Epistêmê is the Greek word most often translatedas knowledge, whiletechnê is translated as eithercraft or art. These translations, however, may inappropriately harborsome of our contemporary assumptions about the relation between theory(the domain of ‘knowledge’) and practice (the concern of‘craft’ or ‘art’). In our era, the paradigm oftheory is pure mathematics, that has no obvious application topractical problems of, e.g., engineering. As well, theoretical physicssometimes has a tenuous relation to confirming/disconfirmingexperimentation. At the other end of the spectrum is craft, forexample, carpentry, which is so enmeshed in material application thatit resists any general explanation but must be learned by practice. Asa consequence, theory and practice even seem irreconcilable. Outsideof modern science, there is sometimes skepticism about the relevanceof theory to practice because it is thought that theory is conductedat so great a remove from the facts, the province of practice, that itcan lose touch with them. Indeed, at the level of practice, concreteexperience might be all we need. Finally, if the practical is widenedto include more than the way we manipulate the physical world but alsothe way we lead our lives, the relation between theory and practicehas another problematic aspect. Within science, theory strives for avalue-free view of reality. As a consequence, scientific theory cannottell us how things should be or how to lead our lives. This contrastpresents another aspect of the difference between theory and practice;pure theory is removed from ethical investigation and the practice ofliving requires it.

However, in what follows we will see that some of the features of thiscontemporary distinction between theory and practice are not found inthe relation betweenepistêmê andtechnê. Others are found in a somewhat refractedfashion. As we move chronologically from Xenophon to Plotinus, we gofrom an author who does not distinguish between the two terms, to anauthor who has little use fortechnê because it is sofar from what he considers to be real. It is in Aristotle that we findthe basis for something like the modern opposition betweenepistêmê as pure theory andtechnêas practice. Yet even Aristotle refers totechnê orcraft as itself alsoepistêmê or knowledgebecause it is a practice grounded in an ‘account’ —something involving theoretical understanding. Plato — whosetheory of forms seems an arch example of pure theoretical knowledge— nevertheless is fascinated by the idea of a kind oftechnê that is informed by knowledge of forms. In theRepublic this knowledge is the indispensable basis for thephilosophers’ craft of ruling in the city. Picking up anothertheme in Plato’s dialogues, the Stoics develop the idea thatvirtue is a kind oftechnê or craft of life, one thatis based on an understanding of the universe. The relation, then,betweenepistêmê andtechnê inancient philosophy offers an interesting contrast with our own notionsabout theory (pure knowledge) and (experience-based) practice. Thereis an intimate positive relationship betweenepistêmê andtechnê, as well as afundamental contrast.

• 1. Xenophon
• 2. Plato
• 3. Aristotle
• 4. The Stoics
• 5. Alexander of Aphrodisias
• 6. Plotinus
• Bibliography
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  • Secondary Literature
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1. Xenophon

Xenophon’s only sustained discussions ofepistêmê andtechnê are in two ofhis Socratic works,Memorabilia andOeconomicus. TheMemorabilia recounts conversations which Socrates held on avariety of topics; theOeconomicus is a conversation largelydevoted to one, i.e., the art of running a successful estate andhousehold. In these works, knowledge is intimately tied to knowing howto do things, especially the more organized kind of knowing-howdesignated bytechnê. There is no distinction betweenepistêmê as theoretical knowledge andtechnê as mere craft or skill. Socrates explicitlyidentifies astechnai such activities as playing the harp,generalship, piloting a ship, cooking, medicine, managing an estate,smithing, and carpentry; by association with thesetechnai,we can include housebuilding, mathematics, astronomy, making money,flute playing, and painting. Without marking any difference, he alsocalls many of these activitiesepistêmai.

At the beginning ofMemorabilia, Xenophon, in fact, portraysSocrates as uninterested in the abstract investigations of thephysical universe. Socrates, he says, eschewed the investigation ofthekosmos; he preferred looking into human affairs. Besides,humans cannot understand the universe, as shown by the inability ofthose who engage in these kinds of study to agree (I.i.11–14).In fact, towards the end of the work, Xenophon says that Socrates heldthat the study of geometry should be pursued to the point where onecould measure a parcel of land he meant to buy; study of morecomplicated figures he disparaged because he did not see the use of it(IV.vii.3). If after this introduction we did not expect to find avery great difference betweenepistêmê andtechnê, we would not be disappointed.

Almost all occurrences of the word‘epistêmê’ show its close connectionto skill, practice, andtechnê. In a jocular vein,Critoboulos says he wants to gain the knowledge(epistêmê) which will allow him to win over thosewith good souls and beautiful bodies (II.vi.30). Socrates compares theknowledge (epistêmê) of justice to the knowledgeof letters, i.e., a skill (IV.ii.20). As well, the verbepistasthai — the root ofepistêmê— carries the sense of knowing how to do something. The strongerknow how to use (chrêsthai) the weaker like slaves(II.i.12–13). If one does not know how to pilot (mêepistamenô(i) kubernân) a ship — atechnê — both he and his ship will be lost(II.vi.38). One must learn the crafts (technai) of war fromone who knows them (epistamenon) (II.i.28). Socrates saysthat some of the sub-skills of generalship — which elsewhere hecalls atechnê — come by nature and others comethrough knowledge (epistêmê) (III.i.6–7).The distinction might suggest a relation between theory and practicein which a theoretical account of goals grounds practice. However, thedifference is actually between what is not acquired and what isacquired; but we find no distinction — as in Plato —between what is acquired by theoretical teaching and what is acquiredby practical training. Thus Xenophon does not make the Platonicdistinction between theoretical instruction and learning by practice(cf.Meno 70a–b).

Diligence and training, then, are the basis of these skills, nota theoretical grasp of principles. Socrates emphasizes that learninganepistêmê — what we would call a field ofknowledge — entails care, diligence, and practice. He says thatidleness does not put knowledge worthy of mention into the soul; onemust also have care or diligence (epimeleia) for doing fineand good deeds (II.i.20). Free men (actually gentlemen farmers) whoare not idle but exercise diligence (epimelomenous) in thoseuseful things they understand (epistantai) are happiest; workand application (epimeleian) help men to learn what they needto know and to remember what they learn (II.vii.7–8). Near thebeginning of theMemorabilia, Socrates argues against thosewho say that a just man can never become unjust. Rather, he says,those who do not train the soul (askountas) cannot carry outthe functions of the soul (I.ii.19–20).

Even when Xenophon’s Socrates waxes theoretical about thevirtues, the result remains practical. Saying that those who know whateach virtue is can expound these to others, he gives definitions forthe virtues. A pious man, for instance, knows the laws respecting theworship of the gods and thus worships the gods lawfully; and, ingeneral, the man who knows what is lawful with respect to the gods(ta peri tous theous nomima eidôs) is pious(IV.vi.1–4). The pious man, then, is defined by informedreligious practice. The most abstract definition would seem to be thatof wisdom. Claiming the wise are wise by knowledge(epistêmê(i)), Socrates says wisdom is knowledge.Next, however, he cautions that no one can know all things; so aperson is wise to the extent that he knows (IV.vi.7). Knowledge, then,can be accumulated. Since knowledge is divided into various skills,such as managing an estate and generalship, and their subdivisions,the wise man would appear to be someone who acquires as much of thiskind of knowledge as possible. If so, he is a person of wideaccomplishments, not someone with a theory about the goals ofcraft.

Something similar happens when Socrates talks about the relation ofvirtue and happiness. Here he seems to be approaching a theoreticalaccount of happiness (I.vi.10); but he never uses it to ground thepractice of virtue. In talking about the overarching virtue, the craftof ruling (basilikê technê)–which isassociated with happiness–his account of happiness is lesstheoretical and more practical. He says the ruling craft is the finestof virtues andtechnai, by which men, public and private,become capable of ruling and benefiting other men and themselves(IV.ii.11). Kings and rulers are not simply those who are chosen butthose who know how to rule (tous epistamenous archein). Inthis regard they are compared to others who exercise atechnê, such as ship’s pilots(III.ix.10–11). A good king does not just manage his own lifewell but also that of the ones he rules and he is the cause of theirhappiness (III.ii.2–3). However, he also argues that rulers havea more pleasant life than those who are ruled. His interlocutor,Aristippus, takes him to be claiming that the ruling craft isassociated with happiness. In answer, Socrates describes the life ofwhat is obviously a gentleman, capable of winning good friends andsubduing enemies, fit in body and soul to manage his household, tohelp his friends, and serve his country (II.i.19–20). Theseconstitute the happy life of the gentleman; they also make him able tomake others happy (IV.i.2–3). Although ruling is associated withhappiness (eudaimonia), Socrates is not tempted to generalizeabout happiness; instead of an account of happiness, he enumerates theactivities of a flourishing member of the dominant class.

In theOeconomicus, Socrates uses knowledge(epistêmê) and craft (technê)interchangeably to refer to the practical undertakings of a gentleman,called in Greekkalos k’agathos — literally onewho is fine and good. He opens the work with the question whetherestate management (oikonomia) is the name of a type ofknowledge (epistêmê) like medicine, smithing, andcarpentry. Then he asks whether he and his interlocutor can say whatthe function (ergon) of estate management is, just as theycan say what are the functions of these othertechnai(I.1–2). When he usesepistêmê in whatfollows, the focus of his discussion is some aspect of estate orhousehold management. He refers indifferently to the knowledge(epistêmê) and the craft (technê)of estate management and of farming; the latter includes sub-skillssuch as breeding stock (V.3) casting seed (XVII.7) and the planting oftrees (XIX.1). While there is a distinction between the arts worthy ofa gentleman and illiberal arts (banausikai technai), thedifference is not between what is informed by theory and what is not;rather, the difference is one of scope. The former are the craft ofwar (polemikêtechnê) and that offarming (geôrgia), which allow one to attend to hisfriends and city. The illiberal arts confine one to the workshop andnarrow one’s interests to his own welfare (IV.2–4;VI.5–9). In fact, farming is the mother and nurse of the othertechnai (V.17). Emphasizing its practical nature, he saysknowledge by itself is not sufficient to prosper. There are those whohave the knowledge and resources to increase their estates but areunwilling to do so (I.16). Others, like Socrates’ respondentCritoboulos, might gain such knowledge but do not have the wealthnecessary to make use of it (II.11–13). Still, Socrates says,knowledge is not sufficient to profit but one also needs care anddiligence in order to put his knowledge into effect (XX.2–6).This unused knowledge is not untried theory but neglected skill.

2. Plato

In Plato’s dialogues the relation between knowledge(epistêmê) and craft or skill(technê) is complex and surprising. There is no generaland systematic account of either but rather overlapping treatments,reflecting the context of different dialogues. Nevertheless, Platoemphasizes certain characteristics of both that demonstrate asustained and consistent engagement with the two concepts.

Throughout the dialogues characters frequently citetechnê as a way of illustrating important points intheir philosophical conversations. Some crafts mentioned are medicine,horsemanship, huntsmanship, oxherding, farming, calculation, geometry,generalship, piloting a ship, chariot-driving, political craft,prophecy, music, lyre-playing, flute-playing, painting, sculpture,housebuilding, shipbuilding, carpentry, weaving, pottery, smithing,and cookery. Each of these activities is associated with the wordtechnê, e.g., medicine with theiatrikêtechnê. Each is also associated with a practitioner, e.g.,medicine with a physician (iatros). Other crafts arementioned but without practitioners, e.g., arithmetic, flute-making,and sorcery. Socrates uses medicine much more than any othertechnê; other crafts repeatedly mentioned, albeit lessfrequently than medicine, are house-building, weaving, politicalcraft, music, shoemaking, piloting a ship, generalship, prophecy,carpentry, farming, horsemanship, flute-playing. To our contemporaryears this list is quite various; it is hard to think that they allhave any interesting characteristics in common. Such crafts, ortechnai, as farming and building have concrete, inanimateproducts. Horse training and huntsmanship care for animate butnon-human beings. Medicine cares for the health of humans. Calculationhas neither a concrete product nor does it provide care.

In some dialogues, craft (technê) and knowledge(epistêmê) seem interchangeable in much the sameway as in Xenophon’s Socratic dialogues. In theCharmides (165c) Socrates says that medicine, i.e., thephysician’s craft (iatrikê technê), is theknowledge (epistêmê) of health. InEuthydemus (281a) Socrates says that what guides right use ofmaterials in carpentry is the knowledge of carpentry(techtonikêepistêmê). InIon (532c) Socrates tells the rhapsode Ion that he is notable to talk about Homer with craft and knowledge. InProtagoras (356d-e) Socrates refers to measuring as both acraft and a kind of knowledge.

However, Plato’s interest intechnê is notinnocent. He uses the notion as a way of explicating central themes,such as virtue, ruling, and the creation of the cosmos. As aconsequence, he develops a complex account oftechnê.First of all, a craft has a function (ergon); this is what itcharacteristically does or what it characteristically accomplishes. Infact, crafts are differentiated by their specific functions(erga)(Rep. 346a). A similar idea is assumed in theexchange between Dionysodorus and Socrates (Euthydemus301c), as it is by Socrates inEuthyphro (13d) andIon (537c). While theergon of a craft is its goal,the goal is frequently identified with a result separate from theactivity of the craft. In theEuthydemus (291e) the goal(ergon) of medicine is health just as food is the goal(ergon) of farming. When in theCharmides (165e)Critias denies that calculation has anergon, in the way thata house is theergon of building or a garment of weaving,Socrates answers that nevertheless calculation is about the odd andthe even. His answer suggests the possibility of atechnê whose goal is not a separate result — anidea to be found in theStatesman. Still in theGorgias (453e–454a) Socrates argues that calculationproduces as itsergon persuasion about the amount of the oddand the even — a result separate from the activity ofcalculation.

As the concept oftechnê develops, the role ofreflective knowledge is emphasized. Whereastechnê isassociated with knowing how to do (epistasthai) certainactivities,epistêmê sometimes indicates atheoretical component oftechnê. For example, thephysician knows how to care for the sick (Rep. 342d), toprescribe a regimen (Rep. 407d), to provide for the advantageof the body (Rep. 341e), to make someone healthy(Charm. 174c), to make someone vomit (Laws 933b).However, theepistêmê associated with craft meansmore than simply how to do certain activities. The physician knows orrecognizes (gignôskein) health by medical knowledge(epistêmê) (Charm. 170c). Since healthis the goal of the medical craft, the physician understands the goalof the craft. Plato emphasizes this knowledge as a distinct aspect ofthe craftsman’s skill. Sometimes this aspect is theoretical inthe root sense oftheôria — looking. In theCratylus (389a–b) Socrates talks about the carpenterwho makes the weaver’s shuttle; he looks to(blepôn) something whose nature is to weave. Thislatter seems to be a material model because Socrates supposes whatwould happen if it were to break. In that case, the carpenter looks tothe form (eidos) of shuttle, that which is shuttle (hoestin kerkis). In theGorgias (503d-e) all craftsmenwork not at random but look toward the goal of their craft(ergon) so that what each produces will have a certain form.Socrates cites painters, housebuilders, and shipbuilders. InRepublic VI Socrates compares philosophers who are rulers topainters who look to a model (484c).

The theoretical aspect is also expressed as articulate reasoning aboutthe goal. In Plato’s view, the ability to explain why he doeswhat he does is one of the most important characteristics of thecraftsman. In theCharmides, Socrates says that we test thephysician by questioning him since he understands health(Charm. 170e5–7). Expanding on the idea of testing,Socrates says they will investigate the physician in what he says andin what he does, on whether what he says is true and whether what hedoes is right (171b7–9). This theoretical side of craft isfurther developed in theGorgias. In his conversation withPolus and later in his conversation with Callicles, Socrates carrieson a sustained reflection about craft. In his conversation with Polus,Socrates distinguishes four crafts (technai: medicine,physical training, judging, and legislating; the first pair areconcerned with the body and the latter with the soul (464b). Thesecrafts provide their care always for the best, either of the body orof the soul (464c). Unlike empiric practice (empeiria),technê has an account to give by which it provides thethings it provides, an account of what their nature is, so that it cansay the cause of each (465a). In the conversation with Callicles,Socrates returns to this account, when he seems especially interestedin the ability oftechnê to give an account. He saysmedicaltechnê investigates the nature of the thing itcares for (therapeuei) and the cause of what it does and hasan account to give of each of them (501a). In the first instance,medicine cares for, or treats, the body; but, more particularly, itcares for the good of the body, i.e., its health. So, thistechnê has an account to give of health and of what itdoes to achieve the end of health.

So far then, a craft is defined by its goal and is a kind ofknowledge. Fully developed, this knowledge is knowing how toaccomplish a goal on the basis of an understanding of the goal; theunderstanding can be articulated in an account. The account informsand guides the skilled practice. A craftsman’s being able toarticulate the goal is most fully developed, perhaps, in theLaws. The Athenian Stranger describes the distinction betweenthe slave doctor and the doctor of free men as resting on the abilityto give an account. The slave doctor relies on experience(empeiria) and has no account to give for his procedure. Thefree doctor not only has an account, he communicates it to hispatients as a way of eliciting their cooperation in the course oftreatment (720 b–d). Presumably, the patients come to appreciatethe reasons for the actions the doctor undertakes as well as theregimen he prescribes because they better understand the nature ofhealth and the way the treatments produce health. In fact, the empiricdoctor laughs at the free doctor for instructing his patients —as though he were trying to make them into doctors themselves (857d-e).

There is a second feature oftechnê that is vital forunderstanding its importance to Plato. In theGorgias,technê is distinguished fromempeiria not onlyby its ability to give an account but also because it seeks thewelfare of its object. The physician and the physical trainer seek thewelfare of the body, just as the judge and the legislator seek thewelfare of the soul (464c). These features oftechnêfigure in one of Plato’s persistent themes, the knowledge neededto rule the city. One of its most important occurrences is in theRepublic, where Socrates characterizes ruling as a kind oftechnê that looks out after the welfare of the city(Rep. 342e). But in other dialogues as well, the authenticruler has a knowledge, both practical and theoretical, that allows himto achieve what is good for the city. In fact, the passage just citedfrom theLaws is part of an analogy to explain why thelegislator should be able to explain to the citizens the reasonsbehind the law, and presumably why the law is good for the city.

Indeed, most accounts of knowledge in the dialogues are carried out inthe context of such discussions. Even in theTheaetetus, thedialogue most often thought of as dedicated to epistemology, we findthe same theme. When he argues against Protagoras’ relativism,Socrates gets the sophist to concede that some people are wiser thanothers when it comes to what is good for the city (167c–d).Socrates then seizes upon an analogy with medicine. While each personmay be the final authority for himself when it comes to what is hot,dry, and sweet for him, in matters of health and disease not everyoneknows the healthy for himself nor is he able to cure himself. Just so,while Protagoras may hold that for each city what is fine or base,just or unjust, pious or impious is what the city takes it to be, whatis really advantageous for the city is not the same as what it takesto be advantageous (171e – 172b). Although Socrates’investigation of knowledge becomes more abstract when he introducesbeing, not-being, likeness and unlikeness, identity and difference,unity and plurality, to this group he adds the fine and the base, thegood and the bad (185c–186a). The soul itself investigates thesethings, trying to determine their being (ousia) and theiropposition to one another and the being of that opposition. Finally,the investigation of being, non-being and the other opposites —including the fine and the base, the good and the bad — alsoreflects both on the being of each and on its usefulness (pros teousian kai ôpheleian) (186c).While Socrates does notexplain what reflecting on their usefulness amounts to, the remarkshows a link, however slight, to the original motivation for theinvestigation of knowledge— i.e., providing what is reallyadvantageous for the city.

Nevertheless, these passages from theTheaetetus draw ourattention to a change in the notion ofepistêmê.Knowledge of the forms tends to become an end in itself; and in thisway the idea of knowledge as pure theory begins to make an appearancein the dialogues. This tension is also prominent in theRepublic, of course, where Socrates introduces and developsthe notion that rulers should be philosophers, who are defined bytheir knowledge of forms. At the beginning of the discussion ofphilosophical rulers inRepublic IV, knowledge and craft fallinto a familiar pattern of interchangeability. After defining thethree classes in the city, Socrates is looking for the knowledge(epistêmê) in virtue of which the city iswell-counseled. He dismisses the crafts of carpentry, smithing, andfarming — obviously crafts and calledepistêmai(428b–c). While these focus on some partial good for the city,theepistêmê of ruling takes counsel for the cityas a whole and what is best for it internally and externally (428b–d). Then, inRepublic V, Socrates introduces analtogether different notion of the knowledge that philosophers willhave — one whose object is forms. Indeed this passage definesfor most readers Plato’s idea ofepistêmê.

Knowledge (epistêmê) is the ability to know thereal as it is (477b). The context shows that when Socrates talks aboutthe real, he is referring to the forms. In theRepublic, theprominent forms are the forms for the beautiful, the good, and thejust. In theSymposium, Socrates describes the form of thebeautiful as neither coming to be nor passing away, as not changing inany other way, as never being or even appearing to anyone as anythingbut beautiful (211a–b). Since an analogous description appliesto the good and the just, one can see that forms are very differentfrom the sorts of things we experience through the sensory perceptionassociated with the usualtechnai. After forms are introducedin theRepublic, they are the objects of the most abstractand highest knowledge, afforded by the power of dialectic. At the endof Book VI, Socrates uses the words for knowledge that we have foundin other contexts— understanding (gnôsis) andknowledge (epistêmê). However, in the DividedLine passage a new vocabulary is introduced, as though the conceptionof knowledge has changed in a fundamental way. As he has in otherplaces, Socrates divides the visible world (horaton) from theintelligible (noêton). Whereas before the intelligiblehad been the undivided field ofgnôsis andepistêmê, now it is subdivided into the fields ofmathematical or deductive reasoning (dianoia) and thegrasping of the unhypothetical beginning point (nous). Thelatter is the goal of dialectic (511a–b).

Even this highly theoretical account ofepistêmêleaves room for a kind oftechnê, as we see later inRepublic VI. Knowledge, in the sense ofepistêmê, will be deductive and logical likemathematics; unlike mathematics, its deductions will be based onfoundations that need no further justification. In part it will besomething like mathematical deduction based on fundamental reality.Two aspects of this account are significant. First, using amathematical model as the root of this conception of knowledge makesit purely theoretical; it is theoretical because, like calculation intheCharmides (165e), it has no separate product. Itsergon seems to be the activity itself of dialectical thought.Second, in using mathematical thinking as an analogue for dialectic,Socrates is still relying on the notion oftechnê sinceboth geometry and calculation aretechnai.

Nevertheless, in the Divided Line, Socrates posits intelligibleentities, abstract but real, as objects of mathematical thought and ofdialectical knowledge. Although it treats them only as hypotheses,mathematics reasons about the odd and the even, the various kinds ofshapes, and the three kinds of angles. These are entities distinctfrom their perceptual representation in material diagrams. In turn,dialectic does not treat forms as hypotheses but comes to know whateach is. This knowledge comes from grasping their relation to theunhypothetical beginning point, the form of the good (509d-511e). Thesuper-eminence of the knowledge of the good leads to thelatter’s becoming an end in itself. When philosophers, afteryears of study, at last see the good, they would prefer to stay atthis level and not go back down into the city to rule. They must beforced, by argument, to undertake the task of applying their knowledgeof the forms to the affairs of ruling (519c–520e). So, when thisaccount introduces abstract but real entities as objects of knowledge,Socrates comes close to giving theoretical knowledge a sphere ofactivity that is distinct from that of practical knowledge.

Still, even thoughepistêmê is tied to forms seenas abstract but real entities, it still has a role as presenting aparadigm to be imitated in two high level instances oftechnê. First, at the beginning ofRepublicVI, Socrates gives his interlocutors a peculiar description of whatthe philosopher will do with this knowledge of reality. ConvertingSocrates’ negative description of the non-philosopher, we findthat the philosopher has a knowledge (gnôsis) of thereality of each form, thus a clear paradigm in his soul. Likepainters, philosophers look to (apoblepontes) the truestparadigm, always referring to it and contemplating it as accurately aspossible; in this way they establish here the laws respecting thefine, the just, and the good, if there is need to establish them, ortake care to preserve those that are established (484c–d). Bycomparing philosophers to painters who imitate a paradigm, Socrates isgiving to the knowledge of forms a role within a kind of craft whichimitates forms. This notion of imitating forms is an important one forPlato; he uses it again in the account of creation in theTimaeus. At 28a, the Demiurge — the craftsman of theuniverse — looking at (blepôn) that which doesnot change and using it as a paradigm, fashions its form and powerinto his creation. In the subsequent passage we learn that thisunchanging paradigm is the intelligible animal that contains all otherintelligible animals (30c–d).

Besides the contexts in whichepistêmê of formsresults in imitating them, the dialogues offer another important wayof reconciling knowledge of forms andtechnê. In theSophist, the Visitor from Elea elaborates an analogy betweentechnê and dialectic, whose objects are clearly forms.He begins with the idea that there is atechnê fortelling which letters join to which, just as there istechnê for which musical notes mingle and which do not(253a ff). Then the Visitor turns to the kinds (genê)that he has just introduced: being, rest, motion, sameness, anddifference (254d-e). Making an analogy with the grammatical andmusicaltechnai, he posits a sort of knowledge(epistêmê) for showing which kinds harmonize andwhich do not. This is also the knowledge of how to discriminateaccording to kinds, which the Visitor calls dialectic. While thisknowledge of how to distinguish and to harmonize forms is compared tocraft, it is not productive, the way carpentry is productive. However,in theStatesman, the Visitor takes up the relation ofdialectic, conceived of as theoretical, with practical knowledge. Hecontrastsepistêmai that are practical — likecarpentry — and those which are for knowledge only (258d). TheVisitor calls them respectively the practical(praktikê) and the theoretical(gnôstikê — clearly related tognôsis andgignôskein)(259d). Thepracticalepistêmai cover what are otherwise calledcrafts; however, the theoretical is subdivided into (a)epistêmai like calculation, which only judges ordistinguishes the things known and (b)epistêmai likethat of the architect (architektôn), which command andare thus called commanding (epitaktikê) (259e). TheVisitor may seem to have blurred his original distinction betweenpractical and theoretical by including commanding knowledge(epitaktikê) in the latter category. Still, the notionthat at least part of theoretical knowledge only judges the thingsknown gives us a basis for distinguishing theoretical from practicalknowledge. The former entails craft-like skill; but the skill remainsfocused on the objects of knowledge. In calculation the objects arenumbers; in dialectic they are the kinds. This kind of knowledge hasno product separate from its activity; by contrast, practicalknowledge actually produces something separate, in the way carpentrydoes. This way of expressing the difference suggests that theoreticalepistêmê is not so much a body of knowledge as anability to grasp very abstract sorts of distinctions.

Still, by including commanding knowledge, the Visitor has left amiddle ground between the purely theoretical and the practical.Certainly architecture is not practical since it does not directlyproduce anything, in the way carpentry does. However, it does givecommands, whose effects are practical; thus, it is not for knowledgeonly, in the way in which calculation is for knowledge only. Insofaras architecture is an analogue for the political craft, the Visitorseems to be exploiting this middle ground (259e). It is as though theVisitor is trying to associate the political craft with the mostabstract disciplines, like geometry, even though it has to havepractical impact. In fact, including commanding knowledge undertheoretical knowledge reflects again the tension between the knowledgeneeded to rule and the elaboration of that knowledge. The ruler needsto be able to engage in purely theoretical investigation; he alsoneeds to bring order into the city. The Visitor turns to the latteractivity when he compares the kingly or political knowledge toweaving. Finally, he arrives at the conclusion that the kinglyknowledge weaves together all the otherepistêmai— like generalship and judging — as well as the laws andthose things having to do with the city (305e). While no resolution isoffered to this tension, two features of this long discussion aresuggestive. If the kingly or politicalepistêmêis like weaving, it depends on the ability first of all to distinguishwhat it will weave together. Insofar as dialectic is the skill ofdistinguishing the things known, it can serve as preliminary toweaving because it is preliminary to showing how the kinds harmonize.Further, if political knowledge is like architecture, it is acommanding knowledge (epitaktikê epistêmê);it gives commands. If we search for the source of these commands, alikely source is the relations and distinctions to be found amongforms. If so, the abstract structures discovered bygnôstikê are normative for the city, the way theforms are in theRepublic.

So, while Plato introduces the idea ofepistêmêas purely theoretical, he also seems to want to keep its link totechnê. For instance, in the craft of ruling, therulers take the knowledge they discover in dialectic to provide normsfor the city. The upshot is thatepistêmê tellsus how things ought to be; in this regard, it is not a value-freescience.

3. Aristotle

The obvious place to begin a consideration ofepistêmê andtechnê inAristotle’s writings is in Book VI of theNicomacheanEthics. Here Aristotle makes a very clear distinction between thetwo intellectual virtues, a distinction which is not always observedelsewhere in his work. He begins with the rational soul (to telogon echon) which is divided into the calculating part (tologistikon) and the scientific part (toepistêmonikon). With the calculating part we consider(theôroumen) things which could be otherwise whereaswith the scientific part we consider things which could not beotherwise. When he adds that calculation and deliberation are thesame, he indicates why calculation is about what could be otherwise;no one deliberates about what cannot be otherwise (1139a5–15).Things which could be otherwise are, e.g., the contingencies ofeveryday life; things which could not be otherwise are, e.g., thenecessary truths of mathematics. With this distinction between areality which is contingent and a reality which is necessary,Aristotle has laid the foundation for the strong distinction betweentechnê andepistêmê.

Then the account turns to action (praxis), where we find thekind of thought that deals with what is capable of change. Theefficient cause of actions is choice (prohairesis). The causeof choice is desire (orexis) and reasoning toward an end(logos ho heneka tinos). Thought (dianoia) by itselfmoves nothing, only thought that is practical(praktikê) and for the sake of an end. So, practicalthought (dianoia praktikê) belongs to the calculativepart and pertains to practical truth; theoretical thought(theôrêtikê dianoia) belongs to thescientific part and pertains to truth and falsity. In turn, practicalthought governs productive (poiêtikê) action. Thelatter has an end separate from the action, i.e., the product; we willsee that this kind of practical thought is technê.Underlining the way action requires the two elements of the soul,Aristotle sums up by saying choice can be called intellect fused withdesire (orektikos nous) or desire fused with thought(orexis dianoêtikê) (1139a17–1139b5). Whilethis chapter suggests that the truth sought by practical thought isdifferent in kind from the truth sought by theoreticalthought—because their respective objects are different—itends with the summary claim that attaining truth is the function ofboth parts of the rational soul; then he turns to the virtues whichmake the soul able to attain the truth.

There are five virtues of thought:technê,epistêmê,phronêsis,sophia, andnous (1139b15). Various translationshave been offered for each of these terms. Most often,technê is translated as craft or art. Whileepistêmê is generally rendered as knowledge, inthis context, where it is used in its precise sense, it is sometimestranslated as scientific knowledge. However, one must not confuse thisusage with our contemporary understanding of science, which includesexperimentation. Conducting experiments to confirm hypotheses is amuch later development. Rather, translatingepistêmê as scientific knowledge is a way ofemphasizing its certainty. In any event, as soon as Aristotleintroduces these five terms, he turns to the distinction between thefirst two virtues. First he definesepistêmê, ashe says, in its accurate sense and leaving aside its analogous uses.Scientific knowledge is distinguished by its objects, which do notadmit of being otherwise; these objects are eternal and exist ofnecessity. More precisely, scientific knowledge comprisesdemonstration, starting from first principles; the latter must also beknown, although they are not known by demonstration(1139b15–30). The full account ofepistêmêin the strict sense is found inPosterior Analytics, whereAristotle says that we think we know something without qualification(epistasthai…haplôs) when we think we know(gignôskein) the cause by which the thing is, that itis the cause of the thing, and that this cannot be otherwise(71b10–15). As though to emphasize the necessity of what isknown, he most frequently uses geometry as an example ofepistêmê. In this regard, it should be pointedout that Aristotle uses the notion of cause (aitia) in abroader sense than it usually has in contemporary thought. Thus,understanding how the geometrical axioms lead to a theorem that righttriangles have a certain property would be an instance, for Aristotle,of understanding the cause of the proven property of the righttriangle.

The two virtues of thought that deal with what can be otherwise, i.e.,what is contingent, aretechnê andphronêsis, craft and practical wisdom. Aristotleemphasizes the former, a disposition (hexis) with respect tomaking (poiêsis), is distinct from the latter, adisposition with respect to doing (praxis). First,technê is a disposition that produces something by wayof true reasoning; it is concerned with the bringing into existence(peri genesin) of things that could either exist or not. Theprinciple (archê) of these things is in the one whomakes them, whereas the principle of those things that exist bynecessity or by nature is in the things themselves (1140a1–20).For instance, carpentry makes this house and medicine produces healthin a particular case. What is contingent is whether this house existsor whether health exits in this case. Since what it produces couldexist or not, its products are one of the ways craft deals with thecontingent.

By contrast, practical wisdom does not make something separate the waycraft does. Its province is doing (praxis) and not making(poiêsis). Presumably Aristotle is relying on adistinction between activity, whose end is in itself, and making,whose end is a product separate from the activity of making. Whensomeone plays the flute, e.g., typically there is no further productof playing; playing the flute is an end in itself. However, when onemakes a house, e.g., the activity of making a house is not an end initself but has a product, which is separate from the activity. Thisdistinction is clearer in the opening paragraphs of theNicomachean Ethics. There Aristotle says that eachtechnê, investigation, action (praxis), andundertaking seems to aim at some good. The ends vary, however; someends are the activities themselves and some ends are products(erga) beyond the activities. As examples of these latterkinds of ends, he cites health as the end of medicine, a ship as theend of shipbuilding, and victory as the end of generalship; these endsare products separate from the respective activities(1094a5–10).

The distinction between making and doing is also important for anotherdistinction, in Book Two, between craft (technê) andvirtue (aretê) because virtue is a kind of doing. Thevalue of the works (ginomena) oftechnai is in theworks themselves--because they are of a certain sort. Whereas thevalue of a virtuous action depends on the agent, who must act withknowledge (eidôs) and deliberately choose the actionfor itself; finally, the action must come from a fixed disposition ofcharacter. The latter two features do not belong totechnê (1105a25–1105b5). Presumably, then, thecraftsman does not choose his activity for itself but for the end;thus the value of the activity is in what is made. In the case ofvirtue, by contrast, the value is not in a separate product but in theactivity itself. In the light of what Aristotle says about theactivity of virtue, we can better understand practical wisdom. For it,doing well (eupraxia) is an end in itself. However, this endis quite expansive; it is doing well as a human being, living lifewell in general.

Aristotle ends this chapter by saying that practical wisdom belongs tothe second part of the rational soul, i.e., the part whose object iswhat is contingent. Its virtue is the ability to form opinion(doxa) with respect to what is contingent(1140a1–1140b30). Of course, craft also belongs to this part ofthe rational soul. So, it appears that both of these intellectualvirtues, which deal with contingent reality, form (scil.true) opinions. In the case oftechnê, the opinions arethe basis for production; and in the case ofphronêsis,the opinions are the basis for living well. By making explicit therole of opinion in dealing with contingent reality, Aristotle hasmarked the fundamental difference betweenepistêmê, as scientific knowledge, andtechnê.

With this distinction between what is necessary and what iscontingent, we seem to have, at last, the classic division between thepurely theoretical and the purely practical. Scientific knowledgeconcerns itself with the world of necessary truths, which stands apartfrom the world of everyday contingencies, the province of craft.Still, there are many problems of interpretation surrounding thisdescription of scientific knowledge inPosterior Analytics.While we cannot address them in this article, we can at least pointout a central one. The description just given ofepistêmê makes scientific knowledge into adeductive system in which the relations among terms are invariable andnecessary. The problem for commentators has been how to reconcile thisdescription ofepistêmê with Aristotle’sactual procedure in such treatises as thePhysics andDeAnima, where one does not find a deductive system of invariableand necessary relations. One possible explanation is that thesetreatises are preliminary sketches for a truly scientific treatise. Soone could envision anotherPhysics which would be a series ofdeductions, all expressing invariable and necessary truths aboutnature. However, this charitable assessment does not avoid allproblems. InMetaphysics II, Aristotle explicitly underminesthe possibility of anepistêmê, in the strictsense, with respect to nature. At the end of Book II, Aristotle makesa distinction between the accuracy to be found in mathematics and thatin other disciplines. Mathematical accuracy, he says, cannot beexpected in all things but only in those which do not contain matter.In particular, then, one cannot expect mathematical accuracy in thestudy of nature since it is concerned with matter (995a15–20).If ‘mathematical accuracy’ means the grasp of necessaryand invariable relations among terms, then the study of nature will,by definition, have no such accuracy because what it studies containsmatter. About nature, then, we might have to settle for something lessthanepistêmê in the strict sense. Indeed, inBook VI of theMetaphysics, Aristotle seems to make a majorconcession on the issue ofepistêmê when he saysthat there is no knowledge of the accidental, i.e., what happensinfrequently, because allepistêmê is of thatwhich is always or for the most part (hôs epi to polu)(1027a20). Instead of grasping what is always and necessary, knowledgecan then grasp what happens for the most part, e.g., the regularitiesof nature, to which there are exceptions.

There is, then, some ambivalence in Aristotle’s use of the termepistêmê. For our purposes in this article, wewill leave suspended the question whetherepistêmê in the strict sense is achievable in thestudy of nature. Still, we can recognize a secondary sense ofepistêmê, since Aristotle in some contexts usesepistêmê although the strict conditions do nothold. One of these contexts appears to be the study of nature. Whetherin the study of natureepistêmê in this secondarysense is the best that can be done or whether it can be converted intoepistêmê in the strict sense, there is still asecondary sense ofepistêmê, one that is notdefined in terms of what is eternal and necessary. Finally, thisambivalence undermines the distinction between betweentechnê andepistêmê. There may bea strong distinction betweentechnê andepistêmê when the latter term is meant in thestrict sense; however, the distinction betweentechnêandepistêmê in the secondary sense–whichdeals with the contingencies of nature–is less clear.

Perhaps we can clarify the latter distinction by focusing on craft asproductive. As we have just seen, craft produces something by way oftrue reasoning. Aristotle also gives us a very interesting sketch ofthis practical reasoning at work. In an important example fromMetaphysics VII we see how the account of the goal is thebasis for reasoning which ends in action. In production the form is inthe soul of the one who produces; in the case of medicine, health issuch a form. To begin with, health is knowledge(epistêmê) and an account (logos) in thesoul. Then the physician engages in the following kind of reasoning:since health is this particular state, if the patient is to behealthy, he should have this other particular state, for instancehomogeneity, and if he is to have homogeneity, he should have heat.The physician continues to reason in this way until he arrives at thelast step, the thing he can do. From this point the process, whichaims at health, is called production (1032b1–10).

With this sketch of practical reasoning we can come to closer gripswith what sorts of things could not be otherwise. Let us begin withhealth and the claim that the physician has an account of health. Itis health that is the cause of the steps in the practical reasoningbecause it explains what is to be done. In what way does health admitof being otherwise? One possibility is that what constitutes health isnot invariable; thus the account of health would not be invariable.While it seems unlikely that health is variable in this sense, whatobviously could be otherwise is whether health exists in thisparticular case or not. If health does not exist in this case, it isup to medicine to restore it. In this sense, as well, all of the stepsprescribed by the practical reasoning could be otherwise. In the caseof this patient, homogeneity may or may not exist; heat may or may notexist. However, there is another sense in which the steps in thesyllogism might admit of being otherwise. Each step alleges aproductive relation — e.g., heat produces homogeneity. Now,there is a sense in which these relations could be otherwise. Whileheat produces homogeneity, in a particular case heat causinghomogeneity may or may not exist because there may or may not be heat.To say of all these conditions that they could be otherwise, then,implies that they could or could not exist. Whether these conditionsexist or not depends on an agent bringing them into existence. So thefield of craft is those conditions that can be brought into existenceby an agent.

To this kind of contingency, however, another must be added. Theproductive relation can be contingent in another sense. It iscontingent whether heat, e.g., produces homogeneity. Heat does notinvariably nor necessarily produce homogeneity, although it does do sofor the most part (Prior Analytics, 32b5–20). Thereare, then, two kinds of contingency possible in practicing medicine.The first kind has to do with whether the physician acts or not; thesecond kind has to do with whether the productive relation holds ornot. On the one hand, if the first kind of contingency held but thesecond did not, the physician would have a nearly sovereign command ofhealth. If the productive relations between heat and homogeneity andbetween homogeneity and health were invariable and necessary, then solong as the physician could produce heat, he could invariably producehealth. On the other hand, if the productive connections were notinvariable and necessary — but only held for the most part— then the physician could reliably but not invariably producehealth (Metaphysics, 1026b30–1027a25). One could say ofcontingent productive connections that they hold unless somethingunusual happens, that, e.g., heat always causes homogeneity unlesssomething unusual intervenes. Accidental factors — by definitionfactors which arise infrequently — can defeat the causal linkbetween heat and homogeneity. But since accidental factors areinfrequent, one can claim that for the most part heat causeshomogeneity. In view of this kind of contingency, what the physiciancan claim to know is that heat produces homogeneity unless somethingunusual intervenes. In his deliberations, what he does not know iswhen something unusual will happen (Nicomachean Ethics,1112a20–1112b10).

Scientific knowledge, in the strict sense, does not deal with thesekinds of contingency. Nevertheless, Aristotle still describes medicine— which does deal with contingency — as anepistêmê, as we have seen. Indeed, from time totime, Aristotle mentionsepistêmê andtechnê in the same breath, as though they are not asdistinct asNicomachean Ethics VI would make them seem. InthePhysics (194a20), Aristotle argues that the student ofnature will study both form and matter. To illustrate he says that itbelongs to the sameepistêmê to study the form aswell as the matter; the physician, for instance, studies health aswell as bile and phlegm. InNicomachean Ethics, in hispolemic against the Platonic notion of the good itself— usingepistêmê andtechnê indifferently— Aristotle says the physician does not study health as such buthuman health — even the health of this human because it isindividuals that he cures (1097a10–15). Clearly, if medicine isanepistêmê which studies health, it is also atechnê which produces health. If he were usingepistêmê in its strict sense, he ought not tohave called medicineepistêmê. Indeed, the mixingofepistêmê andtechnê is notconfined to medicine. InNicomachean Ethics II, when heillustrates the notion of the mean between extremes, he cites expertsin physical training. Generalizing, he says that everyepistêmê achieves well its goal (ergon)by looking at the mean and using that as a standard in its products.Then when he says next that the good craftsmentechnitai(craftsmen) andtechnê look to the mean, he shows thereis no hard distinction betweenepistêmê andtechnê in this context (1106b5–15).

Thus, a mixed picture of the relation betweenepistêmê andtechnê begins toemerge. Whiletechnê deals with things which could beotherwise, Aristotle still has a tendency to call itepistêmê. The reason for this tendency isprobably that, while the person withtechnê does nothaveepistêmê in the strict sense, he hassomething close to it. At the beginning of theMetaphysics,Aristotle says that the person withepistêmê andthe person withtechnê share an important similarity.There Aristotle contrasts the person of experience (empeiria)with someone who hastechnê orepistêmê. The former knows that, when Callias hadsuch and such disease, thus and such helped him, and the same forSocrates and many others. However, the person who has atechnê goes beyond experience to a universal judgment.This judgment is that this remedy helped all individuals of this type,with this disease. Examples of the types of individuals are thephlegmatic and the bilious, when afflicted with a burning fever(981a5–15). However, it is important to note that the universalscited — phlegmatic and bilious — have a role to play inexplaining a fever and, thus, a role to play in the account of a cure.As Aristotle says, the master craftsman (technitês) iswiser than the person of experience because he knows the cause, thereasons that things are to be done. The mere artisan(cheirotechnês) acts without this knowledge(981a30–b5). Aristotle goes on to say that in general the signof knowing or not knowing (tou eidotos kai mê eidotos)is being able to teach. Becausetechnê can be taught,we think it, rather than experience, isepistêmê( 981b10). Presumably the reason that the one withtechnê can teach is due to his grasp of the universalwhich explains the reason for what is done in histechnê. In fact, we can imagine a kind of medicaltechnê which encodesepistêmê inthe secondary sense, i.e., of what happens in nature for the mostpart. Still, medicine can never beepistêmê inthe strict sense.

However, it is possible that sometechnê could lack abasis even in this kind ofepistêmê. We can takeour cue from the kind of accuracy Aristotle says is to be expected inthe study of the supreme good. InNicomachean Ethics I 3, hesays that it is political science (politikêepistêmê) which pursues this study (1094b1).Since there is disagreement and error surrounding the topic of thegood, we must be content, concerning such a subject and relying onsimilar premises, to show the truth roughly and in outline. Given asubject and premises that hold for the most part (hôs epi topolu) similar conclusions will follow. He adds that it is themark of an educated person to seek the amount of accuracy(takribes) that the nature of the subject matter permits(1094b20–25). Later in Book I, Aristotle returns to the problemof the accuracy appropriate to different undertakings; one must seekaccuracy (akribeian) according to each subject matter and tothe degree that is appropriate to the method for investigating it. Heillustrates this problem by comparing geometry with carpentry. Bothseek (epizêtousi) the right angle, the latter insofaras it is useful for his product and the former as to what it is andits properties, since he is looking for the truth (1098a25–30).Here we can see the possibility that practical accuracy, clearlydistinct from mathematical accuracy, is also distinct from theaccuracy of the study of nature. After all, the accuracy needed forproduction might also fall short of the standard required by the studyof nature, even when this study isepistêmê inthe secondary sense. If so, perhaps Aristotle is allowing for atechnê that is based on a grasp of its goal that,although a universal, is not as accurate asepistêmê in the secondary sense.

4. The Stoics

Among the Stoics, the relation betweenepistêmêandtechnê is the richest and most focused of all theaccounts we have so far considered. That relation is enmeshed in theStoic account of virtue, in which the two notions of knowledge andcraft flow together in forming the science and art of living. Zenorefers to atechnê which cures the diseases of the soul(SVF, i.e.Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, I 323) andChrysippus says that practical judgment (phronêsis) isa kind oftechnê concerning the things having to dowith life (SVF II 909). While virtue is compared to atechnê, it is also a complete and unshakeableunderstanding of the universe. It has then some of the features of anepistêmê in Aristotle’s strong sense. Inorder to grasp the waytechnê andepistêmê are combined in the Stoic conception ofvirtue, we can begin with the Stoic idea of impulse to action.Diogenes Laertius says that, according to the Stoics, an animal hasself-preservation as the object of its first impulse(hormê). So, the first thing appropriate(oikeios) to every animal – including humans – isits own constitution and the consciousness of this. Impulse leadsevery animal to seek what is appropriate to it and rejects what is notappropriate. In addition, the constitution of adult humans includesreason; so, reason supervenes on what would be purely automaticimpulses in other animals. Stoics say that reason is itself thecraftsman (technitês) of the adult’s impulses(Diogenes Laertius VII.85–6).

For the Stoics, however, reason’s being the craftsman of alladult human impulses does not imply a division between the rationaland any non-rational parts of the soul. Orthodox Stoics do not dividethe soul into reason and non-rational desires. Without this divisionthere is no basis for a distinction betweenepistêmê as an intellectual virtue and reason asexercising a kind oftechnê with respect to somenon-rational element. Rather, there is only the reasoning(dianoia) and governing principle(hêgemonikon) which is capable of opposite states andthus becomes either virtue or vice (Plutarch,On moral virtue441 C–D). Moral weakness or hesitancy comes from alternatingjudgments about what is morally right (446E–447A). Such anaccount implies that reason controls impulse solely by its judgments.One’s emotions, then, are not independent of reason; they cannotpursue as good something different from what reason takes to be good.In those who do not know what the good is, reason gives rise tomistaken impulses to action. For instance, the belief that health isgood is mistaken because only virtue is good; still, this mistakenbelief is expressed as fear at the prospect of losing one’shealth, which, in turn, can move one to preserve health at the expenseof virtue. However, in the one who knows that virtue is the only good– the sage – reason, unimpeded by fear, gives rise toimpulses that aim only at virtue. If reason is the craftsman ofimpulse and iftechnê implies knowledge, then it moldsone’s impulsive feelings, i.e., the ones that lead one to act,through knowledge of the good.

However, this knowledge of the good locates what is good for the sagein what is good for the whole universe. Zeno says that the end of lifeis to live in accordance with nature. In fact, living in accordancewith nature is the same as virtue (Diogenes Laertius, VII.87).Chrysippus modifies Zeno’s claim when he says that living inaccordance with virtue is equivalent to living in accordance with theexperience of what happens by nature. What happens by nature isgoverned by universal law, which is right reason pervading everythingand is identical with Zeus, who is the leader of the governance ofeverything (Diogenes Laertius, VII.87–8). The consequence isthat the sage’s reason, endowed with knowledge of the way rightreason pervades the universe, supervenes on impulse with the good ofthe whole in view. Chrysippus says that there is no other or moreappropriate way of approaching the account of things which are goodand bad or the virtues or happiness than from universal nature andfrom the governance of the universe. (Plutarch.On StoicSelf-contradictions 1035 C–D)

At this point, we can appreciate the way Stoicism presents a distinctview of the relation betweenepistêmê andtechnê. Socratic intellectualism holds that what oneknows to be good is sufficient for one to do what is good; but it hasno moral psychology to justify the claim. Finding the claim itselfparadoxical, Plato explains the hesitancy to do what one knows to begood by introducing non-rational elements into the soul. (See theentry onancient ethical theory, especially the sections on Socrates and on Plato.) Finally, theStoics return to a form of Socratic intellectualism. However, Stoicismprovides the missing moral psychology with its doctrine of the unityof the soul. In the soul of the Stoic sage, the knowledge of the goodis an unshakeable grasp of what is good both for the sage and for thewhole universe. Because of its unity, there is nothing in the soul ofthe sage to oppose this knowledge. It is as though the Stoics assumethat, without opposition, this sort of knowledge would naturally passover into action once the connection is made with a particularsituation. Any reason to think otherwise is false. One type of falseopinion is theoretical (and external to moral reasoning) and comesfrom mistaken views about moral psychology that imply, e.g., that thesoul has non-rational parts. The other type is practical (and internalto moral reasoning) and comes from failure to know that virtue isliving in accordance with nature and is the only good. This type offalse opinion gives rise to such emotions as fear, which impede livingin accordance with nature. Once these are swept away, knowledge ofwhat is good is motivation enough to act. In the sage, then, where theunity of the soul is perfected, the theoretical grasp characteristicofepistêmê just is atechnê.

The way thistechnê works is illustrated in anotherwidely held Stoic teaching, i.e., the unity of the virtues. Zeno heldthat virtue is practical knowledge (phronêsis) invarious forms. Whenphronêsis deals with what is owedto others it is justice (dikaiosunê); when it dealswith what should be chosen it is moderation(sôphrosunê); when it deals with what must beendured it is courage (andreia). In all of these definitionsZeno meansphronêsis to be knowledge(epistêmê) (Plutarch,On moral virtue441A). According to Sextus, the Stoics say thatphronêsis, being knowledge(epistêmê) of the good and the evil, provides atechnê concerning life (SVF III 598). Here we can seethe ‘sage’ or fully perfected human being has a kind ofinsight into what is good and bad in each situation of life. In itsparticularity, this insight is like that of a master craftsman, whoknows what is appropriate at each juncture of his practice. And likethe master craftsman, the sage reacts appropriately both in the way hefeels and in the way he acts.

Still, there is room for a distinction betweenepistêmê andtechnê. Severalauthors attribute to Zeno the notion that atechnê is asystematic collection of cognitions (katalêpseis)unified by practice for some goal advantageous in life (SVF I 73). Thedifference betweentechnê andepistêmê properly speaking is that the latter issaid to be secure and unshakeable by reason (Stobaeus2.73,16–74,3). In general, however,technê doesnot have the same kind of stability (Cicero,On Ends III.50).Nevertheless, such distinctions betweenepistêmêandtechnê do not keep the Stoics from characterizingvirtue astechnê. This specialtechnêdoes consist in a secure and unshakeable insight into what isappropriate at each juncture of life.

A significant refinement of thistechnê is found inCicero’sOn Ends. In Book V, Piso, representing theviews of Antiochus of Ascalon, gives an overview of philosophicalschools. The account depends on the notion of the highest good(summum bonum) because differences about the highest gooddefine the possible schools. The explication of these differencesbegins with an analogy drawn from the crafts (artes,Cicero’s Latin for the Greektechnai). First of all,the art is different from its object. Second, as medicine is the artof health and navigation the art of guiding ships, so prudence(practical wisdom) is the art of how to live (vivendi ars estprudentia). Piso presents this last claim as common to all theschools, or at least as a good way to present an element which iscommon. Next he says that whatever prudence would aim for is somethingsuited to our nature and the object of natural impulse (what theGreeks callhormê). Stoics hold that prudence aims forthe primary objects of nature. The primary objects of nature includesuch things as life and health. However, Stoics do not hold thatactually obtaining the primary objects of nature is the highest good.Rather they maintain that making every effort to obtain them (i.e.,appropriate ones among them, given the circumstances), even if one isunsuccessful, is morality and is the only thing desirable for itselfand the highest good (V.16–20).

If life and health are among the primary objects of nature, then theStoic teaching is that doing everything to obtain life and health ismorality. But this claim must be qualified; it is not moral to strivefor life and health in an unjust way. Another of the primary objectsof nature is human solidarity. Thus, making every effort to obtainlife and health (and the other primary objects of nature) is the sameas being virtuous, just as making every effort to cure a patient isthe same as following the craft of medicine. Whether the sage actuallyobtains life and health (or his other specific objectives in hisactions) is beyond his control. Finally, however, virtuously strivingfor these is more important than obtaining them — it is, infact, the only true good.

In Book III, the Stoic Cato explains this complicated position. Humanbeings begin life automatically and instinctively seeking the primaryobjects of nature, but as their power of reason develops, they come torealize, if they attain a correct understanding, that moral action isreally the end of life. So they shift the aim of their life, from theprimary objects of nature themselves to doing everything possible toattain them. Using an analogy to marksmanship, Cato says that someonewho makes it his purpose to hit the target would do everything hecould to aim straight. Thus, he says, his end would be to tryeverything he could to aim straight. Cato’s thought is that thesage will aim for such things as health; however, the good — andtherefore the end he seeks — is in the way he pursues health.Thus, actually getting health is preferable to not getting it, butpursuing it in a moral way is what is desirable in itself. So, heexplains, wisdom (sapientia) is not like medicine ornavigation but closer to acting and dancing, where the end is theexercise of the art and is in the art itself and not external to it.Even this analogy to the art of dancing is not quite adequate.According to Cato, a virtuous action entails all the virtues;presumably he means, e.g., a just action is also moderate andcourageous. However, not every dance movement includes all thepossible dance steps (III. 22–25). In sum, the Stoics give usthe powerful idea that the excellent human life, and happiness, is thesame thing as performing in an artful way, striving for a life ofnatural satisfactions, but actually finding ultimate value in the wayone strives.

5. Alexander of Aphrodisias

In commenting on the notion of contingency in Aristotle’sPrior Analytics, Alexander introduces the idea of stochastictechnê — an idea important for the Stoicexplanation of virtue that we have just seen. Aristotle himselfrecognizes a kind of knowledge that deals with things that happen forthe most part; what happens for the most part is distinct from whatmay or may not happen (Prior Analytics, 32b5–20). Inhis commentary on the kind of syllogism relative to what happens forthe most part, Alexander calls thetechnai that use this kindof syllogism stochastic. The root sense of ‘stochastic’ isthe ability to aim or hit. Obviously there is an ambiguity in thenotion. A necessary condition of being able reliably to hit the targetis being able to aim; but aiming and hitting are different. If oneaims well, she usually hits, but contingencies can intervene.Stochastictechnai are ones subject to this kind ofcontingency. Alexander calls them stochastic, in the sense ofconjectural (In An.Pr. 39, 15–40, 5). When thephysician, e.g., aims at health, his aiming is a kind of conjecture,albeit a grounded one, that such and such treatment will producehealth.

Alexander develops the notion of stochastictechnêfurther in his commentary on Aristotle’sTopics.Addressing the problem that dialectic does not always achieve itsgoal, i.e., leading the interlocutor to a contradiction, he dividestechnai into ones which achieve their ends by definite stepsand those which cannot (In Top. 32,10–34,1). Givenmaterials, tools, and other conditions, carpentry, e.g., can producehouses by following a series of steps each of which is effective in adeterminate way. However, medicine does not always cure and certainlydoes not cure with the reliability that carpentry produces houses.Even though medicine tries everything in its power, chance canintervene so that it does not achieve its goal, the curing of thepatient. When carpentry, by contrast, tries everything in its power,it achieves its goal. If there is failure, it is the result not ofchance but of error in executing thetechnê, asAlexander says inQuaestiones (Quaestio 2.16,10–25). To mark the difference between these two kinds oftechnê, Alexander says that the task (ergon)of medicine is to try everything possible to achieve its goal(telos); but achieving its goal is not (totally) within thepower of medicine. He calls stochastic, then, the sorts oftechnê whose task is to try everything possible toachieve its goal, the realization of the goal being subject tochance.

In a different vein, Alexander makes an interesting addition toAristotle’s distinction betweenepistêmêandtechnê. In his account of wisdom in Book One of theMetaphysics, Aristotle argues that knowledge is valued forits own sake. In one place, Aristotle says that what distinguishesexperience (empeiria) fromtechnê is that thelatter has a rational account, which explains what it does. Of course,the one with experience may be more effective than the inexperiencedperson who has only the rational account. Still, we think thecraftsman wiser than the empiric because of his knowledge of theaccount (Metaphysics 981a 5–30). The suppressedconclusion is that wisdom is characterized by knowledge of causesquite apart from the utility of knowing the causes. Another argumentshows that wisdom is not productive knowledge. Since wonder is thebeginning of philosophy, satisfying that wonder is an end in itself.In fact, this kind of pursuit arose when the requirements of necessityand ease were satisfied (Metaphysics 982b 10–15). Sowisdom is knowledge without practical utility, an end in itself.

In his commentary on theMetaphysics, Alexander interpretsthese arguments as showing that pure knowledge is superior to action.But there is a difference between the claim that there is a kind ofknowledge which is an end in itself and the claim that pure knowledgeis superior to action. The latter idea is a distinct development inthinking about the relation between knowledge and craft. Thisdevelopment rests on the notion that action implies need and it isbetter to be without need. So knowledge that fills no need is superiorto action, which fills some need or other. We see this idea at work inthe auxiliary arguments which Alexander offers to back up or explicateclaims made in Aristotle’s text. For instance, when Alexanderfirst claims that Aristotle means to show that knowledge is morehonorable than action, he says that action aims at some end other thanitself. As though remembering that virtuous action — unlikeproductive action — has no end outside itself, he immediatelyoffers an argument to the effect that even virtuous actions havereference to the passions. Divine beings, who are without passions,have no need of virtue. Those who have passions need the virtues inorder to control the passions (In Metaph. 2, 1–10).Obviously, to have passions is to be in need. The contrast between thedivine and the human also figures in another auxiliary argument. Inpassing, Aristotle says that one might justifiably think that wisdomis beyond human ability because in many ways human nature is inslavery (Metaphysics 982b30). Alexander explicates the remarkabout slavery by saying that humans are slaves in that they need suchthings as health and prosperity. But what is divine is free of allneed (In Metaph. 17, 15–20).

Alexander returns to this theme in his commentary on Aristotle’sPrior Analytics. At the beginning of the commentary, heclaims that theorizing is the highest of human goods. In making outthis claim, Alexander points to the situation of the gods, who arewithout emotions and therefore do not need the moral virtues. Nor dothey need to deliberate. What is left is contemplating the truth. Forthe gods, theorizing about truth is continuous and uninterrupted. Sucha state is impossible for humans in general; but some may approach it.By leaving behind emotions and the human condition, one may engage inthe divine activity of pure theorizing. Insofar as one is engaged inthis activity, a human becomes like the gods. If becoming like god(homoiôsis theô(i)) is the greatest good forhumans, then syllogistic, the method for theorizing, is most valuable(In An. Pr. 5,20 – 6,10). Although expressedhypothetically, becoming like god is being put forth as the greatestgood for humans. Even if a human cannot always be in such a state,when he is in a state of continuous and uninterrupted theorizing aboutthe truth, he is just so far forth like god. In this discussionAlexander is building on themes found in Aristotle’sNicomachean Ethics (X.7–8). There Aristotle argues thatthe life of contemplation is happiness because it is the virtue of thehighest part of the soul, reason. Since this part is the mostgod-like, contemplation is in some sense divine activity. Still, inthese passages, Aristotle continues to talk about integratingcontemplation of truth within the context of a human life. Bycontrast, Alexander suggests that one might lead — or at leaststrive for— a god-like life of pure contemplation. In such anaccount, pure theory is expressly divorced from practice and promotedover it.

6. Plotinus

As might be expected, Plotinus’ philosophy does not have muchuse for the concept oftechnê. Its account of knowledgeis fuller than that of craft and is close to Aristotle’s idea ofepistêmê in the strong sense. In theEnneads,epistêmê is not directlyassociated withtechnê. In the first place,epistêmê refers to the particular cognitive stateof the first hypostasis from the One, Nous, in which there is anidentity between knowledge and what is known (VI. 6. 15). Our soulsgain true knowledge by the presence of Nous, although Nous knowsnon-discursively while our souls characteristically know in adiscursive way (V. 9. 7; IV. 3.18). Discursive knowledge is the sortof knowing that moves from, e.g., premise to conclusion;non-discursive thought, then, is a unitary grasp or understanding.Discursive knowledge, through dialectic, is able to speak in areasoned way about each thing, say what it is and in what way itdiffers from others, and what it has in common with those with whichit exists, and so on. It does all these things with certain knowledge(epistêmê) and not by opinion (I. 3. 4). Plotinusalso usesepistêmê in another sense to refer to akind of knowledge which is articulated in theorems (e.g., IV. 3. 2).Since the ideal state for a human is to enjoy the knowledge which isfound in Nous and then, beyond that, the contemplation of the One,Plotinus gives short shrift to the civic virtues of courage, justice,and moderation. Once one attains the higher levels, he gives up thecivic virtues in their usual sense. At this level, moderation, forinstance, is not measure and limit but rather separation fromone’s lower nature (I. 2. 7. 25).

Technê, then, is even further down Plotinus’ listof concerns. He gives as examples oftechnai grammar,rhetoric, lyre playing, music, housebuilding, medicine, and farming(II. 3. 2. 10–15; IV. 4. 31. 15–20). The most importantuse of the nature oftechnê is to illustrate pointsabout the coming to be of the universe. Plotinus holds that Nous givesrise to the rational principle (logos) which is responsiblefor the existence of our universe (III. 2. 2) although the rationalprinciple does not create the universe because the universe neithercomes into existence nor perishes (III. 2. 1). Still, Plotinus usesanalogies withtechnê to explain the work of therational principle. In the treatise on beauty, he says that beauty inthe material world comes from shape or form and rational principle;insofar as matter is ordered by these it is beautiful. As anillustration of this point he cites the waytechnê canbestow beauty on a house and its parts (I. 6. 2). In justifying thepresence of both good and evil in the universe, he cites the way apainter includes varying and contrasting elements in painting (III. 2.11). In another very striking passage, Plotinus invokes thetechnai of dance, music, and drama to explain the waycontrasting elements in the life of the universe are blended (III. 2.16). Nevertheless, there are ways in which the activity of therational principle is different fromtechnê. The mostimportant is that rational principle does not reason that the universeshould exist; the creative power of rational principle is the power tomake another thing without striving for its being made. This power isnot acquired or learnt the way atechnê is (III. 2. 2).In explaining the way nature works, Plotinus says that nature isproductive because of its contemplation of realities in Nous. Its actof contemplation makes what it contemplates— as though the veryact of contemplation were automatically productive (III. 8. 4). In asimilar vein he says that the universe is an image of reality but doesnot exist by discursive thought (dianoia) nor by contrivanceof craft (epitechnêsis) (II. 9. 8). Plotinus, then, isproposing the interesting notion that pure thought can be productivein its own right, without the need of atechnê.

Hence Plotinus can dismisstechnê as later than souland imitating it, making unclear and weak copies, childish things notworth much, stacking up many devices in making an image of nature (IV.3. 10). Still, Plotinus makes some interesting claims about craft whenhe is being less severe. Making an analogy with the beauty in Nous,Plotinus says that the statue is beautiful not because of the stonebut because of the form which craft puts in it. Moreover, this beautywhich exists in the craft is much better than the beauty expressed inthe stone (V. 8. 1). Drawing another analogy between Nous andtechnê, he says that the forming principles of theuniverse come from Nous the way the forming principles in the souls ofcraftsmen come from their crafts (V. 9. 3). Finally he raises thequestion whethertechnê might be based somehow in theintelligible world. In answer, he distinguishes those crafts whichimitate nature from those which consider proportion in general. Theformer are painting, sculpture, dance, and mime. However, music dealswith proportion of an intelligible kind (V. 9. 11). Music, then, hassome grasp of purely intelligible proportion.

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