Analysis of Heraclitus’ Fragments

Joseph J. Thompson

November 30, 2005

Analysis of Heraclitus’ Fragments

1.  Introduction

            In order to analyze the meaning of Heraclitus’ fragments and the difficulties and limitations of our interpretations of his philosophy, we will examine several intricacies and problems in his cosmological fragments and show how they relate to his ethical fragments about humans as a microcosm.  The aristocratic Ephesian begins by positing a metaphysical reality external to humans that he called the Logos.  He makes use of the word Logos differently from context to context, sometimes with a non-metaphysical meaning, and sometimes with a subtle play on words.  In metaphysical contexts it translates as word or account, and some translators prefer “formula of things” or “language of reality” as a closer approximation of his meaning (Kirk 39, Grabowski sec. 5).  The precise definition of the Logos lurks far out of our reach, but we do have a few hints as to his meaning.

            He seems to think of the Logos as either eternally true or eternally existent, common to everyone, and since everything must work in accordance with it, it brings order to the world and (if standing for truth) it can justify our knowledge (Fr. 1, 2)[1].  For the most part, he speaks of the Logos in cases where he is concerned with knowledge and truth, yet he identifies fire as the most important “material” manifestation of the Logos.  However, we do not mean that Heraclitus makes any distinction between formal things and material things.  For example, he does not distinguish among truth as a non-extended concept versus fire as symbolic for the basic elements and the matter of the kosmos, but we do find that it is difficult sometimes for interpreters to restrain from coming close to such a distinction to make sense of his use of the Logos.  He describes fire in a combined symbolic and material sense in which it might be thought of as a fiery aether that is vaporous and pure (a fire-like substance) that is (explicitly) eternal and ever-changing (Fr. 30), strife-balanced (Fr. 80), and in its usual state it is one of the elements in the world (Fr. 31a).  And he is not like his predecessors, such as Anaximander, who saw one type of matter as the only reality, instead he thought of the cosmic fire as the most important element and the manager of all things, which he states with the image of the divine fiery thunderbolt: “The thunderbolt pilots all things”  (Fr. 64).

            Through Heraclitus’ biting criticisms of other thinkers we can detect four different preferences for his own methodology.  First, as an isolated and independent thinker, his thought has a sense of originality.  He claimed that he was not a synthesizer or gatherer of other philosopher’s ideas like Pythagoras, whom Heraclitus criticizes as a leaner of “artful knavery” and polymathy (Fr. 129, 40).  Second, Heraclitus did not trust information gathered indirectly by hearsay, and he thought that we should get our information first hand by the senses (Fr. 55).  Third, he was not like other Presocratics who were concerned with geometry and natural philosophy, rather he was more concerned with oracular pronouncements that he believed conveyed deeper meaning, and he posits a deep enough Logos within us as if to make us skeptical of easily discovering truth and knowledge (Fr. 45).

            Fourth, he stressed the importance of searching within oneself, for by looking within, he thought, one could expect to find the same truths that preside over the cosmos as a whole.  As opposed to the other Presocratics, his witty and paradoxical utterances form his own distinctive method in philosophy, borrowed, in part, perhaps from the Oracle at Delphi, who Heraclitus says does not instruct nor suppress the truth but gives a sign (Fr. 93).  Heraclitus wrote using obscure, dark, and ambiguous aphorisms.  Indeed, Aristotle complained that he had trouble punctuating Heraclitus’ writings since in fragments such as, “of this account which holds forever men prove uncomprehending”, the word “forever” might go with the preceding words to mean “the account holds forever” or it might go with what is after it to imply that “humans are forever uncomprehending” of the Logos (Fr. 1).

            The difficulty in resolving his obscurity lies partly in his historical influences such as the lack of logical distinctions and his own methodological preferences.  Heraclitus was at a point in history where he had little equipment to distinguish a non-physical form from a material embodiment.  Like the other Presocratic philosophers his ideas beg for such a distinction, which in part may explain his intuitive need for metaphorical language.  Heraclitus also prefers to think of the Logos as explicitly difficult to discover, or as he says: “the hidden attunement is better than the obvious one” (Fr. 54) and “nature is hidden” (Graham Fr. 123).  Heraclitus believes that knowledge is possible for those who are rational and intelligent enough to find it; in fact, Heraclitus sees the use of metaphor and paradox as his primary and preferred method for explaining and discovering the Logos.

            As an example of how Heraclitus imbeds his sayings with multiple hidden meanings, we can look at the story where boys were able to deceive Homer (thought as the wisest of all Greeks) with the aphorism: “what we saw and caught we left behind; what we neither saw nor caught we carried away” (Fr. 56).  The answer to the riddle was that the boys were killing their lice.  Heraclitus chides Homer’s inability to solve the riddle most probably not just as a character attack, but as a critique of Homer’s failure to ascertain and discover the Logos in a sound manner.  Homer speaks of his heroes as coming to knowledge through godly inspirations or instantaneous intuitions, and they associate language directly with the tongue or ears (Grabowski sec. 4).  Since Heraclitus introduces the Logos as an intelligible account, he would view Homer’s use of knowledge and language as superficial and false.  Hence, he has the conviction that we can best understand the true Logos through reflection by the soul (Fr. 34) and the coherent comprehension of language (Fr. 107, Grabowski sec. 5).

 

2.  The Cosmological Fragments: the Flux Doctrine and Harmony of Opposition

            We will examine Heraclitus’ primarily instinctive intuitions about the world, and then consider his broader and darker symbols such as his cosmic fire and Logos in the next section.  Heraclitus presents us with three basic intuitions about the nature of reality: (1) everything is in a state of flux; (2) the harmony of opposition creates order through strife; (3) possibly a third, in that time is important to consider in the overall flux and harmony of things.

            The most famous statement of the flux doctrine in Fr. 91b is the traditional, “One cannot step twice into the same river.”  The fragment has two equal parts: one cannot step twice into the same waters and the river is the same.  One may be tempted to interpret that the fragment means that everything is in constant chaotic flux without order or balance, and some like Kirk make such an interpretation, in part, maybe because the fragment is ambiguous.  It might also mean that one cannot step into the same river and the river is never the same.  However, this interpretation is equivalent to the view of Cratylus of Athens, a popular disciple of Heraclitus, who, as Aristotle notes, said one could not step into the same river once (Vlastos 339, 340).  However, the fragment in question avoids this conclusion by saying that one cannot step into the same river twice, and it most probably follows from this view that the river has an identity and stays the same (in addition to its flux).

            The second river-statement, Fr. 49a, is the paradoxical, “Into the same rivers we step and do not step, we are and we are not.”  The meaning is the same as in Fr. 91b since the fragment places both identity and change as two essential aspects of the river.  The authenticity of this fragment is controversial[2].  Kahn dismisses Fr. 49a as a forgery since it looks to him as a refinery or combination of other fragments made by the source Heraclitus-Homericus (288).  But Vlastos argues that what he calls the “yes-and-no” (step and do not step) form of writing in Fr. 49a is highly likely for Heraclitus for which there is no obvious precedent (341).  I think that since the river is meant as a metaphor, we should have no trouble imagining that humans have identity and flux as in the river metaphor, so the meaning of “we are and are not” is similar to “being able and not able to step” into the same river; therefore, Kahn’s objection does not seem to necessarily exclude that the fragment came from Heraclitus or at least captures his meaning.

            We have a frequent problem with interpreting Heraclitus’ fragments, for one scholar may believe in the validity of a fragment and therefore differently construe the overall philosophy of Heraclitus accordingly.  They must weigh the authenticity of sources, the possible intent of Heraclitus, coherence with other fragments, Heraclitus’ probable use of language, and the accuracy of accounts from early commentators such as Aristotle and Plato.  Guthrie, for example, makes an extended effort to validate Plato as a sound source in both reliability and emphasis (450, 452, 492) while Kirk believes that Aristotle is a better source for our knowledge of Heraclitus (370).

            Kirk centers his interpretation on a conception of change in which balance and order (Logos) are essential to the river fragment and in which Heraclitus intends no underlying flux as the cause of the balance (367-384).  He believes that the earliest source, Plato, paraphrases Heraclitus placing too much emphasis on change and disorder, which future commentators then mistook as Heraclitus’ actual meaning.  So, he argues that Heraclitus did not imagine change on the minute or generalized level that Plato imagines (370).

            Yet, we can point to a fragment that might demonstrate that Plato captures the correct meaning of Heraclitus’ flux doctrine (as Guthrie and Vlastos contend).  During Heraclitus’ life time there was a drink called a kykeon or sometimes translated as potion that consisted of wine, barley, and grated cheese (Guthrie 449).  The three parts of the potion had to be constantly stirred or else they would break apart, so Heraclitus perhaps uses this image as a metaphor for what happens if motion were to cease: “Even the potion separates unless it is stirred” (Fr. 125).  From this fragment we get the only explicit indication that Heraclitus intends observed motion as essential as a cause of the identity of things.

            The question arises as to whether or not Heraclitus imagined change in places where common sense tells us that there is none.  We look at a rock at one moment and only notice a motionless peaceful rock, but after a few years of weathering the rock may undergo significant changes.  The first hint that Heraclitus gives is stated in the following, “The ordering, the same for all, no god nor man has made, but it ever was and is and will be: fire everliving, kindled in measures and in measures going out” (Fr. 30).  If the fire in this fragment emphasizes the view of fire in its symbolic or pure-fire sense, i.e. fire as a pure substance and not as an element, then we cannot observe it kindling and going out in measure directly by perception.  Several do take this fragment to mean a cosmic pure-fire, as Heraclitus was not a monist (Kirk & Raven 200).  Hence, we can infer two characteristics evident at the imperceptible level: (a) the cosmic pure-fire is eternal and in measure and (b) it constantly undergoes change.

            Another example we have that Heraclitus thought of an imperceptible flux functioning in things is in the bow fragment as follows, “They do not comprehend how a thing agrees at variance with itself; it is an attunement turning back on itself, like that of the bow and the lyre” (Fr. 51).  Unlike water flowing in a river, the idle strung bow, we assume, is resting motionless.  We must infer internal change by an investigation that when the taut string is cut the wooden bow will straighten out; hence, the inference is that the two parts were pulling against each other the whole time.

            So we have the question as to whether strife is, like motion, a cause of order, and in this regard we can point to a couple of fragments that may demonstrate that Heraclitus thinks of strife as the cause of order.  We can capture his position in the following, “all things work in accordance with Strife” (Fr. 80) and “War is the father of all” (Fr. 53).  (Note that “all” in Fr. 53 takes on a masculine tone since “father” may refer to Zeus and apply solely to the sphere of humans, so “all” may or may not be a metaphor for the kosmos in a general sense, Guthrie 447.)  Aristotle also remarks in Eudemian Ethics (1235a25), that Heraclitus chided Homer, for his poetic wish to end conflict, on the basis that there would be “no harmony without both high and low notes” (Fr. A22).

            We might summarize Heraclitus’ picture by saying that the inward tugging and changing of the bow is an instance of strife, and strife is the fundamental cause of its balance and identity; just like motion is the cause of the order in the potion.  And all things are said to work in accordance with strife.  Hence, strife seems to be inclusive of both the outward observed motion and the internal tension of things.  Since motion and internal tension are both implied as causes of order in particular arrangements as in the potion and bow fragments, they seem to be fundamental for order and unity to arise in Heraclitus’ picture.  Therefore, we can consider strife as the basic principle or condition for unity and balance in a thing.

            We agree that Heraclitus did not imagine minute material vibrations as modern scientists do, but instead he inferred a struggle or strife going on within seemingly peaceful objects.  Therefore, as we apply the doctrine of flux to undetectable changes in a thing, we have essentially a harmony of opposition or conflict doctrine.  We have both the inner war occurring within the bow and fire (and as a metaphor for everything in general), and the outward change in rivers and potions.  Guthrie nicely emphasizes the consequence of this strife doctrine: “There was law in the universe, but it was not a law of permanence, only a law of change, or, in something more like his own picturesque phraseology, the law of the jungle….” (461)[3]

            We can summarize the relevant flux fragments as follows: (a) the river fragments demonstrate that observable identity and change are essential characteristics of things; (b) the potion fragment gives us the notion that observable motion causes order; (c) the cosmic fire and the bow fragments furnish us with the possibility that Heraclitus inferred flux not only as something that is observable but that also occurs at the imperceptible level as well; (d) finally, he considered strife as the cause of balance and measure in all things.

            In Heraclitus’ world view, his notion of order is comparable to the way that, in current day thinking, particles interact and are propelled by forces to form into ordered patterns.  Heraclitus knew nothing about particles, but his harmony of opposites is similar in that the opposites form together in unison propelled by strife (i.e., internal tension and motion).  However, he uses oppositions in several different senses, and since conflict and opposition are so essential to Heraclitus, we should look at some of his fragments on opposition.  His use of oppositions make for difficult interpretation since harmony or “same” can mean various types of unity:

            (1) We find that in some types of opposition he thinks of opposites as the source of one another by a transformation of one quality in the creation or destruction of its opposite, e.g. warm into cold or dry into wet.  For example, he is attributed such utterances as “moist parches, dry dampens” (Fr. 126) and “cold warms, warm cools” (Fr. 126).  Possibly, Heraclitus thought that these oppositions such as hot and cold or dry and moist change into one another by degrees, but he does not explicitly say so.  In another group of fragments, Heraclitus notes how the existence of a term’s opposite is necessary for us to account for the term’s meaning and true nature; for example, without injustice, justice would presumably become meaningless (Fr. 102), and if one torpidly engorges oneself all the time, then satiety is meaningless since one does not have the contrast with displeasure and hunger (Fr. 111).

            (2) He also describes types of oppositions in which two terms, e.g. day and night, are only different in that they occur at different times and states of affairs but are one in that they refer to the same world or the same person.  A good example is his contention that waking and sleeping are the same and only different in that they succeed one another: a person goes to sleep and follows by waking up; therefore, he concludes that the sleeping is the “same” as the waking, i.e. they both refer to the same person (Fr. 88).  Without much of a stretch, we can avoid logical contradiction in this fragment by noting that the two states waking and sleeping probably do not refer to one state of the person at the same time, but they conjoin together in that they refer to the same person just at different times and in different states of wakefulness.  He also observes some types of opposition that unite together in oneness, not by succession or by time, but by being united in a metaphysical substance such as God.  For example, he says that God is both “day and night, winter and summer, war and peace, satiety and hunger,” and later humans label or baptize them different names to distinguish them from one another.  But they are fundamentally united together in that they, e.g. war and peace, are both equally a part of God (Fr. 67).  In this regard, one can note that Heraclitus disagrees with others who would only assign good intentions to the divine and godly realm, for he does not think that peace alone could exist or could refer to God without its opposite (so both are necessary and divine, and therefore good and just).

            (3) Another type of opposition that is evident is ones where two perceivers interact with the same thing but attribute it opposite qualities.  For example, the salty sea is both pure and foul because it is healthy and good for fish, but for men it is “undrinkable and deadly” (Fr. 61).  This implies that a sea has the ability to produce both opposite effects to those who make use of it, and it can have positive and negative traits depending on the perspective of the thing that interacts with the sea.  Humans might think of sea water as negative since it can have a bad effect on them, but animals that need the sea for their survival experience the sea in positive terms.

            Therefore, he signifies several senses of unity through different uses of oppositions, which we can summarize as follows: (1) opposites that are created or destroyed out of one another, and that depend on one another for their meaning, (2) opposites that are due to succession in time or attributes, or due to naming baptisms by humans, (3) opposites that inhere within a single thing and that are manifested because of its interaction with different entities.  This list of oppositions is not complete, but it is sufficient for a picture of some of his various uses of the harmony of oppositions.

            The harmony of oppositions may also coincide with a third intuition of reality concerning the nature of time.  We can interpret the passage of the ever new waters as the passing of time, and the amount of change that one interprets, whether a constant flux at the imperceptible level or a more conservative conception of change, means nothing to the passage of time.  In the end everything dies in its transformation into other elements.  As an example of his intuitions about time, we may also look to the second type of opposition discussed earlier.  An essential aspect of unity of a thing consists in such oppositions as “day and night are one” (Fr. 57).  We could say that these are like a binding bridge to tie the kosmos together, connected together by time and necessity; Heraclitus did not view this type of opposition as an external conflict between things, which he implies in his explanation of sameness in the following: “For these things when they have changed are those, and those when they have changed are these” (Fr. 88).  So, to say identity of opposites is misleading.  He says they are the “same” because they alter in attributes or succeed one another, not because they are in conflict or have an exact identity with each other.

            Under the view that time ultimately destroys all things, we can say the most essential aspect of “being,” although in orderly change, is activity, because everything in existence to some degree necessarily changes and in the end transforms into fire, so we commonly find ourselves talking about a “becoming” rather than a “being”.  Therefore, why speak of something’s true nature if time and necessity will always wash it away?  Under this view we can only talk about an essential nature when we discuss the Logos or cosmic fire itself, that is, if we want certain unbending truths, but depending on how much flux we attribute to the river example we will find that the river stays constant enough for us to place our foot into it, and, we can imagine, it will not be so different the next time.  Difference is often seen as either the identity of the river is lost and “different” or it is not, but here we refer to degrees of difference.  The problem of degrees weighs heavily as we try to decipher Heraclitus’ intentions in his riddling fragments.  Does hot turn into cold instantly or slowly?  Is hot a degree of coldness and cold a degree of warmness?  That Heraclitus thought of the problem in degrees is difficult to tell since his poetic method is phrased in either-or language, which not only gives us trouble interpreting the river fragments but also his ethical fragments.

 

3.  The Darker Side: Logos, Fire, Elemental Transformations, and Conflagration

            Heraclitus makes use of three types of oneness: the Logos (Fr. 1), fire (Fr. 64, 66), and God (Fr. 102), and he does not in any of the existing fragments explicitly delineate a hierarchy between them.  Exactly how each of these three forms of oneness relates to each other is a mystery, but we do know that each of them is given intelligible and directive qualities.  As Kirk notes in his epilogue, he most likely “used different terms according to differing moods and in different contexts – e.g. fire in meteorological-cosmological contexts, god in synthetic ones where he is accepting traditional thought-patterns, Logos in logical-analytical ones” (403).  So, we have trouble understanding a few fragments and may strain our interpretations of his fragments by trying to make Heraclitus’ three types of oneness fit into a seamless, somewhat artificial framework.

            Some commentators find it most natural to think of the Logos as the most encompassing and essential thing, with fire marked within the Logos’ scope as a distinct part.  In this model, the Logos makes most sense as a basis for truth, unity, or measure in the process of becoming, and one can explain fire as symbolic of the material manifestation of the Logos.  This systematic scheme is helpful in keeping Heraclitus’ various ideas in mind since one can view Heraclitus’ fragments as a connecting circle where any one fragment generally leads to a discussion of others.

            Now we called the Logos a thing in the previous paragraph, but what type of thing is it?  We should point out that whether Logos is purely material or a nonphysical concept or law, is not a distinction that Heraclitus or anyone else at this point in history made, but as interpreters often think of the Logos as a language of reality or the way in which things are arranged and ordered, they come close to making such a distinction.  Also, we find the same tension in the Pythagoreans, who made no distinction between form and matter, but spoke of numbers as the fundamental reality in such a way as to lead Aristotle to the view (perhaps mistakenly) that Plato’s Forms, which are clearly specified as nonphysical, only differ in name from the Pythagoreans’ numbers.  In a similar way, it is as if Heraclitus’ fragments are predisposed for a distinction between a formal rule (Logos) as the arrangement and basis of material things and the material things themselves, but again this distinction did not occur to Heraclitus himself.

            Heraclitus describes fire in three parts as the “ever-living order”, “same for all”, and not made by any god or man (Fr. 30).  Heraclitus adds to this fragment that all transformations between materials, and generally everything, are an equal exchange for fire: like “goods for gold and gold for goods” (Fr. 90).  He probably chose fire as one of his most important metaphors because it was the best of the recognized elements to fit into his scheme of change and unity: the fire flickers and appears stable as it consumes and gives off energy.  Fire has the advantage, as Aristotle notes, that it moves on its own and needs no external cause to explain its motion.

            Heraclitus did not, however, imagine that every element was fire.  His scheme posited three elements, which are sea (probably water), earth, and prester (might be translated “lightning flash” or “whirlwind”, but in this context it probably means something fiery such as fire), that are directed by the cosmic fire.  None of the three elements are in a completely steady state as they are said to be cycling in transformations into and out of one another always in an equal exchange.  For example, if part of sea transforms into earth, then an equal amount of earth would then have to transform back into sea (Fr. 31b).  Kirk clarifies the transformations of fire and the meaning of Fr. 31a such that in an elemental transformation one-third of the sea changes to earth, one-third of the sea reverts to fire, and the other one-third remains sea (330).

            A problem arises of how to reconcile the fragments in which Heraclitus considers everything a cosmic fire (see Fr. 30) when he also believes that there are three distinct elements, for how can one consider everything the cosmic fire if some parts of it are not fire?  To attempt to solve the problem we can follow Kirk and view the cosmic as “a fire like a huge bonfire, of which parts are temporarily dead, [and other] parts are not yet alight” (317).  In this view, the cosmic or pure fire steers and manages the processes of equal transformations of the elements without necessarily being them at every moment (Fr. 64, 66, 90).  Heraclitus uses the symbol of fire at once as one and many since it is a metaphor for everything in existence and it is an element itself.  As we conceive the universal fire together with the plurality of “fire-parts” or the three elements, everything in the kosmos is like a cosmic harmony, or a play of fire with fire.  By implication I think we might say the same about the Logos such that it provides an arrangement for the balance and flux in the cosmos without needing to do all the work, i.e. in each part of the cosmos at every moment, because we saw that motion and internal tension can be said to create order on a smaller scale on their own (in that Logos would be redundant).

            Beyond the day-to-day transformations of the cosmic fire, we also have the possibility of a cosmic rekindling of the universe.  Whether the universe as a whole works in a cycle of conflagrations is controversial.  The most important fragment to consider is Fr. 30 quoted earlier, which states in its first line that the world-ordering is an eternal fire and in the second line that it is “kindled in measures and in measures going out”.  The kindling and kindling out could refer to either equal transformations in the kosmos on a smaller scale or to a system of occasional re-births on a grand scale.

            Aristotle, the second earliest source, cites Heraclitus’ belief in a continual re-birth (ecpyrosis), but the critics against a conflagration point to its inconsistency with the harmony of opposition and the balance in the kosmos.  If the whole universe explodes in a cosmic blast, then the world-order and the equal measures between elements are impossible.  In addition, the first half of Fr. 30 explicitly says the kosmos is eternal and uncreated.  However, Kahn argues that the second half of Fr. 30 is just as important as the first line and, he thinks, implies occasional cosmic re-births.  The arguments against conflagration are supported by Plato’s comment in the Sophist (242D, E) that Heraclitus believed that the one and many were never separate, so we could never say that the many parts of the kosmos all transform to fire in one conflagration since that would only leave us with one type of element and no explicit way to get back to the balanced transformations we had before.  There seems on the whole, then, to be sounder evidence against Heraclitus’ belief in continual conflagrations.  I think common sense, at the same time, makes us uneasy about a possible steady-state kosmos in an otherwise dynamic Heraclitean world, but the view of a conflagration seems to require a great deal of forced interpretation to make it cohere with the fragments.

 

4.  Ethical Fragments

            As we now turn to man as a microcosm, we find that few scholars disagree on the view that the cosmic fire is analogous to the psyche.  In a fragment on transformations of elements Heraclitus uses the word soul where we would naturally expect him to write fire (Fr. 36).  He has in mind that the kosmos is ultimately similar to both the macrocosm and the microcosm.  By placing soul on the same level as fire and, at the same time, relating soul to Logos, he basically superimposes his cosmological philosophy to the sphere of humans, so a person’s psyche becomes like the world-ordering fire that connects the distinctive parts of a human together into a balanced harmony and unity, but (again) would not need to be considered as identical to each individual part but only the balanced order of the whole person.

            He gives a central significance to fire as our psyche or soul, perhaps, as a result of his distaste of the use of soul in prevalent poets of his time.  Homer thought of the soul commonly in a negative sense, for example, the soul might exit out of a slain soldier’s mouth or through a wound.  However, the soul did little else for the person; more important for the soldier was the preservation of their physical body (even after death), which if left to the elements or animals to feast on, would guarantee that the soul could not go down to Hades.  One learned and understood language not by a unifying faculty in man but by external body parts like the tongue or ear.  In general, Heraclitus’ predecessors had no word or faculty to account for reason and language (Nussbaum 5).  Heraclitus views this as an erroneous approach to the understanding of truth, which is possibly why he instructs us to not “concur casually about the most important matters” (Fr. 47).  As it so often happens in philosophy even today, Heraclitus probably formulated his idea of the soul as a result of disagreeing with past thinkers.

            At the same time we must remark that Heraclitus conceived the soul as a part of the body and closely associated with mental reflection but not the brain per se.  The ability to use language and reasoning, in general, connects to both the rational force of the cosmic fire of Logos and the soul within a person.  Since the soul can use the same rational language of the Logos, which is also rational and wise and can “speak” to us in signs, a person properly attuned to truth can also know the higher nature of the Logos.  If humans learn by intuitions as in Homer’s writings and the popular accounts of the soul, then the soul is left thoughtless and subjective and, more importantly, shut off from truth and objective principles (the common Logos).  We could say that animals have the same properties that humans have if we just include body parts as significant to knowledge.  Heraclitus’ solution involves the importance of language in human reasoning, which is peculiar to man and the only way one can learn the true Logos (Nussbaum 13).  Nussbaum also writes that Heraclitus is the first known occurrence of anyone who described the psyche as a central unity that accounts for the use and evaluation of language, and also represents the life-activity of the person (9; 14; 169).  Yet, he uses the word “soul” in a variety of contexts; therefore, we come to several problems in our interpretation of a few fragments.

            Heraclitus may or may not advocate the immortality of the soul.  If he does then the immortality we receive is not like anything that one typically desires of an afterlife.  That is, if we assume that most people want to preserve their identity, including their life memories and experiences in the hereafter.  But in Heraclitus we have no way of distinguishing one soul from another.  The cosmic fire is one and many, so after the soul dies and transforms into fire, it is lost to the one and many of fire.  We can say that the general material and rational language of the soul survive (the “language of nature”), but we have no way of saying that individual traits, identities, or reasons (opinions) survive. 

            Nussbaum argues that in fragments where Heraclitus mentions the soul living after death, he might be referring to the fame of the individual in the minds of future generations (162).  Therefore, on this interpretation we can account for the reason why Heraclitus praises fame: the courageous soldier in battle gets honor from the gods and men (Fr. 24) and greater deaths get better destinies (Fr. 25).  We can also understand why the gods honor men, for the gods are immortal and cannot risk their lives, so they cannot attain virtue through battle (Nussbaum 164).  Other interpreters take the opposite view and believe that the only way to account for Heraclitus’ use of soul is to provide for some sort of immortality, but such an interpretation is incoherent with the necessity of change, strife, and elemental transformations that we adopted earlier, for the soul must transform in the end.

            Heraclitus rebels against Anaximander’s account that materials will pay the price for their transgression or injustice for getting into conflict with other materials.  Heraclitus instead believes that strife is just, good, and desirable (Fr. 80), for nothing can exist without conflict, and we cannot condemn necessity.  This presents for many who read Heraclitus as a startling and ghastly idea to conceive: that war is right and good and unavoidable.  Most people are in the nature of advocating peace and harmony, but they, says Heraclitus, should look within peace.  Although, we should note that Heraclitus would possibly say that a rock is at “war” when the rock is sitting motionless and idle apparently doing nothing.  So, here, we find “the Riddler” devising his own personal vocabulary and outlook on life that we might expect from such an original, isolated and independent thinker, and at the same time as a result of his philosophical views; he prefers his own reflective and essential vision of Logos over the language of the commoners.

            Another aspect of Heraclitus’ ethical views is that he advocates an elitist and noble moral outlook.  He would choose the best person from the crowd instead of several average types (Fr. 49), and this implies that he makes a qualitative distinction between people.  In other fragments, e.g. where he envisions the punishment of whole cities for the sake of a defiled better man among them (Fr. 121), we also find that he does not endorse an equalizing ethical code that grants all people the same moral status.  But at the same time he wants us to live in accordance with the law of one and to defend the walls of our cities, so he does not believe in leaving one’s society in moral chaos; therefore, he echoes the entire ancient Greek culture that tended to think of balance and measure as best.

            Since he believes that we should obey the law of one, as in the law of the Logos, we also have the difficulty in scenarios where two people say that they have the true Logos and disagree with each other.  Who is correct?  One answer would be that one or both have the wrong conception of the Logos.  Heraclitus himself symbolizes the right road to attaining truth as the “dry soul” (Fr. 118) and the wrong way as the “wet soul” (Fr. 117).  He thinks that one should live a temperate life (Fr. 112) and avoid the bestial pleasures of the body (Fr. 4).  Nussbaum nicely summarizes his reason to reject the pursuit for a wet soul, “the shamefulness of the wet state of psyche consists, apparently, in a loss of self-direction, self-awareness, self-control” (159).

            Heraclitus does not, however, distinguish between the amount of “wetness” we are allowed or how much dryness we should desire, so we have no way to tell if Heraclitus advocates a hard and completely “dry” life or a moderate one.  Judging from his other fragments of opposition such as, the way up and the way down is one and the same because the direction changes while the way or road is the same (Fr. 60), we can freely say that Heraclitus could think in degrees (the way in-between) even though he wrote only in either-or oppositions.

            In conclusion, Heraclitus was still a thinker of his time; for example, he was not so advanced a thinker as to imagine a powerless or thoughtless divinity.  But Hillman seems off the mark when he says that in modern times Heraclitus’ ideas would not lend themselves to mathematical equations or deductive logic (Haxton xii).  We do see ordered patterns in chaos theory, and we have difficulty seeing how flux could have any influence on logical abstractions.  Heraclitus’ fragments, actually, would greatly benefit from the clear distinctions in formal logic and mathematics, in fact, they are almost necessary to make sense of what Heraclitus means by the Logos and a cosmic fire.  Finally, in interpreting the fragments there is much room for the ideas of the interpreter to influence the overall view of Heraclitus’ meaning, and to some extent this is due to his aphoristic method of compacting a lot of meaning into his fragments such that they can be interpreted or unpacked in many different ways.  Heraclitus’ whole philosophy, then, can be compared to Zeus’ thunderbolt that strikes to the root of its spectators from a distance and from high above, and strikes deep enough to lend to multiple interpretations, none of which are perfectly resolved by any two scholars, but we can hope that by careful analysis of his time, language, history, and influences, we can come to a better understanding of his intended meanings.

Acknowledgments

 

I would like to thank Dr. Charles E. M. Dunlop for his thoughtful comments on earlier drafts of this paper, and for his guidance and support in every stage of this project.

 

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