Skip to content

Episode 245: Right, Wrong, Or Incomplete?

Transcript of Episode 245. 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! [Music]

Welcome to Episode 245 of Lucretius Today

This is a podcast dedicated to the poet Lucretius, who wrote On the Nature of Things, the most complete presentation of Epicurean philosophy left to us from the ancient world. Each week, we walk you through the Epicurean texts and discuss how Epicurean philosophy can apply to you today. If you find the Epicurean worldview attractive, we invite you to join us in the study of Epicurus at EpicureanFriends.com, where we have a discussion thread for this and all of our podcast episodes.

Today we're continuing in Cicero's On the Nature of the Gods, and we're going to be going back in the text, starting with Section 27. In the last several episodes, we have devoted our time to some of the background issues of skepticism that Cotta is bringing in his attack on Epicurean philosophy. We concluded with his attack on the terminology of "quasi-blood" and "quasi-bodies," and Cotta's assertion that Velleius and the Epicureans don’t know what they’re talking about. Cotta claims that the Epicureans use terms like "quasi-body" and "quasi-blood" as a way to conceal their ignorance. He mocks them by saying it’s amazing that they don’t laugh at each other, given that what they’re saying makes no sense.

The context of Cotta's criticism is that the position Epicurus put together and relayed is based on the Epicurean method of reasoning from observation of things that are similar or analogous. That is, we observe things here on Earth and become confident that we understand them. When we confront things we don’t have direct information about, our reasoning suggests possibilities—such as atoms and the void—that are related to things we can observe, even though we cannot perceive the atoms and void directly.

Epicureans analogize and use similarity to come up with reasonable explanations for those things that we cannot directly perceive. Stated another way, we use the observation of the senses as the starting point for our reasoning, and we keep our reasoning consistent with things we have evidence for. We don't suggest possibilities made up out of whole cloth with no evidence whatsoever, like suggesting a supernatural god caused an event. Instead, we think about things we have observed and use that as the starting point for thinking about things we cannot perceive directly.

This will be important for us to remember as we go throughout the rest of the text in this episode. The key point here is that when Epicureans talk about the gods, they are using similarity and analogy. They look to things we have evidence for as the basis for discussing things we don’t have direct evidence about. They don’t let their speculations run wild without any limitations tied to reality. So, when they talk about the bodies or blood of the gods, they’re saying, "We don’t know the details of how the body or blood works, but there must be something that acts similarly to a body or blood, given how we know nature operates." It’s not going to be supernatural or totally different from everything else. There will be some means of analogy between the things we know and the things we have not yet seen but which are also natural.

Section 27: Cotta's Criticism

Cotta says:

"This, I perceive, is what you contend for: that the gods have a certain figure that has nothing concrete, nothing solid, nothing of express substance, nothing prominent in it, but that it is pure, smooth, and transparent. Let us suppose the same with the Venus of Cos, which is not a body, but the representation of a body. Nor is the red that is drawn there and mixed with the white real blood, but a certain resemblance of blood. So, in Epicurus's deity, there is no real substance, but the resemblance of substance. Let me take for granted that which is perfectly unintelligible, then tell me, what are the lineaments and figures of those sketched-out deities? Here, you have plenty of arguments by which you would show the gods to be in human form. The first is that our minds are so anticipated and prepossessed that whenever we think of a deity, the human shape occurs to us. The next is that, as the divine nature excels all things, so it ought to be of the most beautiful form, and there is no form more beautiful than the human. And the third is that reason cannot reside in any other shape."

Cotta is then going to take each of those three points and attack them. But before we dive into his attack, let's summarize the three things he’s identified:

  1. Prolepsis (anticipation): Whenever we think of a deity, the human shape occurs to us naturally.
  2. Beauty: If a divine nature excels all things, it ought to be the most beautiful, and there is no form more beautiful than the human form.
  3. Reason: Reason cannot reside in any other shape than the human form.

Now, these points go beyond what Epicurus himself said in the Letter to Menoeceus. There, Epicurus emphasized that the most important thing to know about the gods is that they are living beings who are blessed and imperishable. Velleius himself has said that the rest of the discussion about the gods is something we are curious about and must use our reasoning to explore, but these details do not reach the core level of beliefs necessary to live a happy life.

These issues about the form of the god, and whether it is beautiful, are things that we're going to be putting our best efforts into coming to some reasonable conclusions about. But they’re not necessary to take a firm position on. The main thrust of where Cotta is going with his argument is this: he is essentially saying to Velleius, "You don’t know. You are unable to tell me the specifics—whether a god has a body, whether a god has blood, whether a god is beautiful. And because you can't give me specific details about how these things work, I'm going to dismiss your argument completely." Cotta will go on to claim that it makes more sense to follow Plato’s view that the gods are pure spirit, that they created the universe out of nothing, and all of these other ideas that an Epicurean would argue are absurd.

So, what’s being lined up here as the battle lines is whether it is more reasonable to use analogy and similarity to make reasoned speculation about how a god might live, or whether it’s more rational to throw out all similarity, all analogy, all direct human observation, and instead rely on pure logic without any evidence. This approach constructs a concept that may be internally consistent but has no foundation in what we can observe here on Earth, such as a superhuman being that created the universe from nothing and superintends every moment of existence thereafter. Those kinds of things can be speculated about using imagination, but they have no precedent, no similarity, and no analogy in what we can see. Therefore, an Epicurean rejects them.

On the other hand, Cotta—a skeptic who says nothing can be known—opens the door to anything being possible. At the beginning of Section 27, Cotta starts out by describing the gods, according to the Epicurean view, as having "nothing concrete, nothing solid, nothing of express substance." He goes on to compare them with the Venus of Cos. Now, this turns out not to be a sculpture or statue, but a painting. Apelles of Cos, in the 4th century BC, painted The Birth of Venus rising from the foam of the sea. This painting became legendary in the ancient world and was moved to Rome by the Emperor Augustus. However, when the historian Pliny the Elder saw it in the 1st century AD, it had already deteriorated.

As Cassius has pointed out, if you look at a similar painting in Pompeii, in the so-called House of Venus, this painting (likely a fresco) is supposed to be based on the one Apelles painted in the 4th century. In it, we see the figure of Venus reclined on a shell emerging from the sea, with attendants riding dolphins. The inside of the shell is a pinkish color.

Cotta says:

"Let us suppose the same with the Venus of Cos, which is not a body, but the representation of a body, nor is the red which is drawn there and mixed with the white real blood, but a certain resemblance of blood. So, in Epicurus’s deity, there is no real substance but the resemblance of substance."

He continues:

"Let me take for granted this, even though it’s perfectly unintelligible. Tell me, then, what are the lineaments and figures of these sketched-out deities? Here, you have plenty of arguments by which you would show the gods to be in human form."

Cotta then lists three arguments that the Epicureans give for the gods being in human form:

  1. Prolepsis (anticipation): Our minds are so anticipated and prepossessed that whenever we think of a deity, the human shape occurs to us.
  2. Beauty: If the divine nature excels all things, it ought to be the most beautiful form, and there is no form more beautiful than the human form.
  3. Reason: Reason cannot reside in any other shape than the human form.

Cotta continues:

"First, let us consider each argument separately. You seem to me to assume a principle despotically, if I may say, that has no manner of probability in it. Who was ever so blind in contemplating these subjects as not to see that the gods were represented in human form either by the particular advice of wise men—who thought by those means they could more easily turn the minds of the ignorant from depravity to the worship of the gods—or through superstition, which was the cause of their believing that when they were paying adoration to these images, they were approaching the gods themselves?"

He goes on:

"These conceits were not a little improved by the poets, painters, and artificers. For it would not have been very easy to represent the gods planning and executing any work in another form. Perhaps this arose from the idea mankind has of their own beauty. But do not you, who are so great an adept in physics, see what a soothing flatterer, what a sort of procuress, nature is to herself? Do you think there is any creature on the land or in the sea that is not highly delighted with its own form? If it were not so, why would a bull not become enamored of a mare or a horse of a cow? Do you believe an eagle, a lion, or a dolphin prefers any shape to its own? If nature has therefore instructed us in the same manner—that nothing is more beautiful than man—what wonder is it that we for that reason imagine the gods are of the human form?"

Cotta concludes by asking:

"Do you suppose, if beasts were endowed with reason, that every one would not give the prize of beauty to its own species?"

This relates to the quote, often attributed in various forms, that if triangles had gods, they would be three-sided.

Let’s deal with this first argument before we go further into Section 28. When I listen to you read that, Joshua, there’s a lot here that I think Velleius would actually agree with. It seems that Cotta is attempting to address the issue of prolepsis, or anticipation, and Epicurus’s position. Epicurus’s position is that nature disposes us to think in particular ways, and what Cotta is saying here is that nature disposes each type of creature to think of a god in their own form. I don’t know that Velleius would necessarily disagree with that.

So, the dispute between them is not so much about whether this disposition exists. The real dispute seems to be whether this disposition is a reasonable basis for making any kind of conclusion about the nature of a god. Velleius and Epicurus are saying that the fact that nature disposes us to think of a god in human form is a sufficient basis for reaching a conclusion about what a god would be like. Cotta, on the other hand, is suggesting that this is ridiculous.

Keep in mind the position Cotta himself is suggesting about the gods:

  1. He’s not willing to say much because he claims to be a skeptic.
  2. He’s essentially adopting Plato’s viewpoint of a god as a totally supernatural being that created the universe from nothing.
  3. Cotta, in his daily life, is engaged in exactly what he criticizes—using the idea of gods to turn the minds of the ignorant toward the worship of these gods—as a member of the Roman priesthood.

One thing we should ask ourselves, as we consider what we've just read, is: Which of the two positions is more reasonable?

Most of us today would take the position that it’s better to simply wait and not make firm conclusions about details that we don’t have enough information to be sure of. But, when confronted with different options—one that is similar to or analogous to reality that we can observe, and another that totally throws out everything we can observe—I would suggest that Epicurus was correct. It’s more reasonable to take the option that is more closely related to the reality of nature that we can observe.

You know, I think you could almost contrast Lucian and Horace on this subject. On the one hand, you have Lucian, who—as you read in his other works—was a great admirer of Epicurus. When it came to exposing the imposture of the false prophet Alexander, Lucian said this was an occasion for an Epicurus or Metrodorus to step forward and point to the fraud, saying:

"I don’t know exactly how he’s committing this fraud, but I have confidence that he is committing fraud because what he’s claiming does not comport with everything else I know about the nature of the cosmos and the information we can derive from our senses."

Lucian is applying the principle of analogy and similarity here.

On the other extreme, we have Horace, who famously said in one of his satires:

"When you want to laugh, you shall find me fat and sleek, a hog out of Epicurus's herd."

But later in his career, when Caesar Augustus was on the cusp of consolidating power, Horace—in an allusion to Lucretius—claimed that it was the sudden flash of lightning and thunder on a clear day that convinced him that maybe the gods of popular imagination were real after all. He said that he had been wandering in the "paths of a senseless philosophy"—meaning Epicureanism.

When I consider those two positions—Horace’s, which perhaps was political expedience, or a fear of reprisal for declining to take part in Roman State religion, and Lucian’s steadfast commitment to the Epicurean view—there’s an interesting contrast. If Horace really was convinced by a flash of lightning on a clear day, we can contrast that with Lucian’s confidence in Epicurus’s Kyriai Doxai (Principal Doctrines), which Lucian described as his most admirable book.

Lucian said that Alexander the Oracle-Monger had no conception of the blessings conferred by that book on its readers—the tranquility and independence of mind it produces, the protection it gives against terrors, phantoms, and marvels, and its true purging of the spirit with right reason, truth, and frankness, rather than with torches and squills (herbs used in rituals). In other works, like Dialogues of the Dead, Lucian pokes fun at the idea of figures like Alexander the Great learning, only upon arriving in the underworld, that they were not gods after all.

So, there’s much to gain from contrasting these two approaches. If Horace was genuinely convinced, it seems it was the problem of the gods being far removed and not intervening that put him on edge in relation to Epicurean philosophy. On the other hand, Lucian is saying that we can’t go so far as to claim knowledge of such things, because we simply don’t have the evidence. Yet, Epicurus’s Principal Doctrines remain his favorite book.

Cassius: Joshua, there’s just so much uncertainty surrounding these subjects, even when you compare Horace and Lucian. And of course, what we’re talking about now is related to something Cotta himself mentioned when he first started speaking. He said that these are conversations among friends in close quarters, not necessarily for the public. Though Cicero is presenting this as a public document, Cotta is suggesting that in these private, close discussions, one can afford to be brutally honest about what they think and what they know—or don’t know.

But that’s not exactly the situation Cotta himself is in, as a priest of Rome.

So, the dispute between them is not just about whether we identify a god in human form because we are disposed to through prolepsis (anticipation), or however you want to look at that, but also about the belief that gods are the most beautiful beings. On the point of speaking frankly among friends, Cotta continues in Section 28 of the text when he says:

"Yet, by Hercules, I speak as I think. Though I am fond enough of myself, I dare not say that I excel in beauty. That bull which carried Europa (the bull being Zeus in the myth), well, let us consider him. The question here is not concerning our genius and eloquence, but our species and figure. If we could make and assume any form, would you be unwilling to resemble the sea Triton as he is painted—supported swimming on sea monsters whose bodies are partly human? Here, I touch on a difficult point, for so great is the force of nature that there is no man who would not choose to be like a man, nor indeed any ant that would not choose to be like an ant. But like which man, for how few can pretend to beauty?"

He continues:

"When I was at Athens, the whole flock of youths afforded scarcely one truly beautiful. You laugh, I see, but what I tell you is the truth. Nay, to us who, after the examples of ancient philosophers, delight in boys, defects are often pleasing. Alcibiades was charming with a wart on a boy’s knuckle, but a wart is a blemish on a boy. Yet it seemed a beauty to him. Scipio my friend, and my colleague’s father, was enamored with your fellow citizen Roscius, on whom he wrote these verses:

‘As once I stood to hail the rising day,
Roscius appearing on the left I spied.
Forgive me gods if I presume to say,
The mortal's beauty with the immortal vied.’

In other words, Roscius is more beautiful than a god, yet he was then, as he is now, squint-eyed! But what signifies that if his defects were beauties to Scipio?"

In Section 29, Cotta returns to the gods:

"Can we suppose any of them to be squint-eyed or even to have a cast in the eye? Have they any warts? Are any of them hook-nosed, flap-eared, beetle-browed, or jolt-headed as some of us are? Or are they—"

At this point, it reminds me of that long passage in Lucretius about imperfections in people you're attracted to. Cotta continues:

"—are they free from imperfections? Let us grant you that. Are they all alike in the face? For if they are many, then one must necessarily be more beautiful than another, and then there must be some deity not absolutely most beautiful. Or if their faces are all alike, there would be an Academy in heaven, for if one god does not differ from another, there is no possibility of knowing or distinguishing them."

Cotta goes further:

"What if your assertion, Velleius, proves absolutely false—that no form occurs to us in our contemplations of the deity but the human form? Will you, notwithstanding that, persist in the defense of such an absurdity? Supposing that form occurs to us as you say it does, and we know Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Neptune, Vulcan, Apollo, and the other deities by the countenance which painters and statuaries have given them—not only by their countenances but by their decorations, their age, and attire. Yet the Egyptians, Syrians, and almost all barbarous nations are without such distinctions. You may see a greater regard paid by them to certain beasts than by us to the most sacred temples and images of the gods."

Cotta elaborates:

"Many shrines have been rifled, and images of the deities have been carried from their most sacred places by us (Romans). But we never heard that an Egyptian offered any violence to a crocodile, an ibis, or a cat. What do you think then? Do not the Egyptians esteem their sacred bull, their Apis, as a deity? Yes, by Hercules, as certainly as you do our protector Juno—whom you never behold, even in your dreams, without a goat-skin, a spear, a shield, and broad sandals. But the Grecian Juno of Argos and the Roman Juno are not represented in this manner. So, the Grecians, the Lenian, and we ascribe different forms to Juno, and our Capitoline Jupiter is not the same as the Jupiter Ammon of the Africans."

In Section 30, Cotta continues:

"Therefore, ought not a natural philosopher—that is, an inquirer into the secrets of nature—to be ashamed of seeking testimony to truth from minds prepossessed by custom? According to the rule you have laid down, it may be said that Jupiter is always bearded, Apollo always beardless, Minerva has gray eyes, and Neptune has azure eyes. And indeed, we must then honor that Vulcan at Athens made by Alcamenes, whose lameness through his thin robes appears to be no deformity. Shall we therefore receive a lame deity because we have such an account of him?"

Cotta closes with a critical reflection:

"Consider likewise that the gods go by what names we give them. Now, in the first place, they have as many names as men have languages, for Vulcan is not called Vulcan in Italy, Africa, or Spain, just as you, Velleius, are not called Velleius in all countries. Besides, the gods are innumerable, though the list of their names is of no great length, even in the records of our priests. Have they no names? You must necessarily confess that they indeed have none."

For what occasion is there for different names if their persons are alike? How much more laudable would it be, Velleius, to acknowledge that you do not know what you do not know than to follow a man whom you must despise? Do you think the deity is like either me or you? You do not really think he is like either of us.

What is to be done, then? Shall I call the Sun, the Moon, or the sky a deity? If so, they are consequently happy—but what pleasures can they enjoy? And they are wise too, but how can wisdom reside in such shapes? These are your own principles. Therefore, if they are not of human form, as I have proved, and if you cannot persuade yourself that they are of any other, why are you cautious of denying absolutely the existence of any gods? You dare not deny it, which is very prudent of you, though here you are not afraid of the people but of the gods themselves.

I have known Epicureans who reverence even the least images of the gods, though I perceive it to be the opinion of some that Epicurus, through fear of offending against the Athenian laws, has allowed a deity in words and destroyed him in fact. So in those short and select sentences, which are called by you Kyriai Doxai (Principal Doctrines), this, I think, is the first:

"That being which is happy and immortal is not burdened with any labor and does not impose any on anyone else."

As you were getting near the end of the part that you were last quoting—the end of Section 30—it becomes interesting how the arguments that Cotta is advancing begin to shift. He starts to put himself in the place of Velleius, saying, "These are your own arguments" and questioning the assertions that other people have made about the gods. And he’s right about that. What Epicurus and Velleius are doing, as they said in the Letter to Menoeceus, and as they say throughout, is questioning the opinions people have about the gods because these opinions are incorrect.

So, as usual with Cotta, it’s important to look behind what he’s arguing and separate out what part makes sense and what part goes too far in criticizing what Epicurus and Velleius are saying. Epicurus and Velleius are not suggesting that we should accept every notion about the gods that exists.

If they’re not suggesting that we accept every notion of the gods, what is the dividing line? What are they willing to accept, and what are they not willing to accept? That’s where we go back to the issues of prolepsis (anticipation) and the basic fixtures that underlie the discussion of the gods conceptually. But these don’t lead to the kind of specifics that Cotta is trying to get Velleius to pledge himself to here.

That’s the important thing. What is Cotta doing with his argument, other than pointing out that because Velleius doesn’t have the details worked out specifically, nothing that he has said can be justified? That’s not a fair way of approaching what Velleius and Epicurus are saying, because they’re not taking a doctrinal position that the gods speak Greek or that the gods have blood or bodies of a particular type.

There’s a difference in the level of proof and the level of argument that Epicurus is making about the gods being blessed, imperishable, living beings versus all of these other details. Where Cotta’s argument begins to come apart is in the presumption he’s making: that because there are variations within a class, the class itself does not exist. The basic assertions about a class do not depend on uniformity of appearance, beauty, or other non-essential properties.

For example, some men have beards, some men shave. Some men have blue eyes, others have gray eyes. Some have long hair, some are bald. There are countless differences in the details among humans, but these differences do not mean we can’t make conclusions about the class of "human beings."

That’s really the key way to deal with what Cotta is saying here. The assertions that the Epicureans are making about the class of gods fall into two types:

  1. Necessary assertions, which are logically consistent and essential—such as that gods are living beings who are blessed and imperishable.
  2. Speculative assertions, which are not necessary to the core concept of the gods—such as what language they speak, how they dress, or how their bodies are constituted.

The latter arguments are not of the same level of certainty or necessity as the basic identification of the class itself.

The Epicureans likely understood this distinction, even though we don’t have the texts we would like to have that show Epicurus himself discussing these issues. We know from some of the Herculaneum texts that a lot of the discussions involved debating back and forth about what was possible. When we read Cicero’s account of Velleius being pushed into such specific assertions, a fair reading should take into account how Cicero, as a lawyer, might attempt to make someone look ridiculous by carrying their positions to extremes.

So, we have to take these factors into account when evaluating the direction these arguments are going.

Instead of continuing into Section 31, let’s spend the rest of our time today talking about what we’ve discussed so far. I’d like to relate this to an essay by Isaac Asimov entitled The Relativity of Wrong. The essay deals with a letter from a student who wrote to criticize Asimov because he had written something to the effect that "we now have a basic understanding of the universe," discussing several scientific discoveries of the 20th century.

In response, the student—whom Asimov described sarcastically as a "young specialist in English literature"—quoted him and then lectured him severely. The student argued that in every century, people have thought they finally understood the universe, and in every century, they were proven wrong. Therefore, the student concluded, the only thing we can say about our modern knowledge is that it is wrong.

Socrates is said to have remarked, “If I am the wisest man, it is because I alone know that I know nothing.” The implication of the writer who sent this letter to Isaac Asimov was that Asimov was very foolish because he thought he knew a great deal. Now, if you follow along with Asimov’s response to this writer, you can pretty easily see how it applies to what we’re discussing today.

My answer to the writer was:

“John, when people thought the Earth was flat, they were wrong. When people thought the Earth was spherical, they were wrong.”

Asimov goes on to explain that, of course, the Earth is not a perfect sphere but is indeed broader around the equator than it is at the poles. Therefore, it’s not a perfect sphere as people tend to think of it. However, he adds:

“If you think that thinking the Earth is spherical is just as wrong as thinking the Earth is flat, then your view is wronger than both of them put together.”

Asimov continues, explaining that the basic trouble is that people think right and wrong are absolute—that everything that isn’t perfectly and completely right is totally and equally wrong. However, Asimov doesn't think that’s true. He believes right and wrong are fuzzy concepts, and he devoted this essay to explaining why he thought so.

Asimov goes on to explain that it is significant how wrong a theory is. Right and wrong are not so absolute that analysis has to stop with the implication that there are no degrees of correctness. The idea that you’re either absolutely right or absolutely wrong is, in Asimov’s view, a totally ridiculous way of looking at things.

We can draw a comparison here with Epicurus' position on the size of the sun and the location of the Earth in the universe. There are degrees of right and wrong that are important to observe. Epicurus thought that everything fell straight down, which we wouldn’t say today is correct—he didn’t think everything fell towards the center of the Earth. He was wrong about that. However, Epicurus also didn’t think that the Earth was the center of the universe, and he was right about that.

So when you compare the significance of the Epicurean view of the Earth’s location and status in the universe—whether it’s the center of the universe or just a part of it—Epicurus wasn’t absolutely right about the specifics of how things fall through space. But he was a lot closer to being right than those who argued that the Earth was the center of the universe.

The issue here is the relative correctness of these views in relation to how we live our lives. It is much more important to realize that we are not the center of the universe than to insist that we are. These two positions are not at all of equal or close significance to our understanding of our place in the universe and, therefore, our ability to live a happy life.

If you think you’re the center of the universe, you’ll make all sorts of conclusions about your special place and the idea of a special god who has created that place. However, if you realize that you are part of a natural scheme that has evolved and operates naturally, your conclusions will be far different. You won’t be entirely right in all details, but you’ll be much less wrong than someone who thinks the Earth is the center of the universe.

Applying these principles to our discussions today, someone could argue similarly that Velleius’ assertions about the specific nature of a god’s blood or body, or whether the gods speak a certain way or are beautiful, are not essential to the nature of the class of "gods" being discussed. These positions pale in significance compared to the foundational position that the Epicureans were taking: that gods are not supernatural, that gods do not reward their friends and punish their enemies, and that gods do not control or determine human fate.

On these core issues, Epicurus was much closer to being right than Cotta, Cicero, or the Stoics, who argued that gods created the universe, directed everything that occurs, and determined men’s fate, including eternal rewards or punishments. These more significant and incorrect views about the gods are far more damaging than the Epicurean view, even if it lacked perfect specificity.

Isaac Asimov’s entire article is highly recommended, as he provides an excellent explanation of how to view theories as less wrong or more wrong, rather than in terms of absolute right or wrong. Asimov concludes his essay this way:

“In the 19th century, before quantum theory was dreamed of, the laws of thermodynamics were established, including the conservation of energy as the first law and the inevitable increase of entropy as the second law. Certain other conservation laws, such as those of momentum, angular momentum, and electric charge, were also established. So were Maxwell’s laws of electromagnetism. All remain firmly entrenched even after quantum theory came in.

Naturally, the theories we now have might be considered wrong in the simplistic sense of my English Lit correspondent, but in a much truer and subtler sense, they need only be considered incomplete. For instance, quantum theory has produced something called ‘quantum weirdness,’ which brings into question the very nature of reality and produces philosophical conundrums that physicists cannot seem to agree upon.

It may be that we have reached a point where the human brain can no longer grasp matters, or it may be that quantum theory is incomplete and that once it is properly extended, all the weirdness will disappear. Again, quantum theory and relativity seem independent of each other. While quantum theory makes it seem possible that three of the four known interactions can be combined into one mathematical system, gravitation (the realm of relativity) as yet seems intransigent.

If quantum theory and relativity can be combined, a true unified field theory may become possible. If this is done, it would be a finer refinement affecting the edges of the known—the nature of the big bang, the creation of the universe, the properties at the center of black holes, some subtle points about the evolution of galaxies and supernovas, and so on. Virtually all that we know today, however, would remain untouched.

When I say I am glad that I live in a century when the universe is essentially understood, I think I am justified."

I could see Velleius or the Epicureans saying something very similar to that last sentence. Even though they don’t know how a quasi-body or quasi-blood is implemented, and if they did, they’d become gods themselves, they admit that they don’t know the specifics. But they would also say that, regardless of whether they ever learn those specifics or not, they are glad to live in a time when the nature of the gods is essentially understood.

The important aspect to understand and be confident about is that, if gods are living beings at all, they are blessed and imperishable. They are not the type of gods these other people are suggesting—gods that rule the world or intervene in human affairs. All of that doesn’t provide more specificity about quasi-blood and quasi-bodies, but as you begin to look behind the arguments that Velleius is making, and think about where radical skepticism leads, the Epicurean position becomes much more reasonable, especially as you focus on what the core Epicurean position really is.

Now, we haven’t finished Cotta’s attack on the Epicurean position, and we will return to that in section 31 next week. In the meantime, we’ve discussed a lot today. So, Joshua, this has been a difficult section, and we are going through some challenging material. What can we gain from this process?

Joshua's Response:

Well, you’ve said several things, Cassius, that I wholeheartedly agree with. First, on the point that there are different levels of confidence when we’re approaching these topics: Cicero cites the Principal Doctrines, and you’re absolutely right to say that one of them gives us a point of strong confidence—the idea that the gods are not concerned with human affairs, and that they do not cause trouble for human beings.

This is not an academic question—it’s a matter of real importance to how people live. Whether you are going to spend the rest of your life supplicating the gods because you fear their retribution is an important issue. And so, it’s crucial to have confidence on that point. But it’s less critical to have confidence on other, more speculative questions, like "Do the gods speak Greek?"

Another point you made that I’d like to emphasize is how Cotta is using points of lower confidence—questions like the form or blood of the gods—to invalidate the areas where we do have more confidence. This reminds me of the 2008 film Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed, about the debate over teaching "intelligent design" as an alternative to the theory of evolution in schools.

In one notable exchange in the film, Ben Stein, who advocates for intelligent design, interviews Richard Dawkins about the origin of life on Earth. Dawkins acknowledges that we don’t know exactly how life started, stating that it must have begun with the appearance of the first self-replicating molecule. Ben Stein presses him further: "Right, but how did that happen?" Dawkins responds, "I told you, we don’t know."

Ben Stein then tries to steer the conversation toward intelligent design as a potential explanation. Dawkins entertains the possibility that, at some earlier point in the universe, a civilization might have evolved, likely through some Darwinian process, and used its technology to seed life on Earth. Dawkins notes that this is merely an intriguing possibility—one of many.

Wesley J. Smith, a senior fellow at the Discovery Institute’s Center on Human Exceptionalism, jumped on this moment and declared that Richard Dawkins is essentially a Raelian—a follower of a new age religious movement that believes space aliens created life on Earth. But that’s not what Dawkins was saying. He wasn’t proposing a supernatural creation event but rather entertaining a hypothesis about how life could have arrived on Earth, perhaps via extraterrestrial means. It’s just one possible explanation among others, such as the idea that the first self-replicating molecules could have formed naturally or arrived via an asteroid.

What Dawkins was doing in this discussion was entertaining scientific possibilities. This is very different from making a religious claim that life was seeded by space aliens as part of some divine or supernatural plan.

I wish you’d told me you had that article, Joshua, because I’ve never read it, and I’m looking forward to it. I think it’s exactly the analogy I’m trying to draw here. Richard Dawkins suggests the possibility that life on Earth could have been seeded by some alien civilization, but he’s still maintaining that, at the universe level, everything is natural, without any kind of intelligent design.

We know, from the fact that we’re alive and we think we’re intelligent, that nature has evolved a creature with intelligence—unintentionally, perhaps. Today, as humans, we’re moving forward ever further, advancing toward colonizing other planets, understanding biology, and even creating new types of biological units. It’s possible that we could eventually reach the point where we create the kind of self-replicating biological unit you were talking about.

But even if humans eventually reach that point, it says nothing about where the universe itself came from. It simply shows that, at a particular location and time, a species of life can alter its environment in a way that’s completely natural and does not involve any kind of supernatural faculties or abilities.

Hopefully, one day we will have access to more Herculaneum texts and more ability to decipher and understand the ones we do have. I predict that, if we do get more material, we’ll find that the kind of conversation you’re attributing to Richard Dawkins is probably what the Epicureans were doing as well. They were using their knowledge and rationality to the extent they could, to understand the universe and discuss how things could come into being.

In the same way Ben Stein tried to make Richard Dawkins look ridiculous, Cicero and others attempted to make the Epicureans look ridiculous. They seized on isolated statements—perhaps nothing more than speculation in their original context—and raised them to the same level as Epicurus’ assertion that gods are living beings who are blessed and immortal. But those speculative statements were never intended to have that same level of assertiveness.

That sounds like a great article, and we’ll definitely place links to that one and to the Isaac Asimov article in the show notes for today. There’s also another discussion somewhere on the forum from a few years ago about the question of the size of the sun, which relates to what you were just describing, Cassius. I’ll find some resources and post them into the thread.

Okay, well, we’ll come back next week and pick up at section 31. We’ll go through the specifics of Cotta’s criticisms and gather what useful information we can, but we’ll keep in mind the real background and basis of his arguments. These are fascinating subjects to talk about, and we’ll continue with them next week.

In the meantime, be sure to drop by the forum and let us know if you have any comments or questions about today’s discussion or anything about Epicurus that you’d like to explore. Thanks for your time this week, and we’ll be back soon.

Bye!