Episode 280 - TD11 - On Death And Daring To Live
Date: 05/08/25
Link: https://www.epicureanfriends.com/thread/4445-episode-280-td11-on-death-and-daring-to-live/
Summary
Section titled “Summary”This episode wraps up Part One of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations on death. It opens with Section 42’s account of Leonidas and the Spartans at Thermopylae, Diogenes the Cynic on the disposal of his body, and Anaxagoras on the sun being a ball of metal larger than the Peloponnese. Cicero then argues (Section 46) that one should not “go out while you’re on top” — the value of a moment of glory is not a reason to end one’s life. Joshua counters with the Phaethon epitaph (“though greatly he failed, more greatly he dared”) and the theme of daring to live. Cassius quotes Frances Wright’s A Few Days in Athens (Ch. 10) on why losing someone you loved is better than never having loved, then introduces Cicero’s closing argument: the story of Silenus and King Midas (“never to have been born is the greatest blessing”) and the two versions of the Iphigenia story — Euripides’ willing sacrifice versus Lucretius’s account of unwilling sacrifice. Both are contrasted with the Epicurean position as Cassius reads from Epicurus’s Letter to Menoeceus (sections 125–126) and Letter to Herodotus (section 83). The episode ends with Joshua reading from Lucretius’s De Rerum Natura Book Six on the Plague in Athens, then presenting Emily Austin’s argument (Living for Pleasure) that Lucretius intentionally ends his poem where he does because Thucydides’ account shows the plague turning Athenians into Epicureans. Joshua closes with Shakespeare’s Richard II on death as the great equalizer; Cassius responds with Vatican Saying 31 (the “city without walls”) and Vatican Saying 45 on the strength of character that Epicurean study produces.
Transcript
Section titled “Transcript”Cassius: Welcome to episode 280 of Lucretius Today. This is the 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 we 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 discuss this and all of our podcast episodes. This week we continue our series going through Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations from an Epicurean viewpoint. For the last several weeks we’ve been going through Part One of the book devoted to the question of whether death is an evil or not. We’re going to be finishing that today, summing up what we’ve heard from the last several weeks, and then next week we’ll go to Part Two.
Part Two is entitled “Is Pain an Evil?” and Cicero will go through that in the same way he’s been going through death — contradicting Epicurus, fighting all the way against anything that would lead to the idea that pain is an evil or that pleasure is a good. We’ll do that next week. Today we’re going to finish up on the section “Is Death an Evil?” Last week we got up to around section 42 of Part One where Cicero had been quoting extensively from Socrates’s final speech before he drank the hemlock and died, and Cicero was just as enthusiastic as he could possibly be in praising the way that Socrates ended his life, concluding with the particular praise for the idea that “it’s now time for you to depart and me to die; which of the two, however, is better, only the gods — no human being I think does — know.” Cicero being the Academic Skeptic that he is, particularly enthusiastic about this endorsement of taking the position that “I don’t know” — about what was truly for Socrates a life-or-death issue.
If you’re not firmly committed to the idea that continuing to live is generally a good thing, then certainly on issues of lesser importance you’re also going to be without foundation, which is a very different approach to the major issues of life than Epicurus takes. This is why in many cases Epicurus is considered to be a dogmatist in the good meaning of that term — which is that Epicurus thinks that knowledge of certain things is possible — and in this instance from an Epicurean perspective, knowledge of death is possible, and that knowledge is that when we die, we cease to exist. Our souls, our minds, our spirits come to an end just like our bodies do. Epicurus does not equivocate on that point, and so there’s no possibility of entertaining these positions that Socrates and Plato have taken, that dying could even possibly be going to a better place.
That brings us up to around section 42 and we have six or seven more sections before we complete this first part. We’re going to go through those very quickly today because what Cicero has done in prior sections is bring up these major philosophical arguments. He’s now in his conclusory section where he’s basically giving his closing argument, going back over some of the same things that he’s already said. And as he is apt to do — as people who are similar to the Stoics like to do — he’s laying it on thick at the end here by talking about other people who’ve met their deaths gloriously just like Socrates did. As repetition of those is not of particular use to us in understanding Epicurean philosophy — which is not to say that there’s not some very interesting material in the remaining sections here, and I highly recommend that someone who has the time do read it — he includes all sorts of historical references such as to King Leonidas at Thermopylae and other very interesting things that are good to know, but again not necessary for this philosophical point. Section 43 talks about burial rites; sections 44 and 45 continue on this survey of the way different peoples and different cultures deal with death and burial. And the first thing I see on my list to discuss today is in section 46. So let’s see if we have any thoughts on where we are and then what we’re going to do today.
Joshua: Yeah, in section 42, as you said Cassius, we’re going into the story of Leonidas at Thermopylae, and Cicero has already said in a previous section that the way in which generals and their armies march into the jaws of death with no hope of surviving — that that itself is a kind of evidence that death is not an evil, that it’s ultimately not something to be feared. And with the case of Sparta he has a strong point to make here because the Spartans had a practice where if they knew they were going into battle with the intention of fighting to the death, they would get their hair cut in a certain way before the battle, and they did this before Thermopylae. This was a sign that: we are going to hold this spot against wave upon wave of Persians trying to come through this place, and we are going to fight to the death of the last man.
So he is using this once again in support of his ultimate conclusion, which is that death is not an evil. It’s not an evil if you think, like Cicero thinks, that the soul survives death and that it’s going to ascend through the air up into the celestial realm after we die. And it’s not an evil if you think, like Epicurus thinks, that the soul dies with the body. Either way it’s not an evil, and this is evidence of that — when you look at soldiers and armies and generals and the way they behave in battle, it is evidence of the conclusion he’s trying to reach. And he quotes Leonidas as saying “March on with courage. Tonight perhaps we shall dine in the regions below.” And Cicero says this was a brave nation: whilst the laws of Lycurgus were in force, one of them, when a Persian had said to him in conversation “we shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of our arrows and darts,” replied “we shall fight then in the shade.” And he quotes the epitaph that was written by the poet Simonides: “Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here, obedient to their laws, we lie.” And for Cicero, these are very noble sentiments. As he said in the last episode, we were talking about how even though he’s going to die, he still has an interest while he’s alive in the future survival of the republic, the future conditions of his country. And so he admires that also in other people. That’s why he’s looking to the Spartans. Here is one example of that. He’s going to give a lot of other examples that we won’t go into, but this is Cicero’s approach: we have a duty to lend our skills, we have a duty to lend our courage to the defense and statecraft of our country, our republic, our city-state, whatever it is, and the willingness to die for those ideals is itself a kind of evidence that death is not an evil.
Cassius: That last part being something that Epicurus would probably not advise you to go out and die for your nation except in particular circumstances, but certainly Epicurus says that you are on occasion willing to die for a friend. That’s the same argument that Cicero is making.
Joshua: At this point in the story I would just reinforce that Cicero is drawing from different sources. He quotes this exchange that is said to have taken place between Diogenes the Cynic and one of the Athenians on what to do with his body. And he says “throw it over the city walls,” and they say “aren’t you worried about the dogs?” And he says “no, throw a stick over of course, so I can defend myself from the dogs.” And then the Athenian says “but you’ll be dead — how are you going to defend yourself with the stick?” And he says “I’ll be dead, so why do I care if the dogs eat my body?” And then he quotes Anaxagoras, who was himself exiled from Athens for his own views. He said that the sun was a ball of hot metal larger than the Peloponnese and not a god.
So we have this wide range of views that Cicero is presenting — from the common soldier to the most esoteric philosophers — and he says it doesn’t matter who you ask: everybody, when it comes to death, sees that it is not an evil. That would be an oversimplification of his view, but he certainly is drawing on all quarters of society and all schools of philosophy to make the point that he’s making. It doesn’t matter how you look at it — in his view death is not an evil. In section 44 he goes into that scene in Homer’s Iliad with Achilles dragging Hector’s body behind his chariot after a duel, and makes the point that Achilles can tear Hector’s flesh but that it was not Hector’s body that Achilles had dragged along — it was a body that had been Hector’s body. And that ultimately what Achilles did was kind of pointless because once Hector is dead, you can’t get at him to avenge yourself any further than you already have. Defiling his corpse, while it certainly sends a message to the Trojans, is not going to do anything with regard to Hector because Hector isn’t in there anymore. He’s gone. So that’s where we’re at. He goes into some discussion of burial rites, but in general that’s where we’re at: Cicero is pulling from all these different sources in service of his main point, which is that death is not an evil. And he’s going to continue that point, Cassius, in section 46, which I think you said you have something to say about.
Cassius: Yes, that’s right. As I see it, there are at least two significant philosophical issues that Cicero is going to bring up here as we reach the end of Part One that I want to be sure we mention. And the first of these does occur in section 46. I suppose it comes down to the question of: should you go out while you’re on top? And part of section 46 says this: “The speech of the Lacedaemonian seems to have the same meaning. Who, when Diagoras the Rhodian — who had himself been a conqueror at the Olympic Games — saw two of his own sons conquer there on the same day, approached the old man and congratulating him said, ‘You should die now, Diagoras, for no greater happiness can possibly await you.’” The Greeks look on these as great things — perhaps they think too highly of them, or rather they did — so then I think he’s referring to the games there. And so he who said this to Diagoras, looking on it as something very glorious that three men out of one family should have been conquerors there, thought it could answer no purpose to him to continue any longer in life where he could only be exposed to a reverse of fortune.
Now, aside from the reference to the Olympic games, I think that is a circumstance that we can readily identify with today. When you hear somebody who, at the height of their sport, the height of their profession, the height of their artistic skills or whatever, does something that is so exceeding in greatness in their field and they realize that they’re at the top of the world, at the top of their game — the question being raised here is: once you’re on the top, why hang around when you know that everything that’s going to come after is going to be less than being on the top? And I think that’s worth discussing for a few minutes here, because certainly I don’t think Epicurus would entertain the idea that once you’ve reached the summit of your occupation, or you’ve reached what we discuss frequently as the limit of pleasure — once you’ve reached the limit of pleasure — why should you not commit suicide at that point? Because if you’ve reached the limit, you’re probably not going to be able to continue to maintain staying at the summit for the rest of your life. So why not just go out while you’re on the top? Joshua, what do you think about that?
Joshua: I don’t think very highly of that opinion. We’ve seen earlier in the text here where Cicero has kind of given a pass to a philosopher that we’ve talked about — Hegesias, the death-persuader — who wrote a book on why it’s better to end your life now than to keep living it. Cicero may have thought that was noble, and there are other schools that may have looked at it the same way, but most of the people who discussed this in the ancient world are horrified by it. I think Ptolemy I kicked him out of Alexandria or something, banished his books from the city, because this is a horrible thing to tell people — this is terrible advice — and it’s so terrible that you’re not even allowed to live in our city anymore if you’re going to be telling people this stuff.
What I would say — and I would look at this — we quoted one epitaph earlier, Cicero did, regarding the Spartans. There’s another epitaph that I really like, and this is about the myth of Phaethon who took over the sun god’s chariot. And this is what the Wikipedia page says: “Phaethon however was adamant and thus Apollo was forced to relent. Phaethon was Apollo’s son. When the day came, the fierce horses that drew the chariot felt that it was empty because of the lack of the sun god’s weight, and went out of control. Terrified, Phaethon dropped the reins. The horses veered from their course, scorching the earth, burning the vegetation, bringing the blood of the Ethiopians to the surface of their skin and so turning it black, changing much of Africa into a desert, drying up rivers and lakes and shrinking the sea. And the earth itself cried out to Jupiter, who was forced to intervene by striking Phaethon with a lightning bolt. And like a falling star he plunged blazing into the river Eridanus.” And the epitaph on his tomb was this: “Here Phaethon lies, who in the sun god’s chariot fared, and though greatly he failed, more greatly he dared.”
I think — because I’ve read this in an audiobook before — that in some bankruptcy court in the UK there’s a painting of Phaethon falling, and this quote in the bankruptcy court. Which is the idea that you’ve striven for something by starting a business or whatever, but it failed, and that’s why you’re here. And it puts an interesting spin on it: though greatly he failed, more greatly he dared. My advice to people regarding this idea that once you’re on top — because you’re afraid of a fall, this is what Cicero is saying, you’re afraid of a fall, so it’s better to end it when you’re on top — what I would say is: dare to live. That would be my answer. I think Epicurus would probably say something along the same lines: that the measure of your life is not three of your sons winning the Olympic games, as wonderful as that is. But that is not your cue to exit the theater, because that’s their thing and you still have a life to live. It’s not like just because you’re an old man and your sons have done this great thing, that now is the time. That’s my opinion on that. Dare to live.
Cassius: Yes, Joshua, what you’ve just said reminds me of a common phrase that we hear that is controversial and people don’t know what to think about it sometimes, especially when they’re down in the dumps about a particular situation. But we’ve often heard it said: “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” And I don’t know anything about the background of that, but it seems very consistent with what you’ve just been saying and the position I think Epicurus would take. Do you know anything about the background of that?
Joshua: I do. Yeah. That actually is a line that comes from a poem written by Alfred Lord Tennyson. He had written a long poem over the course of many years called In Memoriam as an elegy for his best friend who had died. And through the process of grieving throughout this poem, he comes to this realization that even though it hurts him a whole lot that his friend is now gone, he still wouldn’t trade that for never having known him, never having felt that love in the first place that has now led to the grief. The poem, which was quite long, was so well known and so famous in the UK that Queen Victoria actually kept a copy on her bedside when — I think it was Prince Albert, her husband, or whoever — when he died, she was grief-stricken and this poem helped her to get through her own grief as it helped Tennyson to get through his.
So it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I certainly think that’s in the same theme here that we’re talking about. It’s this idea that yes, you might get hurt, yes, you might fall, yes, you might decline from the height you were at now, but you have one life and you are the one who decides what you do with that one life. So steer your little boat in a direction that brings you joy. And I think that Cicero saying “we ought to bear with moderation any grief which arises from ourselves or is endured on our account, lest we should seem to be too much influenced by self-love” — he’s not prescribing this like a doctor prescribes medicine: “once you reach the top, it’s over for you.” And that’s good, because we’ve made our position on this very clear, which is that’s a terrible way to live your life, to think “now I’ve peaked, there’s nothing left for me.” No, there’s plenty left for you, and there are things you’ve never attempted to do before, things you don’t even know are there to try to do. And that will always be the case. Because what was that quote from The Lion King? “There’s more to do than can ever be done, more to see than can never be seen” — or something like that. We talk in clichés like this about this stuff because it’s kind of difficult to talk about, but the clichés are there for a reason. There is some truth in that.
Cassius: Yeah, it’s difficult to talk about because certainly there’s a lot of pain involved when you go through these bad circumstances that Cicero’s been through that all of us go through. And so it’s good that he brought this up, because I do think a lot of people will entertain the idea at times in their lives when things are not going particularly well. And as we move to the next section, we’re going to carry that to its logical conclusion. But there is one more reference that I want to bring in to support our view of Epicurus’s position on this. We have the endorsement, I think, of Frances Wright in chapter 10 of her A Few Days in Athens. She has Epicurus say this: “Should we then, to avoid the evil, forego the good? Shall we shut love from our hearts that we may not feel the pain of his departure? No — happiness forbids it, experience forbids it. Let him who hath laid in the power the dearest of his soul, who hath washed the urn with the bitterest tears of grief, let him say if his heart hath ever formed the wish that it had never shrined within it him who he now bewails. Let him say if the pleasures of the sweet communion of his former days doth not still live in his remembrance, if he loves not to recall the image of the departed, the tones of his voice, the words of his discourse, the deeds of his kindness, the amiable virtues of his life. If, while he weeps the loss of his friend, he smiles not to think that he once possessed him. He who knows not friendship, knows not the purest pleasure of earth. Yet if fate deprive us of it, though we grieve, we do not sink. Philosophy is still at hand, and she upholds us with fortitude.”
So it’s part of a longer section, but there’s a very moving presentation of this same issue. Again, this is chapter 10 of A Few Days in Athens. I think we’ve dealt with the issue and concluded that it’s not a good idea to think that once you’ve reached the top of whatever your goal is, you should then just do away with yourself. But that I think is really just a subset of a bigger question — which we know that Epicurus himself confronted in the Letter to Menoeceus. And that takes us to section 48 where Cicero brings up the story of Silenus and this question about whether it is better never to have been born. He’s closing basically with one of the biggest issues you could come up with. The part I’ll introduce it with is: “There is also a story of Silenus, who when taken prisoner by Midas is said to have made him this present for his ransom — namely that he informed him that never to have been born was by far the greatest blessing that could happen to man, and that the next best thing was to die very soon — which Euripides makes use of. And then he relates the story of Iphigenia in a different way than Lucretius mentions it, because Cicero is implying here that Iphigenia went to her death voluntarily rather than, as Lucretius indicates, involuntarily.”
So we know that Epicurus brings this up in the Letter to Menoeceus, and it’s ultimately this question: is it better never to have been born, or once born hasten to the end? And I can’t think of a more anti-Epicurean, negative, damaging, harmful, disastrous viewpoint of life than that. But this is the way that Cicero is bringing his discussion of death to an end. Cicero hasn’t done this himself. So again, this is another situation where Cicero is bringing up the argument and letting us know that we need to be prepared to deal with it, because most people at some point in their lives — when things go so badly that they wish they had never been born — need something to work against that position, and part of overcoming it is to understand why it’s wrong. So we may have a few more things to talk about that come right out of this section, but I think we can spend some time now talking about the entire subject of death from the framework that Epicurus presents to us in the Letter to Menoeceus, and why Epicurus rejects this idea that it’s better never to have been born or to hasten to death as soon as you can.
Joshua: Yeah, let me talk about what you brought up briefly there, which was this story that Lucretius relates about Iphigenia, who was the daughter of Agamemnon. And because Artemis was angry with the Greeks, she wouldn’t let them sail to Troy. And so upon consulting an oracle, it was decided that the daughter of Agamemnon was to be sacrificed in order to gain for the Greeks a fair wind. And there are two different versions of the story. The version of the story that Cicero relates comes from Euripides — as he says — in which Iphigenia says this in the story: “If that is the gods’ will, sacrifice me. May this gift from me bring you success. May you win the crown of victory and win therefore a glorious homecoming. And now, do not let any man lay his hands upon me. In peace and in good heart I offer you my throat.” So she spoke, and all stood by in wonder at the courage — yes, the virtue, or the manliness, which is what “virtue” means — of her words.
So that’s one version of the story. The version of the story that Lucretius tells — and I think is perhaps more common, though to be honest I don’t know — in this version of the story Iphigenia and her mother Clytemnestra are brought to Aulis under the pretense that she will marry Achilles. And so she’s being led to the altar thinking that she’s going to be married, and instead her father is hiding the knife and she’s actually being led to a different kind of altar as a sacrifice, a burnt offering. And so it’s interesting to me that Cicero chooses to relate this version of the story — the version where she is in full awareness of what’s happening and chooses to die — and that Lucretius contrasts that with the version that he chooses to relate, which is, as Rolfe Humphries put it: “she fell a victim by the sacrificing stroke her father gave, to shed her virgin blood — not the way virgins shed it, but in death.” Lucretius does a very good job of setting up the contrast between the idea of being married and the idea of dying, and how the ceremonies for both in the Greek world are kind of similar in some ways, and that you pollute the one by this deception that Agamemnon is performing — trying to get her to come there so that he can sacrifice her without her knowledge.
So I guess my broader point is that we should be aware, as we read Cicero, that it’s true that these different versions of the story are out there in the ancient world, but it’s also possible to select the version of the story that will best reinforce the point you’re trying to make. And the point that he’s trying to make is: death is not just not an evil — death is actually desirable.
Cassius: Yeah, Joshua, it is fascinating how there are different versions of the story of Iphigenia, and Cicero is telling the version that allows him to argue that this is another example of the glory of facing your death when you know that you’re facing it for the right reason. And the fact that Lucretius approaches it from a totally different position tells an awful lot about the difference of approach that Epicurus has from the standard Platonic Stoic type of outlook.
As we reach the end of section one here, what Cicero has brought up through the question of “is it best to go out while you’re on top?” and “should we think that it would be better for us never to have been born?” — these are things that are critical issues of life and death that constitute the reason that Cicero has gone down the road of discussing death in the first place. And we now know in summary, having gone through Cicero’s presentation of this, that Cicero is committed to the idea that death is actually a better place and that a major reason for not being concerned about death — a major reason for even embracing the possibility of death when you have to do something like fight for your country that may require you to die — is that you can look to this idea that once you die, you will continue to exist and you will in fact be in a better place. This of course is totally different from Epicurus’s point of view. Cicero has admitted that well, at the very least if I die and I cease to exist, it’s not an evil. But that’s really not where Cicero’s heart is. His heart is in this idea that he’s going to continue to exist after death, and you must believe this kind of thing if you’re going to be a strong person who’s going to stand up for yourself, stand up for your friends, potentially face death when it’s necessary. If you’re going to be a strong and happy and confident person, you’ve got to believe that death is going to be a reward for your work here on earth and that it’s to be welcomed in many instances.
Now as we near the end here, it’s time to turn back to summarize how this is dramatically different from Epicurus’s perspective. For the information on Epicurus’s perspective, we have probably the best reference around sections 125 and 126 of his Letter to Menoeceus, especially the part that says this: “And therefore a right understanding that death is nothing to us makes the mortality of life enjoyable, not because it adds to it an infinite span of time, but because it takes away the craving for immortality.” And in regard to strength and so forth, Epicurus says this: “For there is nothing terrible in life for the man who has truly comprehended that there is nothing terrible in not living. So the man speaks idly who says that he fears death not because it will be painful when it comes but because it is painful in anticipation, for that which gives no trouble when it comes is but an empty pain in anticipation. So death, the most terrifying of ills, is nothing to us, since so long as we exist death is not with us, but when death comes then we do not exist. It does not then concern either the living or the dead, since for the former it is not, and the latter are no more.”
He goes on and explains the implications of that this way in section 126: “But the many, at one moment, shun death as the greatest of evils, and at another yearn for it as a respite from the evils in life. But the wise man neither seeks to escape life nor fears the cessation of life, for neither does life offend him nor does the absence of life seem to be any evil. And just as with food he does not seek simply the larger share and nothing else, but rather the most pleasant, so he seeks to enjoy not the longest period of time but the most pleasant. And he who counsels the young man to live well but the old man to make a good end is foolish, not merely because of the desirability of life but also because it is the same training which teaches to live well and to die well. Yet much worse still is the man who says it is good not to be born, but once born make haste to pass the gates of death. For if he says this from conviction, why does he not pass away out of life, for it is open to him to do so if he had firmly made up his mind to this. But if he speaks in jest, his words are idle among men who cannot receive them. We must then bear in mind that the future is neither ours nor yet wholly not ours, so that we may not altogether expect it as sure to come, nor abandon hope of it as if it will certainly not come.”
Then at that point Epicurus turns to pleasure, the natural and necessary desires, and so forth. But in this section that we’ve just quoted as to the attitude towards death, I think we see a dramatic difference. And it does really come into focus when you talk about this question of whether it would be better never to have been born, which I think answers the question also as to why not go out on top if you’re certain that life could never be as good as this. Again — why do you continue to live? This whole question that some people have in their minds, that there may be some objective in life that you can reach and once you’ve reached it you’ve done everything there is to do and it’s time to die — that whole attitude is foreign to Epicurus. He denounces it explicitly. And it’s really important I think for us to understand why that is. Because there’s not any kind of transfiguration, summit, salvation moment where you can say that you’ve done everything in life that you wish to do. Even at that moment when you have reached what you think is the height, life still remains desirable. We can face it with equanimity when we do reach it because we know death is not an evil. But that’s not to say that death is a good thing in general, because we’re not going to be experiencing any more pleasure after death either.
The point being, however, that even though there is the possibility of facing pain in the future, Epicurus is telling us that not only are we still happy that we have been born, but we are happy to continue living as long as we can rationally predict that our future will provide us more pleasure than pain. There are going to be circumstances in which you do make an exit when the play ceases to please you. But that is not the general rule — that is going to be an exceptional circumstance. And the general rule is that life is desirable; we wish to experience it and thereby gain additional pleasure.
Joshua: Well, since we’ve come to the end of Part One here in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, and we’ve been talking all about death, I can’t think of a better way to end than to go to Book Six, the end of Lucretius’s poem on the plague in Athens, and then to offer as a counterpoint to that, Emily Austin’s Living for Pleasure. So again, in the Rolfe Humphries translation of Book Six of Lucretius, he says this: “Such a plague once visited Athens, blighted fields, laid waste the highways, drained the town of citizens. It rose from somewhere deep in Egypt, spread across long reaches of the skies and seas until finally it seized on all the folk of Pandion’s city. They sickened and they died in multitudes.” And then he gives a description of the physical symptoms that came with it, and he says: “Doctors shook their heads and muttered in a silent fear while patients stared blankly or kept rolling sleepless eyes, the signs of death were obvious. The mind was crazed with grief and fear. The brow was knit, expressions fierce and wild. The ears would ring, breathing was labored or irregular.” And then he makes the point that the plague struck rich and poor, pious and impious — it struck everyone alike. He says: “A man finding himself laid low by the disease would lose all hope, would lie abject and stunned, resigned to the death sentence, with no thought in mind save that until he met his doom. This plague was most infectious. It could spread, as pestilences do, with animals, cattle and sheep. So death was piled on death.” I think that’s another reference to Alfred Lord Tennyson actually, who’s referred to in one of his poems: “Life piled on life were all too little.” So death was piled on death.
“Some people, when their kin were stricken, shun all visitation with them, but they paid for their excessive appetite for life, their coward fear of death. Their unconcern became a nemesis and laid them low, deserted, helpless, an ignoble death. The loyal were no better off, worn out by labors of devotion, by their own compelling sense of decency, by the voices in which affection mingled with reproach. So the most noble spirits perished. None were left sometimes as mourners. When the dead were hurried to their graves, battles broke out as the survivors fought for funeral pyres, with corpses heaped on corpses. Those who came back to their homes again were spent with grief, lying exhausted on their beds. Not one could possibly be found whom neither death, disease, nor mourning at this frightful time had left untouched.” And he finishes by saying: “This funeral rites, interments, which these pious people held in all traditional reverence, became quite out of fashion. Everyone in grief buried his own whatever way he could. Amid the general panic, sudden need and poverty persuaded men to use horrible makeshifts, howling. They would place their dead on pyres prepared for other men, apply the torches, maim and bleed and brawl to keep the corpses from abandonment.”
So that sets up the problem for us, and it’s a problem in Lucretius’s poem that scholars have been debating for a long time: was this intentional? Did he mean to end the poem on the plague in Athens? Is there a lost seventh book — as I think Norman DeWitt maybe thinks there’s a lost seventh book? Before Emily Austin published her book, Stephen Greenblatt in the lecture that I watched gave an answer that I thought was pretty good. He said that ending the poem with a plague, this horrible description of disease and death — that ending the poem that way sets up a test for the reader to see how well we’ve understood this philosophy. Cassius, you’ve just been reading from the Letter to Menoeceus, talking about death and about people who say that it’s better not to live and so forth. Then what Stephen Greenblatt is saying is: Lucretius is setting this up as a test for the reader to see how well they have grasped Epicurus’s own views on death, and that this is the kind of thing in Lucretius’s poem that will make you flip back and look and see: “Am I missing something? What’s wrong here?”
So that was my favorite explanation of this until Emily Austin wrote her own book called Living for Pleasure. And in that book she gives a very interesting take on this. She says at the opening of chapter 21, which is called “Experiencing Death,” that she is herself something of an expert in this question of the fear of death. She says: “I do not mean that I’m an expert at fearing death, but that most of my published research addresses the fear of death in ancient Greek philosophy.” And so Lucretius, when it comes to this question of the plague in Athens, this is right in her wheelhouse, and she deals with it in a way that’s very interesting and that we’ve pointed out several times before. She says this on page 237, in the chapter “Pandemics and Other Comforting Horrors”: “Lucretius borrows his account of the plague almost whole cloth, and in the same order of exposition, from the Greek historian Thucydides, including some very disgusting details about secretions, rotting limbs, dead dogs, and putrefaction. Thucydides’ account is dreadful enough, and Lucretius embellishes it. Scholars seem to have overlooked though that Lucretius breaks off his own rendering of Thucydides just where it gets good — right when Thucydides’ Athenians start acting like Epicureans. The missing section captures the lessons of Epicureanism so effectively that it seems unlikely that Lucretius intended to leave it out. According to Thucydides, once the Athenians saw that they could die at any moment, they abandoned their desire for honor and great wealth, instead giving in to pleasure. They did just what they pleased. They resolved to spend quickly and enjoy themselves, realizing that saving up for the future was ridiculous when the future was so uncertain. They abandoned grand ambitions and the desire for great honors for the same reason: why make such sacrifices to pursue something so volatile when death revealed their efforts as a waste of time? Thucydides claims that death hung ever over their heads and they vowed that before this fell, it was only reasonable to enjoy life a little. They settled on the present enjoyment.”
And then Emily Austin goes on to say that the plague also impacted the survivors’ religious beliefs, chiefly because they recognized that death did not discriminate between the pious and the impious. They saw all alike perishing and concluded religious sacrifices and prayers made no difference. And then she ends with what I think is the best part here. She says this: “Thucydides most likely considers these lapses into impropriety regrettable — a breakdown of social norms to be righted once the plague retreats. Lucretius, had he finished his recounting of Thucydides, might very well have turned that assessment on its head. After all, the plague transformed the Athenians into something more closely resembling Epicureans, and Lucretius might recommend they make the change permanent. If in fact Lucretius had access to Thucydides’ full text, I suspect he intended to add something about the Epicurean lessons Athens learned from the plague.”
I think that what she’s done there is present a very interesting and compelling account and explanation for why Lucretius ended the poem that way — that the lessons that we learn from death are that time is so precious and that it is also indiscriminate in the sense that it’s not like if you live piously you get more of it. And so what we need to do then is what Epicurus says in the Letter to Menoeceus: “We must then meditate on the things that make our happiness, seeing that when that is with us we have all, but when it is absent we do all to win it.” I think that’s the final upshot on all of this whole Part One of Tusculan Disputations on the Fear of Death — Lucretius in Book Six on the Plague in Athens, and Emily Austin giving that brilliant exposition of why Lucretius is talking about it in the first place. It all comes back to this: we must meditate on the things that make our happiness because we don’t have that much time. That was rather long before the end there, Cassius, but I assume you have something to say about that as well.
Cassius: Absolutely, Joshua. I completely agree with your characterization of Emily Austin’s book. From the first time I read it, this jumped out at me as something that’s actually new to the discussion and compellingly presented, and it makes perfect sense. And while I do think that the majority of Lucretius has probably come down to us accurately, it’s possible there was no final book on the gods and that Book Six was the intended conclusion. But I completely agree with Emily Austin that this was likely either planned or actually was there, and was so offensive to subsequent centuries of Stoics and Christians and Jews and others who didn’t like Epicurean philosophy that it just didn’t survive. It would have been very easy to pull something out of the very conclusion of the poem and just slice it, and have people not realize that it was not there. That of course is total speculation.
But the other books of Lucretius do not end in such cliffhanger manner as to not have the conclusion. And this is the logical conclusion of the poem and of the story of the plague of Athens. And it ought to become more closely associated in the minds of everybody who is associated with Epicurean philosophy, to realize that this is out there — and until Emily Austin brought it up, I had no idea that it was out there. So tremendous credit to her for this point.
But on that note, I think we’ve reached the end of our episode and the end of our discussion of Part One of the Tusculan Disputations. The point that I would summarize all this on is that just as the Athenians who survived the plague would have learned from the process of going through these terrible times, Epicurean philosophy prepares us not only to deal successfully with these times when they occur, but also gives us the insight to realize, as Epicurus is saying, that there’s nothing terrible in life for the man who has truly comprehended that there’s nothing terrible in not living. And I think that explains Epicurus’s attitude that we see throughout his letters and throughout Epicurean texts, where you approach life with confidence and with happiness and with a positive attitude. You do not consider life to be suffering, but you consider life to be valued and enjoyed, and you end up with a strong and confident attitude towards things that we see again throughout Epicurean philosophy.
One example I would cite is at section 83 of the Letter to Herodotus, where Epicurus says: “Here, then, is my treatise on the chief points concerning the nature of the general principles, abridged so that my account would be easy to grasp with accuracy. I think that even if one were unable to proceed to all the detailed particulars of the system, he would from this obtain an unrivaled strength compared with other men.” So “an unrivaled strength” is not something that we would necessarily have to associate with Stoicism or Platonism, but a strength of mind and body and spirit to equip you to live life properly. We have statements like Vatican Saying 45 in the same direction that says: “The study of nature does not make men productive of boasting or bragging, nor apt to display that culture which is the object of rivalry with the many, but high-spirited and self-sufficient, taking pride in the good things of their own minds and not of their circumstances.” So you’re supposed to be strong, you’re supposed to be high-spirited, you’re supposed to be self-sufficient, supposed to go through your daily lives not only taking care of daily business, but proclaiming the true philosophy. All sorts of other references like that indicate that when you understand that death is nothing to us, that is not a demotivational conclusion, but in fact one of the most motivational conclusions that you can come to — because you instinctively, naturally know that pleasure is the reason you are here. And as wide a definition as pleasure has, in which it encompasses everything that is desirable in life, you only have a limited time to pursue it. And there could be in my mind no greater motivation than to realize that the clock is ticking. This is not a prelude to life after death. This is not a dress rehearsal for an eternity in heaven. This is the main event. And when you understand Epicurus’s position on death, you realize that the Platonic, Socratic, Stoic viewpoint not only makes no sense at all, but it’s absolutely unnecessary for living life with vigor and strength and positivity. Okay, well, let’s bring our discussion of Part One to a conclusion. Any final thoughts, Joshua?
Joshua: Yeah, I think part of the point we’ve been trying to drive home is that death is the great equalizer, right? It brings down everyone in the end, it puts us all on a level playing field, and how you respond to it kind of makes your life what it is. And so I just want to finish by quoting from Shakespeare’s Richard II. This is the point in the story when Richard is very badly off after the events that have happened with Bolingbroke, who’s taken his land and is trying to take his throne and his crown and so forth. And in a moment of pathos and pity, he says this:
“For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings — how some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed, all murdered. For within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court; and there the Antic sits, scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, allowing him a breath, a little scene to monarchize, be feared and kill with looks, infusing him with self and vain conceit, as if this flesh which walls about our life were brass impregnable. And humoured thus, comes at the last, and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood with solemn reverence. Throw away respect, tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, for you have but mistook me all this while. I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, how can you say to me, I am a king?”
The direction he goes there is very similar to the direction Lucretius goes, especially when he says “throw away respect, tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, for you have but mistook me all this while.” That’s the lesson that Athens learns during the plague that Thucydides reports: you have to throw away all that stuff and focus on the things of this life. He says “I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends.” He’s saying that when it comes to death, we all live as Epicurus says in the city without walls. So I think next week we’re getting into pain — is that right? — and I think we’re going to see some stark differences here in many ways on the question of “is pain an evil?” because of course we know what Epicurus’s opinion on that is. So that will be coming up next week.
Cassius: Thank you, Joshua. You are exactly right — we’ll be taking up that new topic next week. Your reference to the city without walls comes from Vatican Saying 31: “Against all else it is possible to provide security, but as against death all of us mortals alike dwell in an unfortified city.” So you’re absolutely right — death does treat all of us the same. Whether we are Scipio, whether we are Epicurus himself, death is going to come for us all. And the insight that Epicurus gives is that when death comes for us, that is going to be our last day. So whatever we wish to value, to accomplish, to find pleasure in, to enjoy — we must do it while we are alive, because we will not be doing it after that. That is a motivational inspiration to do the things that we need to do without procrastinating. It gives us strength to realize that we’re not going to be punished eternally for doing something wrong in this life, and it informs our whole attitude towards continuing to be vigorous and positive and happy, even in the face of the trials of life.
And that’s what Cicero is going to be dealing with next week. All of us know, just as Epicurus goes through in the Principal Doctrines, death is a huge concern for everybody but it’s not the only concern. The next big concern after death itself is just the pain that we experience in life, and how should we treat that pain? Are we going to become like a Stoic and just say “well, pain doesn’t exist; I am indifferent; I can overcome it solely through mental willpower as if it doesn’t exist because all I really care about is virtue”? Is that going to be our attitude? Or are we going to take a realistic approach in which pain and pleasure are given to us by nature as guides on what to do and what not to do in life, and use that information to make the lives that we do have here on earth better, more productive, and something that when we reach the end of we can be satisfied that we have lived our lives properly? We’ll begin that next week. In the meantime, if you have any questions or comments about anything we’ve said today or any other issues regarding Epicurus, please drop by the EpicureanFriends.com forum and let us know about it. Thanks for your time today. We’ll be back again soon. See you then. Bye.