Posts by Joshua

Apparently I've just been waiting for the right time and place to fume about that little dictum...Let's do it internet style!

10 Things I Hate about that Quote

With a countdown for dramatic effect!

10. It defines neither of its terms.

9. It has no descriptive power.

8. No real inferences can be made from it.

7. It often falsely implies in its speaker's argument a thorough review of ALL relevant facts.

6. And often falsely infers in the opponent's position an exclusively emotional appeal.

5. It's embarrassingly juvenile.

4. All while presuming to an unwarranted maturity.

3. It carries not a single drop of irony.

2. It is cheap, shabby and unbearably smug.

1. And, finally, it asks us to deny everything human in ourselves.

I'm listening to an audiobook called The Rise and Fall of Alexandria on my commute. I found something there worth adding here regarding the topic of 'reason'.

Pythagoras, as a philosopher and also a mathematician, seemed to believe that pure reason could be a bridge between mathematical fact and philosophical truth. It all had to do with the number 10.

If you plot one number in a given space, you have a point. If you plot 2 numbers, you have two points—therefore a line. Three points are needed to make a surface (or plane)—a triangle. Add a forth point, and you have a pyramid—that is, a solid.

The Pythagoreans reasoned that these four attributes were the ground of mathematics, that by adding them up you have the perfect number—1+2+3+4=10. Since the facts of cosmology are the reflections of pure geometric truth, the number 10 is the key to cosmology. From Encyclopedia Britannica:

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The Pythagoreans recognized the existence of nine heavenly bodies: Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the so-called Central Fire. So important was the number 10 in their view of cosmology that they believed there was a tenth body, Counter-Earth, perpetually hidden from us by the Sun.

These 10 bodies were arranged in concentric celestial spheres. How wonderfully reasoned!

And, of course, total bullshit. (Who is laughing at Epicurus' Sun now!?)

Neither reason nor logic can ever be canonical, because in both cases you have to start with premises. Those premises might be conjectural, in which case the conclusion cannot be called knowledge; or they might be themselves conclusions of prior reasoning, in which case they are only as good as the original inputs; or they might be knowledge in themselves, derived canonically.

But reason can never be the starting point. It requires something to operate on. The belief that we can reason our way from nothing to anything is one of the central flaws of so much ancient philosophy.

As for the original quote, here's a tiny thought experiment:

Pompeii: "How did you beat me? My army had more foot, more cavalry, more supplies, better ground..."

Caesar: "And my army had the morale. Feelings don't care about your facts."

I can't be trusted with Twitter, but I'm happy to see this development!

That looks great!

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Virtutem verba putas, ut

Lucum ligna?

Do you think virtue is only words, and a forest only firewood?

This is a striking passage out of one of Horace's most famous epistles.

The letter (to Numicia) seems to be asking two questions; what is the good of life, and, how then should one live?

He goes through a series of possible answers to the first, and then explores the necessary steps of acting upon each. If A, then B. If X, then Y.

This particular "if...then" I found to be interesting. The Loeb edition suggests that lucum ligna putas was a proverbial Latin expression of materialism. Lucum can mean forest, but also a grove sacred to the gods—which a materialist might consider through a purely economic lens. What follows is a suggestion to be diligent in the pursuit of wealth, and use it to buy leisure and pleasure.

This strikes me as another case where Horace is giving short shrift to Epicurus, but I'd be curious to know what others think. It seems to be yet another extreme, opposite 'tranquilism' and asceticism. Our poor philosophy was not made for so many contortions!

I'll summarize my own thinking:

1. I do not think that virtue is 'only words'. Virtue is not an end in itself, but it is a non sequitur to say that virtue is nothing. It is a means to an end, defined conditionally by the benchmark which is pleasure.

2. I do not think that a forest is 'only firewood'. I think that a forest is atoms and void, but that shouldn't stop us from assigning value to it other than the merely pecuniary. A forest is an ecology—a system of organic and inorganic relationships, and even kinships. It's a place, a little world, even for some a home.

3. Still less do I think that a materialist understanding of the universe suggests the heedless pursuit of wealth as the best mode of living. It might be that walking through the forest, studying its lifeways, climbing its trees, fording its streams, picking its fruits and flowers etc. provides more pleasure than the wealth accrued by cutting it down.

My mind is running on two tracks right now, and this observation might serve a point in the Divinity megathread. I'll post it here since I've already started.

I've suspected that this Ode might contain allusions to Lucretius, and a footnote in the Loeb edition seems to confirm it. Notice the following passage;

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For Jupiter, who usually cleaves the clouds with his gleaming lightning, lately drove his thundering horses and rapid chariot through the clear serene;

Compare to Lucretius in Book VI (Leonard);

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Again, why never hurtles Jupiter

A bolt upon the lands nor pours abroad

Clap upon clap, when skies are cloudless all?

Horace must certainly notice that by seizing on one counter-example he is misrepresenting the broad Epicurean case against divine intervention. But it serves to illustrate a point; if we are too specific about the divine, we invite nitpicking. If we are too vague, we invite unrestrained speculation.

Lucretius says in Book 1 (Leonard again);

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Whence he to us, a conqueror, reports

What things can rise to being, what cannot,

And by what law to each its scope prescribed,

Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.

A large measure of our project, then, must be to mark that boundary. If the study of divinity starts to lead where the philosophy cannot and should not go, we have to say as much.

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JJ, I want to be clear on what I mean about the death penalty issue. I think DeWitt explains that there were no tests of faith for these rituals, just a duty to participate. I'm not saying he lied about anything-- I was just referring specifically to attending the rituals. I think it was brought up as evidence of him having personal religious practices, and I was saying well, that may not be evidence of a religious practice the way we would think of it-- hard to know. I'm an atheist and have attended rituals-- I've been to churches. I don't consider that dishonest!

I understand you perfectly! A similar example would be his compulsory two-year military service. The fact that he served shouldn't be taken as conclusive of anything philosophically, since he didn't have a choice.

In general terms, I'm more comfortable saying 'I think Epicurus was wrong about that' than I am diagnosing his motives. I don't actually like to presume to understand anyone's motives, unless given very good reason.

In Horace's case we are given good reason; he was a defeated and dispossessed rebel granted a tenuous clemency, and compelled to sing for his supper. Which is probably why I find him to be such an interesting character.

And on another note, I am especially interested in where Horace's mind was on this subject. I was attempting to work through his Odes in Latin last night. I need to improve my Latin considerably!

So....there's a lot going on here. 😆

Cassius mentioned somewhere the question of the Epicurean theory of images vs the modern theory of light. It is a settled fact that Epicurus got this wrong—objects do not 'shed' atomic films that impinge on the optical nerve. Instead, photons (a particle or a wave, depending on the math/model) strike the object and are reflected to the eye.

Epicurus was wrong, but in comparison to his contemporaries he was more nearly right. His theory was still one of intromission—a stream from without touching on the senses. Empedocles, and later Plato, seem to have believed in extramission—that light originates in the eyes and flows out in a stream, revealing the object to the mind.

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Elayne mentioned the penalty for impiety that Epicurus might have suffered had he professed atheism. Certainly in the early days of the same century Socrates was tried and executed on those charges. If we accept that as an excuse, we must accept that Epicurus was in this respect a fraud. He didn't just 'go along to get along'. He wrote, published and instructed an untruth, over the course of his whole life, with the intent to deceive the multitude. He had less courage than Socrates, than Bruno. His mockery of Plato in calling him The Golden must then be the rankest hypocrisy, for he is then a partner in Plato's crime—the project of telling the people a 'useful lie' for political peace.

For my part, I prefer to presume that he was genuine, even if I thought he was wrong.

So upon reflection, this is my procedure;

1.) Everything I think I know about Epicurus' character and system of philosophy dissuades me from believing that he would engage in an elaborate and protracted dissimulation. I take it for granted that he meant what he said.

—1a.) For that reason, I'll continue to study and reflect on his teachings about divinity. I'll try to grasp it as best I can, and to share it with others who are interested.

2.) Nothing in his divinity is particularly anathema to me, or to my senses, or my philosophy. So long as it is not construed to involve creation, or meddling, or miracles, or an afterlife, or the fear of death, or a denial of the senses (or of pleasure), it doesn't present any real problems.

—2a.) For that reason, I'll continue to remain open to the possibility that he may have gotten some of it right—even though in practical terms, I am, and remain, an atheist.

And lastly, I'll link to a poem by the English poet Philip Larkin called Church Going. It was referred to my attention by the autobiography of Christopher Hitchens, and does capture a sense of my own feelings on the subject.

Horace's first collection of Odes was published around 4 years into the reign of Augustus. The political climate may inform our reading of No. 34, translated here by Christopher Smart (1722-1771):

ODE XXXIV.

AGAINST THE EPICURIANS.

A remiss and irregular worshiper of the gods, while I professed the errors of a senseless philosophy, I am now obliged to set sail back again, and to renew the course that I had deserted. For Jupiter, who usually cleaves the clouds with his gleaming lightning, lately drove his thundering horses and rapid chariot through the clear serene; which the sluggish earth, and wandering rivers; at which Styx, and the horrid seat of detested Tænarus, and the utmost boundary of Atlas were shaken. The Deity is able to make exchange between the highest and the lowest, and diminishes the exalted, bringing to light the obscure; rapacious fortune, with a shrill whizzing, has borne off the plume from one head, and delights in having placed it on another.

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In Latin:

XXXIV

Parcus deorum cultor et infrequens,

insanientis dum sapientiae

consultus erro, nunc retrorsum

vela dare atque iterare cursus

cogor relictos: namque Diespiter 5

igni corusco nubila dividens

plerumque, per purum tonantis

egit equos volucremque currum,

quo bruta tellus et vaga flumina,

quo Styx et invisi horrida Taenari 10

sedes Atlanteusque finis

concutitur. Valet ima summis

mutare et insignem attenuat deus,

obscura promens; hinc apicem rapax

Fortuna cum stridore acuto

sustulit, hic posuisse gaudet.

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Smart's title for the Ode does not appear in the Latin text—whether it was his own invention, or the legacy of a long tradition, I do not know. By any road, Horace does seem to be addressing the philosophy of Epicurus, particularly as it relates to Fortuna, providence and the gods. I have the Loeb edition at home, which I shall consult this evening.

In the mean time, I'll be looking for clues in the text that might indicate a political motivation. Horace was on the 'wrong side' in the Civil War, as you may remember, and though he was granted amnesty he paid dearly for it. His father's estate near Venusia was claimed by the regime for the resettlement of veterans.

I have two major questions at this time;

Did Horace abandon Epicurean philosophy to satisfy Augustus, and his claim of Divine Right?

Is his reference to Fortuna, and the mighty being laid low, a subtle hint of satire suggesting that a like fate could await the new regime?

Going from memory, I would add to Elayne's list;

Over-emphasis on Sensations as a criterion of knowledge

Or at least I remember walking away from it with that feeling. Her system is nearly empirical, grounded in sensation and elaborated with reason. But Epicurus held that there are three criteria. The other two seem to get short shrift here.

A few years ago Elon Musk made headlines by using his platform to mainstream the proposition that we actually live in an elaborate matrix-like computer simulation. The argument is fairly straightforward—if there's only one prime 'reality', and, further, if we assume that it's possible to simulate other pseudo-realities an infinite number of times within that reality, then the probability is that we live in one of the infinite simulations rather than the one non-simulation.

The argument that Cassius mentions above from Lucretius seems to apply equally here; if it were true that we existed in a simulation, then our knowledge could have no foundation. It's just a simulation experiencing itself as a simulation. And if our knowledge had no foundation, there would be nothing to justify the initial two premises of Musk's argument, rendering it self-defeating.

One does have to start somewhere. Epicurus starts with the senses. It's true that we have to accept that the information relayed by the senses is valid dogmatically. To start with the material, as reported by the senses, is to start with the obvious.

That answer might not be very satisfying, but unless you start somewhere, you don't get anywhere.

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To refute the solipsist or the metaphysical idealist all that you have to do is take him out and throw a rock at his head: if he ducks he’s a liar. His logic may be airtight but his argument, far from revealing the delusions of living experience, only exposes the limitations of logic.

—Edward Abbey

I'm workshopping an idea for a new poem—a monologue written from the perspective of an Epicurean, fleeing Alexandria after the murder of Hypatia—and a thought experiment occurred to me.

If you were in this unknown person's shoes, in the first half of the fifth century, flying for your life from a murderous and destructive Christian mob—where would you go?

To Rome, where a line of emperors have committed themselves to the destruction of paganism?

South into the Egyptian interior, at the outer rim of the Empire's power?

To Greece, under the control of other Bishops as rotten as Cyril (the 'Great'!)?

To the country estate of a sympathetic friend in Italy, to run down the years wearing your cameo ring in a private library and 'under-the-sleeve', as it were?

As for the poem, it will be more effective to leave the destination uncertain. But the question has been chewing at me.

Welcome, GeorgeS! We highly value an international presence on the forum; it would be great to hear your story. Entebbe is farther south and east than I've ever been.

Joshua

It may be difficult to get at the root of this one. I believe I have a firm enough grasp of spoken English, but even I don't know what the phrase 'head over heels' is supposed to mean. I might be doing it wrong, but for me that's the posture of common use. 🤔 'Ass over tincups' (or sometimes 'teakettle') is even less descriptive, but does have the virtue of being more emotive.

Vestigia seems to be a critical word here, since it does not literally mean 'foot' (Latin pes), but footprint or, by metonymy, 'sole of the foot'.

Upon searching Google for the line itself, I find that it is the subject of some etymological debate, as well as the title of a paper on Lucretius.

Re: photos—I still have trouble embedding photos from Imgur when I'm using my cellphone. But that's mostly an Imgur problem. Much easier on the laptop!

Re: emotions—I like the distinction that Don is drawing between feelings/emotions and 'reactions'. But in a weird way, I can answer one of Susan's questions with a bit of a story. One of the most emotional people I've ever known seemed very happy.

He was a professor of Creative Writing and English Literature, as well as a musician, a poet, and a sort of hobby farmer. He was candid to a degree that was something formidable, bordering on gruff, and though clean-shaven, he looked as weathered as an old post. He had no time for bad writing; once when I was less wise but thought myself clever, I responded to a disagreeable essay assignment by writing it in Heroic Couplets—the most overwrought of verses. It was a cheap shot, which of course he saw right through. I received it back with copious notes, and a rubber-stamped, red ink heading at the top with these words: "Are you sure you want to turn this in?" I wondered how long it had been since he'd trotted that gem out. It didn't matter that I was among the best writers in my year. It was a bad essay, and we both knew it.

And yet, here's the thing; good writing was his claimed share of the food of the gods. It was what he seemed to live for, and when he found it, his haggard exterior quickened to a window into his soul. When I read Lucretius, where he writes that the shape of ever-flourishing Homer arose and wept salt tears, I see him still—intoning a few tender lines of poetry with a voice like a bassoon, as he clears his eyes by drying them.

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He will be more deeply moved by feelings than others, but this will not prove to be an obstacle to wisdom. Epicurus

Wormwood is also one of the three traditional herbs, along with fennel and anise, that go into the production of absinthe. This liquor has developed a strong connection with art, poetry and the bohemian lifestyle. There is a further connection with Satan in Christianity—one legend has it that wormwood sprung up in the trail left by the serpent after he slithered out of the Garden of Eden. Satan leaves a bitter trail, and all that. And there was also a demon by this name, whom C.S. Lewis draws on extensively in The Screwtape Letters.

Here's an interesting thought; what do we actually know about this guy?

Judging from Mr. Jefferson's letter in reply, we may infer that William Short, like Jefferson, positively identified himself as an Epicurean. Cassius' recent reading of Frances Wright's other work has me thinking that there might be gems hidden here as well.

He was a talented, capable, brilliant protégé of Thomas Jefferson, and a deft hand at diplomacy. He forsook the dream of a high and polished political career in his pursuit of the love of a French Noblewoman. Despite his career disappointments, he was an accomplished businessman, and retired wealthy while Jefferson himself slipped into debt and penury at the end of his life. He was George Washington's first appointment to office. He loved the new American project, but preferred living in Europe.

Some of his correspondence with the married French Duchess survive. I haven't yet found the texts online, but they might be worth perusing.

Here's an interesting anecdote; one day while canoeing on the Seine with Rosalie (whose much older husband in a marriage of convenience evidently didn't object to their affair), William noticed a boy on the verge of drowning. He dove into the waves to save the boy, and nearly lost consciousness in the rescue. When the party returned to the Nobleman's Chateau, he was treated to a banquet and lauded as a hero. It's probably a coincidence, but the story bears remarkable similarities to Theon's rescue of Hedeia in A Few Days in Athens. (This happened in 1790; Wright published in 1822).

Sadly, my experience arguing with a flat-earther in the family—and bear in mind, I work in land-surveying—tells me that this project is likely to involve a lot of fruitless irritation.

But probably people are referring to the Loeb edition, which ought to be the gold standard. I'm probably guilty of misnaming it myself.