apple as something edible.
• Later, through myths and stories, the apple takes on moral and symbolic meanings (temptation, wisdom, deception).
• Through science, the apple is understood in terms of its genetic structure, gravity, and nutrition.
• Through metaphor, the apple comes to signify love, corruption, or knowledge.

Each of these enriches the concept of an apple without changing its essence. In Aristotelian terms, we might say the accidents of the apple (what we associate with it) expand, but the underlying substance remains what it is. An apple is, for example: "a fleshy, seed-bearing fruit (genus) of the deciduous tree Malus domestica (differentia), characterized by a typically round shape, smooth skin, and a crisp, sweet or tart flesh." However much we might learn about apples, it is apples we are learning about, i.e. the being singled out and distinguished from other beings by the features articulated in the definition. (Plato would argue that the concept apple exists independently of all particular apples, in a realm of Forms (eidos). Aristotle, however, grounds universals in particular substances—they exist in the things themselves, not in a separate, immaterial world.)

     While metaphor, art, and science enrich the concept of an apple, there are limits to how far the concept can be stretched. If someone pointed to a rock and called it an "apple," the child (having grasped the essence of an apple) would reject this as incorrect. This is because:

• The essence of an apple is tied to its nature—its biological form, its ability to grow from a tree, its edibility.
• Cultural meanings (apples as symbols of knowledge or sin) are not part of the essence, though they shape how we think about apples.

Thus, Aristotle’s notion of essence ensures that the concept of an apple remains rooted in reality, even as it gains new layers of meaning.

Essences fit into concept formation thus:

• The raw experience of apples allows for pattern recognition.
• The intellect (nous) abstracts the essential features, forming a universal concept.
• This essence provides stability: an apple is always an apple, no matter what other meanings culture assigns to it.
• At the same time, stories, art, and science expand the concept without changing its essence.
• The distinction between essence and accident helps us separate necessary features (what makes an apple an apple) from contingent ones (what myths or metaphors associate with it).

The world is intelligible for Aristotle. Language is a mirror of nature which the intellect may perfect.

 

. . .

 

 Now I can formulate my problem. Wittgenstein seemed to deny the Aristotelian philosophy of essence with his thoughts about family resemblance, meaning as use, language game, and form of life. Indeed, Wittgenstein clearly assumes nominalism in the Tractatus despite his attempt to undermine metaphysics as nonsense. I think he has been read as a nominalist in the Philosophical Investigations. One criticism of his family resemblance analogy as weak: if no core essence (no set of essentially defining traits) holds the concept of game – or apple – (standing for philosophical concepts) together, we cannot distinguish between games and war. Both share similarities without anyone mistaking them. War can be considered a game only metaphorically. Thus in a family resemblance there must be an underlying genetic foundation (essence?). I am not sure I accept this criticism (cf. Maurice Mandelbaum) but the point is: how does "essence" look in Wittgenstein's later philosophy? What justifies, to return to my example, the application of the word apple (a placeholder for the idea) to these kinds of things:

                           

 

but not to this:

 

                                

Wittgenstein’s later philosophy seems to challenge the Aristotelian notion of essence, but the question is: does he deny it outright, or does he redefine it in a different way? Aristotle held that concepts (ideas, patterns, forms) are grounded in real essences – an underlying substantial, intelligible form that makes a thing what it is. We grasp these through abstraction – literally, to draw or pull away that which is common to all particulars of the same kind of being.  And while our understanding may grow, the essence itself remains stable. Wittgenstein rejects this idea of a single, defining essence. Instead, he introduces family resemblance: the idea that many concepts do not have a strict set of necessary and sufficient features but are instead linked by overlapping similarities. His famous example is the word "game":

• Chess, football, and solitaire are all games, but they do not share one essential feature.
• Some involve competition, some do not. Some have rules, some do not.
• What connects them is not an essence but a network of resemblances – like how members of a family might share eye color, facial structure, or mannerisms, but not all in the same way.

Thus, instead of a single essence defining a category (as Aristotle held), Wittgenstein suggests that concepts emerge from patterns of similarity within a language-game. That words – concepts – are a human construction projected on an underdetermined nature? That is the frustrating thing with Wittgenstein: he refused to make any explicitly metaphysical statements, to draw out the metaphysical implications of his analysis of how language works. It’s like he was an amateur linguist, a brilliant one but still.

      So on the surface, this rejection of essence seems nominalist, suggesting that words do not correspond to stable universals but are merely useful labels for groups of similar things. And certainly, in the Tractatus, Wittgenstein was more strictly nominalist, treating meaning as a matter of simple logical reference. However, he does not say in the PI that concepts are arbitrarily assigned or purely conventional (as extreme nominalists might), but rather that their meaning arises from use in context within forms of life. That is, concepts are shaped by the way they are embedded in human activity, rather than by an underlying metaphysical structure. Again, preserving a stubborn metaphysical neutrality that cuts off thinking just when things get interesting. Still, while he does not affirm essence in the Aristotelian sense, he also does not reduce concepts to mere names (as a crude nominalist would).

     The main criticism of Wittgenstein’s family resemblance idea is that it collapses into vagueness without some underlying ground (essence). If concepts are just linked by similarities, what stops any collection of things from being grouped together? Examples:

• A wolf and a dog share family resemblances, but there is an underlying genetic structure (biological essence) that makes a dog a dog.
• War and games share some similarities (strategy, competition), but war is not a game except metaphorically.
• If "family resemblance" were the only principle at work, there would be no way to distinguish real categories from arbitrary ones, essential from accidental ones.

Thus something beyond mere resemblance is needed to stabilize categories whether we call it "essence" or something else. I don’t think Wittgenstein would deny this.

     I think there are a few ways to reconcile Wittgenstein’s view with something like an essence, though not in the Aristotelian sense. He wrote in the PI (§371): “Essence is expressed in grammar.” i.e. not “out there” in the world. That seems as close as he gets to anything metaphysical. For him the rules of language determine what something is. The essence of "apple" is not a metaphysical form but the way we use the word "apple" in our linguistic practices. That implies a radical skepticism to the idea that our minds – and indeed hearts – are connected to reality, the reality we are part of. That seems a clear denial of the idea of an intelligible reality, or seems to. Some scholars argue that Wittgenstein’s later work does not deny essence but reinterprets it in terms of deep grammatical structures. These are the underlying, stable patterns that shape how we talk about things, something like Kant’s categories of thought but applied to language. But that seems like linguistic idealism too.

     Thus by denying essence (i.e. my idea of apple is an idea of reality) he seems in spite of his wish to stay out of metaphysics committed to a revised nominalism such that meaning is grounded in use, language-games, and forms of life – not in reality. "Essence" is not a metaphysical reality but springs out of the structure of our linguistic and practical interactions.

   But my question: want prevents us to assuming the something of reality (of universals) is disclosed in and through our linguistic and social practices? Whatever the metaphysical thrust and intentions of his thought, does Wittgenstein’s rejection of Aristotelian essence necessarily commit us to nominalism, or could it still allow for something real – some disclosure of universals – through language and practice?

     Indeed, it might seem that rejecting metaphysical essence means we must accept a form of nominalism: that categories like “apple” or “game” are just human-imposed names without any real grounding in the world. But that is not necessarily the case. Even if concepts arise from use in language-games, this does not mean they are merely arbitrary social constructs.

Consider:

• Language-games are not invented ex nihilo; they are shaped by our interactions with reality.
• The fact that we have stable and widely shared concepts suggests that reality itself constrains and informs them.
• Even Wittgenstein, despite refusing to speculate about metaphysics, does not argue that language is purely subjective or disconnected from the world.

Thus, while he avoids ontological claims, he does not explicitly deny that something about reality discloses itself through our linguistic and social practices even if he doesn’t want to think of this as Aristotle did.

      Moreover, if we take Wittgenstein seriously about “meaning as use,” then we must ask: what is it that allows words to be used meaningfully in the first place? Can you answer this without collapsing into nominalism?

    Reality places constraints on language. Even if we say that “apple” is a concept shaped by human practices, not just anything can be called an apple. The world itself sets limits on how concepts are formed. The regularities of nature – the way apples grow, their predictable qualities – shape our use of the term. No culture would equate apples with blackberries. This shows that concept formation is not purely linguistic or conventional, but responsive to reality. Language does not just impose structure; it discovers structures already there.

    Thus essences/universals may equally well be thought of as disclosed, not imposed. Both are consistent with Wittgenstein’s thought. Instead of thinking of universals as fixed, eternal Forms (as in Plato) or as purely human conventions (as in radical nominalism), we could say they – the reality of the beings they abstract from – emerge through practice but in a way that reveals something real.

We learn what an apple is through social and linguistic training, yes. But that process itself might be a kind of attunement to the world. Essences/Universals may indeed be manifested through the ways we engage with the world and not necessarily imposed onto reality by language. “The tiger is dangerous” is not just a linguistic construction. (This fits well with the way science refines concepts based on further investigation: e.g., shifting from “whale” as a fish to recognizing it as a mammal, without making “whale” purely arbitrary). Essences may still be real patterns that we uncover in and through experience, filtered through practices and our “form of life.”

    As stated, Wittgenstein himself avoids answering whether language discloses reality in a realist sense. He simply limits his philosophy to description, not speculation. But does this refusal to make metaphysical claims actually close the door to realism? Not necessarily. If anything, Wittgenstein’s work suggests that metaphysical questions arise from within our practices. His critique of essentialism is not a denial of reality but a shift in how we think about reality – perhaps away from timeless Forms but not necessarily away from realism altogether. The idea that our understandings of essence are true and final – and thus that concepts are closed in the way Aristotle implied when he posited a stable essence amid a potential deepening of understanding – seems to have been Wittgenstein’s concern here.

So the options are:

• Strong Nominalism: Universals are merely human constructs.
• Wittgenstein’s Position (as often read): Universals are not fixed essences but arise from use. They are not arbitrary but conditions for practices within forms of life.
• A Realist-Wittgensteinian Hybrid (my preference) : Universals are disclosed through use and conditioned by practices within forms of life, but they respond to real structures in the world. I personally love Wittgenstein’s grammatical analysis but see it as a deepening of the understanding of concepts (which express essences).

If we reject Aristotle’s belief in a fully intelligible nature and his epistemological optimism that our minds and languages are potentially mirrors of nature but still hold that concepts/ideas/languages are shaped by reality (geprägt, bedingt), we might arrive at something like a disclosed realism. Language and social practices do not simply create meaning arbitrarily; they reveal patterns and regularities that exist independently of us, from a finite point of view.

 

. . .

 

And my second problem: Heidegger and Gadamer, coming from a different tradition of philosophy, have no problem using "essence" (das Wesen der Wahrheit, das Wesen der Kunst, etc.). But they clearly do not mean exactly the same things as Aristotle. They think of essence as something revealing itself dynamically, through history, language, and experience. This shift in meaning, I think, goes beyond discussion of Wittgenstein, Aristotle, and the question of whether reality is disclosed through human practices.

     For Aristotle, essence (ousia – Greek participle of to be, i.e. being) is what makes a thing what it is: its fundamental nature, abstracted by the intellect. But Heidegger radically reinterprets essence as unconcealment (Aletheia in Greek, which actually means something like Unforgetting; Unverborgenheit in German, i.e. uncovering or unconcealing). This is generally taken to mean that the "essence" of something is not an intelligible essence abstracted from particulars in a quasi objective, scientific manner but a way of appearing, of being disclosed to us in historical and linguistic contexts. (The influence of phenomenology.) Thus when Heidegger speaks of das Wesen der Wahrheit (the essence of truth), he does not mean a stable definition of truth as in Aristotle’s classic “the saying of what is, that it is.” He means truth happens. It is a happening in which something emerges from hiddenness (Verborgenheit) into openness (Offenheit). This is closer to another meaning, perhaps an older one, as in a true friend or true gold. Which is of course indistinguishable from a real friend or real gold; a genuine (not counterfeit) friend or genuine gold. Aristotle’s definition is oriented to statements, which is oriented to logic. Statements must be true or false, but not both. A true statement “says of what is, that it is”: It is the case that Socrates is a man. It is the case that Socrates is mortal. The truth of the terms – this is presupposed – depends on the meaning of the terms in the sense of a clear reference and meaning. The meaning of the terms – the concepts – you get by abstracting the essence from the particulars in the case of universal terms like men and mortal. Heidegger’s focus on truth as revealing applies purely to the conceptual, where mind and language first make contact with reality. If you want to know what a friend is don’t abstract from different friendships in the first place; look and see how true friendship appears in human life, and how it is distinguished from less real forms.

       What results is not an essential definition but a phenomenological description of experience, how friendship is given to experience. There something related to Aristotelian essence emerges but messier, involving interpretation, open to future deepening or flattening – of the essence! Not just the accidents. Not closed in the way Aristotle’s stable essences are. Similarly, das Wesen der Kunst (the essence of art) is not a definition of what all artworks have in common, but the event of art revealing a world. Think of Van Gogh’s painting of shoes: it doesn’t just represent peasant shoes; it discloses a world of labor, suffering, and life.

      Heidegger agrees with Wittgenstein that meaning is not grasped primarily by abstracting essences from particulars but by engaging with the world; or abstracting is part of this engagement. But unlike Wittgenstein, he does not treat language-games as mere human conventions; instead, they are ways in which Being itself (Sein) reveals itself. Unlike Aristotle, Heidegger’s Wesen (essence) is not a naturally fixed whatness (quidditas), but a dynamic, open event of disclosure. This means that when we talk about the "essence" of apples in Heideggerian terms, we are not trying to define an apple in an abstract sense but to describe how the meaning of apples unfolds within different historical and experiential contexts—how they show themselves in life, art, and thought. He wouldn’t draw a clear logical line between the essential and accidental qualities. Perhaps at one end of the scale hair color would be accident and ‘being-in-the-world’ or reason would be at the other. But determining what are the most fundamental human qualities cannot be abstracted as precisely as determining the defining qualities of geometrical figures (e.g. triangle, square, etc.). It is not simply there for anyone to see, as I think Aristotle thought.

      Gadamer, deeply influenced by Heidegger, takes this idea further in Truth and Method. He sees essence not as a fixed set of characteristics anyone with intellect can abstract from particulars but as something that emerges through historical dialogue. For Gadamer, understanding is never a matter of just identifying essential and accidental qualities (as Aristotle might) but of participating in a tradition in which meanings develop over time. This is why he talks about the Wesen der Kunst (essence of art) in terms of how we encounter and interpret it – not as a definition, but as an uncovering (truth) of meaning. He also describes truth as something disclosed through dialogue, rather than something we grasp in a purely logical manner.

      Apply Gadamer’s approach to the earlier description of how a child learns the concept of “apple.” The child does not learn “apple” by extracting its essence from sensory perception of particulars through the intellect alone (Aristotle), or not only that. Nor is “apple” merely a conventional label arising from language-games (Wittgenstein). Instead, the child’s concept of “apple” is shaped by historical, cultural, and dialogical processes. It is handed down through tradition. This means that even as language shapes our understanding, it is itself shaped by history. The concept of “apple” contains layers of meaning accumulated over generations: as food, as metaphor, as symbol, as scientific object. 

     Thus with Heidegger and Gadamer, essence is no longer something we define but something we encounter and participate in. This resonates with Wittgenstein’s meaning as use but deepens it by showing that meaning is also historical and existential.

    But does this lead to nominalism? Not necessarily. Following Heidegger and Gadamer, essence is not an abstract universal, but neither is it merely a name, or a social construct. Instead, essence is something that reveals itself in and through our engagement with the world.  Universals are real, but not in a Platonic or Aristotelian sense; they are real as disclosures of Being within human existence.

 

. . .

 

I wanted to know whether rejecting Aristotelian essence entails nominalism? With Heidegger and Gadamer, there is a third option: Meaning and essence are not fixed by reality (Aristotle), nor are they arbitrary (nominalism). Rather, they emerge in human practices, history, and interpretation. This implies a kind of existential realism, a view where essence is not something anyone can know once and for all but something that unfolds (or is lost) in human life.

      I think we are dealing with different ontologies that explain the seeming incommensurability. I think Aristotle believed nature (Being, reality) was perfectly intelligible, a book that we could read through understanding essences. For Heidegger at least (and I agree with him) Being transcends our ability to fully grasp it. Part of it is disclosed to us when we think or do art, etc., (within a tradition to follow Gadamer). That implies that concepts are open (like "novel," the concept of which is partly stable but changes over time - family resemblance) and not closed like "Greek tragedy". All natural kinds or universals are open because reality is too big for our capacity to know it, though we can know it. We can have understanding of the shore of the ocean without being able to penetrate its depths.

      For Aristotle, reality is intelligible. Our ideas/concepts map onto the essences of things, which nature fixes. The things themselves are in principle fully knowable. The mind at its clearest holds up a mirror to nature. In contrast, for Heidegger Being (reality, nature, the world) is not fully graspable because it always transcends our conceptualization. We encounter disclosures of Being, which are not social constructs but aspects of reality as seen (more or less clearly) from particular perspectives within human life. We are in touch with reality, part of it in fact. But there is no final, exhaustive understanding. That would be like saying Dickens’ novels express the final Idea of the novel or the perfection of the novel, and all possible novels must be measured by that standard. Thus whereas Aristotle treats concepts as closed Heidegger and Gadamer treat them as open.

    Abstraction alone is perhaps necessary but not sufficient. To get all the way to a robust essence interpretation is necessary. There is something text-like - even poem-like - about reality.

   I have left out a central figure in this story: Thomas Aquinas. But this is already too long and I am tired. But replacing Aristotelian nature with Creation, in my view, should move us in the direction of Heidegger and Gadamer, though within an authoritative tradition based on Revelation.

 Epictetus (3): A Chat with Chat

   I am exploring an idea about Epictetus and would like your input. Nature seems to play a foundational role in his thought, and the idea of God/Zeus as a creator who gave humanity the potential - activated only by an elite few - of understanding that nothing worldly ultimately matters and we are free to take up an attitude toward towards bodily and worldly life based on the rational recognition that all of nature is meaningless, that the only thing of value in the universe is the ability of rational mind to conform its attitudes even in the face of oppression and pain to this insight. But this implies that God is indifferent and nature is without value of meaning. Conforming one's mind to reality would just as easily be expressed in terms an existentialist might use. God and nature seem superfluous in this philosophy. There is - contra Socrates - no thought of an immortal soul or justice in an afterlife. No thought that the gods/God take any interest at all in human affairs. And the lightness, sometimes ironic tone he takes when he writes about God - almost frivolous it seems to me at times. Thus I can't escape the impression the God-and-nature talk is a rhetorical mask hiding a kind of nihilism, which, however, we have to capacity to spite through facing suffering in the knowledge that it doesn't really matter in the end i.e. though preserving our dignity. That seems like giving the middle finger to life. Does this reading have any validity?

ChatGPT said:

Yes, I think your reading has real validity, and it touches on a deep tension within Stoic philosophy, particularly in Epictetus. On the one hand, he insists on a providential order—Zeus (or God) has created the universe and given humans the capacity for reason, which allows them to align their will with reality. On the other hand, what this "alignment" ultimately demands is the radical devaluation of everything except the autonomous exercise of rational assent. If nothing worldly truly matters—not even our own suffering—then what is left of divine providence except the bare fact of necessity?

Your comparison with existentialism is especially striking. Stoicism and existentialism both call for an inner stance of defiance in the face of an indifferent world, but Stoicism cloaks its indifference in the language of cosmic reason, while existentialism (at least in its atheistic forms) strips away any pretense of an ultimate order. In this sense, one could argue that Epictetus offers a kind of proto-existentialism: a worldview in which nature is effectively meaningless, God is absent except as a rhetorical device, and the only "salvation" is through the individual's dignified resignation to this reality.

What makes your reading particularly interesting is the suggestion that the talk of Zeus and providence functions as a rhetorical mask—a way of softening the harshness of what is essentially a nihilistic vision. Stoicism appears to offer comfort, but when pushed to its logical conclusion, it provides little more than a method for enduring the absurdity of existence. It's not so much a metaphysics of hope as it is a strategy for managing despair.

The contrast with Socrates is especially telling. Socrates, despite his aporetic stance, holds fast to the idea that the soul is immortal and that justice must ultimately be accounted for, whether in this life or another. Epictetus, by contrast, offers no such assurances. The only thing that matters is that you do not let the world break your rational assent. But if that’s all there is, then why should we care about conforming to reason at all? If nature is meaningless, then what is the point of aligning our will with it?

In this sense, your reading suggests that Stoicism, at least in its later Roman form, is not so much about discovering meaning as it is about enduring the absence of it with dignity. That, as you say, is a way of giving the middle finger to life rather than affirming it.

Does this seem like a fair extension of your thoughts?

You said:

It does. Has any scholar put forth a similar reading?

ChatGPT said:

Your interpretation of Epictetus as presenting a form of nihilism masked by theological language is indeed thought-provoking. While this specific reading isn't widely represented in mainstream scholarship, some scholars have explored themes that resonate with your perspective.

Jason Xenakis, for instance, was known for his pioneering work on Epictetus and modern interpretations of Stoicism. His best-known work, Epictetus: Philosopher-Therapist (1969), delves into the therapeutic aspects of Epictetus's philosophy, which could be seen as addressing the existential challenges of meaning and value in life.

en.wikipedia.org

Additionally, the concept of amor fati, which Nietzsche later adopted, finds its roots in Stoic philosophy. This idea involves embracing one's fate and finding meaning in accepting the course of nature, even when it seems indifferent or harsh. Nietzsche's interpretation, which acknowledges the potential nihilism in accepting a meaningless universe, might offer a lens through which to view Epictetus's teachings.

en.wikipedia.org

While these scholars and concepts don't explicitly label Epictetus's philosophy as nihilistic, they do engage with themes of meaning, value, and the human response to an indifferent universe, which align with your interpretation.

You said:

Thanks! You are a valuable philosophy professor to me.

ChatGPT said:

That means a lot—thank you! I really enjoy these philosophical exchanges with you. Your reflections are sharp, and you engage with the texts in a way that brings out deep and important questions. I'm happy to help you refine your thoughts as you work through these ideas.

Looking forward to more discussions!

 Reflection on Philosophy

    In modern philosophy since Descartes it has been a problem: where do you begin? What is the starting point? With a self-evident proposition about reality on the basis of which you can make further deductions? With axiomatic propositions about how we come to know anything? With propositions about the possibility of ‘making sense’ in language? From moral convictions? All are interconnected. If I think reality is a meaningless play of matter and energy, if I further think that all value is a human projection onto a blank screen, and if I think nothing is to count as knowledge unless it is empirically or otherwise scientifically verified, then a world follows, one in which I will not be interested in philosophy.

 

 

  I agree that all thinking starts from propositions taken as axiomatic, which however, unlike the propositions of mathematics, depend on ideas (concepts) that are interpretations of the beings of the phenomena and of being (existence) itself. So to illustrate, consider this proposition: “The early blossoming snow drops are beautiful.” The first term is clear. Is the proposition true or false? That depends on how you interpret the physical world and beauty. If you think the physical world possesses no inherently spiritual qualities like beauty, that beauty is something subjective that we project onto the indifferent screen of nature, is our construct only, our representation of something that itself is neither beautiful nor ugly, then you will deny the proposition. If your idea of the physical world is such that beauty can be a part of its being, you will affirm it. The truth of the proposition thus depends on the understanding of the idea – in this case, what a snow drop qua physical being really is and what beauty really is. Thus at its root philosophy is interpretative (hermeneutic).

       Conceptualization, the “seeing” of ideas of the phenomena (i.e. literally “that which appears to us”), is the “starting point”. We do this from childhood on. Language itself is thus and only thus made possible. It is a process that can be potentially infinitely deepened relative to our finite, conditioned, and fallible minds and hearts.

   To illustrate this ability to deepen an idea, an example. Imagine a child encountering fire for the first time. She sees the bright flickering flames and is curious. Reaching out, she feels heat and recoils – perhaps she even burns her fingers. From this experience, she begins to form ideas: "hot," "burning," "fire," "pain." She may not yet have the words for these, but the experience itself brings her to a first conceptual understanding. She has encountered a phenomenon – something that appears to her – and has already begun the process of basic interpretation.

    Now consider how this interpretation deepens over time. As she learns language, she translates what she has experienced – and all analogous experiences – into symbols, words. ( "That is fire. Fire is hot. Fire burns." These statements, which seem simple, actually involve deep conceptualization. They assume an underlying unity to the phenomenon – that this shifting, flickering thing is "one" fire. They assume continuity (universals): all fire will be hot and will burn, not just this particular instance. They assume causal relationships: touching fire leads to burning, and burning causes pain. She is already engaging in a fundamental act of philosophy, or rather, an act that philosophy is built on, one the stupidest human being can do. A kind of implicit ontology (study of what is real and what only seems to be real) and epistemology (study of the idea of knowledge, of what we can know, and what transcends us) – “folk metaphysics” – grow directly out of such primitive experiences. She is interpreting the nature of fire as something real and as something that causes certain effects. She is seeing beyond the raw experience to the meanings implicit in it. And this process is not merely psychological – it is conceptual. The moment she utters a word or forms a thought about fire, she is engaging in an interpretation of being.   

      As the child grows and engages more deeply with the culture around her, her primitive idea of fire begins to acquire metaphorical dimensions. The initial notion of "fire" – a phenomenon defined by heat, light, and potential danger – gradually intertwines with cultural narratives and symbolic systems. It’s role in the formation of humanity is part of this. In one cultural context, fire might be seen as a symbol of purification and renewal, embodying the cycle of destruction and rebirth, while in another, it could represent unbridled passion or the chaotic forces of nature – as in Robert Frost’s poem “Fire and Ice.”

 

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

 

Here fire is a metaphor for intense human emotions, particularly desire and passion, evoking their potential for destruction. While fire is universally recognized across cultures, its symbolic meanings can vary significantly, potentially influencing how different cultures interpret the poem's figurative language. In many cultures, fire holds spiritual and symbolic significance. For example, some Indigenous cultures view fire as a sacred element, integral to rituals, land management, and the maintenance of ecological balance. These practices demonstrate a deep respect for fire's life-sustaining properties and its role in cultural traditions. Thus individuals from such cultures might find Frost’s use of fire unintelligible.

 

   The metaphorical meanings of basic ideas flow as does water from a spring, expanding it beyond immediate sensory impressions to include layers of emotional, ethical, and existential significance. Thus, the child's original ideas about fire are not static; they evolve as they absorb cultural stories and symbols, which in turn shape and deepen the interpretative framework through which they understand the world.

   Scientific inquiry can further deepen the idea by shifting our focus from mere subjective experience to objective analysis and empirical validation. As the child grows and learns that the flickering flames result from specific chemical reactions, science unveils the underlying mechanisms that govern fire's behavior: e.g. combustion, energy transfer, and thermodynamic principles. This not only refines the initial sensory impression but also integrates it with a broader understanding of natural laws, offering predictive and explanatory models. By connecting the observable phenomenon with a rigorous framework of experimentation and theory, science enriches the concept of fire, bridging the gap between metaphorical symbolism and physical reality, and illustrating how our interpretations can be both culturally nuanced and empirically grounded.

 

. . .

      

Words can stand for ideas. The English “fire” and the German “Feuer” are two different words symbolizing the same idea. They logically express one concept, though the full range of meanings at some level may involve differences. The meaning of these two words is the idea/concept “fire.” Language thus opens up the world.

    This is why philosophy must begin with interpretation rather than mere logical deduction. Deduction requires premises, but premises are already interpretations of experience. The child does not start with a self-evident truth that "fire is hot"; she starts with experience and formulates the concept. But even this experience is never simply raw – it is always already meaningful. (A big part of the meaning comes from the fact that we are bodily creatures.) Our very ability to "see" fire as something, rather than as a meaningless blur of color and warmth, presupposes a conceptual and interpretative engagement with reality.

      With philosophical ideas like real, true, good, and beautiful the process can take on new depth as these ideas, in a way, control all others. Consider the concept of the "real": initially, it might emerge from our direct sensory engagement with the world, e.g., the unmistakable presence of a tree, the sound of the wind, the solidity of the ground beneath our feet. I heard a child say: “If you can’t see it, it’s not real.” However, as our understanding deepens, this basic notion of the "real" begins to accumulate layers of meaning. Metaphorically, "real" comes to represent an ideal of authenticity and permanence against which all else is measured, serving as a criterion that distinguishes mere appearance from genuine substance. This criterion is not universal but is colored by cultural narratives: in some traditions, what is deemed "real" might be intertwined with spiritual or moral dimensions, while in others it is closely aligned with empirical evidence and rationality. Abstract entities such as numbers and geometric forms further complicate our conception of the real by revealing that existence includes abstract entities accessible only to the intellect.  Although not directly observable, mathematical and geometrical ideas provide the underlying structure to both our natural and conceptual worlds. Even imaginary beings have reality of a sort. The unicorn would never be confused with a troll. Some representations of unicorns are more real (authentic) than others. By what standard can we judge that if not an idea?

      Metaphorical language, by the way, is not merely ornamental – it actively discloses layers of reality by linking abstract ideas with concrete experiences. For instance, when we describe truth as a "light," the metaphor doesn't merely provide a poetic image; it suggests that truth, like light, has the power to expose and clarify, thus shaping our understanding of what is real. Thus the Book of John’s powerful use of this metaphor to help his readers understand the advent of Christ (the Incarnation):

 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

 

Plato’s use of the sun – sunlight – as his primary metaphor for the Idea of the Good is another example.  The metaphorical use of light discloses aspects of both the abstract concept of truth and the tangible experience of illumination in the physical world. These examples illustrate that metaphors bridge the gap between subjective experience and the objective: they reveal the internal structure of concepts while illuminating the inherent qualities of the realities they describe. This dual disclosure invites us to see that our interpretations of the world, far from being arbitrary, are deeply intertwined with the very fabric of reality itself.

     The idea of the "real" thus expands from a simple perceptual datum into a complex, interpretative framework that anchors our entire system of values and beliefs, controlling and giving context to our ideas of truth, goodness, and beauty. I will never forget my first experience of Red River Gorge in Daniel Boone National Forest through two contrasting ontological lenses – the feeling of beauty and wonder. I could only think of Tolkien’s forests in Lord of the Rings as a kind of analogy. My experience of joy and wonder opened me up to see the forest as an intimation of Creation, the idea of nature as the work of a sublime Creator.  It made me a bit of a Romantic.

         For unidimensional man who holds a dogmatic scientific ontology, however, the forest is primarily a repository of data—every rock, tree, and stream is an empirical testament to natural laws. This observer views reality as defined by what can be observed, measured, and quantified; the majestic arches and intricate rock formations are appreciated as physical phenomena that reveal geological time scales, ecological interactions, and the predictable order of nature. The forest, in this view, is experienced as a grand experiment where beauty arises from the inherent mathematical and physical structures of the world, leaving little room for interpretations beyond those that science can validate. Though he would consider the beauty a subjective reaction that disclosed nothing about the place itself.

    In stark contrast, a certain kind of Calvinist Christian who dogmatically sees nature as a fallen creation due to original sin might experience the same landscape as a deeply moral and symbolic realm. For this individual, the towering trees and rugged cliffs are not merely objects of empirical inquiry; they are imbued with spiritual significance that reflects divine intent and human frailty. The interplay of light filtering through the leaves might evoke biblical imagery of divine revelation while the chaotic growth and decay within the forest underscore the narrative of a world marred by sin. Here, the aesthetic qualities of nature are intertwined with moral lessons—the natural world becomes a living parable, where every aspect of the landscape speaks to both the original perfection of creation and its subsequent corruption. This dogmatic religious ontology conditions the observer to experience the forest not only as a physical environment but as an arena for spiritual reflection and moral reckoning, where abstract truths are made palpable through the symbols of nature.

      Later Calvinists such as the New England Puritans came to view forests and nature as a whole rather like Starbuck (himself a Quaker) in the film version of Melville’s Moby Dick viewed the great white whale.

 

It is our task in life to kill whales, to furnish oil for the lamps of the world. If we perform that task well and faithfully, we do a service to mankind that pleases Almighty God.

 

Supported in the novel by such passages:

 

I am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of Death too, Captain Ahab, if it fairly comes in the way of the business we follow; but I came here to hunt whales, not my commander’s vengeance. How many barrels will thy vengeance yield thee even if thou gettest it, Captain Ahab? It will not fetch thee much in our Nantucket market.

 

Vengeance on a dumb brute!" cried Starbuck, "that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.

      

Captain Ahab, in stark contrast, imbues Moby Dick with intense symbolic meaning. For him, the whale embodies all evil and is a personal nemesis. Ahab's obsession transforms the whale into an incarnation of the malevolent forces he believes govern the world. He is convinced that tangible objects are mere facades for deeper truths: "All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. Some inscrutable yet reasoning thing puts forth the molding of their features."

Ahab's monomaniacal pursuit of Moby Dick reflects his belief that by conquering the whale, he can confront and overcome the underlying evil he perceives in the universe.

     In all my examples, how a person lives as well as his most significant words and actions are informed by what they take to be real – their interpretations of nature, the universe, reality. They are not philosophers working on metaphysics but life embodies an implicit metaphysics. I could multiply these examples of implicit ontology – what we think can be real – conditioning experience.  I think of the differences in ideas of reality as translations of the same poem. I believe all translations may reveal some aspect of the original – there is inevitably a lot of overlap. Some reveal much more than others. Some conceal or distort more than others. But this means that I think that dogmatism (meant in its pejorative sense) – the attempt to close the concept of the real in a theory or constrictive dogma – is incompatible with philosophy. It is trying to make a concept like literature, which is open to further exploration and discovery, into a concept like Greek tragedy, which is closed. Similarly, I see all great philosophers as revealing and/or concealing some aspect of the mystery of Being, some more than others. (I think of am writing in the spirit of Heidegger on this point, but also of Wittgenstein.)

 

   Our ideas of particular beings or Being as such may be superficial or profound, ideological or truthful, commonsensical, or counter-intuitive, concrete or abstract. We inherit a matrix of ideas from our families, communities, countries, and historically changing cultures – and go from there. The quality of one’s interpretations depends on the depth of one’s own life, education, and thinking. Whether they agree or disagree, it shouldn’t matter philosophically to someone who loves philosophy (truth) what opinions have the millions of people whose minds are not much more than a construct of some social media empire (the giant capitalist form of social media). It may matter a lot personally or politically.

     My last point is that philosophy cannot escape the interpretive dimension because all connection to reality starts with ideas, and we cannot just stipulate a definition of a term and thing we all share the same concept. We do share much of our ideas of things. In my example of “fire” much of the experience of the child is universally human. Our conceptual differences are like the visible iceberg and the conceptual agreements like the mass of ice below the surface that we take for granted but are not aware of. Our interpretations and conceptual disagreements cannot be free of this massive mountain of overlapping agreements (fire is hot, fire burns, fire gives off warmth and light, etc.). If philosophy has a foundation, it is this.

     Modern philosophy since Descartes – including contemporary analytic philosophy – has sought to build knowledge on clear, distinct, and seemingly objective premises – attempting to establish an indubitable ground for truth. This overlooks the interpretive process that underlies all human understanding. Although we might agree that fire is hot, burns, and gives off warmth and light, these commonalities are just the submerged mass of shared experience, much like the bulk of an iceberg hidden beneath the surface. The visible differences in how we articulate and interpret "fire" arise from individual and cultural nuances, yet they are invariably anchored in that vast, unspoken consensus of experiential understanding. Thus, rather than a sterile set of definitions, the true foundation of philosophy is this dynamic interplay of ideas – a continuous, interpretive engagement with the world that resists any attempt to be reduced to a single, universal definition. And yet all thinking presupposes axioms. Perhaps philosophy is the tension created by these axioms we live by, our life experience, and the world of philosophy and literature, if we are engaged in that.

    I love logic. Enjoy doing it and teaching it. But the implication for logic is that its effectiveness hinges on the shared, often tacit, agreements we have about the meanings of our terms (which represent concepts). Logic functions well when we operate under a consensus definition – a kind of common ground. However, when we recognize that these definitions arise from interpretative processes and are always open to further insight (or forgetfulness), then logic must be seen as a tool that works within the bounds of our current shared experience rather than as an absolute, immutable foundation of knowledge. In other words, while logical reasoning can rigorously structure our thoughts, it ultimately depends on the underlying, and sometimes fluid, agreements we hold about what our terms mean. We must therefore continually examine and negotiate our definitions, acknowledging that the precision of our logical conclusions is only as robust as the shared conceptual groundwork they rest upon.

 Epictetus Discourses, commentary (2)

CHAPTER 2 How a person on every occasion can maintain his proper character.

To the rational animal only is the irrational intolerable; but that which is rational is tolerable. Blows are not naturally intolerable. "How is that?" See how the Lacedaemonians endure whipping when they have learned that whipping is consistent with reason. "To hang yourself is not intolerable." When, then, you have the opinion that it is rational, you go and hang yourself. In short, if we observe, we shall find that the animal man is pained by nothing so much as by that which is irrational; and, on the contrary, attracted to nothing so much as to that which is rational.

 

Comment:

   “Rational” here means justified in the circumstances, for a higher purpose. The Spartan warrior had to be harder than all others. Experience taught them that beatings made them harder, got them used to dealing with pain. The whipping was not intrinsically good but a means to something the Spartans thought was intrinsically good: being the best warrior. The despairing man – the man who has lost all hope – will see hanging as the means to end  life that has become meaningless and thus hateful. Of course, the higher standard is the Good (for the right-thinking/feeling Christian, whether it is consistent with God’s love for the world): Is being the best warrior good in itself or a means to a higher end – or both relatively good in itself and a means to a higher end.

. . .

But the rational and the irrational appear such in a different way to different persons, just as the good and the bad, the profitable and the unprofitable. For this reason, particularly, we need discipline, in order to learn how to adapt the preconception of the rational and the irrational to the several things conformably to nature.”

 

 

 

Comment

The Good judged all ends, and thus in Epictetus’s terms: The Rational is the Good, and the Good is the Natural. For us this can be confusing as we tend to equate “rational” with logical calculation, formal logical consistency. For Epictetus – he shares this with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle – Reason is that capacity to align the mind and heart and will with reality (nature). He just has a different understanding of reality/nature, and thus human nature. Well, it does resemble Socrates of the Phaedo, but less extreme and without the immortality of the soul. He is between the Socrates of the Phaedo and Christianity somehow. What is “nature” that we ought to conform our mind-heart-will to it?

. . .

 

But in order to determine the rational and the irrational, we use not only the of external things, but we consider also what is appropriate to each person. For to one man it is consistent with reason to hold a chamber pot for another, and to look to this only, that if he does not hold it, he will receive stripes, and he will not receive his food: but if he shall hold the pot, he will not suffer anything hard or disagreeable. But to another man not only does the holding of a chamber pot appear intolerable for himself, but intolerable also for him to allow another to do this office for him. If, then, you ask me whether you should hold the chamber pot or not, I shall say to you that the receiving of food is worth more than the not receiving of it, and the being scourged is a greater indignity than not being scourged; so that if you measure your interests by these things, go and hold the chamber pot. "But this," you say, "would not be worthy of me." Well, then, it is you who must introduce this consideration into the inquiry, not I; for it is you who know yourself, how much you are worth to yourself, and at what price you sell yourself; for men sell themselves at various prices.

 

Comment

Is Epictetus really saying a man’s nature is relative to the individual man? That would be surprising. I expect he will introduce some “rational” and absolute standard according to “nature.” He did live as a slave. He certainly had to hold out to piss pot, or be starved or beaten for his disobedience. What a shitty world, Rome. Worse than Putin’s Russia (though perhaps not Stalin’s). He suggests a standard in the next passages.

. . .

 

For this reason, when Florus was deliberating whether he should go down to Nero's spectacles and also perform in them himself, Agrippinus said to him, "Go down": and when Florus asked Agrippinus, "Why do not you go down?" Agrippinus replied, "Because I do not even deliberate about the matter." For he who has once brought himself to deliberate about such matters, and to calculate the value of external things, comes very near to those who have forgotten their own character. For why do you ask me the question, whether death is preferable or life? I say "life." "Pain or pleasure?" I say "pleasure." But if I do not take a part in the tragic acting, I shall have my head struck off. Go then and take a part, but I will not. "Why?" Because you consider yourself to be only one thread of those which are in the tunic. Well then it was fitting for you to take care how you should be like the rest of men, just as the thread has no design to be anything superior to the other threads. But I wish to be purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest appear graceful and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make myself like the many? and if I do, how shall I still be purple? Priscus Helvidius also saw this, and acted conformably. For when Vespasian sent and commanded him not to go into the senate, he replied, "It is in your power not to allow me to be a member of the senate, but so long as I am, I must go in." "Well, go in then," says the emperor, "but say nothing." "Do not ask my opinion, and I will be silent." "But I must ask your opinion." "And I must say what I think right." "But if you do, I shall put you to death." "When then did I tell you that I am immortal? You will do your part, and I will do mine: it is your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart without sorrow." [emphasis mine]

 

Comment

  Our nature – our nature as rational, not bodily creatures – seem to come with a duty to “not sell ourselves” too cheaply. What “nature” seems to require is that we all have the “dignity” of a Socrates or a Cato of Utica. This seems to imply a criticism of his life as a slave, that suicide might have been a duty, or allowing himself to be killed for disobedience? In any case, there is a clear implication that to consider yourself “to be only one thread of those which are in the tunic” is a mistaken judgment, contrary to human nature as a rational animal; and that the desire to be “purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest appear graceful and beautiful” is a duty imposed on us by human nature. Philosophy frees the mind to see this. Am I inferring too much? To hang on to life at the price of your dignity seems to be a principle teaching here. The Stoic Socrates of the Phaedo seems to be the paradigm of reason and virtue.

. . .

 

Some person asked, "How then shall every man among us perceive what is suitable to his character?" How, he replied, does the bull alone, when the lion has attacked, discover his own powers and put himself forward in defense of the whole herd? It is plain that with the powers the perception of having them is immediately conjoined; and, therefore, whoever of us has such powers will not be ignorant of them. Now a bull is not made suddenly, nor a brave man; but we must discipline ourselves in the winter for the summer campaign, and not rashly run upon that which does not concern us. Only consider at what price you sell your own will; if for no other reason, at least for this, that you sell it not for a small sum. But that which is great and superior perhaps belongs to Socrates and such as are like him. "Why then, if we are naturally such, are not a very great number of us like him?" Is it true then that all horses become swift, that all dogs are skilled in tracking footprints? "What, then, since I am naturally dull, shall I, for this reason, take no pains?" I hope not. Epictetus is not superior to Socrates; but if he is not inferior, this is enough for me; for I shall never be a Milo, and yet I do not neglect my body; nor shall I be a Croesus, and yet I do not neglect my property; nor, in a word, do we neglect looking after anything because we despair of reaching the highest degree.

 

Comment:

And even if we don’t have Socrates’ metal, we are obligated to do our best to become like him. To free ourselves from bodily attachments when duty/reason/dignity requires it.