Episode 241: A Common Thread Between The Epicurean View Of "The Gods" and "The Good"

Transcript of Episode 241. Note: The following transcription was prepared with speech to text software, and has been only lightly edited for accuracy. This file has been prepared primarily as an aid in searching for material in the audio episode. This transcript likely contains errors, and should not be relied on for anything other than searching for discussions relevant to particular topics. Please consult the original audio episode for accurate information. If you come across egregious errors in the transcript below, please let us know in the Epicureanfriends.com forum!

Today, we're continuing in Cicero's On the Nature of the Gods. We are moving into section 23, but before doing so, we will recap last week’s episode, which focused on the implications of one sentence from section 23. In this section, Cotta said that Velleius argued that the general assent of men of all nations and all degrees is the argument Epicurus was advancing to induce us to acknowledge the existence of the gods. We talked about this at length because it is an important subject involving prolepsis and canonic theory in general.

However, even after discussing this topic extensively and continuing our discussions in several Zoom sessions last week, we realized there is more to be said about it. One point that Joshua raised is particularly noteworthy. He compared the style of the argument in Cicero’s On Ends, where Torquatus discusses the nature of the good, to what Velleius says about the nature of the gods in On the Nature of the Gods. Joshua made a very interesting point about Epicurus's approach and how it has been passed down to us. This approach can sometimes be confusing when taken in isolation, and we don't understand why the conversation began in a particular direction.

This confusion can arise both in discussions of the nature of the good and the concept of divinity. We need to consider whether Epicurus is addressing specific deities like Zeus, Athena, and Aphrodite, or if he is speaking more generally about the concept of divinity. Similarly, Torquatus is discussing the concept of the good before delving into specific pleasures and how to evaluate them. There is foundational groundwork that must be laid before engaging in detailed analysis.

This discussion can be likened to the issue of confusing the forest for the trees: focusing on individual details without understanding the broader concept. We will review further whether we are facing a forest versus trees problem with both the nature of the gods and the nature of the good. Let me turn that back over to Joshua to continue.

I think we have always said, Cassius, that we probably get more out of recording these episodes than people do from listening to them, simply because we learn so much from trying to think through the arguments. When dealing with works like Cicero's, we must formulate responses to his points, which is hugely beneficial for us. This becomes especially clear when we record an episode and, by the end, I have a thought that explains the topic better than I did throughout the entire episode. This happened to me last Sunday when we recorded episode 240. In the thread for episode 240, after we finished recording, I made a post that I believe clarifies two problems in the letter to Menoeceus and also addresses the issue we discussed last week.

Let me start with the letter to Menoeceus, where Epicurus says: "First believe that a god is a living being, blessed and incorruptible, according to the notion of a god indicated by the common sense of mankind." It has always struck me, and we've had conversations about this in the past, why Epicurus uses the singular "god" rather than the plural when he normally uses the plural. In fact, for the rest of the letter, he uses the plural, and Lucretius also speaks of gods in the plural. I think I can explain this as part of my broader analysis here.

I believe what Epicurus is doing in the letter to Menoeceus is similar to what Torquatus does in the beginning of his monologue in Cicero's On Ends. Torquatus states, "The problem before us then is what is the climax and standard of things good, and this, in the opinion of all philosophers, must needs be such that we are bound to test all things by it, but the standard itself by nothing." He continues to say that Epicurus places this standard in pleasure, which he declares to be the supreme good, while pain is the supreme evil.

Before we can discuss what any philosopher believes the good is, we need to understand what the good itself means; we need to define our terms. If one thinks virtue is the good, that doesn't help us unless we know what "good" should mean. Torquatus asserts that the good, in the opinion of all philosophers, is such that we are bound to test all things by it, but the good itself by nothing. So, if pleasure is the good, we are bound to test all things by pleasure, but not pleasure itself. Similarly, if virtue is the good, we test all things by virtue, but not virtue itself, and so on.

I think there's a real parallel here to what Epicurus says in the letter to Menoeceus: "First believe that a god is a being blessed and incorruptible." Before discussing the gods, we must have a working definition of what a god is. Epicurus seems to suggest that according to the common notion of mankind, a god is a being blessed and incorruptible. However, this is not an argument for the existence of the gods. Epicurus believes the gods exist because of (a) the prolepsis, which is a canonical faculty like sensation and feelings, and (b) his principle of isonomia, derived from his physics. He does not think the gods exist simply because it is the common notion or common sense of mankind. Instead, he uses the common sense of mankind to provide a definition of what a god is: a living being, blessed and incorruptible.

Just as with the concept of the good, before we know what any philosopher says the good is, we are bound to test all things by the good but test the good itself by nothing. Joshua, it seems to me that much of the confusion arises when the definite article "the" is inserted here. As you're saying, it’s a question of the general versus the particular, or the universal versus the particular. The statement by Epicurus about a god or the discussion about the good must be distinguished between whether you're talking about a particular god or a particular good.

Joshua to Cassius: I spent all of the last episode listening to you talk about this, and I still don't quite grasp your point. I'm focusing on the definition, while you seem to be discussing the general versus the specific and whether specific deities like Zeus exist.

Cassius to Joshua: What I hear you saying is that whenever the term "the gods" is used, there's ambiguity about which gods are being referenced. This is different from the concept of a god, where, as you suggest, we need a definition. Epicurus is providing a definition of what a god would be, which doesn’t tell us whether he thinks a particular god exists.

Therefore I think the direction you're going is correct. Torquatus points out that when discussing the word "good," we need to define it conceptually without reference to any particular good. We can only determine whether a specific thing is good after we have established our definition. Similarly, regarding the gods, before you can discuss something, you need to agree on a definition. Epicurus asserts that the definition is that a god is a living being who is blessed and imperishable. Once you have that definition, you can start discussing whether specific deities like Zeus or Yahweh exist. You can't start talking about whether these beings exist unless you first understand what you're discussing. Am I following your argument correctly, or are you suggesting something different?

Joshua: Yes, I think you're taking it one step further, and it does proceed from what I’m saying. We can't decide whether my coffee table is a table unless we know what a table is. This isn't the same as asking for the ideal form of a table—it's about agreeing on a definition because you can't begin to communicate unless you agree on what you're talking about.

So, the first thing I'm hearing you say is that in both cases—Torquatus regarding the good and Velleius regarding the gods—we are discussing Epicurus's definitions. In both cases, we are using a messenger: Velleius for the gods and Torquatus for the good. We're essentially discussing what Epicurus is saying, although we are relying on hearsay because we're interpreting what Torquatus and Velleius tell us. It sounds like they believe Epicurus's starting point was that before we can discuss these concepts, we must agree on what we are discussing.

This leads to the classic "chicken and egg" question. For example, can you talk about a table before you've seen one? Are tables only constructs of the mind after encountering a certain number of them? Or can you discuss things you've never seen before? In the case of the gods, we have this notion of prolepsis, but we don't see gods in front of us every day to say, "This new thing is consistent with what we've seen before," because we really haven't seen them directly.

In both the case of the gods and the good, we're grappling with where these concepts originate and whether we can discuss a concept without identifying particular instances of it. I find this discussion very helpful because you're right: Epicurus states that "the gods exist, for knowledge of them is manifest," also from the letter to Menoeceus. However, there's significant disagreement about which gods exist and even whether the gods exist at all.

Your question is a good one: Does it make sense to have a definition of a god or the gods without having seen, heard, or tasted one? This question is intriguing to me and somewhat akin to discussing centaurs. We know what we're talking about when we discuss centaurs: they are defined as having the body of a horse and the head or upper torso of a man combined. We can talk about centaurs because we've constructed an agreement between ourselves about this concept.

As we all know, in Epicurean philosophy, centaurs do not exist. There are no real instances of centaurs; they exist only in pictures or as constructs of imagination. There are no centaurs in reality that we can point to, indicating that the concept of centaurs did not arise from someone actually seeing a human-horse combination. The idea of centaurs developed because we have seen horses and men, but the notion of combining them is something we've never witnessed, and yet we discuss it often.

I think Epicurus, in discussing both gods and the good, considers them in similar terms. We have practical instances of things we have seen and experienced directly, like particular gods or things we deem good. However, that doesn't mean we can't also discuss the broader concepts of goodness or divinity. This relates to a current discussion we're having on the forum about analyzing desires. We are examining the definition of "desire" and how it can be understood in different contexts.

In the dictionary, desire can be defined as a passionate longing for a specific object, such as romantic love. However, desire can also simply mean something you wish for or want. The intensity of this longing makes all the difference when discussing desire. If Martha Nussbaum, for example, writes about the "therapy of desire" as addressing intoxicating romance, that's one thing. But if desire refers to anything you wish to accomplish in life, that's entirely different. We need to distinguish between intoxicating desires and those that are simply aspirations.

While this might seem like a tangent, I think it's relevant to the discussion of gods and the good. We must be clear whether we're talking about the idea of a god—a living being that is blessed and imperishable—or specific deities like Zeus, Athena, or Minerva. I hope my explanation hasn't been too confusing. It often seems like we're switching between discussing the forest and the trees: individual trees do not make a forest, but a forest is more than just individual trees grouped together. The concept of a forest, while based on individual trees, is something we can discuss and apply in various ways, even if people have different interpretations of it.

One more point I'd like to briefly mention, though I won't have time to expand on it fully today, is that Epicurus defines pleasure as the absence of pain. This concept is foundational to his philosophy and requires careful consideration in its interpretation. He also discusses the limit of quantity in pleasures as the removal of all that is painful. These are extremely important examples of how words can refer to both the concept of a thing and particular instances of that thing.

Individual pleasures exist because our faculty of feeling tells us that pleasures and pains exist. However, pleasure is also a concept that we can think about as any experience in life that is not painful. Similarly, Epicurus defines the limit of quantity in pleasures as the removal of all that is painful, establishing a conceptual starting point that serves as a standard for evaluating particulars.

This is where DeWitt notes that the major innovation in Epicurean philosophy was expanding the meaning of pleasure to encompass not only sensual stimulation but also all experiences that are not explicitly painful. When Epicurus speaks of pleasure as the absence of pain or the limit of quantity of pleasure as the removal of all pain, he is not referring to a new or unusual type of pleasure. Instead, he is expanding his definition to clarify what pleasure includes and excludes.

Those who interpret the absence of pain as a special kind of pleasure that is the true goal of life misunderstand what Epicurus is doing. He is expanding the definition, not talking about a new or exotic type of pleasure that stems from asceticism. We can discuss this further at another time, but in addition to defining gods as blessed and imperishable living beings and defining the good as that which all things aim towards, we can also apply the same analysis to pleasure.

Pleasure serves as a description of the good and as an example of the limit of quantity of pleasure, which is understood as the removal of all pain. The removal of all pain is not the specific goal of life but stands as the definition of the limit of quantity in pleasures that can possibly occur.

So again, we'll revisit those examples at another time. The whole universal versus particular question is very complex and not something easily resolved, but it clearly comes into play when words can mean different things in different contexts.

Joshua, after thinking about this problem since last week, what does this parallel lead you to conclude about how we should understand Epicurus? Epicurus has long been considered by some, including DeWitt, as a muddled or unorganized thinker. Critics like Cicero and Plutarch, as well as more recent voices, often ask why Epicurus doesn't speak more clearly, why he doesn't discuss concepts like "natural and necessary" at the level of genus and species, or why he doesn't use syllogistic logic to lay out his propositions.

To me, part of the answer lies in examining these passages. I believe Epicurus is indeed trying to lay out his thoughts in an orderly fashion. The question of where the concept of the good comes from is intriguing. Perhaps Epicurus, like Torquatus, would say, "Well, the opinion of all philosophers is that people are discussing this." Whether anyone has seen "the good" is a separate question, but people are talking about it, and to discuss it, there must be a definition.

Similarly, with the gods, it's not just about talking about them—people worship the gods, visit temples, and make sacrifices. This is a significant issue with potentially more pitfalls than any other because it deals with something so remote. Nevertheless, we must be able to discuss it because, whether or not you believe the gods are real, the impact of this concept on people in the real world is profound.

Moreover, when you refer to talking about these concepts, it raises the question of whether you can even think about them without putting them into some kind of verbal form in your own mind. It's challenging enough to communicate with others when there are different points of reference, but even within your own thought process, it seems necessary to organize your thoughts into a structured form that you can refer back to. Otherwise, as Epicurus warns in the letter to Herodotus, you risk spinning around using different words endlessly without ever reaching an understanding, unless you bring everything back to a clear reference point.

This clear reference point is, I believe, what you're highlighting in relation to both the gods and the good. Epicurus is striving for clarity, refusing to skip over whether a particular thing is right or wrong without first ensuring that the terms of the discussion are clear.

However, everyone views these things through their own lenses, which complicates matters further. Even defining a table doesn't entirely solve this problem. Aristotle, for example, would approach the definition of a table through his system of causes, explaining it in terms of material, formal, efficient, and final causes. So, even with a clear definition, the problem of interpretation and understanding persists, as different frameworks and perspectives come into play.

For example, Aristotle would say that the material cause of a table is wood because the table is made of wood. The formal cause is the shape that the table takes. Then, you have the efficient cause, which is how the table was made, and finally, the final cause, which is the purpose of the table. All of this is in the background, in Aristotle's mind, even if you simply define a table for him. You're not going to avoid this other issue: Aristotle has a whole system built around his understanding of a table.

So, while defining something gives you a bridge to connect with the minds of other people, it doesn't mean you're all standing on the same ground. There's connection, but there are also differences that you can't get around. And because you can define things that don't exist in reality—like assigning a word definition to a centaur, even though centaurs don't exist—you can also assign words like omnipotence and omniscience to concepts like Yahweh or Allah. But just because you can define something doesn't mean it exists in reality.

This constant back-and-forth—comparing what is being said or thought with what exists in reality—is crucial. The only way to reliably connect back to what exists in reality, Epicurus points out, is through our canonical faculties: repeated observations through the five senses, the feelings of pain and pleasure, and the prolepsis faculty.

To me, Joshua, this is incredibly important because it's an aspect of almost every discussion. There are different perspectives on particular words, and to make progress, it's crucial to be clear about what you're talking about. This is very much what Epicurus emphasized in his letter to Herodotus: first, be clear about what you're discussing before you start using additional words to define it. Unless you can bring it all back to something that is clearly relevant and real in your experience, all of it becomes just empty words that go on without any resolution to the question.

One of the key takeaways here, in both discussions of the gods and the good, is that Epicurus consistently insists that while it's possible to talk about things and have concepts of things, what really matters in life are the particular instances that truly exist in our experience. If these particulars don't affect us, then our abstractions become useless, and even harmful, especially if they distract us from the reality of our day-to-day lives.

There is a concept of a god that has a particular application to us that can be extremely beneficial, but there are also concepts of gods that are extremely damaging and completely unrelated to the reality we live in. The same goes for the concept of the good. You can become a Platonist or a Stoic and get wrapped up in the idea that virtue is the good, that the good and virtue are their own reward, and that there's this overriding conceptual categorical imperative that you must achieve the good, virtue, or god. This can lead to an obsession or intoxication with the conceptual level of things, which has no connection with reality.

If you allow yourself to go down that road, it can be extremely damaging for the limited time you have to live. The remedy to that is always to come back to those things that nature herself allows you to have contact with through the faculties that nature gave you. What is much more important is staying grounded in the reality of your experiences and the tangible, practical aspects of life.

I think it's conversations like these that drove Thomas Jefferson to say in his letter to John Adams, "I recur ultimately to my habitual anodyne: I feel, therefore I exist. I feel bodies which are not my own; there are other existences; I feel them changing place; this gives me motion." You're right that returning to what we have direct evidence of is crucial. Everyone approaches these issues through their own lens, so it's necessary to constantly adjust that lens by returning to what you know—returning to sensation and what Lucretius calls "divine touch." This grounding brings things back down to earth.

When we talk about defining a god and whether or not that's helpful, we must ask if it's helpful to define how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. One of the contemporary problems for Epicurus was that many philosophers of his time were taking geometry to expansive and interesting places, but he felt it had no real connection to the world we live in. While it's all very well to define that only one line can be drawn through a point parallel to another given line, how does that make people happy? How does it alleviate suffering or expand human connection?

If you spend your entire life in the rarified world of pure geometry, pure reason, or contemplating absolute truth—as DeWitt summarized Plato's purpose—you risk never bringing it back down to earth. This makes it difficult to apply and use this knowledge in practical terms. I often think of the School of Athens mural, with Plato pointing up to the skies and Aristotle pointing ahead of him, as if emphasizing the importance of this world. There is a longstanding competition between those concerned with this world and those who point to some other world, as if that other world supersedes this one. This conflict seems to underlie much of what we're discussing.

I believe that those who fail to appreciate Epicurus are missing the fact that he went even further than Aristotle. Aristotle is often associated with logical reasoning and categories, and while he deserves credit for breaking away from Plato's abstract ideas—such as living before we were born or there being a divine creator who set everything in motion—Epicurus went even further. Epicurus argued that life is not about reducing things to logical syllogisms, whether from the form of the heavens or essences we identify in nature, as Aristotle attempted.

Instead, Epicurus emphasized that true understanding and how we should live our lives come from the canonical faculties that nature gave us: the five senses, the feelings of pleasure and pain, and the anticipations (prolepses). It's in these faculties, not in logical categories or analyses, that we find what is real and true. This approach is what sets Epicurus apart, and it’s what makes his philosophy so distinct and relevant to practical living.

Aristotle was not able to fully break away from the idea of divine creation and the intentional universe, with its teleological orientation. This results in conclusions that are largely similar to those of Plato, even though Aristotle grounds these ideas in the physical world around us instead of in some other dimension. Epicurus, however, goes beyond these concepts and logical categories, urging us to focus on what truly matters in life. Nature has given us only pleasure and pain by which to decide what to choose and what to avoid, as Torquatus reminds us, and as is emphasized throughout Epicurus's letter to Menoeceus. This is the basis we must return to, rather than relying on any amount of logical manipulation of words.

Words are useful; they are essential for communication and even for thought. But, just as virtue is not an end in itself but a tool for achieving happiness and pleasure, these words and conceptual definitions of the good or the gods are not ends in themselves. They are merely tools for understanding the reality of the natural world we live in.

This brings us to the difference between a priori reasoning and a posteriori reasoning—a distinction we don’t often discuss but which is crucial. When St. Anselm developed his ontological argument, he was reasoning a priori, that is, in advance of the facts, based purely on theoretical grounds. In contrast, Epicurus derives his arguments, like the existence of atoms, a posteriori—after the facts, based on sensation. Even though atoms are too small to see, Epicurus uses the framework of experience built up throughout life to argue that the universe is made of atoms and void. This conclusion, though derived through reason and logic, is fundamentally different from one derived purely from theoretical logic without any basis in sensation or evidence.

I agree that this distinction is crucial, and you've used the right term by calling it a priori reasoning. Unfortunately, discussions using such terms are not in the common vocabulary of ordinary people, which makes it challenging to explain these concepts in ways that are understandable. Yet, as you said, this issue is at the core of everything we discuss, so everyone needs a working understanding of it.

Even though we don't often talk about these issues in terms of Latin designations, they need to be explainable and understandable in ordinary terms for ordinary people. I believe people do instinctively grasp this. While the cliché is that common sense isn't very common, people often quip about it because they recognize the difference between highly abstract, technical reasoning and a more practical way of living.

Those who live practically focus on what is real and immediate in their lives, but they also need to be concerned about things beyond their immediate surroundings. Life doesn't allow us to live in isolation from the rest of the world. We must have a method for synthesizing and being aware of what is happening beyond our immediate experience to protect ourselves, like ensuring that the Persians don't march in and destroy Athens, for example.

There is a necessity in life that involves communication, words, concepts, and the evaluation of things beyond our immediate perception. These activities are essential, and I suppose that's what philosophy is all about—helping us understand these issues and develop practical ways of living based on them.

So, let's delve a little further into the end of section 23 and the beginning of section 24 before we stop today. Cotta, as we hinted last week, says, "Okay, we'll put aside the discussion about the common assent of man and presume that there are gods. Now let's discuss the details of those gods and how they live." Let me quote a bit that we need to start analyzing. He says at the beginning of section 24:

"According to you, I advance these principles of the naturalist without knowing whether they're true or false, yet they're more like truth than those statements of yours, for they are the absurdities in which Democritus, before him Leucippus, used to indulge, saying that there are certain light corpuscles, some smooth, some rough, some round, some square, some crooked and bent as bows, which by a fortuitous concourse made Heaven and Earth without the influence of any natural power. This opinion, Velleius, you have brought down to our times, and you would sooner be deprived of the greatest advantage of life than of that authority. For before you were acquainted with these tenets, you thought you ought to profess yourself an Epicurean, so that it was necessary that you should either embrace these absurdities or lose the philosophical character which you had taken upon yourself. And what could bribe you to renounce the Epicurean opinion? Nothing, you say, can prevail on you to forsake the truth and the sure means of a happy life. But is that the truth? For I shall not contest your happy life, which you think the deity himself will not enjoy unless he languishes in idleness. But where is the truth? Is it in your innumerable worlds, some rising, some falling at every moment of time? Or is it in your atomic corpuscles, which form such excellent works without the direction of any natural power or reason? But I was forgetting my liberality, which I had promised to exert in your case and exceeding the bounds which I at first proposed to myself."

Before we go forward, let's analyze that, because there's more going on here than just saying, "Velleius, atoms don't exist, and you're wrong." Cotta is making an accusation against Velleius that we need to unpack and respond to. It's something important that we still have to deal with today.

As we were discussing this passage before the recording, the point you made is crucial: this is more than a question about whether the cosmos is made of atoms and void. It's a question about adherence to a particular philosophical sect—whether the Epicureans are as dogmatic about Epicurus's opinions as, for example, a Catholic might be about what a pope said in the 14th century.

The answer, I think, is no. We can follow Epicurus's train of thought, see where it leads, and understand why he places the foundation of his physics on atoms and void. When Cotta says, "Velleius, you would sooner be deprived of the greatest advantages of life than of Epicurus's authority," he's implying that Velleius chose to be an Epicurean without fully understanding the philosophy, almost as if he joined the school out of convenience or tradition rather than conviction.

But do we really imagine that Velleius just wandered through the Agora or the Forum one day and thought, "Ah, the Epicureans—I'll join that school," without knowing anything about it? It's far more likely that he was convinced by the claims Epicurus was making before he aligned himself with the school.

Hearing you say this and looking at this text, Joshua, it reminds me of the theme in A Few Days in Athens by Frances Wright, where she sets up the story of Theon.

I think this argument actually appears in A Few Days in Athens. Frances Wright might have placed it in the mouth of Epicurus, suggesting to Theon that he became a Stoic because of their reputation, or perhaps Metrodorus suggests to Theon that he shouldn't have presumed Epicurus believed in the gods until he understood what Epicurus truly taught. Theon was initially impressed by certain superficial aspects of Epicurus before he came to grasp the deeper teachings.

That's a great point because, in the book, Theon doesn't necessarily join Epicurus's school right away; he starts associating with the Epicureans mainly because he likes them as people. You're right to say that his reasons are somewhat superficial—he sees Epicurus as a happy person and thinks, "I want to be happy, so I'll listen to what this guy says." However, he hasn't actually read any of the texts by these philosophers.

I would assume that Velleius, as depicted by Cicero, has put more work into his philosophy. Cicero himself studied in Athens, as many elite Roman men of his generation did, and he studied with the Epicureans before eventually siding with a different school. Cicero gives the impression that he considered multiple philosophical possibilities before adopting the academic skeptic approach that begins with Plato.

This is an interesting argument, and I'm now connecting it with what Cotta previously said: "Epicurus came up with this idea about the gods, and while I'm not saying he was lying, it was awfully convenient that he didn't get prosecuted for blasphemy like Socrates did." Cotta then questions Velleius, suggesting that he might be an Epicurean not because he genuinely believes in the truth of atoms, but because he likes the Epicurean lifestyle. These are legitimate questions, but they can also be snide ways of undermining someone's confidence.

To some extent, this kind of questioning has its usefulness. It's important that people don't adopt a philosophy based on superficial grounds or appearances. Being an Epicurean just because it's convenient or because you enjoy the lifestyle is not desirable. You don't want to be an Epicurean simply because being a Socratic might have gotten you thrown out of Athens or forced to drink hemlock.

These arguments highlight the necessity of ensuring that your commitment to Epicureanism is based on a genuine belief in its principles, not just on superficial attractions. It's vital to be an Epicurean because you believe, after reading Epicurus's arguments and examining the world yourself, that his conclusions are correct. You should adopt Epicurus's views of the gods based on his reasoning, not because they might protect you from accusations of blasphemy. While such considerations may exist, they shouldn't be the foundation of your philosophical decisions.

This type of argument arises frequently, even in our own discussions among those who are studying Epicurus in good faith. Some might say, "Well, Epicurus certainly gained a lot by taking his position about the gods, or by advocating for pleasure and happiness." These people might suggest that Epicurus was motivated by the benefits he gained rather than the truth.

It's crucial to recognize and confront these arguments because if you believe them to be true, you're missing the point of philosophy. Philosophy is about the love of wisdom and truth, not about superficial results disconnected from reality. If you have concerns that Epicurus was motivated by the advantages of his teachings rather than their truth, you're buying into a premise that goes against everything Epicurean philosophy stands for.

Epicurus calls you to be honest with reality and the truth, and to base all of your arguments and decisions on your honest assessment of the way things really are. If you're going to use a consideration like, "I wish this were true because it would bring me certain advantages," and proceed with that even though you know it's not true, that is the most foreign concept to Epicurean analysis you could possibly imagine.

I referenced this passage earlier in the episode—it comes from DeWitt's book Epicurus and His Philosophy, in the chapter under "True Piety" and the subsection called "Isonomia and the Gods." DeWitt says this:

"In spite of a supercilious opinion to the contrary, Epicurus was not a muddled thinker, but a very systematic one. To the idea of infinity, he ascribed fundamental importance. He exhorted the young Pythocles to study it as one of those master principles which would render easy the recognition of causation in details. Cicero must have been recalling some similar exhortation when he wrote, 'But of the very greatest importance is the significance of infinity and in the highest degree deserving of intense and diligent contemplation.'"

DeWitt continues, "It was from this principle that Epicurus deduced his chief theoretical confirmation of belief in the existence of gods."

Throughout Epicurean works, you find these exhortations from Epicurus, as DeWitt puts it, telling his students not to take things on faith without thinking. You have to study nature, infinity, and all these principles for yourself. You can't just accept them because Epicurus said so. The Greek word related to this exhortation is "protreptic," and the letter to Menoeceus is a protreptic work, meaning it urges the reader to investigate and reflect on these teachings.

Kalini, I think it was you who pointed out several years ago on the podcast that the letter to Menoeceus contains these protreptic elements. This is not just about attracting new students, like the young Theon in A Few Days in Athens, but about urging readers to apply their own attention to what Epicurus is saying, weigh it carefully, and see if it holds true.

Thanks for bringing that up. I'm thinking through something right now that might expose my own ongoing process with the philosophy. It’s curious how Epicurean philosophy combines a belief in the material world and the idea that when a person dies, there's no immortal soul—no heaven or hell—and yet still includes a belief in gods. It’s strange because, at first glance, Epicurean philosophy might seem close to atheism, but it doesn’t fit neatly into that category because it acknowledges the existence of gods. This juxtaposition still requires some processing for me.

Certainly, for me, I might have found Epicureanism more appealing initially if Epicurus had outright denied the existence of gods, as that would have aligned more with my own views. But the way he presents his ideas makes it interesting and requires thought—it's not just about accepting something or being out of the club; it's about thinking through these concepts.

Cassius, we might be taking this in a direction you weren't intending, but it's a great example of the importance of clarity and the meaning of words. Epicurus expected people to reach the point where they understood that there is no conflict between the existence of gods, as he describes them, and the pursuit of personal happiness. The issues you raised, Kalini, about the nature of gods, are tied to misunderstandings that others bring in, which create conflicts. If you purge these incorrect concepts, the idea of gods, as Epicurus presents them, is not only consistent with but beneficial to his ethical system.

This is crucial to work through, and it will become even more important next week because Cotta will tackle the question, "What is truth?"—echoing Pontius Pilate's famous question. Cotta's foundation as a thoroughgoing skeptic is the belief that knowledge of the truth is fundamentally impossible, and we can only speak in terms of probabilities. Having these concepts straight in our minds will be vital as we move forward. Everything we've discussed today—whether it's the assent of mankind or reasoning in advance of or after the facts—will come into play in a significant way next week. It's not just about knowing that atoms or gods exist; it's about grappling with the very nature of truth, which Cicero challenges us to consider.

And what you're discussing, Joshua, touches on the question of whether you can legitimately take a position on what is incorrect if you can't take a position on what is correct. Do you need your own view of what is true in order to be confident that something else is false? This is a complex issue. In many situations, it seems legitimate to say, "I don't know what the facts are, but I know that isn't true." It's certainly a position we're all familiar with, and it feels right to us. But when you dig deeper, you realize that understanding the issue of truth is essential to being consistent within your own mind. When you say something isn't true, it's because you're able to evaluate it against what you know to be true.

This is a profound issue, but it must be addressed because, on the matter of the truth of the gods, if Cotta is correct, if those who assert supernatural religion are correct—that there is a god who rewards his friends and punishes his enemies—then you don't want to be on the wrong side of that equation. You would want to be a friend of that god to gain eternal life and happiness in heaven and avoid being sent to hell. To decide which path to take, you must take a position on whether the argument for an intervening, intelligent, supernatural god is correct or not. You can't avoid taking a position on this if you want to be logically consistent in trying to live happily, because everything hinges on the truth or falsity of those assertions.

What you mentioned, Joshua, about the belief in supernatural gods who punish and reward, presents a fascinating problem, not just for believers in that god but for all people who would be affected by the claim if it were true. This is where philosophy gets really interesting and, in part, really difficult. I want to return to that letter from Thomas Jefferson to John Adams, written in 1820, where Jefferson says,

"Rejecting all organs of information therefore but my senses, I rid myself of the purism with which an indulgence in speculations hyper-physical and anti-physical so uselessly occupy and disquiet the mind. A single sense may indeed be sometimes deceived, but rarely and never all our senses together with their faculty of reasoning. They evidence realities, and there are enough of these for all the purposes of life without plunging into the fathomless abyss of dreams and phantasms. I am satisfied and sufficiently occupied with the things which are, without tormenting or troubling myself about those which may indeed be, but of which I have no evidence. I’m sure that I really know many, many things, and none more surely than that I love you with all my heart, and pray for the continuance of your life until you shall be tired of it yourself."

On one hand, the claim that there is a supernatural god who will punish you after you die is made without any evidence to support it, and that might be enough for us to set it aside and not be tormented or troubled by it, as Jefferson says. But there’s another position that says we should examine these claims to understand their foundation. This will give us a much better position, not only to refute them if we can, but also to ensure they won’t affect us. It’s easy to say, "I won't be tormented or troubled by that," but just saying it doesn’t guarantee that you won’t be troubled. The best way to ensure you won’t be is to learn as much as you can about the issue and the shaky foundation on which such claims rest. For that, we need to know what’s true and what’s not.

That’s why Cotta’s question next week, "What is truth?" will be so important. We need to be able to offer an answer to that question because if we don't accept that certain things are knowable, we risk accepting the possibility that these claims—which hold so much horror and terror if they are true—could be valid, and we wouldn't know. It’s really corrosive, not just to philosophy but to human happiness, to sit on this volcano. We need answers, especially because the questions being asked are so important.

I agree, Joshua. We don't see a god bringing things into existence out of nothing. We don't see a god destroying things into nothing. We don't see gods intervening, appearing before us, or making decisions and telling us what to do. We don’t see those things happening, and that’s why we don’t believe in them. If we did see those things happening, we would believe in them. The ultimate anodyne that Thomas Jefferson is talking about at such a basic level is the foundation of the entire Epicurean philosophy: taking information from the senses, anticipations, and feelings, and making decisions based on those observations.

That’s where truth comes from. If truth cannot be validated by anticipations, feelings, and the five senses, then no matter how logically consistent the abstraction might be, it’s not truly relevant to us. We have to base our lives, make our decisions, and live day-to-day based on the things that are relevant to us and that come to us through these faculties. It makes no sense to do anything else. This question of "What is truth?" is something we’ll explore further next week. So, let’s end the discussion here for today.

As always, we invite you to drop by the forum and share your thoughts about this episode or anything else you'd like to discuss about Epicurus. Thanks for your time today—we'll be back next week. See you then. Bye!