Nietzsche addresses the enigmatic character of the sovereign individual only once: in the Second Essay of On the Genealogy of Morality. In the secondary literature, there are many different interpretations not only on how we ought to understand the sovereign individual but also on the importance of the concept. After all, Nietzsche brings the subject up in the Second Essay and does not mention it again. Here, I will argue that the sovereign individual is best understood not as a type of person but the personification of an important idea.

The Sovereign Individual

Nietzsche introduces the sovereign individual at the beginning of the Second Essay of On the Genealogy of Morality, and describes him as if he were a real person.

“This man who is now free, who actually has the prerogative to promise, this master of the free will, this sovereign – how could he remain ignorant of his superiority over everybody who does not have the prerogative to promise or answer to himself, how much trust, fear and respect he arouses – he ‘merits’ all three – and how could he, with his self-mastery, not realise that he has necessarily been given mastery over circumstances, over nature and over all creatures with a less enduring and reliable will? The ‘free’ man, the possessor of an enduring, unbreakable will, thus has his own standard of value: in the possession of such a will: viewing others from his own standpoint, he respects or despises; and just as he will necessarily respect his peers, the strong and the reliable (those with the prerogative to promise),– that is everyone who promises like a sovereign, ponderously, seldom, slowly, and is sparing with his trust, who confers an honour when he places his trust, who gives his word as something that can be relied on, because he is strong enough to remain upright in the face of mishap or even ‘in the face of fate’ –: so he will necessarily be ready to kick the febrile whippets who promise without that prerogative, and will save the rod for the liar who breaks his word in the very moment it passes his lips.”

It looks like the sovereign individual is someone who has their own standard of value, different from others. A kind of person whose superiority is derived from their prerogative to promise. Is Nietzsche talking about a real person?

The Personification of Nature

Nietzsche describes the sovereign individual as if they were a person, but not everything is as it seems. He begins the Second Essay with a strange question: “To breed an animal with the prerogative to promise – is that not precisely the paradoxical task which nature has set herself with regard to humankind? Is it not the real problem of humankind?”

Nature here is personified: she sets herself a task. Nothing in any of Nietzsche’s writings suggests he has any kind of belief in a nature deity. Clearly, he is speaking metaphorically. The task he refers to is the evolution of human beings.

Making and keeping promises is essential for human civilization. Nietzsche offers a story of human evolution in which he uses the character of “nature.” She is a selective breeder attempting to establish the conditions for human civilization. I will argue that the sovereign individual is the personification of a stage in human evolution.

When Nietzsche talks about “the real problem of mankind,” he is not talking about a problem in the sense of something that is harmful that needs to be overcome. Rather, he means a problem in the sense of a puzzle. The puzzle is: how did human beings come to be the way we are?

Solving this puzzle is one part of the larger project of his On the Genealogy of Morality, where he undermines Christian justifications for our values. As we shall see, Nietzsche’s ideas on the origins of morality differ greatly from the Christian account. On this reading, we can think of sovereign individuals as analogous to Adam and Eve. That is, a mythological representation of the human condition but without reference to God.

Revaluing Values

Cultural values and moral beliefs originating in Christianity are justified through appeals to God. For example, how do we know that human beings have value?

The Bible tells us that humans are made in God’s image and that he considers his creation to be good. How do we know that it is wrong to murder other people? The Bible tells us that unlawful killing is against God’s will. So, what reasons can atheists use to justify beliefs that human life is valuable and that murder is wrong?

There are broadly three options. (1) Atheists can do nothing and continue with the Christian values ‘inherited’ from the communities they are born into. The problem here is that they have no justification for why their values are, in fact, valuable. (2) They can embrace nihilism and reject all existing values. Lastly, (3) atheists can temporarily suspend their current moral beliefs and re-value their values.

Nietzsche thought that it was inevitable that Christianity would eventually lose all its adherents. To avoid the nihilistic drama that would follow, a new set of values needs to be discovered that would be preferable to Christianity.

Of the choices outlined above, Nietzsche, therefore, advocates (3) re-valuing our values. Note that re-valuation does not have to be negative. For example, it is possible to re-examine the belief that murder is wrong using a different set of values, and still judge it to be wrong.

A problem Nietzsche thought needed to be solved is whether it is possible to replace Christian values. Could it be that a sovereign individual is the kind of person capable of solving the problem?

In On the Genealogy of Morality, the appearance of the sovereign individual marks a change in values that, Nietzsche claims, occurred at some point in human history. One way of looking at the sovereign individual is as a personification of this event.

More Mythology Than Anthropology

Nietzsche’s account of human beings is seemingly anthropological rather than theological. That is, he offers an account of human beings without reference to God, in which the emergence of the sovereign individual appears to be a metaphor for a stage of human evolution.

However, we cannot pinpoint any particular time or place in human prehistory when the first sovereign individual emerged. Talking about the sovereign individual in this sense is not like talking about homo habilis or homo erectus. What Nietzsche calls the sovereign individual is a personification of the origin and ‘completion’ of the human animal that we are today.

What Nietzsche offers in the Second Essay is much more of an origin myth than a serious piece of paleoanthropology. And, like many mythological characters, it is difficult to pin down exactly what sovereign individuals represent.

In addition, in mythology, the same myth is used to talk about different things. For Nietzsche, sovereign individuals seem to be a kind of person, but are also a personification of the emergence of a new kind of knowledge or ability.

In the first and second sections of the Second Essay, Nietzsche refers to ‘ripe fruit’. Here he refers to both a kind of human being and an attitude. In the first section, Nietzsche says that the sovereign individual is “the ripest fruit on the tree.” But in the following section, he says that to be able to say yes to oneself with pride is this “ripe fruit.”

The idea of the sovereign individual expresses mythopoetically a great stage in human evolution, something that came about through the acquisition of an ability (which Nietzsche calls “making promises”). But he also uses the idea of the sovereign individual to express the product of this evolution. Let us conclude by looking at the ability to make promises.

Forgetting, Remembering, and Making Promises

Nietzsche ties together three different kinds of ability: forgetting, memory, and making promises. When Nietzsche talks about “forgetting,” he means something different than usual. Instead of “inability to recall,” he means “inability to remember.”

All animals are bombarded with billions of pieces of information at any given time. As humans, to survive, most of the information we receive must go unnoticed. In other words, we need to be selective in what we pay attention to. This ability to not process information is what Nietzsche calls forgetting. Different animals evolve to “forget” with different levels of complexity.

By “memory,” Nietzsche means retaining a few pieces of information, such as “I should not do this” or “I must do that.” With memory, not only can an animal selectively process information, but they can also be aware of simple ideas and follow simple rules. Domestic cats and dogs have this ability in a limited way.

Nietzsche says the very first societies were held together by awareness of simple rules. These rules were like a precursor to modern morality. On an evolutionary scale, this ability is a huge step forward.

However, the bigger leap is the ability to say something and mean it. This is what Nietzsche means by promising. Sovereign individuals can make promises; those Nietzsche describes as “febrile whippets” and “liars” cannot. Sovereign individuals can create their own standards of values rather than just obey simple rules.

Sovereign Individuals as a Mythological Justification for Inequality

Nietzsche’s account is best read as a kind of myth rather than an attempt to describe the actual process of human evolution. In this light, it is worth noting that Nietzsche refers to sovereign individuals as having the prerogative or right to make promises (he uses the German verb dürfen). In evolutionary terms, this makes no sense. It would be like talking about an animal developing the right to have opposable thumbs. What he is actually doing is suggesting that the sovereign individuals are some kind of ideal, that their development is a good thing. He is also justifying human inequality.

Note that in Nietzsche’s account of human evolution, humans with the ability to make promises (sovereign individuals) live alongside those that cannot (whippets and liars). The former are superior to the latter. Nietzsche was an elitist who despised egalitarianism. His “origin myth” gives an account of superior and inferior human beings, an idea that runs counter to the Christian idea of everyone being equal before God.

‘The Renegade’ is a short story born of a crisis brought about by the harsh, often unfair criticism Camus received for daring to question the oppressive path that modern revolutionary ideas were taking. As part of the collection Exile and the Kingdom, ‘The Renegade’ shares a concern with the impossibility of communication. The story shows the failure of communication and subsequent oppression at its most stark: a man whose tongue is cut out and who comes to love and serve his torturers.

Situating the Text

Albert Camus (1913-1960) wrote the short story ‘The Renegade’ for inclusion in a collection of stories published as Exile and the Kingdom. This is Camus’s only collection of short stories and was published in 1957. At this time, he was going through a personal crisis. It is worth taking a brief look at this crisis in order to better understand how some of the themes of the stories reflect personal issues for Camus.

In 1951, he published his book-length essay The Rebel to great controversy. In this essay, Camus attempts to trace the genealogy of rebellion in order to find out what has gone wrong with our moral thinking. His argument, put very simply, is that human beings have a natural instinct to rebel against injustice but that, somewhere along the line, modern revolutionary groups betray this instinct.

Camus was writing at a time when the purges and repression in Stalin’s Russia were becoming widely known and something of a problem for left-wing thinkers in his native France. It was generally considered taboo for those on the left wing to publicly criticize the Soviet Union, as this was seen as providing ammunition for anti-Communist thinkers on the right.

Many on the left, whom Camus had previously considered friends and fellow-travelers, were outraged by The Rebel, and he became a persona non grata on the left-wing literary and philosophical scene.

Camus felt, justifiably, that he had not been treated fairly in the furor that followed the publication of The Rebel and, in particular, that he had not been given a fair hearing. He was also greatly troubled to realize that a lot of people he had believed to be friends and admirers did not actually like him all that much and were pleased to see him suffer.

‘The Renegade’

The full title of Camus’s short story is ‘The Renegade or a Confused Mind.’ The story begins abruptly with the narrator announcing that his tongue has been cut out. Here, we can see the theme of communication difficulties in its most startling form.

The narrator, whom we will refer to from now on as the Renegade, says that he is “in a muddle” and highly confused. He knows he is waiting for a missionary to replace him.

We quickly learn that the Renegade is in Taghaza, which is a salt flat in Mali, and that he is originally from the Massif Central, a mountainous region of South-Central France. He is lying in wait among some rocks armed with a rifle. He also refers to himself as “a filthy slave.”

The Renegade reflects on his conversion from Catholicism to Protestantism and his entry into the seminary. In a reference to one of Napoleon’s greatest victories, he refers to his reception by the Catholic priests as “like the sun at Austerlitz.”

His father, “a pig,” died, presumably of alcoholism. The Renegade expresses great resentment towards the Church and his father: “they drank sour wine, and their children have rotten teeth, gha gha, kill the father, that’s what one had to do.” The reference to “sour wine” refers to the wine Jesus drank at his crucifixion. The “gha” sound is the noise the tongue-less Renegade makes when he attempts to speak.

The Renegade’s father is already dead and so cannot be killed. Instead, “all that’s left is to kill the missionary.” So the Renegade is armed with a rifle and awaiting a missionary he plans to kill. But why?

The Renegade’s Mission

We learn that the Renegade, even as a young student, actively sought abuse from others. For example, he welcomed the mocking taunts of young women who would see him walking around in his seminary clothes. His motive is not, however, purely masochistic. For him, the ability to take abuse from others without letting it get him down is a display of his strength.

After learning about Taghaza and the locals’ extreme hostility towards missionaries, the Renegade sets his mind on travelling there. He is warned several times not to go as it is too dangerous. Taghaza is not considered ready for missionaries. But to the Renegade, this is music to his ears. The harsher, the more hostile and aggressive the people, the better.

The Renegade’s concern is not the salvation of souls but the opportunity to exercise his power. Indeed, the Renegade goes on to say, “I dreamed of absolute power, the kind that forces the adversary to kneel on the ground, to capitulate.”

In the end, the Renegade steals the money he needs to reach Taghaza and sets off without permission to pursue his missionary work. He is warned along the way by the people he meets not to go.

The House of the Fetish

When the Renegade finally reaches the people he wants to convert to Christianity, he is met with the hostile reception he anticipated. They throw him into the “house of the fetish.” This is a religious building that houses an effigy of their god.

Here, the Renegade is kept like an animal and tortured. He is given grain to eat and offered no toilet facilities. The village “sorcerer” arrives and treats the Renegade roughly. The Renegade undergoes various tortures and violent religious rituals. He becomes a kind of temple-slave, cleaning and preparing the house of the fetish prior to the religious rites that will take place.

We learn that the Renegade begins the process of becoming a convert to a religion he cannot understand. As he tells us the story, we are intermittently reminded that he is lying in wait for a replacement missionary he aims to kill.

The Renegade then recounts the story of how his tongue was removed. A woman is brought into the house of the fetish and offered to him sexually. He attempts to have sex with her but is pulled off her by the sorcerer, his “sinful place” is beaten and his tongue cut out. The Renegade passes out. When he awakes, he fully converts to the new religion and to worshiping the fetish.

The Renegade now embraces the hatred of his own people in service of the dark god: “only evil can go to the limit and reign absolutely, it must be served in order to establish its visible kingdom, then we shall see, then we shall see what it means, only evil is present – down with Europe, reason and honor and the cross.”

The Conversion of the Renegade

The Renegade fully converts to the religion of those he set out to convert and becomes their slave. One day, he hears voices speaking a language he recognizes. French soldiers have come to the village and are speaking with the natives. The door to the house of the fetish is locked, and the existence of the Renegade is kept a secret from the French.

However, is it not as if he would see these compatriots as his potential rescuers. The Renegade is horrified at the idea that the villagers would make deals with the French.

He manages to escape from the house of the fetish and to steal a rifle. Then, the Renegade goes to find a place from which he can shoot and kill the missionary he heard was coming to the village.

We are now at the point at which the story began. The Renegade is waiting, rifle in hand, for the arrival of a French Catholic missionary that he plans to kill in the name of the dark fetish he now worships. He carries out his plan and shoots the missionary dead.

At this point, he is overcome by the villagers who have found him. They are terrified of the repercussions that might come from the murder of the missionary. The Renegade is crucified by the villagers. The story ends with the line: “a fistful of salt fills the mouth of the babbling slave.”

The Ending of ‘The Renegade’ Explained

‘The Renegade’ is a difficult story to interpret. One of the more fanciful explanations is that the locals (to whom Camus refers as ‘black Eskimos’) who exist on the salt-white background of the salt flat represent the written word (in black ink) on the white page.

In other words, ‘The Renegade’ is a metaphor for Camus’s writer’s block. But if Camus was writing about his writer’s block, how do we explain the other stories in the collection? This includes ‘The Guest,’ which is now considered as close to perfection as a short story, and The Fall, a story that was originally part of the short story collection, which is now considered a masterpiece.

A more fruitful line of inquiry comes from looking at who Camus’s collection is aimed at. We have seen that The Rebel critiqued revolutionaries who, in Camus’s view, betray genuinely rebellious impulses. In ‘The Renegade,’ we see a rebel whose rebellion is aimed more at attacking his own people and milieu than at any other, more noble cause.

This renegade is “confused.” In other words, his attack is misguided. Rather than oppose injustice (the sole correct motivation for rebellion, according to Camus) the Renegade simply ends up siding with the most oppressive power.

The Renegade does not just side with the strongest, most repressive power that opposes his own milieu but actually ends up helping the most oppressive aspects of the culture he rejects. By killing the missionary, all he does is encourage the violent retribution of his own culture against his new, adopted culture.

Here we see Camus’s critique of the French left wing, which he saw as complicit in oppression, more the result of a hatred of their own kind than of a love of justice.

We often think that friendship is easy. Of course, we can meet another person and feel connected. There can be laughter and mutual support among us. Friendships just form naturally. But on observing many relationships closely, we sense an inherent fragility within them. Individuals grow apart very fast. More than two thousand years ago, Aristotle observed some similarities too. In his Nicomachean Ethics, he wrote down one of the most thorough analyses ever on friendship, and you could be surprised by his conclusions.

Why Aristotle Thought Friendship Was Essential to Happiness

Not all friendships are alike: this was Aristotle’s most popular statement. While there are those that exist on the basis of usefulness or some amount of enjoyment, only very few are true because both “friends” are interested in each other’s welfare. Aristotle thought that friendships were not luxuries in life or extra goodies we get along the way. Rather, they were necessary if you wanted to thrive in humanity.

Even somebody who is very rich or has achieved high levels of success is unable to live properly by themselves. Achievements mean very little without individuals to share them with. Enjoyment is bigger when shared. Difficulty becomes endurable with somebody standing right next to you. Nonetheless, Aristotle observed that people often use the term “friend” lightly.

An individual may refer to their workmates as friends since they coexist harmoniously. Another person could also call their exercise companion a friend for providing them with the motivation necessary. Then there are people using this label on strangers whom they met on social media. Those relationships may seem meaningful. However, they do not usually endure through changes. Aristotle believed that friendship is based on the reason for the connection between two individuals. The motivation takes precedence over emotions.

He divided friendship into three different kinds. These are friendships of utility, friendships of pleasure, and friendships of virtue. And comprehending these differences explains why some of them dwindle while others last for many years.

Friendship of Utility: When You Need Each Other

Aristotle describes the first kind of friendship as being based on usefulness or utility. These connections are established due to mutual benefits in practical ways. For example, business associates depend on each other. Coworkers cooperate to achieve specific tasks. Parents relate on the basis of their children’s involvement. Students share resources to back each other up while facing exams.

In reality, there is nothing wrong with them as they are instrumental in the running of a particular society. Humans cannot do without cooperating with each other if they have to meet certain objectives. But such kinds of relationships can last only until there is some useful outcome to be derived from them. To illustrate this, think about two colleagues getting along with one another during particularly demanding periods. They get to have lunch every day and share frustrations and happiness of having achieved some targets together. But then one leaves his job for another position.

Suddenly, the flow of communication between the two becomes slow, and meetings cease to happen. A friendship like this also just naturally loses steam over time without any given reason and ceases to exist, but still, there were no hidden mysteries in this entire process, as per Aristotle’s point of view, since the grounds upon which it was built had undergone changes.

Present-day networking culture promotes the establishment of a friendship type under consideration. Individuals engage themselves in networking of opportunities. Connections on LinkedIn increase. Professional connections also multiply. Even so, usefulness is very sensitive and fragile because the connection weakens as soon as an individual’s demands vary or change. Many individuals feel so hurt after losing out on these types of friendships. But it is suggested by Aristotle, in a calm manner, that such a friendship has simply served out the purposes set for it and therefore never failed at all.

Friendship of Pleasure: Fun While It Lasts

There’s also another kind of friendship based on pleasure. These tend to be very passionate and entertaining connections. You genuinely enjoy spending time with them. You can laugh with them or share a common way of living, daily routines, and things you do for pleasure.

Think of those whom one spends time traveling with, who accompany at social gatherings, or among those with whom one has something in common in video games. Conversations seem to flow very smoothly. Time seems to pass very quickly. Young people mostly enter into such kinds of friendships. They get connected by shared tastes in music, a craze for nightlife, a love of sports, or a similar sense of humor. Friendships founded on pleasure give off feelings of emotional strength because pleasure makes bonding between individuals happen.

But what gives rise to happiness can change. A person who used to love staying up all night in their twenties might want peaceful evenings afterwards in life. An individual who develops bonds by sharing his hobby may lose initial interest over time. Now the feeling of close connection becomes unnatural and difficult to maintain.

Aristotle saw this friendship as genuine though temporary because it relies heavily on preferences that keep shifting. This is further exacerbated by the ever-changing nature of today’s lives. Algorithms are continuously connecting individuals through their mutual interests. In a short period, online platforms emerge where common interests and trends hold people together.

Even with that, trends come and go. One could experience surprise when a previously very close friendship ends after a change in priorities, such as getting married, starting a family, moving away, or advancing in a profession. Again, Aristotle would state that such a friendship was established on the basis of pleasure. The moment the pleasure changes, so does the relationship in question.

Friendship of Virtue: The Rare and Difficult One

The third type is what Aristotle thought of as real friendship. He stated that friendship of virtue occurs when both individuals esteem each other’s ethical qualities. They are worried about who the person they are turning into is. This kind of friendship does not hinge upon mutual benefit or amusement. Rather, every individual wishes good things for their counterpart purely because they appreciate them in reality.

It may seem like an easy thing. However, Aristotle thought that it was very uncommon. Virtue friendships need time. One cannot know a person’s character too soon. Trust grows over time through shared experiences such as successes and failures, disagreements, and forgiveness.

Visualize a couple of people who develop alongside one another over the years. When they get promoted, they rejoice, but they also have their backs up during difficult times. They confront each other candidly. They fight out on some matters but still hold on to their companionship. And if one prospers, then the other truly takes pride rather than being filled with envy.

These friendships endure change because they are not linked to anything circumstantial. Changing the location does not destroy the relationship. A career shift also cannot abolish such relationships. Even extended silence cannot break the bond of affection.

Modern psychology supports this idea. Scientific studies suggest that lasting friendships require openness. The virtue type of friendship calls for effort. It requires perseverance and emotional maturity. Maybe this explains why it is rare.

Why Modern Friendship Often Feels Fragile

Suppose Aristotle walked through our world now, he could almost feel a sense of familiarity. We have more connections than ever. The presence of messaging applications, social networking websites, and many online community platforms really does increase communication all the time. And yet loneliness keeps rising. The root cause of this issue might be muddled lines between different friendships.

Social media generally encourages those very fun and enjoyable friendships through shared laughter, funny memes, or an interest in common pastimes. Yet professional culture lays emphasis on friendships that can be described as very useful because they serve towards team cooperation.

But all these depend heavily on certain factors that determine them. When individuals experience job changes, changing interests, or changes in their daily routines, friends with whom they used to hang out drift away from them.

Another difficulty is speed. Virtuous friendships require time to build, but the current fast-paced way of life emphasizes effectiveness most of all. Individuals move to different places very often. Work careers change quickly, and attention is scattered in every direction. It becomes difficult to form long-lasting friendships in an era that values speed in relationship development. Fears also come into the picture.

You must be honest to develop virtuous friendships. One is supposed to provide room for one’s friend so as to see one’s shortcomings and demerits. Most people shy away from being so open about their vulnerabilities. Connections at the surface level appear safer. Aristotle would tell us that we are being surrounded by mere acquaintances, whereas there is an inner emptiness yearning for a true, genuine friendship.

Aristotle and How to Recognize Virtue Friendship

Aristotle did not believe that virtuous friendships occur coincidentally. These relationships grow through shared experiences. Some sign of this can be noticed in stability. Consider whether your friendship will endure should utility be absent, and enjoyment at an end, or should circumstances alter?

Another trait is honesty. Virtuous companions do not merely concur. They foster personal development in each other. A companion who tells them the truth that they dislike may show deeper concern than one who totally evades disagreements.

The matter of time is also significant. Aristotle thought that friendship demands shared histories over the years. Trust cannot be hurried.

Examples in today’s world abound. Mothers and fathers supporting each other during demanding phases of life are cases in point. Pals reuniting instantly, even after long separation, is seen every so often. Individuals staying closely linked, though living apart from each other, are common. These friendships have a sense of serenity rather than drama. They lack continuous agitation. These are based upon dependability. And importantly, virtuous friendship is reciprocal. Appreciation flows in all directions. Nobody can carry this on their own.

Nietzsche wanted to be a successful composer but lacked musical talent. However, he took his love of music and made music with his words. His books were written not to be read quietly and studied but to be performed. Nietzsche once said that when he first came across a new text, he asked himself if it would make him dance. He wanted his readers to sing and dance to his texts and composed his books like symphonies.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Friedrich Nietzsche was born in October 1844 into a middle-class German family in the Prussian Province of Saxony. He was named after Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia, who was born on the same day as Nietzsche. His father was a religious man and local pastor; he died at age thirty-five when Nietzsche was just four years old. The cause of his father’s death is unknown. It may have been as a result of a head injury incurred during a fall or might have been a brain tumor.

Nietzsche feared that his father had passed down to him an inheritable brain condition. He was a sickly man and spent much of his life battling terrible migraines as well as other physical illnesses. Whether Nietzsche inherited a brain condition from his father is the subject of much debate. However, Nietzsche himself succumbed to mental illness and dementia and spent the last decade of his life seriously ill. He died in 1900, aged fifty-five.

Nietzsche’s illnesses notwithstanding, his output was impressive. He was capable of producing great works in very short periods. In the year 1888 alone, he produced The Case of Wagner, Twilight of the Idols, The Antichrist, Ecce Homo (not published until 1908), and Nietzsche Contra Wagner. A great philosopher and talented classicist, he was made a professor of philology at the University of Basel at just twenty-four years old. Nietzsche had a love of music.

One of the most important influences on his early development as a thinker was the German composer Richard Wagner and his wife Cosima, daughter of the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt. Indeed, his first published work, The Birth of Tragedy Out of the Spirit of Music (1872), was greatly inspired by his discussions with Wagner.

Nietzsche’s Musical Ambitions

Nietzsche did not want to simply write about music; he wanted to play and compose music for himself. Unfortunately for him, his musical ability was in no way a match for his philosophical and literary talents. While still at school, Nietzsche experimented with writing poetry and composing music. He was also the leader of a music club called ‘Germania.’ Indeed, in the 1850s, he wrote many compositions for the piano, violin, and voice. However, these were all the work of an enthusiastic amateur and showed no signs of genuine musical talent.

In 1871, Nietzsche composed a piano piece as a birthday gift for Cosima Wagner. It is rumored that her husband Richard, then still a friend and mentor to Nietzsche, privately mocked the piece. The worst reaction Nietzsche received to his music, and possibly the worst reaction any piece of music has ever received, came from the German conductor, pianist, and composer Hans von Bülow.

Bülow was instrumental in establishing Richard Wagner’s success. There was a family connection of sorts between Bülow and Wagner in that Bülow was the former husband of Cosima, Wagner’s wife. Bülow had also previously been a student of Franz Liszt, Cosima’s father. In his review of a piece of music by Nietzsche, Bülow commented that not only was it the most unmusical thing he had ever encountered, but he went on to suggest that Nietzsche’s attempts at music amounted to the rape of Euterpe, the spirit of music!

Opinions about Nietzsche’s musical abilities have softened over the years, with the occasional concert held to let others judge for themselves. However, these events are more curiosities than serious musical productions.

Nietzsche on Words and Music

Nietzsche’s first essay on music is a short 1872 effort called ‘Music and Words.’ He begins with remarks on verbal and nonverbal communication. Spoken words, he says, are symbols representing the things about which we are attempting to communicate. He says that between the word and the thing there is no connection other than the agreement among speakers of the same language that this word symbolizes that thing. To give an example, the word ‘dog’ in English attempts to communicate the idea of a domesticated descendant of the grey wolf. In French, however, the agreed-upon word is “chien.”

Nietzsche goes on to say that the sound of the spoken word conveys more meaning than the word itself. We are not affected, he says, by the essence of things, but “the play of feelings, sensations, emotions, volitions” are known to us through words. For him, any word can be used to symbolize any object. It is the emotion expressed through the spoken word that carries the impact.

In ‘Music and Words,’ Nietzsche says that all spoken words are just combinations of noise and gesture. Words, he says, cannot be uttered without physical gestures; they are tones made by “the positions of the organs of speech.” Pleasure and displeasure are expressed through the tone of the speaker, and further meaning is expressed through gesture.

The key point here is that, for Nietzsche, a word is not a “direct bridge that can take us to the innermost nature of things.” Instead, sound is far more important for conveying meaning than written words.

The Birth of Tragedy

We have seen that for Nietzsche, the sound, or the spoken word is better at communicating ideas than the written word. Knowing this, we could expect him to say that reading his works aloud would be preferable to sitting and reading the text in one’s head. And Nietzsche is no fan of sitting down. In his philosophical autobiography Ecce Homo, he writes, “Sit as little as possible; do not believe any idea that was not conceived while moving around outside, – with all your muscles in celebratory mode as well.”

However, we know that Nietzsche goes further than this. He wants his works not simply to be read aloud but sung. In a new introduction to his first published book, The Birth of Tragedy (1872), Nietzsche said that the text should be sung to be properly understood. It is clear from what he has said about many of his works that Nietzsche considers his writing to be music. Writing in 1888, in Ecce Homo, he refers to his Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883) as a piece of music. In addition, in a letter to his friend Peter Gast, Nietzsche referred to The Case of Wagner as “operetta music.” It was also in a letter to Gast that Nietzsche referred to Zarathustra as a symphony.

It seems that the failed composer saw the opportunity in this writing to create the music he could not achieve in the conventional way.

We have seen that Nietzsche considered his Zarathustra as a symphony. In his 2017 text Nietzsche’s Final Teaching, Nietzsche scholar Michael Allen Gillespie makes the case that Twilight of the Idols is also structured like a classical symphony. The text has the characteristic three (or four) movements, with themes, developments, recapitulations, and codas. Gillespie argues that even a time signature is recognizably present.

Singing Nietzsche?

We saw that music was a central interest for Nietzsche. He had aspirations to compose music, if not necessarily as a professional, then certainly as a gifted amateur. However, as we have seen from Richard Wagner’s response to Nietzsche’s composition for piano (some sources say Wagner was rolling on the floor laughing) and Bülow’s crushing review, Nietzsche did not have a gift for music.

But his love for music, without a doubt, influenced his work. We have also seen that Nietzsche’s texts can be read not just as writing on music but as a kind of music itself. Nietzsche clearly wanted his texts to be performed, or at least to be read aloud. We remember that in his essay ‘Music and Words’ he was interested in how emotions were conveyed through spoken words. In particular, how, along with gestures, the “play of feeling and sensations” can be expressed vocally when giving a reading. Clearly, Nietzsche recognized the value of musicality in his texts.

Nietzsche was a classicist and greatly admired the Greeks. In the Ancient world, philosophy was primarily spoken. Ideas were, of course, written down (otherwise we would not have access to them today), but texts were typically considered a means of preserving ideas rather than something one would sit down to read. It is notable that Socrates, a hugely influential figure for Nietzsche, never wrote anything down. Indeed, he was opposed to the written word, deeming it harmful to learning. Philosophy, then, in the Greek world, was expressed in the spoken word.

Singing surely conveys more emotion through tone and gesture than merely reading aloud. Nietzsche wants to communicate as much feeling as possible through his works. It therefore makes sense for him to want his books to be sung.

Euripides’ Cyclops is the only satyr play that has survived intact. We do not know anything about the performance history of this play, or why or even when exactly it was written. The plot borrows from well-known versions of Odysseus’ encounter with the cyclops Polyphemus. The plot is simple and brutal, but with comic elements provided by Silenus and the satyrs. The play is perhaps easy to dismiss, but Euripides raises some interesting questions about power and brutality.

The Main Characters

The three main characters in the play are Polyphemus, a cyclops; Odysseus, the cunning Homeric hero; and Silenus, the former companion and tutor of Dionysus. There are also a number of satyrs, described as Silenus’ sons, that act as the chorus. Odysseus’ shipwrecked crew is present, but none have speaking roles and were probably not depicted on stage.

Silenus has a few guises in Greek mythology. Sometimes he is depicted as a drunken man and other times as a satyr-like creature. In Euripides’ Cyclops, he is depicted as an old man. In the play, Silenus is toadying, coarse, sly, and greedy. He is there for comic effect, as are his sons, the satyrs.

Odysseus is the same character we see in the Odyssey. He uses his cunning to outsmart the cyclops and escape. However, in Euripides’ play, we do not see all of the tricks Odysseus uses in Homer’s story.

Polyphemus is a cyclops. He lives on an island with his cyclops brothers. They are referenced but not seen. Cyclopes are solitary creatures and self-sufficient. Polyphemus lives off the sheep, which he forces the satyrs to look after. They were captured and enslaved after becoming shipwrecked on the island. Polyphemus is brutish but not unintelligent. He believes himself to be superior to the gods by virtue of his brute strength.

The Play Opens With Silenus

The play opens with Silenus outside the cave of Polyphemus, a cyclops. Silenus has a rake in his hand, and he is speaking aloud about his woes. His speech is a convenient piece of exposition that quickly fills in the audience on what is going on.

He calls out to Bromius (another name for Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, fertility, and theater, of whom Silenus was a tutor and companion). We learn that Silenus, along with his children, was shipwrecked after setting off on a quest to find Dionysus, who had fallen foul of Hera. The island on which they found themselves is occupied by the cyclopes, monstrous one-eyed ogres. They were taken prisoner by Polyphemus and forced to serve him.

This story would have been well-known to Euripides’ audience. They would also have recognized the Cyclopes and Polyphemus from The Odyssey. After Silenus’s speech, we see his children return from tending to Polyphemus’s sheep and hear news of the arrival of a Greek ship. Silenus does not yet know that this is Odysseus’ ship, but the Greek audience would have no doubt over who has just arrived.

Odysseus and his crew quickly arrive and introduce themselves. We get a bit of backstory and learn more about the cyclopes from Silenus. One thing that is established is that there is no wine on the island. The audience would know what a hardship this would be for Silenus! Odysseus promises to share some wine from his ship in return for food.

The wine is exchanged for food, and Silenus is delighted to taste “the drink of Dionysus.” The scene is quite merry as Silenus enjoys his first taste of wine in some time, but suddenly Polyphemus returns home.

Polyphemus Captures Odysseus and His Men

Polyphemus is angry and wants to know (a) if all the day’s work has been done, (b) about the status of his dinner, and (c) who Odysseus and his crewmates are. The satyrs reply that Polyphemus’ dinner is ready and he can have anything he wants. Silenus, lying, claims that the strangers beat him up and attempted to steal Polyphemus’ goods. He also says that they bragged about capturing Polyphemus and selling him as a slave. In response to this revelation, the cyclops asks for butchering tools and a fire to be made. He intends to eat the newcomers.

Silenus’ children are more honest and tell Polyphemus that their father is lying. They tell the truth that Odysseus and his men came honestly and offered to trade wine for food. Silenus protests, but Polyphemus does not believe him.

Odysseus pleads his case and appeals to Zeus as well as other gods and the sacred idea of hospitality. It was considered a great sin for the Greeks to treat honest visitors badly. However, Polyphemus is unmoved by Odysseus’ words. The scene ends with the cyclops driving the unfortunate men into his cave while Odysseus calls out to Zeus, “protector of strangers,” to help him and his men.

Odysseus Sets His Plan in Motion

Odysseus appears and starts talking to Silenus’ sons. We learn that Polyphemus has already slaughtered, butchered, and eaten two of Odysseus’ crewmates. None of the gory details are spared as the horrible fate of these men is recounted. Odysseus says that while the other sailors were huddled together in terror, he was forced to act as the cyclops’ servant during the meal. But as he did so, he formulated a plan.

The wily Greek, known for his cunning, gave Polyphemus some of the wine to drink. Since there is no wine on the island, the cyclops is not used to alcohol and is unaware of its effects. Odysseus plans to wait until the monster passes out drunk, and then, with the help of Silenus’ sons, he plans to burn out Polyphemus’ single eye with a huge wooden beam, sharpened and glowing red from the fire.

Silenus’ sons readily agree to help: they hate the cyclops as much as Odysseus and, like him, they are desperate to escape the island. Once Polyphemus is blinded or killed, they will all slip away to Odysseus’ boat and make their escape.

The drunken Polyphemus enters, carrying the wineskin, and tells the others that he is going to visit his brothers, the other cyclopes on the island, to share the drink with them. Obviously, this would scupper the plan, and so Odysseus (and Silenus, who has joined the scene) convinces Polyphemus to keep the wine to himself.

As they sit in the grass basking under the warm sun with Polyphemus drinking wine, the cyclops tells Odysseus he will eat him last as a reward for introducing him to such a fine drink. He asks Odysseus his name, and the cunning Greek tells him it is “Nobody.”

Sexual Innuendo in Cyclops

Satyr plays typically involve a great deal of sexual innuendo. For example, the actors portraying satyrs would wear enormous phalluses on their costumes, and when Silenus is first given a taste of the wine, he grabs his phallus and says, “with drink it is possible to make this stand to attention!” Now, the bawdy theme returns as the drunken cyclops starts referring to Silenus as his “Ganymede” and ushers him back into his cave.

Ganymede was abducted by the gods to serve as cupbearer to Zeus. In Greek mythology, he is strongly associated with homoerotic passion. It is from the Latin form of his name, Catamitus, that we get the word catamite, which refers to a young boy involved in sexual activity with an older man. Silenus, in the play, is an old man, and so there is humor intended in this reference. As he is led into the cave, the usually wine-loving satyr says, “Oh woe is me! I’ll soon see that the wine is very bitter now.”

Odysseus and the Satyrs Escape Polyphemus

After the gruesome description of what Odysseus plans for Polyphemus, the actual blinding scene is played for comic effect. Instead of helping as they promised they would, Silenus’s sons bungle about and dither over the handling of the wooden beam. Their bungling notwithstanding, the plan succeeds, and Polyphemus’ single eye is burned out, and he is blinded.

In other versions of this story, Polyphemus cries out to his fellow cyclopes for help, saying that “Nobody has attacked me.” He means, of course, that Odysseus has attacked him, but because he thinks Odysseus is called Nobody, he tells those who would otherwise come to help him that nobody has blinded him. In Euripides’ version, the satyrs merely use the name “Nobody” to mock and taunt Polyphemus as he stumbles blindly about trying to find Odysseus.

The play ends abruptly and somewhat anticlimactically. Odysseus and his surviving crewmates do not sneak past the blinded cyclops by clinging to the underside of sheep but simply go back to their ship and sail away, accompanied by the satyrs.

The last words go to Polyphemus and the satyrs. The cyclops walks through his cave to the rear entrance, which overhangs Odysseus’ ship, and from there hurls a huge rock down to destroy the vessels. The satyrs gleefully announce they are off to serve their new master, Dionysus. The audience is left to assume Polyphemus is unsuccessful and that Odysseus, his crew, and the satyrs escape.

Themes of Brutality in Euripides Cyclops

In Euripides’ play, we see a thoughtful cyclops and a less-than-eloquent Odysseus. Polyphemus is literally monstrous and violates many of the sacred Greek codes. In Odysseus’ speech, in which he begs for his life and the lives of his crewmates, it is made clear that Polyphemus is a Greek, albeit a god (he is the son of Poseidon).

But the cyclops does not care about that. Any sense of loyalty, let alone friendship, to fellow Greeks is out of the question. Neither does he care about the gods. He is unafraid of Zeus, whom he believes cannot hurt him. All of Odysseus’ arguments and pleas fall upon deaf ears.

Polyphemus believes himself superior to the other gods, obligated only towards himself. His gluttony and selfishness provide him, as far as he is concerned, with a good life, which he believes shows him that he is right. The argument the cyclops puts forward for doing exactly what he wants without concern for others is a combination of the ideas of “might is right” and “greed is good.”

What is of interest is that the usually eloquent Odysseus fails to offer any convincing arguments against Polyphemus’ claims. Indeed, in the end, it is by brute strength and violence that Odysseus manages to escape. In his play, Euripides seems to suggest that when facing violence and brutality, the answer is to match like for like.

The journey of finding the answer to the question “What is the Human Being?” is not something new. Throughout the history of humankind, there have been hundreds of authors who have sought to give a precise definition in response to the question. Each of them took a different approach and a standpoint that best described what a human being is. Probably the most famous definition from the ancient period is Aristotle’s zoon politikon. He saw the human being as a political creature, in the sense that man is part of society and lives within it, bounded by social norms and laws that he obeys. He even went further, saying that anyone isolated from society would have to be either a savage or a God. What are the other definitions? Let’s take a look.

1. Homo Sapiens

The most recognized starting point for defining ourselves is the biological term Homo sapiens. At its simplest, this identifies the human as a being that thinks, one possessing the consciousness and intelligence to navigate the world. Interestingly, the term sapiens stems from the Latin sapere, a verb that means more than just ‘to know,’ because it also carries the sensory weight of ‘tasting’ or ‘noticing.’

However, human history often seems to debunk the very idea of the sapiens. We are frequently capable of actions that are the total opposite of smart or wise; we exhibit poor behavior as easily as we do wisdom, creating things that are ugly, tasteless, and profoundly unjust.

When we look at the devastation of war, we are forced to ask: Is the human being truly Homo sapiens, or is our perceived intelligence merely an illusion? Many thinkers have rightly challenged our self-appointed title, offering provocative alternatives that suggest far darker or more chaotic forces govern us.

2. Homo Insapiens

Sigmund Freud and Karl Marx are just two figures who opposed the theory of homo sapiens. With his theory of the unconscious, Freud was one of the first thinkers to unlock the dark side of the human psyche. He noticed that, along with all the wise and beautiful things that humans are capable of, they are also capable of doing very bad and destructive things.

The motives, instincts, and impulses of these destructive actions lie in the unconscious, says Freud. They are things that have been repressed and disabled but are still capable of emerging and coming to life. Freud goes even further by saying that humans do not have free will at all. Everything in us is motivated by the unconscious, and the repressed content controls every choice we make.

Karl Marx presents a kind of distorted consciousness that is very similar to Freud’s concept of the unconscious. It’s important to note that Marx takes a different approach when elaborating his theory, adopting a more culturally centered, more sociological view that he later interweaves into his political ideology.

For example, the capitalist may think that his actions and behavior are humanistic and that he promotes the general well-being of humankind. Still, in reality, his motives and actions only reveal his pure desire for capital and his unconscious (dirty) desire for class differences among people, says Marx.

So, in a way, we can say that, according to Marx and Freud, it is the unconscious and irrational side of humans that drives their actions and behavior, and it’s not wise or smart. The only difference between the two is that Marx discusses the collective unconscious, while Freud discusses the individual unconscious. So, theories like Freud’s and Marx’s put the homo sapiens theory into question because they show that humans are not always smart and intelligent, but instead are homo insapiens.

The first one to use the term homo insapiens was Herbert George Wells in his book “42-44.” Disappointed by the craziness and destructive forces of World War II, Wells concludes that human beings are nothing more than stupid creatures.

The term homo insapiens comes from the Latin words homo, meaning “human,” and insapientia, meaning “unwise” or “the lack of wisdom.” So, in translation, the term homo insapiens would be an unwise, stupid, and ignorant being.

3. Homo Belligerans

Continuing further along the same narrative, we can also stumble upon the definition that the human being is homo belligerans. The term homo belligerans was first used by the English historian Arnold J. Toynbee in his monumental work A Study of History in 1934. The term has its roots in the Latin words bellum, meaning war, and gerare, meaning to lead or carry out.

Thus, homo belligerans would mean a militant, aggressive human, that is, a human who leads war. And, we can undoubtedly say that history confirms that. Wars do not have only a class character, as Friedrich Engels said, but can also take many other forms: multiethnic, religious, civil wars, and more. It is dubious whether they can ever be considered justified.

4. Homo Ludens

However, besides the nature of wars throughout human history, it’s hard to reduce the human being to homo belligerans. In fact, there are many instances in which humans feel pure happiness and joy, and many instances in which they play certain games.

Because of that, many authors think that the essence of human beings is their play and their games. It is through his play that the human really exists as a human being, they said. So, they conclude that the human being is homo ludens: a being that is capable of playing and the only being that can rejoice in the play until he plays for the sake of the play.

This theory suggests that play is an autonomous and authentic field in which humans live and age throughout life. So, when he plays, he does not finish the game because if he did, he would finish himself, which would mean death. Instead, he plays starting from the beginning of his life until the end. Because of that, some authors say that humans are nothing more than homo ludens.

5. Homo Oeconomicus & Homo Faber

According to some other thinkers, the human is not simply a playing creature, but in his core, he’s actually homo oeconomicus. This means that the human is an economic being, or a being that knows about the economy and thus knows how to handle and manage his own economy. This does not only mean the financial aspect of his resources, but also includes other resources. Therefore, the human is not only managing his finances but also has a house he looks after and will continue to look after in the future.

However, when we look at the world of animals, we can easily notice something similar in their way of life: they look after their homes and offspring and prepare for the future by collecting resources. Many animals, for example, prepare for the winter by collecting food reserves and adjusting their homes to survive better. So they can also be classified as members of this group of beings. Therefore, the question arises inevitably whether this characterization of humans as homo oeconomicus is accurate enough.

Because of that, many authors introduced the idea of the human as a homo faber. The term faber has Latin roots, meaning “creator,” “manufacturer,” or “craftsman.” Benjamin Franklin most accurately characterized the human being as a tool-making animal. This means that the human is capable of crafting, or rather, manufacturing tools and using them. This definition was later used by the French philosopher Henri Bergson as well.

6. Homo Viator

Other thinkers characterize the human being as homo viator. One of the first to use the term was the French existentialist philosopher Gabriel Marcel, in one of his many famous essays titled Homo viator. The term viator has its roots in the Latin word viaticus, which can be translated as “one who is preparing to travel.”

Thus, homo viator would mean that the human being is a being-traveler, a being who is preparing to go on a path and traveling to someplace. Marcel uses the term within the context of his existential philosophy because he saw the nature of humans not as fixed and constant, but as flexible and capable of taking many shapes and forms, as the human being is in a constant search for meaning in his life. Because its nature is not predetermined, the human being is doomed to follow a path and to constantly search for a sense of self.

7. Homo Sedens

Even though humans have the desire and need to travel, we can also notice a strong desire to stay in one place. Humans often want to stay in one place and be there without needing to travel elsewhere. This is especially true in today’s world, in which humans can travel virtually thanks to technological development and constant innovation.

That is why, in 1962, the Canadian philosopher and communications specialist Marshall McLuhan defined the human being as homo sedens. The term sedens has its roots in the Latin verb sedere, meaning “to sit.” So, according to that characterization, we can define the human being as a being that sits, a being who is glued to his chair, or rather, his home.

8. Other Definitions

The history of thought offers a vast gallery of homines, where each attempt seeks to capture a different essence of our nature.

For some, we are fundamentally homo religiosus, a term popularized by historian Mircea Eliade to describe a being defined by an inherent drive toward the sacred and the ritualistic. Closely linked to this is the concept of homo metaphysicus, a term that characterizes the human as a creature uniquely obsessed with peering beyond the physical veil to explore the supernatural and the unseen. Arthur Schopenhauer famously argued that man is the only animal that wonders at its own existence, making metaphysics a biological necessity.

In a more provocative turn, some thinkers propose homo otiosus. This suggests that humans are the only creatures capable of true neutrality, meaning they are the only beings that can stand before the world in a state of disinterested, idle contemplation. This “leisurely man” stands in stark contrast to the modern “homo faber,” or the man who makes, by prioritizing being over doing.

Regardless of which homo we favor, one truth remains: our nature remains an open question. Ultimately, we are not a finished product but a work in progress. It is up to each of us to define who we are through our choices and our freedom.

Socrates, the legendary Greek philosopher, faced death in Athens for impiety and corrupting the youth. Yet he defended himself with a remarkable claim: an inner voice, his so-called “daemon,” guided him away from wrongdoing.

Unlike the demons of later mythology, Socrates’s daemon wasn’t a malevolent spirit. Rather, it was a daemonic sign, a mysterious inner warning. But what exactly was this enigmatic voice, and why did it matter so much to his life and philosophy?

Who Was Socrates and What Was His Daemon?

Socrates was an ancient Greek philosopher and is revered as the father of Western philosophy. He used conversation in his philosophy, rather than written text, like many modern philosophers. These conversations involved pointed questioning that blended logic and myth, a method many philosophers still practice, now known as the “Socratic method.” His most famous student, Plato, wrote dramatic dialogues about his teacher’s philosophical conversations with notable citizens of Athens.

Socrates’s death at the hands of the Athenian Empire is well known because it sets the dramatic background to four important works by Plato: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo. These four dialogues tell the story of Socrates’s last days as he was sentenced to death by representatives of the ancient Greek city-state.

When officially questioned about his motives, Socrates testified that daemonic signs inspired his actions. Many people think of Socrates’s daemon as a guardian angel or the inner voice of his conscience, rather than as an evil demonic possession.

Socrates testified that his daemon was responsible for many of the charges brought against him and instructed him to remain and face them rather than flee. Socrates trusted his daemon with his life, piety, and philosophy.

Daemon vs. Demon: Clearing Up the Misunderstanding

There are two ways that contemporary philosophy uses the word “demon” that may misrepresent Socrates’s daemon. First, modern philosophy, beginning with Descartes, has used demons as thought experiments: Descartes imagined a demon constantly tricking him; Laplace imagined a demon that could know the positions and movements of every molecule; and Maxwell imagined a demon that could test the laws of thermodynamics.

The second use of “demon” in philosophy involves Christianity and fallen angels. The word “daemon” is similar to “demon,” although the special spelling signifies that the word daemon is used only in the classical or Hellenistic sense, not the contemporary Christian sense.

While “demons” are malevolent beings within Christian mythology, daemons may represent benevolent or malevolent beings because they are defined by the mythology of the time. Unlike in Christian mythology, Greek mythology involved many deities with a variety of altruistic and selfish motives.

Divine Sign or Spiritual Entity?

Plato was very careful in choosing the words of the Socratic dialogues. The phrase “Socrates’s daemon” may not be a true translation of the Greek because it implies the existence of an entity like a demon or an angel.

Just as English can represent entities (“demons”) and qualities (“demonic”) through related words, so too does ancient Greek represent both entities and qualities. Plato used the “daemonic” quality to describe signs, voices, or something in relationship with Socrates, but he never used the word “daemon” to represent a spiritual entity.

Plato also uses the word “daemon” in his Symposium, which may help us determine whether Socrates’s daemon was a divine entity or merely a sign considered to have divine qualities.

The character Diotima applies the word “daemonic” to intermediary activities between humans and the divine, such as prayers, sacrifices, and oracles. Therefore, daemonic signs, voices, or things arise from the gods, even if the gods or divine beings are not directly present as entities. Using the phrase “Socrates’s daemon” may still be appropriate because daemonic signs imply a daemon or deity.

The Apology: Key to Socrates’s Inner Voice

Of the four dialogues by Plato that deal with Socrates’s last days, the Apology provides the clearest arguments about Socrates’s daemon and its role in his defense.

Socrates testified to the importance of his daemonic sign, which he described as an inner voice that prevented certain actions. By the end of the dialogue, the Athenians vote and sentence Socrates to death.

The Athenian accusations center on impiety and corruption of the youth, and the impiety accusation is relevant to our inquiry into Socrates’s daemon. The Athenians accused Socrates of not believing in the city’s gods but in other spiritual things. Interestingly, the accusation associates the word “theos” with the gods of the city and the word “daemonic” with Socrates’s impious practices.

Socrates is forced to defend himself by describing his relationship with his daemon, and so the legal proceedings depicted in Plato’s Apology may be the key to understanding Socrates’s Daemon.

The Oracle of Delphi and Socrates’s Prophetic Guidance

Socrates defended himself against the Athenian accusations by testifying that his philosophical activity was in part caused by the Oracle of Delphi. The Oracle of Delphi was a priestess at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi. Years earlier, the Oracle had said that Socrates was the wisest man in Athens. In response to the puzzling oracle, Socrates sought the wisest man in Athens and offended some citizens through his direct line of questioning.

In response to the accusation of impiety, Socrates testified that he would rather obey the god of the Oracle than the men of Athens because philosophy will lead to piety and the perfection of the soul. Socrates used his commitment to philosophy and the gods’ will as a defense against the charge that he was an atheist and impious. Apollo, the god of truth and prophecy, presided over the Oracle at Delphi; we may assume that Socrates’s daemon was ultimately related to Apollo.

Was Socrates’s Daemon a Form of Prophecy?

In Plato’s Apology, Socrates testifies that his daemon would prevent him from taking certain actions, like fleeing Athens or teaching certain students. Socrates said that the daemon was with him since childhood. The daemon would speak through an inner voice to oppose certain courses of action. Socrates describes the daemon in impersonal terms as a negative voice.

Socrates’s daemon has been interpreted as the inner voice of conscience or the unconscious, perhaps not even a spiritual being at all. Our reading of the Apology demonstrates Socrates used impersonal or adjectival phrases like “something divine” or “daemonic,” but never personal or objective phrases like “god” or “daemon.”

However, Socrates repeatedly connected his daemonic signs with prophetic power. The root word of “prophecy” is “mantis,” which is why it is sometimes called a “mantic art.” Socrates said that his inner voice was a small type of prophecy, and the word “mantis” directly connects Socrates’s daemon with the Oracle at Delphi, which also uses that root word.

The Mythological and Spiritual World of Socrates’s Daemon

The connection between Socrates’s daemon and prophecy also aligns with core Socratic mythology, such as the transmigration of the soul or the world of the forms. The sequel to Plato’s Apology is the Phaedo, which recounts Socrates’s death and discusses myths about the soul’s immortality.

While it may be tempting to interpret Socrates’s daemon as a personification of his conscience, Plato describes it as prophecy. The word root “mantis” was used to describe the means to perceive the realm of the immortal soul, i.e., the world of forms, as well as Socrates’s daemonic inner voice. Socrates himself admitted that he had little prophetic power, perhaps compared with the Oracle at Delphi. Therefore, there is a spectrum of prophetic powers from Socrates’s little voice to the powerful oracle of Apollo.

Socrates’s inner voice was his peculiar way of relating with the divine, perhaps directly to the mythical god Apollo, whom he called as a witness during his defense in Plato’s Apology.

Mount Olympus, Gods, and the Nature of Daemonic Signs

It is tempting to imagine that the ancients naively believed their own mythology, as if Zeus physically lived on top of Mount Olympus as Homer described. We have seen that it is easy to confuse daemonic things with daemons. On the one hand, daemonic things are impersonal, like Socrates’s inner voice or the oracles from Delphi. On the other hand, daemons are personal beings, such as Apollo or Asclepius. Apollo was the god of prophecy. Asclepius was Apollo’s son and the god of dreams.

Did Socrates believe that Apollo really spoke to him through his inner voice? In Plato’s writings, Socrates avoided directly addressing such a question. In the Apology, he invoked the god of the Oracle of Delphi as a witness to his piety. Socrates also testified that a daemonic inner voice guided his actions and prevented both impiety and atheism, the charges against him. The voice was not the personification of his conscience, a thought experiment, or a spiritual entity like an angel or demon. Rather, Socrates testified that his daemon was a small prophetic skill that spoke through daemonic signs, voices, and things.

Socrates’s daemon is a shorthand term for prophetic experiences involving an inner voice. While it is easy to imagine that Socrates was possessed by a literal or figurative demon, the words Plato used suggest that Socrates testified to prophetic skills upon the spiritual authority of the Oracle of Delphi

Prophecy, Not Possession: The True Role of Socrates’s Daemon

Socrates never speaks of an entity or a god in association with his inner voice. Rather, he testified that his inner voice was a daemonic prophecy or spiritual communication. Plato’s writings contain many references to daemonic things, such as Socrates’s inner voice. In contrast, Plato’s writing contains few references to daemons themselves.

The difference between “daemon” and “daemonic” is the same as the difference between “angel” and “angelic.” On the one hand, angelic things may include light in clouds, beautiful music, and sentiments of charity, but angels are spiritual beings who have personas that act in this world as we do. Socrates did not testify to encounters with spiritual beings. Rather, he testified to his own prophetic inner voice.

Daemonic vs. Divine: Lessons from the World of Forms

The distinction between “daemon” and “daemonic” is subtle, but powerful. Socrates testified only to daemonic things in this world, such as oracles and prophecy. He invoked Apollo as a witness to his piety. However, he offered no direct testimony of having interacted with the god or other spiritual entities.

Philosophy is traditionally associated with the ideas that emerged from Ancient Greece, culminating in contemporary European thought. For centuries, Native American thought was dismissed as myth or religion rather than philosophy. To contest the claim, scholars such as Anne Waters argue that certain Indigenous intellectual traditions carry their own distinctive interpretations of metaphysics, ethics, and epistemology. Unlike the Western canon, Native American philosophy emphasizes relationships between land, people, and community.

Land, Place, and Community

Indigenous thought does not see individuals as isolated agents. Native American traditions understand identity as fundamentally relational. Relational identity is shaped by relationships with land, community, and shared experiences. Historically, Indigenous communities in the American Southwest would organize social life through differentiated clan systems closely related to territory and place.

In Pueblo societies, for instance, villages were made up of several clan families connected through matrilineal descent. Each clan was responsible for preserving its migration histories, as symbolized by various spiral patterns found in petroglyphs and ceremonial narratives. The migration spirals indicated the journey that could be taken in four sacred directions, where clans would gain knowledge and experience before returning to their shared center. The center was sometimes represented by a village plaza and a sipapu, an ancient symbol that links the community to its cosmological origins.

Returning to the center marked a crucial spiritual transformation. The natives’ migration style can be imagined as a helix, showing how the community returns to the same place while carrying new knowledge gained throughout the journey. Each clan would bring its own knowledge to the village community, thereby shaping a novel worldview grounded in shared responsibility and renewed collective life.

The native view of identity contrasts starkly with its Western counterpart, which places greater emphasis on private property and individual freedom. For many Indigenous people, land is not something that is owned by someone, but rather a complicated, long-term inheritance that needs to be sustained across generations. Based on these principles, native communities would organize around the protection and continuity of their territories, recognizing that human life, ecological systems, and cultural knowledge are interconnected.

Coyote and Thales: Two Ways of Knowing

In Greek philosophy, the philosopher and semi-mythical figure Thales is a symbol of abstract thought. The anecdote tells of an ancient philosopher and astronomer who was so caught up with the movement of heavenly bodies that he fell into a well. The Coyote of Native American mythology carries a similar meaning.

The Coyote becomes so absorbed in his desires and his curiosity that he forgets about his place in the world. Disrupting the relations he bears with the beings surrounding him. The differences between the two figures are quite pronounced as they contrast the major difference between Western and Indigenous ways of conceiving the order of the universe.

In Native traditions, the precondition of knowledge is not detachment, but rather relatedness. One does not need to stand apart from the world in order to comprehend its mysteries. Knowledge grows by paying careful attention to things nearby, the lived experience, from an awareness of how one’s actions affect others. Knowledge is never neutral. In other words, epistemology and ethics are interrelated. Knowledge is also not cumulative, but rather operational. What matters is whether knowledge helps one walk the right path.

Finally, it is important to emphasize that indigenous knowledge is non-systematic and context-dependent, not out of ignorance, but through a conscious decision. To know something is to live and bear a relation to it, albeit while a specific experience lasts.

Indigenous Ethics of the “We” and the “I”

Native American ethics begins with distinctive assumptions about human nature. In Western philosophy, the individual is understood as a single autonomous unit of moral life, with little to no natural concern for others’ well-being. Ethical systems thereby seek to regulate human relations as if two separate individuals were cooperating to pursue similar goals. Society appears as an artificial structure that is built, negotiated, and enforced through law, religion, and other external rules. The free individual seeking their own self-interest is the main edifice.

Indigenous thought begins from the other end of the problem. Human beings are not seen as isolated individuals. It does not posit the moral relationship as something decided posthumously. Humans are instead seen as born into an already existing structure of relations.

Native American ethics is concerned with preserving the “We.” A person realizes their full potential through community membership; through the recognition that one does not act in a vacuum. Moral life is not sustained by abstract, universal rules but rather by the awareness of the impact one’s actions have on others. Actions ripple outward, influencing family members, the group, and the wider world.

Similarly, ethical behavior is not primarily enforced through external rules and coercion. Children are taught from an early age to understand the impact of their choices on the lives of others. Autonomy does entail radical, self-sufficient independence; it implies taking initiative while remaining attentive to the needs of the community. The “We” therefore encompasses more than the human group. It includes the living world as a whole.

Ecology and the Native Understanding of Science

The Native’s understanding of science grows out of direct participation in the natural world. Unlike Western science, abstract, detached thinking and observation hold little epistemic value. There is some affinity between Native American philosophy and phenomenology, the study of first-person human experience.

The natural world is not treated as a standing reserve of inert manipulable objects requiring control and measurement. It is instead understood as a complex field of relations where humans actively engage with the biosphere, consisting of plants, animals, water, and land. Stories, ceremonies, and oral traditions function together to preserve and transmit ecological knowledge.

Science, philosophy, and spirituality remain inseparable within indigenous knowledge. They belong to a single unified domain. All knowledge is rooted in a cosmological worldview where individuals develop alongside other natural entities. In the same way, ethics is integrated into this worldview, with every member of the community bearing responsibility for the land and the community. Understanding the world also requires understanding how humans should live within it.

Native science does not, therefore, attempt to form a complete and exhaustive picture of the universe, nor does it seek absolute mastery over it. It seeks to cultivate an attuned relationship of interdependence and unity. Human beings are seen as participants within a larger creative process that encompasses every living system on earth. Knowledge grows through embodied participation, forming a map of reality drawn from generations of observation, experience, oral tradition, and collective memory.

Beyond Binary Thinking

No doubt the long colonial history of Native American segregation and, no less, the epistemic constraints entailed by that segregation, deserve an investigation of its own. In an attempt to liberate Native American epistemology, one of Anne Waters’ central claims is that Indigenous thought does not organize reality into rigid, sharply separated binaries.

In the Western tradition, various dualisms, such as mind and body, good and evil, male and female, are posited as clearly divisible categories. The divisions also serve as justifications for various social hierarchies. Some Indigenous languages and worldviews, in contrast, operate through a different logic. They offer nondiscrete forms of understanding in which differences are preserved without strictly delimited boundaries.

Two things can retain their differences without becoming absolute opposites. In place of rigid distinctions, Indigenous metaphysics tends to emphasize complementarity, overlap, relation, and family resemblance. Instead of isolated units, the world is organized through dynamic connections. Thereby, identity, gender, and community may appear more fluid in many Native traditions than in European systems of thought. Categories remain fluid and amorphous, not fixed once and for all.

Colonialism had imposed its own ontology on Indigenous peoples. European settlers interpreted Native cultures through categories that were already biased by hierarchy, exclusion, and rigid binaries. This often made Indigenous ways of thinking appear unintelligible or irrational. In reality, the problem was not an absence of philosophy but a violent clash between two different worldviews.

When we go back to the very beginning of Western philosophy, we can easily notice that the Presocratic philosophers were obsessed with the universe as a whole. Some authors might even argue that philosophy emerged from such an obsession because they were all trying to find the meaning and root cause of the world we live in. Philosophers such as Thales of Miletus, his followers Anaximander and Anaximenes, Heraclitus, Pythagoras, Leucippus, and Democritus all proposed different theories about the nature and origins of our world. However, Empedocles, a Sicilian polymath, famously blended the roles of scientist, prophet, physician, and philosopher. This is what makes him unique among the Presocratics.

The Life of Empedocles

Empedocles (c. 495–435 BC) was from Acragas (modern-day Agrigento, Sicily). Unlike other philosophers, Empedocles was extremely extroverted. A man of constant dialogue, he wandered from place to place just to share a conversation with those curious about philosophy. He was a master rhetorician, so skilled that legend has it his audiences were left utterly speechless, particularly when he was teaching. Because of that, we can even say that Empedocles was the founder of rhetoric as a discipline, even though Aristotle provided its methodology.

He was born into a wealthy, noble, and culturally educated family, which is why he lived the way aristocrats of the period lived. Because of that, he was involved in local politics and played a role in public affairs, and people often saw him as their leader. There are many legends and myths surrounding his life, but the most fascinating moment is his legendary death.

Near the end of his life, Empedocles sought to prove his divinity by leaping into the active volcano of Mount Etna. According to the legend, the volcano consumed him entirely, except for one of his bronze sandals, which was later expelled by the lava, exposing his mortality. While perhaps more legendary than historical, the tale serves to emphasize the aura of the supernatural that frequently surrounded him.

Metaphysics

According to Empedocles, everything in the material world has its roots in the four natural elements, namely earth, air, fire, and water. Departing from the terminology of the philosophers who preceded and followed him, Empedocles did not classify these as ‘elements.’ Instead, he conceptualized them as primary substances with the inherent capacity to generate all things in the cosmos. These four substances are eternal and immutable, while the objects they form are transient and ever-changing.

We can clearly see that his view is the exact opposite of the views already present in ancient philosophy. The leading historians of philosophy, such as Jonathan Barnes, suggest that Empedocles’s philosophy is in direct opposition to that of Heraclitus and Parmenides. Barnes points out that Empedocles’ philosophy is in direct contrast to Heraclitus’ notion of panta rei, that everything in the world is in flux, and that the only constant thing that exists is change itself. On the other hand, Empedocles also disagrees with Parmenides, who held that all variety and multiplicity in the world are only illusions; it is only the One that truly exists, and the particular entities and beings in the world are only manifestations of the One.

Cosmology

Now that we are familiar with the core concepts of his metaphysics, it’s time to show how they come into play in Empedocles’ philosophical system. Empedocles called earth, air, fire, and water “roots” instead of elements, or rhizomata in Ancient Greek. Along with the four roots, there are two powerful forces, Love (or Philia) and Strife (or Neikos). Love and Strife act as the dual engines of cosmic change, directing the mixture and dissolution of the four roots to produce the transient phenomena of our reality.

Love, says Empedocles, causes things to come together, to attract themselves, and in the end, to unite themselves. On the other hand, Strife causes things to distance themselves from one another, to reject one another, and, in the end, to decompose and even decay. But it’s important to note that Empedocles did not favor one over the other. Love is not a synonym for good, or Strife for bad. Instead, both are equally important and essential to the creation of the world.

How Do Love and Strife Work?

When one of these forces dominates and reaches its peak, life becomes unbearable and then dies. Love has the tendency to attract things together and to unite them, but in its extreme, it can create a very dense and fused atmosphere in which we cannot even make a distinction between one thing or another, nor will there be space for things to act and interact with each other. However, when Love begins to weaken under the influence of the principle of hate, the dense atmosphere begins to spread, and things can begin to separate from each other. That is when matter gets defined, and that is when distinct things start to exist!

However, as hate reaches its peak and represses the principle of Love completely, it causes all things in the atmosphere to distance themselves from one another, then separate, and, finally, fall apart, decay, and die. Everything will be dead until the principle of Love comes into play again, bringing the forces of attraction that will cause things to come together once again and unite, which will bring forth life itself. With its power, Love attracts all elements in the atmosphere like a magnet, reducing the distance between them and thereby regenerating the conditions necessary for life to be born.

Now we have a clearer picture of how Empedocles envisioned the creation of life and the universe. We can see that both principles of Love and hate are equally important and essential to the whole process, and that each contributes with its own powers and capacities.

Epistemology

Now that we’ve shown Empedocles’ main metaphysical and cosmological views, all that’s left is to present his epistemology and show how these three fields fit together. At its core, Empedocles’ epistemology seeks to explain the physiological mechanics of perception and cognition. As we shall see, these processes are integrated into his broader philosophical system, operating on the foundational principle that we perceive the roots of the cosmos through the corresponding roots within ourselves.

According to Empedocles, perception is enabled by the impulses that flow from things in the world and reach the pores of the human perception system. These pores have different sizes and shapes, so they only “accept” impulses that match them in size and shape.

For example, we perceive bright colors thanks to the pores that absorb fiery impulses, but we perceive dark colors thanks to the pores that absorb watery impulses. Also, we have the sense of smell thanks to the pores of the breath concentrated in the nose, and we can hear thanks to the absorbing pores concentrated in the ears.

Ultimately, his theory of perception rests on the foundational law of correspondence: the principle that perception is only possible through the interaction of like with like (homoion homoio). Empedocles applies this law to cognition and ethics as well. We perceive external roots, love, and divinity through their internal counterparts. This mechanical symmetry dictates that sensory inputs shape thought and emotion, ultimately allowing the internal divine to attract and absorb the universal divine.

The internal divine fragment within the human soul acts as the sensory and spiritual bridge to the Sphairos, the god-like state of total cosmic harmony, where the four roots are perfectly unified and undifferentiated under the absolute dominion of Love.

Aristotle’s Critique of Empedocles

However, some thinkers were not very fond of Empedocles, especially his epistemological views. The primary friction between Empedocles and the later Peripatetic school (Aristotle and his successor, Theophrastus) lies in the conflation of capacities. In De Anima, Aristotle argues that Empedocles’ system is immature because it fails to distinguish between noēsis (intellectual thought) and aisthēsis (sensory perception).

For Aristotle, thinking is a distinct faculty of the soul that can grasp universals, whereas perception is tied to particulars. By reducing both to the physical interaction of “like with like,” Empedocles effectively stripped the mind of its unique status. Theophrastus further scrutinized this in his treatise De Sensibus, pointing out the logical inconsistencies in the concepts of pores and impulses. He was questioning, for instance, how the size of a physical pore could ever account for the complexity of a subjective thought, thereby influencing some of the concerns of contemporary philosophers of mind.

When examining any book on the history of philosophy, it’s very common for Anaxagoras to be left out. However, he remains one of the most prolific thinkers in antiquity. Anaxagoras was a Presocratic Greek philosopher. He, just like his predecessors and contemporaries, had a lot to say about the universe and the world that we live in, and contributed greatly to his work. His major ideas emerged in response to Parmenides’ work because he disagreed with what Parmenides said.

Early Life

Anaxagoras was a pre-Socratic Greek philosopher born in Clazomenae, then part of the Persian Empire. The legend says that he was among the rarest of philosophers, if not the only one, who received a voice message telling him to become a philosopher.

According to the legend, he was only 17 years old when he first heard it, and he told only his mother, who truly believed in supernatural forces. She advised him to disregard it at first, as it may have been a bad spirit trying to lure him into a world of darkness. But she also advised him that if he hears it for a second time, then he should trust it. However, two days had not even passed when Anaxagoras heard the same voice again. So, he decided to follow it.

At only 20 years old, he decided he would go to Athens to fulfill his dream and prophecy. Some authors even say that although philosophy already existed in Athens at that time, Anaxagoras sparked people’s interest in learning it, and because of that, he contributed to Athens becoming the center of philosophical wisdom.

Before arriving in Athens, however, he decided to give up all the land and capital he had inherited from his father to his relatives so that he could dedicate himself fully to philosophy. Plato himself testified to that in his book Hippias Minor.

He also never married throughout his life and did not want to deal with any politics at all. At first, this was strange to many people because a lot of Athenians only cared about having a good time, surrounded by women and alcohol. However, he later became popular and accepted by everyone surrounding him.

Late Stage of Anaxagoras’ Life

In another book, Plato also states that Anaxagoras was the tutor of the famous Greek politician and general Pericles, during the Golden Age of Athens. There are other sources that confirm that as well. But his relationship with Pericles also caused him a lot of trouble.

After 30 years of living in Athens, he was accused of spreading heretical teachings, namely that the sun is not a God but rather a burning, floating stone. Pericles had a lot of enemies at that time, and because of that, Anaxagoras was found guilty along with his pupil. In the end, however, his friendship with Pericles helped him escape prison, after which he left Athens.

After living in Athens, Anaxagoras moved to Lampsacus, where he founded his own school. His last wish was that the month of his death be declared a holiday for all pupils and students, which was later honored, as the famous historian and biographer Diogenes Laërtius wrote.

The Principle of Nous

Anaxagoras is one of the first philosophers who sought to explain the universe not through a myth or divine perspective but instead through natural principles and rational thought. Because of that, he is considered to be a pivotal figure in the transition from mythological to scientific cosmology.

Unlike his predecessors, who emphasized a single, fundamental substance, such as water (Thales) or air (Anaximenes), Anaxagoras proposed a more complex and dynamic view of reality, one that embraced diversity and infinite complexity.

The concept of Nous is at the heart of Anaxagoras’ philosophy, which is why it’s essential to begin explaining his philosophy here. We can even say that the concept of Nous was among the earliest philosophical attempts to define an abstract, intelligent force as the origin of cosmic order. Anaxagoras saw Nous as the organizing and initiating principle of the universe. It is a pure, infinite, and independent entity that is distinct from matter.

The Principle of Nous as the Mind

Nous is pure and unmixed with any other substance, which allows it to remain distinct and to exercise control. It is not omnipresent in the sense of being everywhere equally, but it is the finest and most autonomous of all things, initiating motion without itself being mixed with anything else. It is rational, but Anaxagoras does not clearly attribute to it purpose or intention in a fully teleological sense.

Because Nous is the rational principle underlying cosmic motion and order, Anaxagoras describes it as “Mind,” and many interpreters follow him in doing so. However, this should not be understood as equivalent to a fully developed concept of mind or consciousness in later philosophical traditions.

Nous is also said to be present in living beings, particularly those capable of perception, but Anaxagoras does not clearly claim that it directly accounts for all life or consciousness. Its primary role is cosmological: it initiates and governs the original rotation that structures the cosmos. In this sense, it is more accurate to describe Nous as a cosmic ordering principle rather than a biological one.

Now let us see how this fits into the broader structure of Anaxagoras’ philosophy.

How Was the Universe Created?

It’s important to note that Anaxagoras was primarily interested in explaining how the universe, or cosmos, was created. Because of that, we can often find him classified as a cosmological philosopher. He thought that the universe started as a chaotic mixture of particles, and by “chaotic,” he meant it lacked any order or control.

In the beginning, Anaxagoras wrote, the universe was an indistinguishable, motionless mixture where all things (elements, substances, and properties) existed together in an undifferentiated state. There was no separation or order; they did not exist. All elements containing the matter were combined into one mass.

Anaxagoras called the elements “seeds.” So the question arises: how did this undifferentiated state begin to separate, and how did things come into existence? Well, this is where the principle of Nous comes into play.

Thanks to the principle of Nous, all these separate particles or “seeds” are orderly put, and later put into motion. This, said Anaxagoras, caused the creation of the cosmos through a process of rotation and separation.

The rotation caused differentiation, as particles began to separate according to their characteristics. So, particles with similar properties began to group together, forming distinct substances and objects. Furthermore, it’s important to mention that this process is ongoing and perpetual, as new combinations and forms constantly arise.

Anaxagoras vs. the Presocratics: Being, Change, and Motion Explained

As mentioned at the beginning of the text, Anaxagoras’ philosophy stands in direct contrast to that of Parmenides or Zeno. Their theories are considered diametric opposites. But why is that? To answer that question, we would need to briefly review the philosophy of the other Presocratics.

Parmenides was the founder of the Eleatic school of thought, also known as the Eleatics. Just like Anaxagoras, he was also interested in exploring the universe and trying to get to the bottom of the underlying principle of the world. He thought that reality is one being only, and is in fact The One.

The One is the ultimate being that exists, and everything in the world is within The One. The One is also conceived as homogeneous, without any parts or distinctions. Parmenides firmly rejected the existence of plurality, claiming that any notion of multiplicity in the world is illusory.

On the other hand, Anaxagoras claimed that reality is fundamentally pluralistic. As we showed, the universe according to Anaxagoras consists of infinite particles, and as a testament to that, we have the multiplicity of objects and things in the world surrounding us.

Their teachings also differ in their views on change and motion. Parmenides denied the reality of change. He thought that change does not exist in the world and that things are just the way they are from birth till death. He famously stated that “what is, is, and cannot not be.” What he means by that is that reality is a single, unchanging, and eternal “being.”

On the other hand, Anaxagoras embraced the notions of change and motion in his philosophy by seeing them as real and fundamental drives in the cosmos. In this sense, we can even say that Anaxagoras had a similar conception to Heraclitus, who is often referred to as the philosopher of change.

Another important point is that Parmenides rejected the idea of motion, claiming that motion is impossible because it implies the existence of “non-being,” which cannot exist. This is later elaborated even further in Zeno’s philosophy, Parmenides’ pupil. But Anaxagoras opposes this view as well, stating that motion is real and essential to the cosmos. He introduced Nous as the force that initiates and sustains motion, causing the separation and organization of the initial mixture.