Episode 251¶
[Music]
Cassius: Welcome to episode 251 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 thread to discuss this and each of our podcast episodes.
Last week, we spent a significant amount of time discussing whether the gods are active or not and examined how images relate to prolepsis and the Epicurean theory of knowledge about the gods. We talked about how the mind uses the information provided by images and prolepsis to form conclusions about the nature of the gods.
One of the most important points we mentioned last week was raised by Joshua: how we should interpret the statement in the Letter to Menoeceus that says, “Believe that a god is a living being, blessed and imperishable.” Is this a definitional statement of what a god is, or should it be understood in a different way? The better interpretation, I think, is that Epicurus is indeed discussing how we can interpret the images or the information provided by prolepsis to reach sound conclusions about the gods. In this way, we can separate true, evidence-based conclusions from false ones, such as the popular belief that gods reward friends and punish enemies, which contradicts the basic nature of a god as happy and imperishable.
That discussion took us to the end of section 38 and into the beginning of section 39, where we’ll pick up today. We’ve generally been using the Yonge translation, but today I’ll start by reading from the Rackham translation, covering the end of section 38 and moving into section 39.
“Velleius,” Cotta says, “the whole affair is humbug. Yet you stamp these images not only on our eyes but also on our minds—how irresponsibly do you babble, and how extravagantly! You claim there is a constant passage or stream of visual presentations which collectively produce a single visual impression. I’d be ashamed to say I don’t understand this doctrine, if you who maintain it understood it yourselves!”
“How can you prove the stream of images is continuous? Or if it is, how are the images eternal? You say there is an innumerable supply of atoms. Are you then going to argue that everything is eternal for the same reason? You take refuge in the principle of equilibrium—for so, with your consent, we will translate _isonomia—and you say that because there is mortal substance, there must also be immortal substance. On that reasoning, because there are mortal men, there must also be immortal men. And because there are men born on land, there must be men born in water. And because there are forces of destruction, there must also be forces of preservation. Suppose there were; they would only preserve things that already exist, but I’m not aware that your gods do exist.”_
“Be that as it may, how do all your pictures of objects arise out of atoms? Even if atoms exist (which they do not), they might conceivably push and jostle each other with collisions, but they could not create form, shape, color, or life. You fail entirely, therefore, to prove divine immortality.”
At this point, in section 40, Cotta will address divine happiness, but let’s pause here and discuss Cotta’s statements about isonomia in section 39. Since Epicurus doesn’t mention isonomia explicitly in the surviving texts, we should first address how this concept of isonomia—or equilibrium—relates to images and the knowledge of the gods.
Before we examine Cotta’s point about isonomia, let’s refresh our memory on what Velleius previously said about it in section 19 of this same book. Here’s Velleius’s statement:
“Epicurus, then, as he not merely discerns abstruse and recondite things with his mind’s eye but handles them as tangible realities, teaches that the substance and nature of the gods is such that, in the first place, it is perceived not by the senses but by the mind, and not materially or individually like the solid objects, which Epicurus, in virtue of their substantiality, entitles _sterea, but by our perceiving images owing to their similarity and succession. Because an endless train of precisely similar images arises from innumerable atoms and streams toward the gods, our mind, with the keenest feelings of pleasure, fixes its gaze on these images and so attains an understanding of the nature of a being both blessed and eternal.”_
“Moreover, there is the supremely potent principle of infinity, which claims the closest and most careful study. We must understand that it has the following property: that in the sum of things, everything has its exact match and counterpart. This property is termed by Epicurus as _isonomia, or the principle of uniform distribution. From this principle, it follows that if the whole number of mortals is so many, there must exist no less a number of immortals; and if the causes of destruction are beyond count, the causes of preservation are also bound to be infinite.”_
In Velleius’s description, there is a statement about images flowing toward the gods, which seems inconsistent with Cotta’s understanding in section 39, where the images flow from the gods to us. It’s likely that Velleius’s phrase about images flowing to the gods is a transmission error, as Cotta clearly interprets the images as flowing from the gods, providing us with knowledge of them.
The main issue here, however, is Velleius’s point about the “supremely potent principle of infinity,” which forms the basis of isonomia. This principle suggests that in an infinite universe, everything has its match or counterpart. Epicurus describes this as isonomia, or “uniform distribution.” According to this principle, if there exists a multitude of mortal beings, there must also be an equivalent multitude of immortal beings; similarly, if there are countless causes of destruction, there must also be infinite causes of preservation.
Velleius’s mention of the “supremely potent principle of infinity” also introduces the idea that in an infinite universe, anything that can happen will happen an infinite number of times. If something is observed to occur, it’s a possibility—and in an infinite universe, possibilities will manifest infinitely. So, one way to think about isonomia is to see that every potential phenomenon in an infinite universe has an infinite number of examples. This could lead to the conclusion that there’s an equal distribution of preservation and destruction, or mortal and immortal beings, simply because everything possible occurs infinitely often in an infinite universe.
Now, Cotta is discussing isonomia as if it’s a completely absurd idea. Because he opposes it, we wouldn’t expect him to offer the strongest version of the argument, and Cicero—also an opponent of Epicurean philosophy—seems to omit a crucial aspect of what Velleius and Epicurus are suggesting: the difference between what is possible and what is not possible.
In an infinite universe, things that are possible will happen an infinite number of times, but things that are not possible will never happen. This distinction is key. When Cotta says in section 39, “Because there are forces of destruction, there must also be forces of preservation. Suppose there were; they would only preserve things that already exist. But I’m not aware that your gods do exist.” he’s missing the point. He continues, “How do all your pictures of objects arise out of atoms? Even if atoms exist (which they do not), they might conceivably push and jostle each other around, but they could not create form, shape, color, or life.”
This criticism brings us to the classic “argument from design,” which posits that in order for things to come into being, they must have been created by an intelligent designer. But Epicurus and Velleius counter this idea, asserting that atoms, due to their inherent motion and properties, naturally combine in all ways that are possible over an infinite period of time. The existence of things we see around us is not merely random; rather, it follows from the properties of atoms that allow them to combine in certain ways but not in others.
This ties back to the distinction between what is possible and what is impossible. It is possible, for instance, for atoms to come together to form planets, stars, comets, and human beings. We see human beings and planets; we know they exist. Since we believe strongly that everything operates through atoms, we have reason to conclude that it is possible for human beings to exist. Over an infinite span of time, all possible things will happen repeatedly in countless variations.
In terms of isonomia, it is possible for some living beings to extend their lifespans—just as certain animals have shorter lives and some humans live longer than others based on health and other factors. In an infinite universe, there will be a wide range of lifespans for living beings. However, no amount of time or infinite variation will ever produce a supernatural god, because the supernatural is not possible. Only atoms and void are eternal, and only natural phenomena can occur. So, even if we were to encounter an alien being with powers vastly superior to our own, it would not be supernatural. It might be more advanced, more intelligent, or more powerful, but it would still be natural, because only the natural can exist.
In concluding paragraph 39, Cotta returns to the argument by design, insisting that atoms are incapable of giving rise to bodies—especially human beings or gods. When Cotta says, “You fail entirely, therefore, to prove divine immortality,” he’s really saying that the entire theory of atomism fails to prove itself. So, that’s what’s happening in section 39.
In the third sentence of section 39, Cicero writes:
“But there is, you say, a transition of images flowing on in great crowds in such a way that out of many, someone at least must be perceived. I should be ashamed of my incapacity to understand this, if you who assert it could comprehend it yourselves; for how do you prove that these images are continued in uninterrupted motion?”
To get a better handle on this concept, let’s look at Norman DeWitt’s Epicurus and His Philosophy, specifically in the chapter titled The New Piety (p. 265). DeWitt takes us back to Heraclitus to explore the idea of flux in ancient Greek philosophy:
“By the time of Epicurus, the strange notion of flux combined with permanence, which now seems bizarre, had been fondled by the Greeks for a century, since the days of Heraclitus. It was especially familiar in the saying that no one could bathe in the same river twice. It underwent refinement; clear thinkers pointed out that it was impossible to bathe even once in the same river, as it would be a different river from which the bather emerged.”
If applied today, DeWitt suggests that a tourist at Niagara Falls doesn’t see the exact same falls as other visitors and, in fact, doesn’t even see the same falls twice. DeWitt uses this example to illustrate what we now call the identity problem in ontology.
Ontology is the branch of philosophy that deals with the nature of being and existence. The identity problem within ontology asks how we can define something while accounting for its necessary changes. For example, how many grains of sand must be removed from a heap before it’s no longer a heap? Or, how many parts of a ship (such as the hull, rigging, mast, and anchor) can be replaced before it is no longer the same ship? This question of identity originates in Greek philosophy through the concept of flux.
For the atomists, flux arises from the continuous motion of atoms. According to Epicurean thought, atoms in an unbound state move linearly, while atoms bound in compound bodies vibrate. DeWitt continues:
“This notion of flux and permanence was no more congenial to the atomists than to the Greeks in general. The latter experienced no uplift from contemplating the ‘everlasting hills’ but discerned divinity and eternity rather in unfailing springs and rushing rivers. Things of unchanging substance were said to exist _kat’ arithmon, subject to count or measure, but idiomatically subject to limitation.”_
DeWitt then transitions into the theories of afflux and efflux in Epicurean physics. These theories address how images, or eidola, which are composed of atoms, reach us. Eidola form the foundation of Epicurus’s theory of vision and sensation, suggesting that perception is the result of a continuous stream of atomic impressions that allow us to sense external objects.
There’s a question of whether images flow to or from the gods, and Norman DeWitt offers a solution. He explains:
“For the acceptance of the theory of afflux and efflux, the minds of pupils had already been prepared by Epicurus through his explanation of vision in his syllabus for beginners. It was pointed out that even a solid body was vibrant with internal motion, causing a perpetual discharge of subtle images preserving the surface appearance of the object. This continuous discharge was possible because an infinite supply of the proper atoms was always pressing close, eager, as it were, to dart into the required configuration.”
So, in Epicurus’s theory of vision, objects that we see are constantly discharging a film of atoms that strikes our eyes, allowing us to perceive the object—this is the efflux, or outflow, of atoms from the object to our eyes. For this process to continue, though, there must be an afflux, or inflow, of atoms into the body to sustain the discharge of atoms. This is DeWitt’s interpretation of Epicurus’s vision theory.
DeWitt continues:
“Therefore, by invoking the elementary principle that the number of atoms of each particular shape is infinite, it may be said, in the words of Cicero, that out of the infinite supply of atoms, an interminable form (in Latin, _species; in Greek, eidos) consisting of identical images arises and flows to the gods. This is the afflux, the flow of atoms to the gods, replenishing their own atoms so that a subsequent efflux can flow the images of the gods to us.”_
Cicero mocks Epicurus’s theory of vision with sarcasm, yet it's fair to compare it to other ancient theories, such as Plato’s Emission Theory. According to Plato, the eyes emit rays of light, like a flashlight, that illuminate objects in front of them. In Plato's view, when something blocks these rays, it causes darkness. Moreover, he believed the visual stream from the eyes was made up of particles of fire, which align with Plato's elemental theory rather than atomism. This view, although widely accepted at the time, holds that everything visible is merely a shadow of its ideal form.
Returning to DeWitt’s interpretation, the concepts of afflux and efflux are essential to understanding Epicurean perception. Afflux is the flow of atoms into the object, replenishing it, while efflux is the outflow of images that allows us to see the object. This concept ties into the identity problem in ontology and addresses how things retain identity amid constant flux.
At this point, I should turn it over to Cassius to add further insights, as this material may extend beyond today’s discussion.
Cassius:
Thanks, Joshua. Your explanation highlights some crucial aspects. Every time I hear the word “flux,” I’m reminded of Diogenes of Oenoanda, fragment five:
“Now Aristotle and those who hold the same heretical views as Aristotle say that nothing is scientifically knowable because things are continually in flux, evading apprehension due to the rapidity of their flux. We, on the other hand, acknowledge their flux, but not such that the nature of each thing is at no time apprehensible by sense perception.”
DeWitt’s example of Niagara Falls is helpful in visualizing this concept: some might argue that you never see the “same” Niagara Falls twice because the water is constantly flowing, making it technically different at each moment. Yet, when we consider this practically, we understand that while the water changes, our perception of Niagara Falls as a single, identifiable entity remains. This brings us back to the distinction between the constant flux of particles and the stable identity of objects we perceive.
Someone with common sense might dismiss the philosophical debate over flux as trivial, but when engaged in philosophical discussion, it's essential to understand your position well. The core Epicurean stance is that while atoms are indeed in constant motion, their movement doesn’t make the properties of objects incomprehensible. Epicurus argues that all this motion is part of a natural process, and understanding it doesn’t require supernatural forces to “make sense of it all”—our senses alone can do this.
Joshua’s references to DeWitt’s ideas on afflux and efflux highlighted an intriguing theory about how the gods sustain their deathlessness through continuous replenishment of their atoms. This concept has textual support, and DeWitt even suggests that Epicurus may have considered more than one class of gods. One class survives through the constant renewal of atoms, akin to an ever-flowing waterfall. Another type, however, might have more stability, perhaps with a solid or more enduring substance.
DeWitt provides an interesting analysis of Cicero’s selective interpretation:
“Mention of Cicero affords excuse for the reminder that Cicero does not confuse the two classes of gods, as some have alleged, but speaks with precision within the limits of his purpose. Cicero’s purpose was not to present a complete or accurate account of Epicurean doctrine but to select material apt for disparagement. For this reason, Cicero selected the gods of ever-changing substance and ignored the other kind. His treatment is brutally brief, and no space was available for details that were recondite or uninteresting to the public.”
Cicero’s aim was not to fully portray Epicurean thought but to cast it in a negative light. This approach aligns with Cicero’s career as a trial lawyer—even in philosophy, he selectively argued to sway his audience. He often presents only a portion of Epicurean thought, leaving out critical details that would make it clearer and harder to ridicule.
This understanding is vital for interpreting Cicero’s critiques of Epicurus, as he’s consistently presenting only part of the story. To grasp the full picture, we need to contextualize Cicero’s choices with the fuller Epicurean texts and broader philosophical context.
In another jab at the Epicurean view, Cicero has Cotta remark sarcastically:
“The gods must fear that, at some point, their stream of constituent images might cease.”
Such comments reflect Cicero’s penchant for mocking ideas that, to his audience, might seem peculiar or easy to misunderstand.
Cicero was engaged in a campaign aimed at belittling Epicureanism. Ever the trial lawyer, even when philosophizing, Cicero felt no obligation to present all the evidence but only to select the parts most effective for swaying his “jurymen.” This approach applies broadly to much of what Cicero says. Specifically, when he puts words in the mouths of Torquatus, Velleius, or another supposed Epicurean spokesman, he may be relatively accurate about specific points, but he doesn’t provide the full picture because doing so isn’t his purpose. Instead, he’s crafting a portrayal he can then disparage and undercut.
Cicero’s motivation for this selective portrayal is rooted in his belief that Rome would fare better if more people adopted his own philosophical views and rejected Epicureanism, which he viewed as potentially dangerous. As a result, Cicero presents only parts of the Epicurean perspective without offering the full explanation, leaving it to readers today to seek out the complete story. By examining other sources, including the Epicurean texts we have, we can piece together a more accurate and comprehensive understanding.
Turning to section 40, we find Cotta addressing the notion of divine happiness, continuing the discussion of activity and virtue from our previous reading. Cotta begins:
"Now let us consider Divine happiness. Happiness is admittedly impossible without virtue, but virtue is, by its nature, active. Your god, being entirely inactive, is therefore devoid of virtue and, thus, not happy."
Cotta challenges the Epicurean idea of gods existing in a state of pure pleasure by questioning what kind of pleasures they could possibly experience if they are inactive. He presses further:
"What pleasures, then? Pleasures of the body, I suppose, for your school recognizes no pleasures of the mind that do not arise from, and return to, the body. Are you, like the rest of the Epicureans, ashamed of certain utterances of Epicurus, where he protests that he cannot conceive any good unconnected with the pleasures of the voluptuary and sensualist?"
Cotta’s argument here is that the Epicurean gods, who are purportedly self-contained and inactive, would lack any engagement in sensory pleasures. He ridicules the idea by invoking images from mythology:
"The poets describe banquets of nectar and ambrosia with Hebe or Ganymede as cup-bearer. But what will you offer, Epicureans, for your god? I don’t see how your god could access these delights or enjoy them."
Cotta implies that if the gods are not actively experiencing a variety of pleasures, then humans—who can enjoy sensory delights—are actually “better equipped” for happiness. He argues that humans have a broader range of pleasures available than the gods do under the Epicurean model. Concluding his critique, he states:
"Since you claim that pleasures which merely 'tickle the senses' are inferior, when will you cease jesting? Even our friend Piso grew impatient with the Epicureans’ pretension to despise sensual indulgence. Metrodorus takes his brother Timocrates to task for hesitating to measure every element of happiness by the standard of the belly."
Cotta is asserting that the gods, as imagined by the Epicureans, cannot experience pleasure as humans do and therefore cannot attain true happiness. He criticizes this model, suggesting that if gods lack bodily pleasures, they cannot fulfill the Epicurean definition of happiness.
You’ve touched on an essential aspect of Epicurean ethics that Cicero and Cotta strategically ignore or distort: the integration of bodily and mental pleasures within Epicurus’s framework of choice and avoidance. This strategy of selective interpretation, while rhetorically effective, overlooks the nuanced way in which Epicurus prioritizes different types of pleasures. Cicero’s criticism largely rests on conflating Epicurus’s acknowledgment of bodily pleasures with a hedonistic endorsement of indulgence at the expense of mental or virtuous pursuits, but this doesn’t reflect Epicurean ethics accurately.
Cotta’s tactic is to frame Epicurus as a “sensualist,” asserting that because Epicurus acknowledges the pleasures of food, sex, and beauty as real pleasures, he therefore reduces all goods to indulgences of the flesh. Cotta argues that the god’s pleasure, without bodily sensation, must be inferior, subtly imposing the Platonic view that bodily pleasures are inherently lower or even shameful. Cicero reinforces this by selecting quotations, especially from Peri Telos, to depict Epicurean pleasure as crude, while ignoring Epicurus’s fuller view expressed in the Letter to Menoeceus and the Principal Doctrines.
In Doctrine 10, Epicurus clarifies that bodily pleasures alone cannot liberate us from fears or teach us to moderate desires. He acknowledges them but sees them as insufficient to provide a complete state of tranquility, which requires freedom from disturbance in the mind (ataraxia) as well. This combination—freedom from bodily pain (aponia) and mental peace—is foundational to Epicurean happiness.
What Cicero’s interpretation misses is Epicurus’s program of hedonic calculus, which is essential to understanding Epicurean ethics. Epicurus does not simply advocate for seeking bodily pleasures indiscriminately. Instead, he encourages a reflective evaluation of pleasures and pains. Through this calculus, one learns to choose and avoid pleasures in a way that prioritizes mental tranquility and sustainable satisfaction, emphasizing that not all pleasures are worth pursuing. For example, the pleasure of indulgence may seem desirable in the moment but can lead to dissatisfaction or physical discomfort if pursued without restraint.
In response to Cotta’s argument about virtue, Epicurus’s Doctrine 5 underscores the connection between virtue and pleasure without subordinating pleasure to an abstract moral good. Virtue is essential to happiness in the sense that it helps us live “wisely, honorably, and justly,” which, in turn, supports a pleasant life. Epicurean ethics places virtue as a means to achieve the stable happiness of a tranquil mind, rather than as an end in itself. This differs fundamentally from Platonic or Aristotelian virtue ethics, which position virtue as the highest end regardless of individual pleasure.
By framing Epicurus as an indulgent hedonist and dismissing his nuanced understanding of mental and bodily pleasures, Cicero and Cotta effectively sideline the central Epicurean insights into sustainable happiness. Epicurus’s program of choice and avoidance, grounded in both bodily and mental pleasures, aims not at hedonism but at a balanced life free from unnecessary pain and disturbance.
ChatGPT
You've laid out the Epicurean stance against Platonic idealism quite effectively here. Epicurus's philosophy emphasizes the necessity of addressing human needs in a concrete way rather than aiming for abstract ideals removed from the lived experience. When Cicero or Plutarch criticize the Epicureans for supposedly “worshipping the belly,” they're either misunderstanding or deliberately misrepresenting this point. For Epicurus, the essential pleasures of the body—such as eating and drinking—are foundational because they maintain life, and thus the possibility of experiencing all forms of pleasure, including mental pleasures like friendship, contemplation, and freedom from fear.
Epicureans hold that sustaining life enables the pursuit of a happy, virtuous existence; therefore, the fulfillment of basic physical needs is not a concession to indulgence but a recognition of what’s necessary for well-being. Their aim isn’t hedonism in the vulgar sense but achieving a harmonious life by understanding and managing both body and mind.
Epicurus’s philosophy offers a grounding in natural needs that contrasts sharply with Platonic idealism, which often treats bodily needs as inferior or distracting. While Plato aspires to a realm of abstract forms and ideals, Epicurus insists that our capacity for happiness and wisdom depends on engaging with the concrete, material aspects of life. This difference is key to understanding why Epicureans prioritize the body without devaluing the mind.
In an infinite universe, the Epicurean view extends this logic to hypothetical gods, suggesting they, too, would have to maintain their existence within the natural laws governing all beings. This view reinforces that pleasure, which requires a sustained, untroubled existence, is the guiding principle. Thus, the so-called “worship of the belly” actually underscores the Epicurean commitment to realistic, practical ethics aimed at achieving genuine contentment through a balanced and sustainable approach to life.
Cicero may want to ridicule the stomach, but he isn’t going to get very far if he doesn’t humor his own stomach and maintain his own life. As always, the Epicureans take the practical point of view and extrapolate it logically to its implications. You can't pursue pleasure, happiness, or even virtue if you’re not alive. Pain, pleasure, virtue—all of these things have no meaning except to the living. If you’re not alive, you can’t be happy, virtuous, or anything else because you simply cease to exist.
Well, as usual, we’re drawing on a lot of ancillary questions to the main question of the gods, which certainly makes this text worth exploring. I’m excited to see where we go next in Cotta’s protracted argument against all things Epicurean.
Yes, Joshua, that’s exactly what we’ll do next week. As I mentioned, we’ll get back into the issue of what it might mean for the gods—or for us—to be free from pain, as Cotta continues to attack the Epicurean views on holiness, piety, and the best life in general.
Oh, here’s a good fragment to end on, fragment 56 from Onfranda: “So we shall not achieve wisdom universally since not all are capable of it, but if we assume it to be possible, then truly the life of the gods will pass to men, for everything will be full of justice and mutual love, and there will come to be no need of fortifications, laws,” and so forth.
These are truly fascinating issues, Joshua, and not just academic questions, because the life of the gods is relevant, in Epicurean terms, to the lives of real people. And, of course, there’s Epicurus’s reference about studying these issues of infinity, philosophy, and natural science together—becoming, in a sense, “a god among men.” There’s much to learn in exploring the nature of the best life, considering what it would mean to pursue what we wish, unhindered by sickness, disease, or the other issues we encounter as human beings. How would we spend our time if we could move past the daily demands that pull us away from what we truly want to do?
These are the kinds of issues we’re exploring, and we’ll get further into it next week. So let’s bring this episode to a close. In the meantime, let me remind everyone to drop by the forum and let us know if you have any comments or questions about this or any of our other episodes. As always, thanks for your time this week. We’ll be back with you soon. See you then—bye.