Posts by Cassius

In agreeing with these last two posts, one point that strikes home to me is that there clearly are certain types of depression which are clinical/biological/genetic or whatever other "medical problem" term would be appropriate. And in those situations while a philosophy might be of some minor help, the ultimate problem is medical and has to be addressed medically.

Oscar I hesitate to ask this because you seem very well read, but just to be sure, have you read the full poem of Lucretius? There is certainly a lot of material on death to be discussed from there too.

One aside: If Epicurus thought that the gods do at least occasionally experience pain, that would have obvious implications for his "gods among men" statement, or even Lucretius saying that Epicurus was essentially a god -- it would make both comparisons much more plausible.

Dewitt mentions a number of times that he thought the texts indicated that the intermundia was a place where the forces of preservation prevailed over the forces of destruction. That is not at all the same as saying that the forces of preservation *eliminate* the forces of destruction. I am not sure what the texts really say on this.

If there are gradations in gods, would at least some of them not be capable of experiencing pain? Would it offend Greek sensibilities to think that Zeus felt pain?

The "gods" - like us - are ANIMALS:

It may be relevant to this that DeWitt pointed out that Epicurus himself did not call the gods "deathless" (at least as far as we know). This may be another area where DeWitt has an instinct to look for views of the gods that we would not expect at all. Is it possible that Epicureans gods are not only not 'deathless' by nature, but are also not 'painless' by nature? This is from page 249 of the book:

Elayne has asked a great question which derives from Chapter 10 of A Few Days In Athens - specifically a paragraph in the section about consolation for death. Here is the part under discussion:

"What were the glories of the sun, if we knew not the gloom of darkness? What the refreshing breezes of morning and evening, if we felt not the fervors of noon? Should we value the lovely-flower, if it bloomed eternally; or the luscious fruit, if it hung always on the bough? Are not the smiles of the heavens more beautiful in contrast with their frowns, and the delights of the seasons more grateful from their vicissitudes? Let us then be slow to blame nature, for perhaps in her apparent errors there is hidden a wisdom. Let us not quarrel with fate, for perhaps in our evils lie the seeds of our good. Were our body never subject to sickness, we might be insensible to the joy of health. Were our life eternal, our tranquillity might sink into inaction. Were our friendship not threatened with interruption, it might want much of its tenderness. This, then, my sons, is our duty, for this is our interest and our happiness; to seek our pleasures from the hands of the virtues, and for the pain which may befall us, to submit to it with patience, or bear up against it with fortitude. To walk, in short, through life innocently and tranquilly; and to look on death as its gentle termination, which it becomes us to meet with ready minds, neither regretting the past, nor anxious for the future."

Elayne asks:

This is so moving and beautiful. Cassius, the last paragraph is the only part that trips me up. She seems to be giving a more important role to pain than I would assign, as if pleasure can't be fully felt without pain for contrast-- and then people may go looking for pain or thinking about it a lot, similar to the Stoics meditating on anticipatory griefs as a way of appreciating what they have. Do you think of the last paragraph as something Epicurus would say? It would not align with his concept of the gods as completely blissful beings, without pain and with the expectation of continuing in complete pleasure.

I responded:

That is an excellent point Elayne! I am not able to think of a passage in the texts I have read that would provide an example for that, and I think you are right that it would not be consistent with the ability of "the gods" to continue to experience unending happiness. And can it be made consistent with the "continuous pleasure" argument? I think you are exactly right to raise this issue

I had previously noted that Wright seemed to be freelancing somewhat on her statements on free will / necessity, but this one I had not noted.

I wonder if this was inspired by extrapolating out from the dual existence of matter vs void, life vs. death, and pleasure vs pain. Does Lucretius say the universe would not exist if all space was void, or all space was matter? If so, would that imply that one of these combinations of two could not exist without the other?

There are many issues involved in pursuing that. Would Epicurus say that that kind of "what if" isn't appropriate since reality is the way it is?

There are lots of good questions here: "It would not align with his concept of the gods as completely blissful beings, without pain and with the expectation of continuing in complete pleasure." Does Epicurus say specifically that gods are TOTALLY without pain? Or is it possible that gods too exist in a "net pleasure" environment in which their pleasures dominate over pain, but in which pain is still present to some degree. When Epicurus calls us to continuous pleasure, he does not imply that we are going to be continuously painless, does he?

OK so that sets up the questions: Is Frances Wright wrong to make this argument? Can it be reconciled with Epicurus? Did Epicurus in fact say that the "gods" are totally without pain? When Epicurus made the remark about calling us to continuous pleasure, did he mean to continuous painlessness?

These are great questions for us to discuss to advance our thoughts, not necessarily on the gods specifically, but on the argument that Wright seems to be making: Is the experience of pain necessary for the experience of pleasure?

Elayne has asked a very good question about the quote from Frances Wright. Rather than hijack this thread too much, let's keep it focused on what Oscar asked, and I will start another.

Video!

Newly found statue of the man best known for being husband of Pompeia Plotina, Empress of Rome and Friend of The Epicureans -- otherwise known as Trajan. >>

https://twitter.com/OptimoPrincipi…Qw_ZtP6RbZYy0TY

One of the most interesting things we could be doing as we study Epicurus is to produce our own articles, books, graphics, music -- even if it's just a simple graphic meme for sharing on the internet.

I know through contacts that several people who post here or on Facebook are working on projects, and if you are working on something don't hesitate to start a thread to let us know about it and ask for help.

Whether it's help in setting up a meetup group, writing your own blog, or just learning to use a graphics program and designing a meme, let us know and we have numbers of people who would be glad to help.

I don't want to be too over the top in praising it, but that is excellent writing, and I have to think that Epicurus himself would have been proud of it.

Much of Chapter Ten of A Few Days In Athens is relevant to giving consolation at death, but the part quoted here always struck me as one of the best sections of Wright's book. I included some intro, but the part starting "But there is yet a pain" that stands out for use in a funeral context

The last two paragraphs here are - to me - gripping.

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Philosophy cannot change the laws of nature; but she may teach us to accommodate ourselves to them. She cannot annul pain; but she can arm us to bear it. And though the evils of fate be many, are not the evils of man’s coining more! Nature afflicts us with disease; but for once that it is the infliction of nature, ninety-nine times it is the consequence of our own folly. Nature levels us with death; but how mild is the death of nature, with Philosophy to spread the pillow, and friendship to take the last sigh, to the protracted agonies of debauchery, subduing the body by inches, while Philosophy is not there to give strength, nor friendship consolation, but while the flames of fever are heated by impatience, and the stings of pain envenomed by remorse! And tell me, my sons, when the body of the sage is stretched on the couch of pain, hath he not his mind to minister delight to him? Hath he not conscience whispering that his present evil is not chargeable to his own past folly, but to the laws of nature, which no effort or foresight of his could have prevented? Hath he not memory to bring to him past pleasures, the pleasures of a well-spent life, on which he may feed even while pain racks his members, and fever consumes his vitals? Or, what if agony overpower his frame, and cripple his faculties, is there not death at hand to reach him deliverance? Here, then is death, that giant of terror, acting as a friend. But does he interrupt our enjoyments as well as our sufferings? And is it for this we fear him? Ought we not rather to rejoice, seeing that the day of life has its bright and its clouded hours, that we are laid to sleep while the sun of joy yet shines, before the storm of fate has broken our tranquillity or the evening of age bedimmed our prospect?

Death, then, is never our foe. When not a friend, he cannot be worse than indifferent. For while we are, death is not; and when death is, we are not. To be wise, then, death is nothing. Examine the ills of life; are they not of our own creation, or take they not their darkest hues from our passions or our ignorance? What is poverty, if “we have temperance, and can be satisfied with a crust, and a draught from the spring? — if we have modesty, and can wear a woolen garment as gladly as a tyrian robe? What is slander, if we have no vanity that it can wound, and no anger that it can kindle? What is neglect, if we have no ambition that it can disappoint, and no pride that it can mortify? What is persecution, if we have our own bosoms in which to retire, and a spot of earth to sit down and rest upon? What is death, when without superstition to clothe him with terrors, we can cover our heads, and go to sleep in his arms? What a list of human calamities are here expunged — poverty, slander, neglect, disappointment, persecution, death. What yet remains? Disease? That, too, we have shown temperance can often shun, and Philosophy can always alleviate.

But there is yet a pain, which the wisest and the best of men cannot escape; that all of us, my sons, have felt, or have to feel. Do not your hearts whisper it? Do you not tell me, that in death there is yet a sting? That ere he aim at us, he may level the beloved of our soul? The father, whose tender care hath reared our infant minds — the brother, whom the same breast hath nourished, and the same roof sheltered, with whom, side by side, we have grown like two plants by a river, sucking life from the same fountain and strength from the same sun — the child whose gay prattle delights our ears, or whose opening understanding fixes our hopes — the friend of our choice, with whom we have exchanged hearts, and shared all our pains and pleasures, whose eye hath reflected the tear of sympathy, whose hand hath smoothed the couch of sickness. Ah! my sons, here indeed is a pain — a pain that cuts into the soul. There are masters that will tell you otherwise; who will tell you that it is unworthy of a man to mourn even here. But such, my sons, speak not the truth of experience or philosophy, but the subtleties of sophistry and pride. He who feels not the loss, hath never felt the possession. He who knows not the grief, hath never known the joy. See the price of a friend in the duties we render him, and the sacrifices we make to him, and which, in making, we count not sacrifices, but pleasures. We sorrow for his sorrow; we supply his wants, or, if we cannot, we share them. We follow him to exile. We close ourselves in his prison; we soothe him in sickness; we strengthen him in death: nay, if it be possible, we throw down our life for his. Oh! What a treasure is that for which we do so much! And is it forbidden to us to mourn its loss? If it be, the power is not with us to obey.

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 on the pyre 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 whom he now deplores. Let him say if the pleasures of the sweet communion of his former days doth not still live in his remembrance. If he love 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. And think, my sons, perhaps in the very evil we dread, there is a good; perhaps the very uncertainty of the tenure gives it value in our eyes; perhaps all our pleasures take their zest from the known possibility of their interruption. What were the glories of the sun, if we knew not the gloom of darkness? What the refreshing breezes of morning and evening, if we felt not the fervors of noon? Should we value the lovely-flower, if it bloomed eternally; or the luscious fruit, if it hung always on the bough? Are not the smiles of the heavens more beautiful in contrast with their frowns, and the delights of the seasons more grateful from their vicissitudes? Let us then be slow to blame nature, for perhaps in her apparent errors there is hidden a wisdom. Let us not quarrel with fate, for perhaps in our evils lie the seeds of our good. Were our body never subject to sickness, we might be insensible to the joy of health. Were our life eternal, our tranquillity might sink into inaction. Were our friendship not threatened with interruption, it might want much of its tenderness. This, then, my sons, is our duty, for this is our interest and our happiness; to seek our pleasures from the hands of the virtues, and for the pain which may befall us, to submit to it with patience, or bear up against it with fortitude. To walk, in short, through life innocently and tranquilly; and to look on death as its gentle termination, which it becomes us to meet with ready minds, neither regretting the past, nor anxious for the future.”

Elli referenced this is a post: Fragment 213 :"Sweet is the memory of this dead friend."

And of course there is this that would be relevant --

47. I have anticipated you, Fortune, and entrenched myself against all your secret attacks. And we will not give ourselves up as captives to you or to any other circumstance; but when it is time for us to go, spitting contempt on life and on those who here vainly cling to it, we will leave life crying aloud in a glorious triumph-song that we have lived well.

OH --- I have what I think is a GREAT suggestion ---

Oscar I have a couple of references to point you toward ---

Not exactly funeral rites, but a cemetery stone --

No I don't recall seeing that -- if you come across it please post - I will google too.

Simple to find - I will see if there is a better version - http://www.thinkatheist.com/group/atheists…-by-christopher

In that context, I forgot the paragraph that Vincent Cook has on his site Epicurus.net about "Epicurus and The Judeans" (for some reason I can't reach the site this morning, so this is the archive.org link) -

Epicureanism and the Judeans

In the Talmudic Mishnah, one of the authoritative documents of Rabbinical Judaism, there is a remarkable statement in the tractate Sanhedrin that defines the Jewish religion in relation to Epicureanism:

“All Israel has a share in the world to come, as Isaiah said: And all of your people who are righteous will merit eternity and inherit the land. And these are the people who do not merit the world to come: The ones who say that there is no resurrection of the dead, and those who deny the Torah is from the heavens, and Epicureans (‘Apikorsim’).”

Modern Jews use “apikoros” as a generic term for an unbeliever, but the authors of the Talmud were clearly singling out followers of Epicurus. In effect, this statement is saying that all of Israel will enjoy eternal life except those who get corrupted by Epicurus or certain characteristic Epicurean beliefs (namely, Epicurean denials of an after-life and of divine providence). This peculiar hostility towards Epicureanism is all the more remarkable for the fact that this particular statement was later taken to be the basis for speculation about the meaning of Jewishness among Rabbis of the Middle Ages, the most famous of whom, Moses Maimonides, explicitly continued the Jewish tradition of denouncing Epicureanism late in the 12^th century A.D.

Antiochus IV

The origins of this anti-Epicurean element of Jewish thought can be traced to the 2^nd century B.C., when the Seleucid monarch Antiochus IV Epiphanes embarked on a military campaign against Egypt in an attempt to conquer his Ptolemaic rival. Judea had the misfortune to be located between the Seleucid heartland of Syria and Ptolemaic Egypt, and the Judeans were divided into pro-Seleucid and pro-Ptolemaic factions. At this time, the hereditary Zadokite priesthood had been deeply influenced by Greek culture, adopting doctrines that tended to discount the conservative oral tradition and deny some of the more superstitious beliefs then current, notably the belief in bodily resurrection. At the time of Antiochus's campaign, the Zadokite high priest was a pro-Ptolemaic partisan.

Antiochus, anxious to secure Judea in connection with his Egyptian expedition and to create a more culturally-unified empire, had the Zadokite high priest removed and founded a Greek-style Gymnasium in Jerusalem. Antiochus was sympathetic to Epicureanism (albeit not acting in accord with Epicurus's injunctions to avoid politics), so his attempt at a forced hellenization of Judea was closely linked to Epicureanism in the minds of the Judean patriots. Another factor was that Epicureans were prominent in the hellenized cities of Galilee, creating a rivalry between Epicureanism and the traditional religion among the northern Judeans. Antiochus's provocations brought about a strong nationalistic reaction, which exploded into violence when a rumor of Antiochus's death reached Judea. While the rumor was false, nonetheless the Hasmonean leader Judas Maccabeus was ultimately successful in his revolt against the Seleucids.

After the Hasmoneans consolidated their power, a rather delicate situation developed with respect to the priesthood. The hereditary successors to the priesthood had had their legitimacy fatally undermined by their hellenizing tendencies and their close association with the foreign Ptolemaic monarchy. The party of the “separatists” (the Pharisees), prevented the Zadokite legitimists (the Sadducees) from reassuming control of the temple in Jerusalem, while some of the Sadducees set up a rival temple in the Egyptian city of Leontopolis.

To further complicate matters, Judea later became a client state of Rome, and the Romans installed their own Jewish rulers and Sadducee priests. Not only were they opposed by the Pharisees, other anti-foreign religious factions arose during the late Hasmonean period (early 1^rst century B.C.) to challenge the Pharisees and the Sadducees and the Samaritans (a regional offshoot of Judaism whose followers had established their own center of worship on Mount Gezzerim), their adherents questioning the necessity for temple ritual and priestly authority altogether. One of these dissident groups called themselves the “keepers” (Nazarim) of divine wisdom. These Nazarim, or Nazarenes, taught that righteousness towards others along with frequent rituals of baptism and anointment and a ritual eucharist for the dead was sufficient to place oneself in accord with God without the traditional temple ceremonies. After the Roman conquest of Judea, the Nazarene cults became one of the focal points of resistance to Roman and Herodian rule, as both the Pharisees and Sadducees were co-opted by the Herodian monarchy that had been installed by the Romans.

Spoils from the Jerusalem Temple

The historical significance of these intricacies of ancient Judean politics is that the Pharisees are the direct ancestors of modern Rabbinical Judaism, while the Nazarene movement spawned two religions that have survived to modern times, the Mandaean and the Christian. The founding of these two Nazarene religions was attributed to John the Baptist and Jesus, respectively.

The Talmud is derived from the Pharisaic oral tradition, so the Talmud passage quoted above can be explained as a Pharisaic attack on the Sadducees by comparing some of the distinctive Sadducee beliefs to those of the hated Seleucid defiler of the Temple. It seems that the Sadducees could never quite live down the charge of having sold out to the Seleucids and the Romans, as they disappeared shortly after the Romans destroyed the Jerusalem Temple in 70 A.D. and the genealogical records for proving their Zadokite ancestry (the last remaining basis for Sadducee legitimacy) along with it. Today, the memory of the Maccabean revolt against Antiochus survives in the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah, and the legacy of the factional conflicts of the Hasmonean period lives on in the separate religions of the Jews, Mandaeans, and Christians and in the Talmudic denunciation of Epicureanism.

All of those a week reasonable and correct to me. The only small quibble would be that I think we always have to be careful with the word "random" not to imply that anything is possible. I don't think "anything is possible" is Epicurean, and would cite the AA Long article "Chance and Natural Law in Epicureanism"