Episode 004 - Recap of Opening Sections Of Book One
Date: 02/07/20
Link: https://www.epicureanfriends.com/thread/1399-episode-four-recap-of-opening-sections-of-book-one/
Summary
Section titled “Summary”Episode 004 recaps the opening sections of On the Nature of Things through the Iphianassa sacrifice passage, with extended discussion of two central themes. First, Cassius emphasizes that the Epicurean view of gods is non-supernatural — whatever Lucretius means by “gods,” it is nothing like Yahweh, Allah, or any creator deity. Second, the panel discusses the Iphianassa story as Lucretius’s appeal to feeling as the only moral standard — not as an appeal to absolute morality. Elaine develops this at length: Lucretius chose a story that would horrify readers, but the basis for calling it “heinous” is feeling alone, not divine law or natural rights. She draws the contrast with humanists and atheists who, having rejected religion, still cling to a form of absolute “natural morality” without examining where it comes from.
The latter part of the episode (after Elaine departs) covers Kant’s categorical imperative as the opposing principle to Epicurean contextual ethics, with Martin noting that the Kantian imperative requires rules to be universalizable across all of society. The panel reads Principal Doctrine 33 on justice — “justice never is anything in itself but a kind of compact not to harm or be harmed” — as the explicit Epicurean refusal of universal moral absolutes.
Transcript
Section titled “Transcript”Cassius:
Welcome to Episode 4 of Lucretius Today. This is a podcast dedicated to the poet Lucretius, who lived in the age of Julius Caesar and who wrote On the Nature of Things, the only complete presentation of Epicurean philosophy left to us from the ancient world. I’m your host Cassius, and together with my panelists from the EpicureanFriends.com forum, we’ll walk you line by line through the six books of Lucretius’ poem and we’ll discuss how Epicurean philosophy can apply to you today. Be aware that none of us are professional philosophers and everyone here is a self-taught Epicurean. We encourage you to study Epicurus for yourself, and we suggest the best place to start is the book Epicurus and His Philosophy by Canadian professor Norman DeWitt.
Before we get started with today’s episode, let me remind you of our three ground rules. First, the opinions stated on this podcast are those of the people making them. Our aim is to bring you an accurate presentation of classical Epicurean philosophy as the ancient Epicureans understood it, not to tell you what we think Epicurus might have said or should have said in our opinions. Second, in this podcast we won’t be talking about modern political issues. How you apply Epicurus in your own life is entirely up to you. Over at the EpicureanFriends.com web forum, we apply this approach by following a set of ground rules we call not Neo-Epicurean but Epicurean. Epicurean philosophy is not a religion. It’s not Stoicism. It’s not Humanism. It’s not Libertarianism. It’s not Atheism. And it’s not Marxism or any other philosophy. It’s unique in the history of western civilization. And as we explore Lucretius’ poem, you’ll quickly see how that is the case. Third, please be willing to re-examine whatever you think you already know about Epicurus. Lucretius will show that Epicurus was not focused on fine food and wine, like some people say, but neither did he teach that we should live like a hermit on bread and water, as other people say. Epicurus taught that feeling — pleasure and pain — are what nature gave us to live by, and not God, idealism, or virtue ethics. More than anything else, Epicurus taught that the universe is not supernatural in any way, and that means there’s no life after death, and any happiness we’ll ever have comes in this life, which is why it is so important not to waste time in confusion.
As we get started today, remember that the home page of the podcast is LucretiusToday.com, and there you can find a free copy of the version of the poem from which we’re reading, and links to where you can discuss the poem between episodes at EpicureanFriends.com.
Today’s episode will be devoted to a review of what we’ve read so far, with special emphasis on explaining how Epicurus was both a vigorous opponent of supernatural religion, while at the same time Epicurus himself used the word “gods” to refer to the true nature of what a divine being would be like if we happened to come into contact with one. Whatever else you may end up concluding about Epicurus’ view of divine beings, we know for certain that Epicurus held that true divine beings are not supernatural. They did not create the universe, they do not control the universe, and they do not intervene in any way in the affairs of human beings. Whether you think the Epicurean theory of divine beings is interesting and helpful, or whether you think it’s irrelevant because those beings have no concern or connection with us, just keep in mind that whenever an ancient Epicurean referred to gods, what he was referring to was nothing like Yahweh, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, or any of the standard ideas of gods that we use today.
With that as background, let’s get started. We have gone from the beginning of the poem up to the point of the Iphianassa sacrifice, and so it would be a good time now to go back and recap what we’ve discussed so far — with maybe an emphasis on digesting what Lucretius is telling us about the significance of Epicurus and what Epicurus taught people was important. Clearly there’s a focus in this opening section on pleasure personified through Venus as the motivating force of life. But fairly quickly, as soon as that is discussed, Lucretius turns to discussing Epicurus as sort of a conquering hero who has overcome obstacles between mankind and nature, so that we can better understand what we are as humans and what we should be expecting out of life. And in the Iphianassa episode, Lucretius is explaining that you as the listener of Epicurean philosophy may think that you’re going to be doing something unholy by listening to it, because Epicurus did not hold a standard view of the gods. People have this impression that Epicurus was to some extent an atheist, someone impious who taught impious things. So Lucretius makes the point that not only are it not the Epicureans who are impious — it is the standard purveyors of religion who teach impious things about the gods. And one of the most extreme examples of impiety in those who follow the gods under the standard viewpoint is the story of Iphianassa, who was sacrificed by her father for the supposed ability of the gods to grant favorable winds to his ships before he sailed off to the Trojan War.
What would probably be a good thing for us to do today is to sort of digest everything that we have been reading so far and discuss what this means about Epicurus’ relationship to religion, his relationship with a theory of gods, and what it means to us that Lucretius has used the story of Iphianassa to illustrate that it’s not Epicureans who are impious, but the standard believers in religion who are impious. And what can we learn about why he’s used this story and how he’s used it? Elaine, you were not with us in the last episode and did not get a chance to weigh in on the story of Iphianassa. Do you have any thoughts about that passage of the poem?
Elaine:
Yes, of course. The main thing that I was struck by is that Lucretius chose to use a story that he felt would generate emotion in a typical reader or hearer of the poem. And right now I’m looking at the Martin Ferguson Smith version, where he says: “In fact more often it is that very superstition that has perpetrated wicked and irreligious deeds” — he says that Agamemnon “foully polluted the altar of the virgin goddess,” and then towards the end, “a sorrowful and sinless victim of a sinful crime” — and at the very end, “such heinous acts could superstition prompt.”
So I think it is really important to dwell on why Lucretius would pick those words like “heinous” and “wicked” — those are really, really strong words. And it’s critical to remember that we’re not taking an absolute morality perspective. The only basis for even using words like “wrong” and “heinous” would be feeling. So Lucretius is assuming that the typical reader of this story will feel appalled that this child was sacrificed to an imaginary being that wasn’t going to do anything anyway — and that it’s the pain that we feel hearing this story that tells us that our basis for saying this is heinous. Only that, and not any kind of fixed set of morality rules.
There could be — and he doesn’t say this, but I will — there could be circumstances under which some Epicureans might not feel that pain. Let’s say this father didn’t really have a good relationship with his daughter. Maybe there was some strong social acceptance, safety within his tribe, a strong social advantage that was causing him more pleasure than having his daughter alive. So you can’t just on the face of it, by the actions alone, say this is wrong — there’s no way to do that, because we have no automatic reference. And that kind of thing is what will sound shocking to people who are not fully accepting the ramifications of this philosophy — like, “oh, you know, you’ve gone too far; you can’t say that.” Well, what is your basis for deciding what’s right and wrong?
So I want to be clear — my reaction to the story is: “oh my gosh, what a stupid and wasteful thing to do; it’s just a painful thing to think about, thinking about my own children.” I just can’t even imagine — I would never do that; I would rather let them kill me than kill my own kid. But I’m strongly attached to my kids and I think I love them intensely, and that may not have been the thing back in that time. So I think that is one of the key points — he’s using this as a specific example, but he’s counting on the fact that his readers are going to feel horrified, and that’s how they know it’s heinous. Which translation did you use for those lines?
Cassius:
I was looking at the Martin Ferguson Smith.
Elaine:
Okay. I — my copy is the Stallings edition. Yeah, yeah. I’m noticing here — at the top it says instead: “she saw her father with a countenance of gloom.”
Cassius:
“Covered with sorrow” in this version. I think that’s an important detail. And building off what you said — about Lucretius trying to horrify his readers — I’m wondering if there’s some slight appeal to parents specifically.
Elaine:
Yeah, yeah. So I’m not going to say even a “correct” reaction — I’m just going to say a “typical” reaction. At least certainly of today’s readers, and I’m going to assume of readers in his time, because otherwise he wouldn’t have used this example. The typical reaction would be horror. That’s the typical reaction — it doesn’t mean it’s the “correct” reaction, because there is no correct reaction. But there is a typical one. What I’m saying is that he’s appealing to feeling here as the ultimate proof, the ultimate way to display that this is something we should react against. It’s tricky to talk about this without accidentally implying that there is another standard besides feeling, because there isn’t. But he knows that his basis for the words “heinous” and this presentation of the deed as “wicked” entirely depends on feeling. There is no other standard besides feeling. So he’s using a story that provokes intense feelings to make his point. But if you don’t keep in mind that there’s no absolute morality, you could misunderstand his use of the story — like so many atheist books that say “good without God”: what does that even mean, “good”? They would use an example like this to say, “well, you know, a good person would know not to do that.” No — a typical person would have feelings that would be painful if they did that, especially if they knew it wasn’t going to get them anywhere with the gods because those gods don’t exist.
So there’s clearly several things going on here, one of which is a reminder that in Epicurean philosophy, feeling is the ultimate standard — because there is no absolute standard of right and wrong. There is only feeling. But even in the example of a child being sacrificed or killed, even that is not something that is absolutely wrong. And we have an example of that from another Epicurean text — the story of Torquatus, recorded in Cicero’s De Finibus, where Torquatus tells the story about his own ancestor who had ordered that his son be executed because his son had violated the order of battle against an enemy, and in doing so jeopardized the army. So even in that Epicurean text we have an example that it is possible to justify even the execution of one’s own child on grounds that make sense to an Epicurean.
Cassius:
It’s not always going to be right and it’s not always going to be wrong. And that’s probably one of the most essential aspects of Epicurean philosophy wrapped up in that — there is no absolute right and wrong. There is only ultimately feelings of pain and pleasure from which we derive what we decide is good versus bad.
Elaine:
Yes, right, exactly. I am glad that we did talk about this today, because this kind of thing gets misused so often by humanists who do not realize — or maybe they openly say — that there is some kind of other natural absolute standard that is not subjective. I’ve put this on atheist pages or agnostic pages and people argue with me that feelings are not reliable, that you have to know what is good by some other way. And I am thinking: what? So there was a post this morning on a public thread where somebody said, about atheists, “kill them all and let them see for themselves that there is a God.” And a commenter said: “I cannot say I am very shocked by this comment, but one does wonder how these people possibly ever claim to be moral when they are calling for the death of other human beings solely on their lack of belief.” And then they quoted — I’m not sure this is correct — Sam Harris, who said “every act of violence is the result of a failed conversation.” Oh my gosh. Which is so incredibly naive.
Cassius:
Just blows me away. Right? Absolutely right. And it takes some significant amount of nerve to continue to tell people — even among the atheists now — that there is no absolute standard. So there’s no less courage today required to say what Epicurus was saying, what Lucretius was saying. Martin?
Martin:
Yeah, I’m listening. I don’t have a comment by myself now.
Charles:
Okay. Yeah, same thing as Martin. I have a few unrelated notes about atheism in general and regards to feeling and logic, but nothing on topic.
Cassius:
Well, what you’ve said is not so far off topic, Charles. We probably don’t need to go further into the text today, even though I do think it’s important. We spent last week talking to some extent about Epicurean gods, and it’s worth emphasizing as well that an Epicurean god is not anything like a god that most people talk about today — Allah, Jehovah, or whatever. An Epicurean god is not something that has supernatural powers. If we emphasize anything about the nature of what Epicurus thought about gods, he rejected the idea of there being supernatural gods who control the universe, control humanity, give us life after death. All of those things are out the door in Epicurean philosophy, for reasons that will be explained as we go through the rest of the poem. But that’s not really even where we are yet in the progression of the poem, because I think Elaine’s point really does need to be hit home very hard.
No matter how outrageous the example we came up with, it is not horrible because God said it’s horrible. It’s not horrible because there’s an absolute standard of right and wrong as to what is horrible. Those things do not exist. What does exist within humans is our sense of feeling pain and pleasure — those things are the root by which we conclude that something is horrible to us or wonderful to us. But in terms of there being an absolute good or an absolute evil, even something as extreme as executing your child is not going to be absolutely wrong. So that point here is worth a lot of emphasis before we go too much further. He is not appealing to us to say “those Greeks had a terrible view of the gods — isn’t it wonderful that we have the correct understanding of gods, we as Christians or Jews or Muslims?” He is saying that there is no absolute standard because absolute standards don’t exist — absolute standards for morals.
Charles:
Right. Absolute standards for morals — right.
Cassius:
Let me go off into that for just a moment. I think what we’re going to find in the physics is that nothing has eternal existence other than the atoms. The atoms themselves do not change in Epicurean philosophy — and of course when we say “atoms” we mean the ultimate particles that make up everything else; that’s not a molecule or what we today think of as an atom. But whatever those ultimate particles are — matter, material — those do not change ever. But everything that comes about as a result of their combinations does change. So there is no possibility of there being an absolute moral standard, because everything that makes up the universe that we exist in — which is a combination of things — is constantly changing. It doesn’t stay the same forever. Which doesn’t mean it doesn’t stay the same for a long period of time. We can certainly decide that if we wish to have a moral standard or a law that makes sense in our context, we should pursue that — because mountains don’t stay the same forever, but mountains are around for a very long time. So you’ve got to always keep both things in mind. Matter exists and void exists, and things can exist for a long time, but they don’t exist forever. They’re not divinely inspired, not divinely justified, not eternal and permanent in the way that we want to think an absolute standard should be.
Even killing your child under some circumstances could be something that we would endorse. And as you say, Elaine — if there were supernatural gods meddling with the winds and you were going to lose all your ships if you didn’t make the sacrifice, you know — of course even saying it would be painful, even if he truly loved his daughter. If it were really true that that was going to happen, it might turn out to be something that a person using Epicurean hedonic calculus would decide to do. Or they might decide “we’re going to fight the gods.” I mean, you can’t come up with too many hypotheticals because it’s an imaginary situation. But we’ve had human situations like that where humans were oppressing people and people were put under pressure to make decisions about their families under personal threat. And you would have a choice: do I want to fight this, or am I going to give in because I’ll be better off that way? To me, most of that would depend on how intense your love for the person was. If your love for them was intense, you would probably rather die than do anything harmful to them.
And to carry the analogy even another step further: if in fact we had good reason to believe that by being a Christian or Jewish or Muslim we would spend an eternity in paradise experiencing nothing but pleasure — then, no matter how painful it was to live under the rules they would have us live under, we would do it. It would make sense to do it, because it would be justified. They tell people: “if you treat your kids like that, they’ll be rewarded.” You could kill Iphianassa — “she’s going to have eternal reward in paradise,” like the more modern murders that have done that with suicide bombings and so on. “You’re not really hurting them — you’re setting them up for the best possible thing.” So it’s also critical in understanding the story to know that there are no such gods. You can’t really understand the story unless you accept that there are no such gods.
The next several passages of the poem are going to make pretty much exactly that point about threats and promises from religion. But we can defer that until the next episode. This particular point stands on its own as being critical.
Maybe while we’re thinking — I’ll go back to the point of the recap. We’ve got again the opening section where Lucretius has suggested that Venus should come down and pacify Mars so that the wars would recede and he would have the ability to compose the poem without distraction. Again, that is an analogy — a poetic flight. It is valid in the sense of calling on pleasure to take the place of pain, and peace to take the place of disturbance. But it’s not an implication that there are actual supernatural gods who are going to listen to the prayer and take action on his behalf. Not in Epicurean theory.
And in another way of looking at this — what we’ve been discussing today really is feeling and the understanding of human nature being based on feeling as a theory, which takes the place of supernatural religion or Platonic idealism. Platonic idealism or supernatural religion create in us the implication — the allegation, the promise — that there is absolute right and wrong, and that if we follow these rules of absolute right and wrong we will be rewarded for it. Either by heaven and the things that come with heaven, or simply by being a virtuous person — as if virtue is its own reward. As if by being virtuous we are somehow above the issue of getting a reward. In fact, getting a reward even sullies the act of being virtuous, right? If you wish for reward, then by definition you’re not virtuous, because you have to consider virtue itself to be its own reward.
Charles:
Yeah. So now that we’re kind of getting closer to what I was thinking about — one thing I’ve always thought about but can’t quite put into words: whenever something is universally true, it is self-evident — otherwise it wouldn’t be universal. But we know very clearly that morals don’t fall under this category, just based purely on social expectations. Different cultures, different day-to-day interactions — somebody might say something you did was a bit selfish and you don’t think it was. How this relates to the philosophy is that part of the recognition of pleasure as an intrinsic good — or the innate good, or chief good, whatever word we want to use — it is self-evident. I forget the exact quote, but I think it’s in the writings about observing the little piglets. And part of this recognition of pleasure is to override these beliefs about superstition and religion. And how I wanted to relate it to atheists — I mean, I’m one myself — but the vast majority I’ve met, they talk about feeling as if it’s this completely infallible thing that gives way to religion —
Cassius:
Charles, the part that caused me a problem was when you said that feeling “gives way to religion” — I thought that was kind of contradictory. If it’s infallible, then it takes the place of religion, or it supersedes religion. I didn’t understand how somebody could say that it’s infallible but still gives way to religion. Are you suggesting that’s something that —
Charles:
No, no — that’s what other atheists claim. They’re so quick to disavow feeling. Because they do point to religion in this situation — are you saying it gives way to their absolute humanist morality?
Cassius:
Yes. Okay, let’s start over and say that again, so I can understand. You’re talking about what you run into — atheists who say — or whether you want to call it humanism, or just absolute morality, or virtue ethics, or their own concept of right and wrong —
Elaine:
I mean, I think it is connected to the idea of natural rights, and there’s some kind of morality embedded in nature, but they haven’t taken it that far apart. Where is that “right”? So they forget to go all the way with their thinking, and they just stick to this idea that there is some kind of natural morality and vehemently object to being told otherwise.
Cassius:
Let me ask somebody to try to get us on track. Charles, I think you were going to make a comment about an observation you’d made in relation to modern atheists — who accept the importance of feeling, but then in the end think that feeling must give way to what they think is, on some relatively unclear basis, right and wrong. Have you run into that? What do you think about that?
Charles:
I have — like a huge array or like a collection of thoughts — but I can’t quite put it all together in words. But don’t worry about it —
Cassius:
Don’t worry, this is going to come up over and over again.
Charles:
Yeah, it’s a major part of the philosophy. I will say — because I’ve argued this with so many atheists — that’s definitely the case in my experience. And I’ve had people tell me repeatedly “you can’t trust feelings as a guide to right and wrong,” which means that they think there’s some separate right and wrong that’s not your feelings. So you have to have abstract thought systems or you’re going to do the wrong thing. Or they get confused and they think that I’m saying feelings tell you sensory facts — “if I have a feeling the sky is going to be some kind of color” — no, I’ve never said that. I’m talking about pain and pleasure. And if you don’t have accurate information — like in this poem, there’s inaccurate information about supernatural gods — your feelings are responding to inaccurate information, and you get garbage in, garbage out. But if you have accurate information, your feelings will respond to that in a proper manner.
Cassius:
Now in the context of what you just said, Elaine, I can imagine some people saying “well, of course you must use reason — if you just eat four cartons of ice cream at the same sitting because you like it, then you’ll get sick. And so therefore reason is more important, and therefore reason tells you that this is absolutely wrong to eat so much ice cream at one sitting.” And they think that’s a valid objection to the Epicurean theory. And I think all of us would assert that that is not a valid objection. Because there’s still — it is not written in the stars that you can only eat one carton of ice cream at one time. Some people can eat several cartons of ice cream and still be okay. Some people can eat one scoop and get sick immediately. Everything is contextual. There’s no god telling us how much ice cream we can eat or not eat, there’s no Platonic ideal telling us how much ice cream to eat or not eat. And it’s not a problem in Epicurean theory that we have to use experience as a guide and use intelligence to weigh that experience and apply it to future decisions. That’s not an appeal to Platonic ideals or gods. It’s just following a natural process.
Elaine:
Right. And you just said the key word there — “intelligence.” They act like wanting to use pleasure is going to make you stupid. And so when they bring out those examples of causing yourself to be miserable because you were going for pleasure — I’m like, that’s not a failure of feeling, that’s just stupid. It’s not a failure of abstract thought — it’s a failure to notice your experience in the past. That’s just empirical observation — that’s not abstract reasoning. If you know that every time you eat a carton of ice cream you’re going to be sorry, then it’s just dumb to do it again. It’s not a failure of abstract thought. Epicurus is very clear: we sometimes choose pain in order to avoid a worse pain or to achieve a greater pleasure later on. That’s the point you raised earlier, even about Iphianassa or about Torquatus and his son. We do sometimes choose pain in order to bring about greater pleasure or avoid worse pain. And every situation is therefore contextual and must be evaluated in its own context. Not by saying “God told us this is absolutely right or wrong.” Not by saying “Plato gave us a rule that we must always follow no matter the result.” Right —
And I want to stress: when they talk about “reasoning,” they’re confusing things. The ability to remember consequences that you’ve had before, or to notice consequences that other people have had — that doesn’t really mean that you have to use a whole lot of abstract logic where you have developed things that don’t exist in reality. You’re just saying: “every time I do this, the pain from it is worse than the pleasure I got, and so duh, I’m not going to do it.” It’s not really complicated. I don’t know why people make out like this is some kind of esoteric thing to figure out. Seeking pleasure makes you dumb? No — if you really want to enjoy life then you have to apply your experience to decision making and notice what has happened to other people in those situations. It’s a very common straw man argument.
I’m so sorry — I’m going to have to cut out. I need to get ready for work.
Cassius:
All right, thank you, Elaine. We’ll see you in the next episode.
Elaine:
All right, bye-bye.
Cassius:
Martin, I don’t know if you’re able to help me with this point, but I was just thinking based on what Elaine was just saying — that someone who knew philosophy a lot better than I do might say that this relates to the Kantian view of categorical imperatives, or the position that in order for a thing really to be a moral standard, it must be applied absolutely across the board, all the time. Now, whether that’s a Kantian categorical imperative or not I’m not sure, but I think that is the direction many people take this discussion — they want to come up with a rule that applies in every situation. They want to say “it’s only okay to eat three scoops of ice cream — anymore and you’ll get sick,” and they have a natural tendency to abstract that out and say that for all humanity, in all places, times, and existences, there’s something intrinsically good about three scoops of ice cream and wrong and evil and unacceptable about four. And I think that attitude — whether it’s Kantian, whether it’s categorical imperative or however you describe it — that attitude of attempting to abstract out a universal rule that applies always and everywhere to everyone is the opposite of the Epicurean perspective, which is based on context.
Martin:
The main thing about this imperative — it’s rather that your guidelines of action should be such that they can be used for the whole of society.
Cassius:
Exactly. That’s exactly what I read into the meaning of categorical imperatives. And in Epicurean theory you’re just never going to come up with something like that — except for the observation that pleasure and pain are the root for everyone. But you’re not going to be able to come up with a rule of government or of law — which side of the road you should drive on — that can be extended to everyone everywhere all the time. In a universe that’s atomistic and doesn’t have a center and doesn’t have any central directive, it’s just impossible to come up with something like that.
I do think the basic point would be something like this: Epicurean philosophy derives from an understanding of the universe in which there is not going to be absolute truth. Of course — how can we even discuss this without referring to the last ten Principal Doctrines on justice? We haven’t used the word “justice” in this episode, but really that’s a lot of what we’re talking about here. We think that the sacrifice of Iphianassa is unjust. But as Epicurus points out explicitly, there is no absolute natural justice — and he has a whole series of statements at the end of the Principal Doctrines about the idea that you don’t have absolute justice and must therefore base your decisions on the different context of the society and the situation you’re dealing with at a particular time.
Charles:
Okay, but one more remark on this. I’ve always interpreted Kant as something like an extension of the social contract — which we also have in Epicurus.
Cassius:
Yeah. If we look at Principal Doctrine 33, just the first few words already connect this to our discussion: “Justice never is anything in itself, but in the dealings of men with one another, in any place whatever and at any time, it is a kind of compact not to harm or be harmed.” It’s explicitly said that it’s not anything in itself — it’s not some universal thing or concept, but it’s contextual, dealing from person to person.
Charles:
Yes, that’s the ultimate point that we will spend a lot of time on in the rest of the poem, understanding the details of.
Cassius:
Probably a good time to repeat one of the opening comments I’ve been putting at the beginning of each episode — that none of us are professional philosophers and we’re not really claiming anything other than that we have read the Epicurean texts and are attempting to understand them for ourselves. As far as what Mr. Kant said or did not say, that would be beyond the scope of our expertise for sure.
Charles:
I would like to follow up on that, because a few years back I had this argument with another atheist and he said that in any given society, if religion was gone, then it’s only natural that logic and reason would fill its gap. And I called him out on it. I mean, basically the standard atheist position — that while feeling is extremely important, it has to give way to logic. The vast majority of atheists I’ve talked to are very quick to dismiss feelings and emotion.
Cassius:
One of the ironies of what you’re discussing there, Charles, is to observe how you have people on the Ayn Rand objectivist side who take that very same position — and at the same time you have people all across the spectrum who consider themselves to be the opposite of Ayn Rand objectivism taking essentially the same position. They do see that feeling is important and yet they ultimately override feeling by an appeal to something else. Elaine has already talked about the “good without God” argument — they want an absolute good apart from a God, but it ends up being very ambiguous and arbitrary. The Wikipedia page for Hitchens says his school is “new atheism and Epicureanism.” I think at one point he said something about considering himself to be an Epicurean in a way, but it was very limited. We’ve had some discussions about whether we should consider him to be an Epicurean or not, but I’ve always considered that to be a poor label for him.
Charles:
Yeah, it probably is. He probably quoted the trilemma from Lactantius and went off on that.
Cassius:
Right — the riddle about why call him God. Okay, well, why don’t we wrap up for now. Martin, anything else?
Martin:
No, no, I’m fine.
Cassius:
Charles, anything else?
Charles:
Okay.
Cassius:
Well then — Martin, thank you. Charles, thanks. We’ll talk again soon.