Category Archives: Religion

The Oshún Mythical Cycle: The Seduction of Ogún

The following is an Epicurean meleta (deliberation or commentary) on an African fairy tale, which is here placed before the eyes and treated as a philosophical parable about Divine Pleasure as the Guide of Life. In this myth, Oshún heroically smears herself in honey and dances seductively in order to lure Ogún out of the jungle and back into civilization, and save human society from collapse.

I’ve heard many Oriki (chants) for Oshún (Yoruba Goddess of sweetness, a form of the Venus-archetype) which I’ve found beautiful and enchanting, but if I was to choose a soundtrack for this essay (after all, Venus is associated with music, art, and aesthetics), I would choose either La India’s prelude to Yemayá y Ochún or, better yet, the magical Mongo Santamaría song Ye Ye.

I was speechless when I found this painting, by Lili Bernard, titled Sale of Venus. It refers to the arrival of the cult of Oshún to Cuba via the slave trade. Here, however, she is syncretized with Venus, instead of with her Catholic aspect as “Our Lady of Charity”.

When we studied the Prometheus myth at Eikas, we discussed a bit about some of the ethical problems related to technology (personified as Hephaistos), when it answers to power entanglements rather than to ethical guidance and personal loyalty. Today, I’d like to discuss a bit about how a parallel character (Ogún, the artisan and smith of the Yoruba Gods) was lured back into civilization by Oshún (the Yoruba version of Venus).

Concerning the archetype of Ogún, the story is that he was one of the first Orisha who made a path through the jungle. He was a scout, a hunter, and a perceptive tracker. But most importantly he “makes a path” where no one else has made a path yet. He is a creative force, and quite introverted by all accounts (even in the Greek version of this archetype, Hephaistos), being quite socially awkward in both traditions, and often preferring to remain in his workshop all day. He is the God of iron, of the forge, and of technology. Without Ogún, Yorubas believe that civilization simply cannot progress.

Yoruba myths are known in Cuba as patakís, and this one is found in this page, although many versions of it exist in oral tradition (and now on YouTube). For reasons explained in other myths, Ogún was “cursed” with constant toil, and part of his social contract involved the demands caused by the societal need for his particular skillset. In reality, Ogún represents men (and women) who are by their natural constitution hard-working and active in productive labor. In the myth, Ogún decided to take a break from all his work. The way it’s explained in the OrishaNet page, he did this because “his heart always remained in the forest”, but some may interpret this as a labor strike; others may interpret this as an episode of depression. This last interpretation is probably the most useful, ethically speaking, and also because when people are depressed they lose the pleasure derived from doing many things, which they normally desire to do.

The point is that “once upon a time” Ogún disappeared from the city and went into the forest, and very soon (since he is the Orisha or spirit of industriousness) civilization came to a halt. No tools can be built without him, since he is the smith. No trains may run. No wheels constructed, and no machines. No one can plow the fields. No construction. There’s no progress, no civilization.

Once they realized that Ogún went into hiding, many of the divine powers tried to convince him to return, but (after a long series of attempts) no one succeeded until a young Orisha, Oshún, offered to try to lure him back into the city. This worried the other Orishas, who did not think she would succeed. However, absent other options, she was allowed by wise old Obatalá (the Orisha of the head, where decisions are made) to go on this mission.

How did she do this? Oshún is the Goddess of sex, an enchantress. By singing and dancing semi-naked, and by seducing and entrancing Ogún with her charms, from time to time pouring honey over herself–and when she saw that Ogún was ogling her, placing some honey on his lips–she slowly got him to move out of his forest refuge and slowly lured him out, danced him out, seduced him out of the forest and back into the city. She probably did this following the path of some spring or river, as Oshún is a river-goddess of fresh waters and her role in the universe is to “cool” the other Orisha and to refresh the world with her sweet waters. The story ends:

And all learned that sweetness (is) sometimes the most powerful weapon of all, and that Oshún was much more powerful than she appeared and was to be respected.

… which immediately reminds me of our meleta on the Lucretian passage where Venus subdues Mars. I must here note a parallel between this patakí and another one where Oshún saves the world once again, this time during times of famine and by bringing rains. In that other myth, we also see that the other Orishas from the onset underestimated Oshún. Stories about Oshún seem to be an ongoing commentary in Yoruba mythos about the status of women, and a warning to not underestimate them but to allow them to be leaders and to prove themselves, because without their gifts there is no possibility of successful human civilization.

That Oshún is sexually emancipated, adds to her role as an empowering Orisha for women. One merely needs to look at the high levels of involvement of women at all levels of society in southern Nigeria, where Oshún is still revered, versus the horrible oppression that women suffer in the Islamic north of Nigeria, where women are constantly targeted for rape, violence, and abduction, and are routinely denied basic human rights.

This might give us some ideas about why Epicurean philosophy was not historically favored, unlike Platonism, Stoicism, and other philosophies. Epicureanism has always suffered the fate of enjoying the same reputation as that of the Goddess of sex and pleasure, who embodies our ethical ideals, and this reputation and respectability greatly diminished under patriarchal hegemony.

Going back to the role of Hephaistos in the Promethean cycle, during our meleta on The Betrayal and Passion of Prometheus, we had discussed:

Hephaistos (The God of Technology) had been closely related to both Prometheus and Athena, and in fact they were all three worshiped together (they are all tied to progress, civilization and science). However, in Prometheus Bound, Hephaistos betrays his friend and–even while expressing sadness for his friend–he’s the one who built the chains and bound Prometheus, against his own will, out of obedience (and/or fear?) of Zeus.

Throughout Prometheus Bound we see Zeus impiously referred to as a tyrant. The ethical problem of blind obedience to tyranny (the problem of the “good German” during the Nazi era), and the remorseless cruelty it produces, is seen in the Prometheus myth.

Hephaistos’ role also raises questions about the ethical utility of science and technology. In Principal Doctrines 10-13, Epicurus establishes an ethical purpose for science, however Prometheus Bound raises questions about what can happen when Technology serves the interests of power rather than ethical values.

In the Yoruba myth, Ogún is set right by Oshun’s sweetness, represented by the honey she smears on herself.

From the perspective of the psychological interpretation, where Ogún suffers from depression, she uses pleasure / honey / sweetness as medicine for depression and heals him.

From the perspective of refusal to work, she made him productive by using the powerful appeal and the seduction of pleasure, of sweetness. She would have made work agreeable.

From the literal perspective, he simply goes back to being himself and performing his role in the world … but what is going on inside? As when I studied Taoism, I am here reminded of Epicurean Saying 21:

We must not force Nature, but gently persuade her.

What were the Yoruba ancestors trying to teach when they articulated this particular myth? Notice the contrast between how the Greeks warned us that Zeus (associated with Power) corrupts Hephaistos, whereas the Yoruba warned us that the Yoruba Venus (associated with sweetness, Pleasure) saves and redeems both the Yoruba Hephaistos and the world.

Power corrupts, but Pleasure saves and heals.

Second Dialogue on the Epicurean Gods

This discussion, which is edited from our Garden of Epicurus FB group discussion on the Gods, is a follow-up to similar discussions from previous years. You may read Dialogues on the Epicurean Gods, the essay For there ARE Gods and Principal Doctrine 1: On the Utility of the Epicurean Gods to be appraised of the controversies. You may instead watch this short video, which summarizes the matter.

This is the second Dialogue on the Epicurean Gods that we at SoFE edit for publication, in order to further clarify our ideas about the subject for the benefit of present and future students.

Second Dialogue on the Epicurean Gods

Alan. Unfortunately, even recently, and in spite of progress in the study of Epicurean philosophy, Epicurus has still been stubbornly regarded as an atheist: yet anyone who believes this has not taken Epicurus’s texts into consideration and refuses to recognize the decisive role that theology plays in Epicurus’ system. Those who think Epicurus was an atheist would do well to meditate carefully on a passage in Philodemus’ De pietate, where, making due allowance for its apologetic purpose, the philosopher from Gadara furnishes an important piece of information:

“those who eliminate the divine from existing things (tōn ontōn) Epicurus reproached for their complete madness, as in Book 12 (sc. of On Nature) he reproaches Prodicus, Diagoras, and Critias among others, saying that they rave like lunatics, and he likens them to Bacchant revelers, admonishing them not to trouble or disturb us.” – Oxford Handbook of Epicurus and Epicureanism, Theology

Hiram. It’s curious that he compares them negatively to the Dionysian revelers, because the word he used for his ambassadors was “kathegemones” (=guides), and the priests of Dionysus (at least in the city of Pergamon) were also known as Kathegemones. It seems like he wanted the Epicurean Guides to model themselves, in some way, after Dionysian priests. It seems from this quote that the type of “guiding” that these priests did was very different from the mysteries of the Maenads.

We should ask ourselves: Why would Epicurus choose to name his representatives after Guides of a mystery religion? In what way is the role of the Epicurean Guides supposed to be similar to that of the Dionysian guides (even if in other ways the cult of Dionysus is worthy of objection)?

Alan. That’s an interesting question. I’ll let you know if the Oxford Handbook has any insight on it. There is a portion of the theology chapter on the topic of ‘Epicurean priests’.

Marcus. Yes, there were Epicurean priests! Ancient polytheism was no monolith.

Hiram. I don’t have that book so look forward to your report on that. I’m very interested in what that chapter says.

Epicurus establishes, according to Philodemus’ Peri Eusebeias, a cognitive purity code (he says: “Believe anything of the gods so long as it doesn’t violate their incorruptibility and blessedness”), so the role of the “reformed” faith with Epicurean priests would have been, in part, to ensure that this doctrinal purity code was applied while carrying out whatever their religious techniques were.

Alan. Here’s what they have to offer:

“Epicurean Priests

Given this picture [of the intense Epicurean critique of providential order in the universe], and in view of the latter position in particular [that followers of Epicurus are exhorted to revere the traditional gods but stripped of their Homeric qualities], it will come as no surprise that there are attested (especially through epigraphy) Epicureans in priestly offices. We limit ourselves to noting: (1) Tiberius Claudius Lepidus (second century ce), an important representative of the Epicurean community in Amastris, a coastal city in Paphlagonia, who was priest and head of the College of Augustales in charge of the imperial cult (see the testimony of Lucian of Samosata in his Alexander or the False Prophet); and (2) Aurelius Belius Philippus, who in an inscription (dated to the time of Hadrian or a little later) appears as “priest (hiereus) and diadochus of the Epicureans in Apamea.” As one may readily imagine, the question is as delicate as it is controversial, and hence widely debated. One plausible answer—which takes account, on the one hand, of the blessed and incorruptible life that is led by the gods and, on the other hand, of the Epicurean rejection of any divine activity and, connected to this, their denial of providence and of prophecy—may be found in the idea that the gods are models or regulative ideals to which all people (but especially the sophoi, the wise “friends of the gods”: see the third passage of Philodemus, gathered under Usener 386) should (or at least try to) conform.

Maintaining that the gods are models does not at all mean diminishing the role that they play, especially if we bear in mind that “conforming” in this world and to the extent possible to the blessed and perfect life of the gods is not an “ideal” undertaking, lacking any relation to reality. The conclusion to the Epistle to Menoeceus invites the addressee (who is simultaneously individual and general) to meditate on the central ethical issues in the letter; in this way it will be possible to avoid perturbation and to live like a god among men (hōs theos en anthrōpois), and thus to achieve in practice the highest realization of happiness (eudaimonia). We find the same idea expressed in the Epistle to Menoeceus also in Lucretius, where he affirms that it is not impossible, here and now, to lead a life like that of the gods (Lucr. DRN 3.322: dignam dis degere vitam).

The expression employed by Epicurus in the letter is quite strong and, if Epicurean theology has any meaning at all, it should be found just here in the conclusion to the Epistle to Menoeceus: to live like a god among men means to envision divinity not as something distant (although it is so, in fact, from a strictly physical and local point of view) and so insignificant, but rather as representing a practical possibility of realizing here and now the ideal of life proposed by Epicurus and of attaining happiness in a lasting way, enjoying in this life (the only one we have) pleasure (understood as the absence of pain: cf. Ep. Men. 131). Thus, the role played by the gods cannot be other than ethical, and it is significant that Epicurus very likely again justified this “function” in physical terms.”

Hiram. Ok, so this is only tangential: priests here is “hiereus”, and also these are priests outside of the Garden who happened to be Epicurean, not the “Kathegemones” that he instituted … except for Aurelius Belius Philippus.

Michael. For what it’s worth, Kathegemon is a pretty general word. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have religious overtones generally.

Eileen. Lucretius often uses the gods’ names metaphorically so I’m not sure that we should assume a belief in literal gods. But even if we do, what is the relevance of gods that don’t pay any attention to humans? Who can’t be propitiated or angered by anything we say, do, fail to say, or fail to do? Functionally speaking, this outlook strikes me as no different from atheism.

Alan. You may also find an answer to your question in the Oxford Handbook.

“Clearly, one place where someone might push the Epicureans’ theory is on the question of why they are so confident that some of their views, for instance in atomism and in theology, are not similarly susceptible of multiple explanations. The threat to their atomist theology seems especially strong, as Seneca was to insist in defending the providential and teleological views of Stoicism. But Epicureans were adamant in maintaining their view of anthropomorphic gods that are physically incorruptible, live in a state of psychic blessedness, and have absolutely no concern for human beings. This latter claim opened them to the charge of atheism from early on, and along with their denial of the immortality of the soul, was a key reason why, unlike Aristotle and Plato, Epicureanism seems to have completely disappeared from the Islamic and Byzantine philosophical traditions. Interestingly, Epicurus held up the life of the gods as an ethical model in many areas of his philosophy (e.g. friendship) and insisted that mortals can aspire to similar states of untroubled blessedness, all the while emphasizing our mortality and the fact that after our deaths we will be nothing.”

And elsewhere:

“Alongside the passages from Cicero and Lucretius, we may add an important text of the middle Platonic philosopher Atticus, recorded by Eusebius of Caesarea (des Places fr. 3 p. 48.63–65, ap. Eus. PE 15.5.7 = Usener 385), who deemed the absence of providence in Aristotle more impious than the same doctrine in Epicurus. In this passage, Atticus writes that, according to Epicurus, human beings derive a benefit (onēsis) from the gods: their better emanations (beltionas aporrhoias) are accessory causes (or “co-causes”: paraitias) of many good things for those who partake of them. Atticus is right not to attribute to the Epicurean gods any “pure” or “absolute” causality—that would result in a patent contradiction with Epicurus’s philosophy—but to speak more modestly of “co-causes” or paraitiai, although in the Epicurean tradition itself there are not lacking those who regarded the divine nature as a cause. This is the case with the Epicurean Polyaenus (Tepedino Guerra fr. 29) who, in the first book of his On Philosophy (Peri philosophias), maintained, according to what Philodemus reports in the De pietate, that the divine nature (theia physis) is the perfect cause (autotelousan . . . aitian) for us (hēmin) of the greatest pleasures (hēdonōn tōn megistōn). In any case, Atticus reports that the better emanations of the gods (the reference is, of course, to the divine simulacra) are able to provide a benefit, that is, a profit directly bound up with that imperturbability that the gods enjoy eternally and which, for those who adopt the philosophy of Epicurus, is an actual and real possibility that they are called upon to realize in practice, if they wish to achieve a truly genuine and lasting happiness.

On the basis of Atticus’s testimony and the other parallel sources, the veneration of the gods acquires an ethical value of the highest order, even as it coexists with the inactivity of the divine and the absence of providence. The simulacra of the gods, then, bring benefits, and thus to participate in prayers and in religious ceremonies (cf. Diog. Oen. fr. 19 II 6–11 Smith) means to “interiorize” in an effective way the (pleasurable) divine simulacra and to put into practice the commitment to become like a god among men.

In this sense, the gods are not only ethical models and regulative ideals, introduced by Epicurus solely in order to render his philosophical system consistent with his recognition of beings that are eternally and genuinely imperturbable. Epicurus’s gods also become figures highly relevant to our ethical life, playing a role that is at least indirectly active (although without any deliberate intention on their part), in virtue of the benefits that their simulacra bring us in practice on the not always easy road toward assimilation to god (homoiōsis theōi), which has a Platonic pedigree (cf. Theaet. 176a–b) but is totally of this world and bounded by the limits of this life. This is why, in Epicurus’s philosophy, veneration (sebasmos) of the gods is often confused with veneration of the Epicurean sages (at the head of the list are the kathēgēmones or andres of the Kepos: Epicurus, Metrodorus, Polyaenus, and Hermarchus), as happens, for example, in the anonymous treatise on ethical matters contained in P.Herc. 346.”

And another:

“Epicurus’s and the Epicureans’ interest in theology and their admission of the existence of divinities is indeed well attested in Epicurus’s own fragments and in Philodemus (On Gods 3, col. 10.34–38). Epicurus thinks that simulacra come to human beings from the divinities, composed by finest and subtlest atoms, which constitute a “quasi-body,” endowed with a “quasi-blood.” These simulacra come from the intermundia and can reach humans while they are awake and while they are asleep; thence comes the human notion of the divinities, a “clear” or “manifest” (ἐναργής) pre-notion.

Due to the fineness of those simulacra, human beings cannot grasp them by means of their sense-perception, but by a representative intuition of their mind (ἐπιβολὴ φανταστικὴ τῆς διανοίας). Pre-notions of the gods are common to all human beings, independently of their culture and race. Epicurus even produces a proof of the existence of the gods in Usener 352, preserved by Cicero ND 1.16.43, who translates πρόληψις by anticipatio: the very universality of these pre-notions of the divinities proves the existence of the gods.

Another way to arrive at the deities, according to Epicurus, is by inference: on the basis of the principle of isonomia or equivalence in the universe, human beings in the world(s) must correspond to the same number of divinities in the intermundia. The loss of atoms due to the continual emanation of simulacra is compensated by an uninterrupted inflow; this is why the deities are never destroyed (Cic. ND 1.19.50, 39.109): they push away destructive atoms (Arrighetti fr. 183). 28 The gods not only exist, according to Epicurus, but they are also models of happiness, and therefore they serve as ethical models for human beings.

However, since their perfect happiness rests on their ataraxia (Arrighetti fr. 184), 30 they cannot care for humans and their vicissitudes. Hence the Epicurean doctrine of the absence of providence and of teleology, as well as the denial of Fate and divination.”

Hiram. Some perspective: Epicurus always employed clarity in his speech, so when he says at the closing of Menoeceus that we will live like immortals among mortals, he must have placed before the eyes of his disciples the lifestyle and life state of these immortals, what their relations are like, what their blissful lives are like. He would not have used empty words. So this contemplative exercise has an ethical and educational utility. Regardless of an individual’s stance on either of the three interpretations of the Epicurean gods, a sincere student should not dismiss the intended utility and medicine of the First Doctrine, or his ethical education will be incomplete. (In LMenoeceus this is mentioned first among the elements of right living, so placing this before our eyes if of great importance).

Richard. Did Epicurus believe that he and his followers could become immortal?

Hiram. No. Epicurus taught his followers that immortality, for us, is neither natural nor necessary. So for example Philodemus said we should try to be harmless like the gods and imitate their blessedness “insofar as mortals are capable of doing so”. They’re just ethical models that point to the highest standard of living that is naturally available to sentient beings. We can also think of them as an early example of science fiction, since we don’t believe in the supernatural. Sometimes I think of religion as art, and gods / imagery in religion as poetry. In fact, the word for placing before the eyes in modern Greek (“visualization”) is optic-poeisia, which sounds like optical poetry.

Richard. I couldn’t agree more. So, when he used the word ‘immortal’, he wasn’t literally saying, “We can be immortal”, he was using the word in a poetic, open-minded way, to invoke ideas. I would suggest that he could have been doing the same with the notion of ‘divine natural beings’. I’m not saying that he did; I don’t know. But I see no reason to be negative towards someone who sees it this way.

Hiram. If you read Peri Eusebeias by Philodemus (“On piety”) you see that their level of sophistication in speculating about extraterrestrial life is considerable. There, Metrodorus seems to have been entertaining an idea of a colonial organism being godlike and potentially immortal. Our theology is basically science fiction.

Alan. If we ground ourselves in historical context, all of the players who considered Epicurus an advocate of atheism were his detractors from neo-Platonism, Stoicism, and Christianity, etc. Nobody in this group minds if any of us today profess atheism. It is totally compatible with our expanded interpretation of Epicureanism that unshackles itself from the most dogmatic ancient version of itself. What doesn’t really seem up for debate, and what both the quoted scholars and the consensus here now support, is that an innocent/non-cynical/non-malicious, plain-faced reading of the Epicurean sources indicates that Epicurus wasn’t an atheist. “For gods there are, our knowledge of them is clear” are not the words of an atheist.

We can never know, as the above quote admits, what Epicurus’ secret thoughts were. However, there is a methodology, grounded in textual analysis and exegesis, for establishing what positions ancient authors held. All we have to characterize Epicurus’ beliefs are the texts, which incontrovertibly lead us to the conclusion that he believed in gods and wasn’t an atheist by the contemporary historical understanding of the word. (And, if I myself would say publicly “there are gods, our knowledge of them is clear” yet privately considered myself an atheist, in the sense of ‘there are no gods’, then someone would be correct to label me insincere.)

Now, if we want to argue that, using the modern understanding of the word ‘atheist’ as someone who rejects the God of traditional theism, Epicurus could effectively be an atheist, well, that’s possible but it would be an anachronistic characterization and we’d really just be debating semantics and the modern definition of atheism at that point (something Epicurus wouldn’t want us to waste our time doing, hence his proleptical definition of gods as ‘immortal and blessed beings’). If that still doesn’t clear up our misgivings then I would direct you to VS 62 and would request that we turn this conversation around for the sake of fostering good will.

Hiram. It is the official position of the SoFE that the atheist interpretation is one of the three acceptable opinions that we may hold today and still be part of the SoFE. But it’s another thing to say that Epicurus held this view secretly, which raises questions about his character and the character of his friends that we have no reason to raise based on what we know, particularly considering that Epicurus himself called several atheists, by name, Dionysian revelers, and had to defend himself from their insults and attacks. So we may be atheists, but we’re not historical revisionists. It’s possible to state that _Epicurus_ held the realist view and that _we_ hold the non-realist or atheist view.

Theodorus “the Godless” was not an atheist in the modern sense also, or even in the ancient sense (in spite of the epithet he was given), in fact he was more like Epicurus 🙂 and Epicurus’ theology is said to be based on Theodorus’ doctrines. This is why we should invest less passion in this subject, because our definitions of gods and of atheism are different from theirs back then. That’s why the founders used the definition of the gods rather than the word “gods” in Principal Doctrine 1: they trusted the definition more than the word, which would have been misinterpreted. In the Theodorus essay I say:

“Diogenes Laertius claims that Epicurus took most of what he said about the gods from Theodorus the Godless, who apparently wrote a scroll (lost to us) titled “On the Gods”. His later followers, the Theodorans, were known for their polemics and attacks on other philosophers.”

Richard. Out of curiosity, if Epicurus was alive now and still held to his position of ‘advanced natural beings’ elsewhere in the universe, would you call him an atheist?

Hiram. Yes. If he was alive today, his theology would be considered science fiction and/or astrobiology.

Richard. So, even though his naturalistic views haven’t changed, you wouldn’t see him as an atheist because he lived in the past?

Hiram. I’m not as concerned about adopting the atheist label as you seem to be, although I am one. Your question was a hypothetical, saying: “IF Epicurus lived TODAY”. If that had been the case, my opinion is that he would not have been calling his theory theology but astrobiology.

But since he lived 2,300 years ago, he called it theology, as speculation about alien life was not mainstream and seems to have been limited to the atomists. So he found the words in his culture and used them. Gods were the denizens of heaven (today it might be angels maybe, and in fact there are Christians who theorize that angels are our “big brothers” in other planets).

Matt. I usually stay away from the gods discussion, since that is what originally caused me depart from the Epicurean discussion groups a few years ago. This topic is probably one of the more divisive ones and often generates significant commentary … which amazing since so little is known about the fullness of Epicurus’s theology. The Epicurean gods, no matter how you slice it, are VERY different from most other deities whether Greek, Hindu, Northern European or Middle Eastern in their role and lack of administration. Someone coming from a modern Islamic or Hindu background (as an example) would find the ideas to be rather alien. It may have been an easier transition for the pagan believers of that era to accept Epicurus’s ideas as opposed to modern religions today that have very specific qualifications as to what a god is or is not.

Alan. The common thread among other religions’ ideation of divinity is in their willingness to intervene on behalf of humans and participate in their events. That is a commonality that you could easily draw between the Homeric gods of Olympus and the Hindu pantheon. (So the purified gods of Epicurus would likely have seemed as foreign to the Greeks as to Hindus if they could have heard his message). The error in all of these ‘religios’ would be that their assent to the idea of interventional gods ultimately results in paranoia and fear, preventing ataraxia. It seems established beyond a doubt (by consensus of academic scholars of Epicurus and by our own koinonia, or tradition of practitioners) though that the study and integration of theology was necessary for the moral development of followers of Epicureanism.

Matt. I very much agree. The issue of intervention is one of the lynchpin issues I think that really drove the wedge between the theology of Epicurus and the religions of the time. In many of these religions, God is known by his positive or cataphatic qualities and acts with energy, and is a causal agent. Whereas, EP’s divinities are not, even though they are “real” but hold no administration. This is why it is so difficult to convince a religious person who holds the truth of the divine to be one that god acts and is the cause, that EP’s gods are relevant.

For the pagan of that time, it probably was an easier transition. It wasn’t a terrible leap to see the gods as inaccessible role models that sacrifices were made to in the temple. The pious continued to be pious by making propitiations that may or may not ever be answered.

But for the zealous Christian, who believed Jesus was God incarnate and performed all that was written and testified about him, would find Epicurus’s position to be a dressed up form of atheism, from a deeply theological perspective. The Christians of the time would’ve found more similarities in Stoic and Neoplatonic concepts, and used their philosophical attacks on Epicurus as their own … though even Stoicism and Neoplatonism themselves weren’t safe or off-limits for condemnation from some apologists.

This is why the Al-Ghazalis and Tertullians railed against all forms of Greek philosophy, not just Epicureanism….in fact Epicurus wasn’t even the main person being attacked or even thought of.

Alan. My ultimate intended point here was just that we should not be afraid or intimidated by the anticipated difficulty of the discussions that attend and surround issues of divinity, especially in this group. Those with an open mind, who are soft rather than rigid, will be able to hear what is being said and evaluate for themselves the utility of its integration.

David. There are many who feel a genuine need for a god figure in their lives. When studying, what are often alien cultures and beliefs, they try desperately to weave a god figure into that which they are observing.

Alan. The projection of human frailties on the divine is one of the first errors made by the impious.

Hiram. But humans also project their strengths and faculties on the Gods, so Epicurus May have been saying “we should not force nature but gently persuade her” as in VS 21, and taming this tendency to extract ethical utility.

David. As a Taoist I can totally agree that we should not force nature, I can even go further and say the very idea of forcing “nature” is preposterous.

Alan. By what means they acquired the attributes of indestructibility and immortality, I do not know.

Michael. I’m not aware of anything on the creation of the divine. Demetrius Laco, in the treatise called “sulla forma del dio” (“On the Shape of God”) by its Italian editor, seems to try to explain their indestructibility and immortality as a result of their very fine atomic constitutions, but the text is badly damaged and it’s not clear how exactly that’s supposed to work.

Marcus. Based on everything I’ve read from ancient sources and scholars, it seems like the early Epicureans were never the victims of accusations of impiety and were more criticized for their hedonism. By the time of Philodemus and Cicero, Epicureans were being accused of atheism which led to philosophers like Philodemus to defend Epicurus’ piety as he does in On Piety.

I guess the relevant debate for modern Epicureans is less about the existence of the gods and more whether or not Epicurean religious practices today can be of any psychological benefit, as Epicurus thought. After all, Buddhist meditation is connected to all kinds of superstition and can still be beneficial to people. Could Epicurean exercises of contemplation of divine beings as models of perfection (even if imaginary) be of any use?

Michael. I think not just the religious practices, however they’re understood, but also the community around them is important: if nothing else, church services and Epicurean feasts on the 20th are both social, communal gatherings. There’s importance in that as well.

It certainly seems that for Epicureans, the gods did serve mostly as an ideal, that’s true. But it also doesn’t mean that they didn’t exist. We have an awful lot of description from Philodemus about them (e.g. they speak Greek to each other, are friends, and have no desire to commit adultery) and Demetrius Laco seems to tie himself into knots trying to explain the physics of their bodily constitutions. (A die-hard believer in the “thought-construct school” could dismiss that as later Epicureans misunderstanding Epicurus, but that seems pretty difficult to me.)

Alan. To add more context to this conversation, the text in the Handbook after the Philodemus quote continues:

“The passage in Philodemus constitutes a further argument against the hypothesis that the Epicurean gods were projections or mental constructs: it would be illogical and indeed inconsistent to treat the gods as thought constructs and at the same time reproach atheists for their denial of the real existence of divinities.”

So it seems that the ancient Epicureans would have rejected the atheist and idealist interpretations and instead insisted on the realist interpretation.

For a treatment of how the Epicureans justified their knowledge of the gods (remember the letter to Menoeceus: “For the gods exist (theoi men gar eisin): our knowledge of them is evident (enargēs gar autōn estin hē gnōsis)”), let’s examine this passage from the Handbook:

“Epicurus’s and the Epicureans’ interest in theology and their admission of the existence of divinities is indeed well attested in Epicurus’s own fragments and in Philodemus (On Gods 3, col. 10.34–38). Epicurus thinks that simulacra come to human beings from the divinities, composed by finest and subtlest atoms, which constitute a “quasi-body,” endowed with a “quasi-blood.” These simulacra come from the intermundia and can reach humans while they are awake and while they are asleep; thence comes the human notion of the divinities, a “clear” or “manifest” (ἐναργής) pre-notion. Due to the fineness of those simulacra, human beings cannot grasp them by means of their sense-perception, but by a representative intuition of their mind (ἐπιβολὴ φανταστικὴ τῆς διανοίας). Pre-notions of the gods are common to all human beings, independently of their culture and race. Epicurus even produces a proof of the existence of the gods in Usener 352, preserved by Cicero ND 1.16.43, who translates πρόληψις by anticipatio: the very universality of these pre-notions of the divinities proves the existence of the gods. Another way to arrive at the deities, according to Epicurus, is by inference: on the basis of the principle of isonomia or equivalence in the universe, human beings in the world(s) must correspond to the same number of divinities in the intermundia. The loss of atoms due to the continual emanation of simulacra is compensated by an uninterrupted inflow; this is why the deities are never destroyed (Cic. ND 1.19.50, 39.109): they push away destructive atoms (Arrighetti fr. 183). The gods not only exist, according to Epicurus, but they are also models of happiness, and therefore they serve as ethical models for human beings. However, since their perfect happiness rests on their ataraxia (Arrighetti fr. 184), they cannot care for humans and their vicissitudes. Hence the Epicurean doctrine of the absence of providence and of teleology, as well as the denial of Fate and divination.”

So there are three arguments outlined in support of the real and clear existence of divinities, in descending order of importance:

1) The self-evidence (enargeia) of the simulacra or eidola that emanate from the quasi-bodies of the divine in the metakosmia, striking us while awake or sleeping. The atoms of their emanations are so fine as to be imperceptible to our senses, but graspable only in prolepsis.
2) An appeal to the universality of the prolepsis of divinity (is this not similar to the argumentum ad populum?)
3) The isonomic (iso=equal, nomos=law) argument, a kind of analogical inference based on the tendency of nature to produce uniformity. Isonomic arguments are also how the atomists justified the innumerable worlds doctrine.

… Would you reword the Letter to Menoeceus (the only complete work on ethics remaining in Epicurus’ own words) or just not accept the treatment of the gods contained in it?

Richard. I would place it in the context of the time. “Our knowledge of them is evident” seems a direct contradiction of Epicurus’s position about knowledge.

Jason. Inference carries great weight in the pleasure principle. We only study nature to decrease fears about the unknown. It is easy to reject gods wholecloth today with the effective separation of church and state. Religion is a private matter. Not so in Epicurus’ time. One was expected to participate in public ritual or face exile. There is little existential motivation to square one’s disbelief in the supernatural with continued participation in public worship today if you are a naturalist.

If we start from first principles and explore the universe in our minds, as we know Epicurus did in the descriptions we have of his volumes On Nature, we might arrive at the same sort of conclusion that Carl Sagan did. Superior beings must live in the universe and to call them superior to humans they must have none of our vices and all of our virtues. Take this as close to perfection as you can conceive in a material universe and you have natural gods, the only creatures worthy of the name in a material universe. Carl Sagan was a huge advocate of adding a contact mandate to SETI because he believed that any alien race capable of contacting us MUST be superior to us in just about every way. He’s the reason for the golden plates on the Voyager probes.

Epicurus arrived at their “existence” the same way we arrive at the existence of aliens today. Given the vastness of space and time, it is a certainty that they exist. A universe without them would be preposterous. If we maximalize an alien race’s bliss, they would appear god-like to us as Epicureans and would be worthy of admiration. Admiration of the good is a pleasant activity and can have a blissful effect on the one who practices it regularly.

Richard. Carl Sagan also thought that it was possible that we are the only intelligent life in the universe, as we could be the first or the last. We just don’t know. We have no knowledge of such a species.

Alan. Jason, this is an excellent rendering of the isonomic argument for the existence of gods, a line a reasoning Epicurus himself likely used. The way you present it makes it sound more compelling than at first it seemed (in the Handbook, they only presented it as inferred by analogy that because there are so many humans, there also must be so many gods, which I think doesn’t bring the full force of the atomistic cosmology to bear on the subject.) In an infinite universe with unlimited arrangements of matter within, we can conceive of such arrangements as would produce beings sufficiently advanced from us as to be indistinguishable from the divine, to put a spin on Clarke’s aphorism.

Jason. And you have extended it beautifully with your twist on Clarke. A worthy addition to the modern meleta on the gods.

The Epicurean method of multiple explanations lands squarely on pleasure as the end and aim. It pleases me more to think that humanity is not alone in the universe. It pleases me more to say that the supernaturalists are hurting themselves in their confusion and the only creature worthy of adoration is that which is actually possible, material beings who have shucked off their vices and live like sages. A race of people whose choices and avoidances have led them to perpetual bliss.

Supernatural gods don’t exist. Epicurus was explicit that belief in them is impious. We don’t have his book On Gods but we can take a stab at what it might have contained given the fragments we have available to us. Our arguments might not be convincing but I’m certain Epicurus’ were, given how widely they were adopted, even into the priesthood of Herod’s temple.

Michael. As for your two, an argument from the consensus omnium (“Agreement of everyone”) and one from the prolepsis can look awfully similar, even though only the second really has probative force for Epicureans. But if everyone believes something, there’s likely to be some kernel of truth in it somewhere.

(Dirk Obbink (yes that Dirk Obbink) has an article in Oxford Studies in…1992? 1992-ish?…about arguments from the consensus omnium in Epicureanism and other schools.)

Alan. To be clear, are you saying that there is a distinction between a consensus omnium with regards to divine prolepses and the informal fallacy of argumentum ad populum? If we are relying on an appeal to a universal consensus to establish the real existence of something, it seems to be a rather weak argument (at least by the standards of empirical evidence that we are accustomed to employing in other areas of investigation).

Michael. No, I’m saying that the consensus omnium, in its pure form, simply is an argumentum ad populum, but that because of the way the prolepsis works (i.e. that it is universal, at least within a culture), it takes some careful phrasing or interpretation to tell an appeal to the prolepsis from an appeal to a consensus omnium. An appeal to a prolepsis is, after all, an appeal to something that *everyone* has in their head (a belief or idea or something like that, depending on what you take a prolepsis to be).

Jason. Dirk’s article is really quite good reading and clears up a LOT of misconceptions about Epicurean prolepses of the gods. Thanks for the cite , Michael. Cicero is the cause of a lot of confusion for earnest learners. Philodemus was right to condemn the lawyers.

Michael. Yeah, there’s a reason he’s had the career he’s had.
We have to use Cicero carefully: he’s usually polemical, and he’s usually writing for Roman beginners as well, whom he hopes will graduate to reading the originals in Greek. But he does have a good eye and sometimes lands a criticism or preserves a point of doctrine we wouldn’t otherwise know about.

Richard. So it’s possible to believe in more advanced life forms elsewhere in the universe AND be an atheist, right?

Alan. Yes, sure. You can reasonably hold both views.

Hiram. At SoFE we accept all three interpretations as legitimate. The founders were realists, but today Epicurean theology falls in the realm of Sci fi and speculation about astrobiology.

It is one thing to say Epicurus believed in the realist interpretation … it is a different thing to say that we believe in the same interpretation. We can have the second or third view while recognizing he adheres to the first. What we at SoFE are saying is that all three could be justified as reasonable by reasonable people.

Richard. If he saw ‘gods’ as another natural species somewhere else in the universe, was he really talking about ‘gods’ as most people would understand the word, or is he just redefining them as a get-out-clause for any accusation of heresy?

Hiram. This is an accusation–that he was insincere–made by anti-Epicureans, that we do not endorse.

If you read Epicurus’ sermon “Against the use of empty words” (or watch our youtube video on it) you’ll see that the Epicureans (like the Confucians) have a method of redefining words according to the study of nature, so that the words would be as closely aligned with the objects of our investigation as was empirically possible. THIS method was used by the first Epicureans with regards to the gods.

So the gods of supernaturalism became natural beings, the most blissful beings in the cosmos that the Epicureans were able to imagine based on their methods of studying the non-evident based on that which is available empirically.

If you read the wording of the first Principal Doctrine, you will find that the words used by the founders are not “the gods” but “blissful and immortal beings”–they use the Epicurean DEFINITION of the word “gods” instead of the word, which I think accentuates the fact that they trusted their DEFINITION of the word more than the word itself. They didn’t trust that the word accurately conveyed what they meant, so they used instead the definition. This was an ongoing issue with this and many other words, as we see in “Against empty words”. I think this attests to the fact that part of the way in which Epicurean theology came about was by attempting to apply their rules on redefinition of words according to nature to the word “gods”, so as to demystify the word and purge it from its supernatural trappings. If you consider this, you’ll begin to see some of the value that some of us see in this Doctrine.

Richard. Why would it be a problem for Epicurus to be an atheist? It all points to him not believing in ‘gods’ as most theists would define them. Why is that an issue?

Hiram. Epicurus was saying these ARE the real gods, the only gods that nature may produce. There was a _legitimate_ interest in the question of what is the life form with the highest quality of life in the cosmos, because this points to the highest ethical model achievable naturally.

Alan. Why does one have to believe in supernatural deities to be a polytheist?

As Hiram just explained, to cut the ambiguity away, Epicurus appeals directly to the proleptic intuition about the nature of the divine, giving them three essential attributes: that it is a zōion or a living entity, incorruptible (aphtharsia), and blessed (makariotēs) (which is even higher than eudaimonia).

It seems you are walking closely by Posidonius’ anti-Epicurean argument, explained in the Handbook:

“According to Posidonius, Epicurus was an atheist because at bottom he did not believe in the existence of the gods; if Epicurus allowed that the gods existed, he did so solely for the sake of convenience, that is, to deflect hostility and in particular the accusation of atheism from himself. It is obvious that Posidonius’s testimony is polemical and malicious in respect to Epicurus; but Posidonius expresses in nuce the basic features of Epicurus’s bad reputation in matters of theology, which, as we have said, were to cast a long shadow well beyond the chronological limits of the ancient world. It is obviously impossible to determine whether Epicurus, the “coryphaeus of atheism,” as Clement of Alexandria dubbed him (Strom. 1.1), was at heart an atheist; nevertheless, it is certain that, basing ourselves on what his texts say, Epicurus believed firmly and with conviction in the existence of the gods.”

The consensus is that upon taking the Epicurean texts innocently and sincerely, the only possible reasonable conclusion was that Epicurus did believe the gods to be real. Any suggested secret convictions or deception could cast into doubt the sincerity of Epicurus’ entire salvific project.

Closing on an intellectually humble note, we share a quote by the Guide Philodemus of Gadara from his scroll On Piety:

“It would be fitting to describe all men as impious, inasmuch as no one has been prolific in finding convincing demonstrations for the existence of the gods” – Philodemus of Gadara

PD 1: On the Utility of the Epicurean Gods

That which is blissful and immortal has no troubles itself, nor does it cause trouble for others, so that it is not affected by anger or gratitude (for all such things come about through weakness). – Principal Doctrine One

Epicurus applied epilogismos (empirical thinking) to all things, even the gods. In thinking empirically about the gods, he specifically considered their role as witnesses to our oaths–which is why Philodemus equates piety with justice in his scroll On Piety–, Epicurus saw how oath-breakers are treated by the community, so that the gods seem to embody the collective memory, traditions, choices and avoidances, and norms of the tribe. Gods (or rather the social group, through invocation and use of its gods) have the “power” to bring specific curses and blessings, which may at times be specified in the social contract of the community. I should clarify that this is not a supernatural power, but rather a social function.

For instance, if you vow by Athena to be loyal to a friend, and then you turn around and betray your friend, many sincere worshipers of Athena will consider you cursed because you will have blasphemed Athena. They may have, as a community, ways of dealing with oath-breakers that are unpleasant, as a way of discouraging oath-breaking. We see in many modern religious communities that oath-breakers and apostates are often banned from their Mormon, Muslims, or other religious communities. As central symbols of tribes and communities, we see that the gods function as their unifying symbols that add coherence and stability to communities.

The Letter to Menoeceus says that gods make us feel “familiar” to them as a result of sharing similar virtues as they have. This “filial” (familiar) model of Epicurean piety has been distinguished from the “servile” model of vulgar piety that we see elsewhere.

We may view the gods and the practices concerning them as instances of (individual or communal) self-expression and reminders of our highest values.

The Epicurean gods also invite us to ask what kinds of sentient beings would be WORTHY of everlasting happiness, of immortal bliss, and also of immortality–which is a quite different question from the ontological station of the gods.

Therefore the Doctrine of Epicurus concerning the gods must be studied in terms of its utility so that, even if we do away with the Epicurean gods, we still have a clear grasp of their utility in their original context, and we may seek alternate ways to fulfil that same utility and possibly experiment with a non-theistic religiosity. I have speculated that this religiosity can perhaps focus its piety on the healing words of true philosophy, rather than on the gods.

A non-theistic Epicurean religiosity is a worthwhile project, however, a part of me still wonders if, by neglecting the moral tasks posed by the Epicurean gods, we’d be neglecting crucial exercises for the soul’s “muscles”, and whether we harm our moral development by ignoring the utility of the gods.

The Imaginary Friends Argument

Imaginary friends are often cited as a metaphor by atheists who wish to ridicule vulgar religiosity, but the “imaginary friends” metaphor actually may yield important insights concerning religiosity and should be treated as a legitimate ethical and anthropological argument.

Children have imaginary friends, which are sort of familiar spirits to them, and this is considered a normal part of childhood. This is probably because they are developing social faculties. I imagine it’s like a computer that has the program to update itself: the child’s brain is learning and processing for the first time complex social interactions, which give him skills necessary for adult life. The child must learn communication skills, and even subtle social cues. Perhaps imagining friends helps the brain to learn and practice these social skills in the initial stages of social development.

The Utility of Piety

Honoring a sage is itself a great benefit to the one who honors – Vatican Saying 32

This issue of the utility of piety is a separate question from the nature of the gods, even if related. But in what way do we benefit when we honor or respect something? Epicurus said piety had psycho-somatic effects: that it may help us to cultivate pleasant dispositions in the body and mind.

Piety can make us feel happy, attached to something wholesome and familiar, and can help us feel healthy and mentally strong.

Piety can also feel like a great peace, because we are being just whenever we honor our covenants of loyalty, friendship, or filial love, and one is genuinely happy when one hears the name of a loved one, and is reminded of that love. This sweetens life, is pleasant, memorable, and makes us happy.

Piety, if sincere, feels like reverence, which ennobles if the thing revered is worthy. When such piety feels like familiarity, filial, we may say that we share part of our (mental and bodily) identity with the thing revered, otherwise it would not feel familiar. The Epicurean Doctrines may also gain familiarity through acquaintance, repetition, and memorization.

When we observe the psycho-somatic effects of piety in us, we have clear, direct insight about its benefits, which justifies “faith” not in gods or in anything external to ourselves, but in the memorized Doctrines and their power and medicine in our soul.

Living Like Immortals

In the third book of De Rerum Natura, Lucretius praised the words of Epicurus saying: “like bees, we sip their nectar”–as if from flowers in a meadow–and that they’re “golden, ever worthy of immortal life”. In this way, he compared the Doctrines to ambrosia–the nectar of immortality.

Lucretius was conveying that the Aurea Dicta (the “golden words” of true philosophy) help us to live like immortals, and to feel as if we are surrounded by immortal goods. This is because these words point to all the things that make life worth living, and so the diligent study of the Aurea Dicta is the most advantageous activity for our happiness. But bees drink nectar in order to make honey: the idea of imbibing Epicurus’ words is to produce sweetness, pleasure.

Epicurus would not talk about living like immortals, as he did in his Epistle to Menoeceus, if he had not first placed before the eyes of his disciple, in clear detail, just what it means to live like an immortal.

Living like an immortal implies various things. Epicurus describes the gods as indestructible and forever happy. These are the only two religious taboos he gave us. He said we may believe anything about the gods so long as we do not blaspheme their immortality and their constantly blissful state of sentience. We are left to fill in the blanks.

This must mean that the gods are envisioned as sentient beings, since only such beings are able to experience constant pleasures. Living like an immortal implies that the pleasures that we experience are all of a higher nature, that we become resilient, indestructible, and transcendentally happy. Living like gods also implies an art of living, a methodology for living, a lifestyle, or a cultural expression which is modeled by our Epicurean narratives about the gods.

It can be dangerous to remain unaware of what gods, guiding values, and beliefs we have set for ourselves. Unanalyzed praise can sometimes degrade a soul, sinking it in unwholesome association. Epicurus invites us to consciously create our values in this manner, and to observe the pragmatic results of this ethical exercise in our own bodies and minds

The Future Self

This task may remind some of Nietzsche’s Overman. This is because the utility of the gods and the utility of our narratives about our own future are, in some ways, similar.

Just as we feel rooted in our past when we revere our ancestors, we also anchor our selves in the future when we revere our gods. There is a progression in time between these two cosmological imaginaries: the one (usually) below our feet in the graves of our ancestors where we are rooted like trees, and the one (usually) in the heavens towards which our instincts of freedom and creation inspire us to advance and evolve. Perhaps we subconsciously intuit our evolutionary advance from a less-evolved past to a more-evolved future, and this finds expression in these two forms of piety? We naturally (and perhaps subconsciously) seek to imitate and to become like the things we deify or idealize. The future Self has to be conceived and imagined so clearly, that it feels within reach. Thinking about our future self is, in itself, ethically useful if done right.

While you are on the road, try to make the later part better than the earlier part; and be equally happy when you reach the end. – Vatican Saying 48

The Letter to Menoeceus teaches that the future is partly ours and partly not ours. This means that we have causal responsibility for a portion of our destiny, of our future self. Concerning what this portion entails is a matter of great importance for our happiness and for our moral development. The favors we do to our future self give us hope in our future pleasure, stability, and confident expectation that we will easily secure our needs.

Exercise: Envision Your Gods

If we were to set up an existential task, or “a homework”, related to Principal Doctrine 1, it would be to place before our eyes: to clearly imagine, in detail, the lifestyle of the gods. This is a visualization exercise–which could be done in the form of journaling, if we are not very good visual thinkers.

I recently shared the Isle of the Blessed passage from Lucian’s comedy True Story. Since it depicts a paradise of pleasure, one worthy of Epicurus himself (whom Lucretius makes a resident there), the Isle of the Blessed might be a good example of a type of exercise similar to envisioning the gods, that we may draw inspiration from.

Since the Epicurean gods of the realist interpretation are what today would be considered extraterrestrial super-evolved animals, some of our readers may wish to draw inspiration from the emergent field of astro-biology. I have speculated that any creature that feels perfectly safe and invulnerable (as the gods do) would have to evolve in an ecosystem that has an extremely high level of symbiosis (that is, cooperation rather than competition) between creatures.

“Sculpting” our gods (or “imagined persons” if we are non-realist about them) in our minds, and putting before our eyes their activities, pastimes, narratives, opulences, pleasures, qualities, values, and attributes may serve as a good point of reference to help us to sculpt our own characters and lifestyles. In this way, we gain a clear conception in our minds of how to live a godlike lifestyle.

Envisioning the gods is an exercise in ethical self-creation, and in character-building. It’s a reflection on the quality of life that the highest form of sentient being in the cosmos would have. How would we live if we were to imitate their godly lifestyle? That is part of the utility of the Epicurean gods.

Finally, I wish to stress that this exercise is useful and has educational value even if we believe that our gods are imaginary: they can still be our lifestyle-models, who point us in the direction of the healthiest and happiest way of living.

The usefulness of this exercise is increased if we include concrete details concerning the aromas, tastes, architecture, fashion, and mental and emotional states of our gods. This is what we mean by “placing before the eyes”–a practice used by the Epicurean Guide Philodemus, and by Epicurus himself in his Letter to Menoeceus. In this way, we move from the abstract to the concrete, from the Platonic realm to the real and tangible world.

On Natural Holiness

The above video on the Epicurean gods may help us to contextualize the following discussion. When I say natural holiness, I mean as opposed to supernatural, and also holiness as it is empirically observed and experienced by mortals.

We recently carried out a study of holiness with the purpose of carrying out experiments in the theory and practice of Epicurean piety, and as part of an effort to formulate a non-theistic Epicurean religiosity for the 21st Century. We also wanted to rescue the words “holiness” and “the sacred” from centuries of appropriation by world-denying religions.

The holy and the sacred, in conventional religions, have sometimes come to be associated with what we view as unhealthy asceticism and self-denial, and sometimes even with the vulgar hypocrisy of people who are ostentatious about their false piety, whereas in Epicurus we find a non-Platonic concept of “righteous happiness” related to natural holiness, and which is not at all ascetic or world-denying. In Against the use of empty words, we learn that the founders of our School re-assigned new meanings to words as per the study of nature. The rectification of a natural conception of holiness, and the sacred, is a (mammoth and worthwhile) philosophical project.

On Holiness

Holiness shares semantic roots with wholeness (the state of being healthy and complete, safe and sound, uninjured, entire). Scottish hale (a related word that shares semantic roots) implies health, being whole, and happiness. In Spanish, the word “santo” (“the holy”) also shares semantic roots with “sano”, which means healthy, and with the English word sanity. The “in-sane” are people who lack mental health. So the naturally holy may have originally been tied to bodily and mental health.

One of the initial points I wish to make in our investigations of natural holiness is that at some point in history, the healthy and the holy separated in many languages, but they are Siamese twins.

Ancient people utilized “the holy” in order to avoid germs and diseases. This may help to explain the many purity and health codes in ancient religions related to hygiene, and the fact that the goddess of health is known as Hygieia (Hygiene, personified). So we may forgive our conventionally religious friends for having inherited so many hygiene-based superstitions and taboos concerning burial of decaying bodies, menstrual and purity taboos, avoidance of eating pork, etc. Many of these taboos are later corruptions of the initial prolepsis of the holy: the feeling of being happy, whole, complete, healthy and sound, which in antiquity (and even today, as the pandemic has shown) at times required certain taboos around hygiene and health.

On the Utility of the Holy

Philodemus taught that Epicurus ordered that all oaths be taken in the name of the most holy gods, and not on trivialities or non-divine things. One of the ancient Epicurean Guides, Philodemus of Gadara, said:

Piety and justice appear to be almost the same thing … because to break one’s oath is to be unjust and also to lie, and both are disturbing.

Over the years of studying together, the Friends of Epicurus have come to realize that a social contract is needed to properly practice Epicurean philosophy. The sincere student must abide by some house rules, and these rules need to be clearly delineated.

An oath, or agreement, between the teacher / community and the individual student helps to know the house rules (this is also true in most social settings). The specific details of any social contract or agreement must delineate the concrete rules by which that community attains the most advantageous ways of achieving its aims and values. If the social contract is vague, it will not serve its purposes efficiently. Since justice depends on very specific circumstances, contracts require specificity and concreteness.

This is the first, and most obvious, use of holiness: it serves as a guarantor of our oaths with each other. If you and I hold our friendship to be holy, and you swear on our friendship that you will complete a shared project, your disloyalty would be an act of injustice that implies a desecration of our holy friendship.

But there are other ways in which the holy is useful. Since it represents our Highest Values, on which we make our oaths, it also serves as a way to distinguish our highest values from our non-values. It creates a separate category for things of great value for a community.

On the Sacred

Let’s now look at the prolepsis (original attestation and meaning, or “proto-noesis“) of the sacred. A quick online search for the meaning of “sacred” yields some of the following meanings:

connected with God (or the gods) or dedicated to a religious purpose and so deserving veneration.

(of writing or text) embodying the laws or doctrines of a religion.

regarded with great respect and reverence by a particular religion, group, or individual.

The sacred is that which is set aside (or dedicated) as a Higher Value, or for the sake of a Higher Value. It’s set apart from the profane, which is ordinary.

It seems initially that the sacred and the holy are one and the same thing, since sacred comes from Latin sacrare, from sacer, sacr– ‘holy’. However, in our usage, people can be holy but not usually sacred (although I would argue that some people are sacred to us). Objects and books can be both holy and sacred.

Things can be made sacred by consecration. In our modern usage, the sacred is that which is “set aside” for a higher purpose or “set aside” as a higher value, and is worthy of great respect. Sacred things are not ordinary. Hence, the Torah scrolls are kept in the Ark in a synagogue. The eucharist is kept in the tabernacle in a Catholic church. The Krishna prasadam (food consecrated and served in Hindu temples) is not just eaten: it is “honored”. They are set apart from ordinary things, and connect us with the higher values they’re consecrated to.

Does the sacred exist in nature? Without a doubt. I do not consider ordinary people comparable in any way to my parents, to my siblings, to my friends. My mother is the most “sacred” person to me. The tomb of my grandmother is sacred to me because of the love and memories attached. The ground around her tomb is, comparably, meaningless and valueless, but her tomb is sacred. Many people go out of their way to visit their mothers’ graves on Mother’s Day, for instance: that means that the place that holds those remains is set apart, marked as sacred in some way. Even elephants have been observed assuming a solemn demeanor in the presence of bones of their loved ones when they stumble upon them during their long journeys.

It seems to me that the utility of the sacred has to do with a communal or individual choice to focus on some good, and with separating the things that we associate with our Higher Values (which are holy to us) from ordinary things. Sacredness also separates the things worthy of respect from those indifferent or unworthy. Religious scholar Durkheim argues that the sacred represents the interests of the group, including communal unity, which is embodied in symbols, as for instance in a totem (the symbol that unites a tribe). Mircea Eliade, another scholar of religion, says that religion is based on a sharp distinction between the sacred and the profane.

I argue that the sacred does exist in nature: that some things are observed to have a much greater value that most other things to certain sentient beings, and so we observe that they are considered to deserve special respect, so they are set aside.

In addition to things that are naturally sacred, things can come to be considered sacred by dedication, devotion, or formal and ceremonial consecration. The definitions of “consecrate” include:

To make / declare something sacred

To dedicate formally to a religious, divine, or sacred purpose

Ordain someone to sacred office

Devote something exclusively to a particular purpose

We sometimes hold on to pictures or objects that were given by loved ones or friends due to emotional attachment: they are “consecrated” to the memory of a loved one. When something is offered to a higher ideal, or to a friend, or towards a goal which is itself considered sacred, the thing offered becomes set apart, gains value from that sacredness.

The Sacred Within our Hierarchy of Values

Let us now contextualize the usefulness of the sacred within the framework of our highest existential projects and goals. Why? Because this helps to illuminate the relation between our hierarchy of priorities and values, and the practice of hedonic calculus. This places “the sacred” within an undeniably Epicurean ethical context, one that helps us navigate our choices and avoidances.

Can our goals (which guide our actions) be “sacred”, or be tied to things that are sacred? The pleasures and advantages we get from our toil justify the disadvantages and pains we choose. Our sacrifices must always be devoted to some higher goal or value, which redeems them or justifies them thanks to the mathematics of hedonic calculus. A rational mortal will sacrifice only lesser values to higher values.

Notice how we are moving from the most holy gods to our Highest Values in our non-theistic discourse. Rather than sacrifice to Zeus or Dionysus, we are taming religious techniques, and recruiting them for ethical and philosophical purposes. This reminds me of the poem/epiphany early in Liber Primus (the First Book of “De rerum natura” by Lucretius) where religion is trampled underfoot by philosophy.

Also, notice that part of what I’m saying here is that the language used in conventional religions (words like the sacred, or sacrifice) can be transferred into a realism that rejects all supernaturalism; that we can return to the original prolepsis of these words in formulating our own Epicurean religiosity based on the study of nature.

In Epicurean philosophy, we believe Pleasure is the Guide of Life, and the faculty that points to what the goods are. We say a man may be “devoted” to his wife, or to his studies. This expression implies a goal (love and happiness within a matrimony, a PhD or some other professional or educational attainment with prospects of a higher salary, etc.) that justifies these sacrifices and could itself be “sacred”. In fact, matrimony is considered a sacrament by many religions. It’s seen as a holy contract, and an act of mutual consecration of two beings to each other so that they become each other’s Higher Values.

Our sacrifices are a good place to look for our highest values, since we do not seek pains except to serve greater pleasures, so that we observe that our sacrifices (and our hedonic calculus) point to an empirical encounter with in our hierarchy of values.

The word sacrifice carries the prolepsis “to make sacred”–that is, sacer(sacred) + facere (to make). A rational human only offers or makes sacrifices (of any kind) for worthy reasons, or to worthy ideals and goals. Sacrifices are, to speak naturally and concretely, the objects or actions that are “made sacred” and therefore redeemed or justified by consecration to our goals and our Higher Values. We may not think of these goals as sacred, but we use the word “sacrifice” (sacer-facere), which implies something sacred which justifies our efforts. I made huge sacrifices to obtain a school diploma, for instance. Some people sacrifice their marriage for an addiction or a short-lived affair, to offer an example of an irrational, unethical sacrifice that does not pass hedonic calculus.

If our pains are not “sacrificed” to a higher aim, they are not made sacred, they are not redeemed or justified, they lack meaning and value to us. In these cases, such pains or sacrifices are to be avoided, if possible. Please consider your own past and present choices and rejections, and place this before your eyes: we observe that the sacred is, by pragmatic definition, that which justifies our sacrifices by being a Higher Value. We make great sacrifices and accept great pains for the sake of our friends, our loved ones, our Highest Values, and our Gods (even metaphorical ones).

And while we are willing to make great sacrifices and take great risks for a loved one or a friend, we admit only lesser pains for the sake of a stranger. The life of a stranger may still be sacred to us, and we may still be moved by compassion, but not nearly as much as that of a loved one or friend.

Having explored the natural sense of the words holiness and sacred, let’s now move on to a specifically non-theistic religious discussion of them while keeping these definitions clearly in our mind.

Towards a Non-Theistic Experience of the Holy

Should we–and how do we–make the sacred tangible and material in a worldview that rejects the supernatural? How do we enjoy the pleasures of the holy as Epicureans or spiritual naturalists? I believe our experiments in piety within the context of a non-theistic Epicurean religiosity might contribute to the modern atheist arguments that we can create values without God with clear demonstrations of how it’s done, and in a manner that is true to our traditions.

I will begin by arguing that many things other than the holy gods are holy. For instance, people make non-theistic oaths, like “I swear on our friendship …”, with the assumption that said friendship is held in such high esteem that it is understood to be holy by the two parties. There are many other “immortal goods”. We could say “I swear on the words of Epicurus”, or “I swear on justice, or on my honor, or on my reputation”, with the assumption that these are things of value to us. Non-religious people, when they go to a court, have the option of swearing on the Constitution instead of a Bible, in the civic ceremonial tradition of the United States. Even the religious sometimes swear on things other than their god. “I swear on the tomb of my grandmother”, for instance, is a non-theistic oath. They are oaths taken on our (often shared) values, things we love, revere, or highly respect, among which we will find our sacred things.

Epicureanism as a Non-Theistic Religiosity

The imagery, in De Rerum Natura, where religion is trampled under the feet of man, teaches that religion must have utility for all the individuals it serves. Religion must be civilized, reformed, tamed by the Epicurean. Our chosen beliefs must serve us and increase our pleasures.

A naturalist, and perhaps non-theistic, religiosity can be useful, healthy, and relevant. It would purge religion of its less civilized elements, domesticate it, tame it, and keep the best aspects of religion that give people central symbols around which to organize their lives and communities, develop their culture and aesthetics, and make oaths. It’s also a sign that we respect ourselves, our chosen communities, our values, and our philosophy.

By creating tangible artifacts and ceremonies that are considered holy and worthy of reverence, by the sacralization of the words of Epicurus as a sacred text or object of contemplation, by the celebration of the Twentieth, by an oath, or by any other ceremony, philosophy furnishes all the things that conventional religions furnish. We are also making philosophy tangible by these acts of value-creation.

Impious is not so much the man who denies the Gods of the many as the man who attributes the beliefs of the many to them.

Ancient Epicureanism mimicked much of the utility and culture of conventional religion. It was a sect, had rituals, feasts, sacred oaths, Guides (the kath-hegemones), culture heroes (the four Founders) for whom sculptures were made and fetishized (as documented in The Sculpted Word), revered writings, and even a patron Goddess (Venus). It will take years for modern intellectuals to successfully rescue the original sense of many of the words, concepts and practices that world-denying religions have monopolized, but it is my view that carrying out concrete experiments in piety within the context of Epicurean philosophy as a legitimate (theistic or) non-theistic religion for the 21st Century deserves careful and sincere further exploration.

On “-Isms” and Pleasure Wisdom

On “-Isms” and Pleasure Wisdom

“Epicureanism” vs. “Epicurean Philosophy“

The Society of Friends of Epicurus has dedicated extensive dialogue to the suffix “–ism” regarding its relevance to the Epicurean tradition. In the Epicurean spirit of παρρησíα (or “parrhēsíā”) meaning “frank speech” or “speaking candidly”, the ancient Greek language did NOT employ the “–ism” when referring to the tradition of Epicurus (nor, for that matter, of any other ancient Greek philosophy). Thus, while the word can be employed for practical purposes, “Epicureanism” does NOT quite compliment the nuance of “Epicurean Philosophy”.

–ISMs

The English suffix, “-ism” — according to BOTH common and academic usages — is employed to designate a distinctive “doctrine“, “theory“, “attitude“, “belief“, “practice“, “process“, “state“, “condition“, “religion“, “system“, or “philosophy“. According to this definition, it is NOT incorrect to add a simple “–ism” at the end of “the philosophy of Epicurus“; it should, appropriately and accurately, render the word “Epicureanism” (or even “Epicurism“).

In more succinct terms, we can visualize “Epicurean–ism” simply as “Epicurean-philosophy“.

While this works for practical purposes, it may lead to several misconceptions:

Bracketing the suffix “-ism” to a name often indicates devotional worship of an individual (consider the differences between the old, misleading usage of “Mohammedanism” versus the preferred, contemporary usage of “Islam”). Epicureans do NOTworship Epicurus as a supernatural prophet, NOR as a manifestation of a transcendental ideal.
Bracketing the suffix “-ism” can ALSO indicate contempt for an individual or system. Consider, for example, when “Marxism”, “Leninism”, “Stalinism”, and “Maoism” are used by critics and detractors of Marx, Lenin, Stalin, Mao, and many others. Thus, the word “Epicureanism” can be employed by critics and detractors of Epicurean philosophy as an indictment of Epicurus.
In the modern era, “-ism” is frequently used to identify political typologies. Terms like “Monarchism”, “Liberalism”, “Conservatism”, “Communism”and “Fascism” express ideological systems that — contrary to Epicurean philosophy — presuppose the existence of an ideal state or utopia, organized according to the dimensions of a perfect, timeless principle.
The suffix “-ισμός” (or “-ismós“) was rarely employed in ancient Greek; few examples of “-ism” (or “-ismós“) exist prior to New Latin, and the linguistic conventions of the modern era. In giving preference to the term “Epicurean philosophy”, we acknowledge the importance of privileging ancient Greek historical sources to the reliance upon Latin translations.

–ISMVS

Our tradition of adding “-ism” to the end of words — in which we recognize distinctive “ideologies” — begins in the post-Classical period, corresponding to the Renaissance. Coming from the Latin “re-” (meaning “again”) and “nasci” (meaning “to be born”), this “Rebirth” resurrected the innovations and observations of Antiquity. The revival allowed scholars to adapt translations through the Latin language, using the Romanalphabet, sheathing many ancient Greek observations. Scholars began to liberally apply the suffix –ISMVS during this period of New Latin.

(I’m going to call the tradition — in which modern English-speakers partake — the “Ism–ism“, or, in other words, “the systemic practice of adding ‘-ism‘ to idea-expressing words”, sometimes as a celebration, sometimes as a derogation, sometimes as a religion, and sometimes as a political system. Due to the profound influence of Latin, and the linguistic conventions of the modern era, we ALL — in one way or another — have become dedicated Ismists.)

From the perspective of the contemporary world, the suffix –ISMVS (or “-ismus“) was first borrowed from the Old Latin language of the Romans, and later appropriated by post-Classical peoples as New Latin and Contemporary Latin. We find an abundance of “-ism” and “-ismus” in both Romance and Germanic language families. As with the Latin –ISMVS, our contemporary suffix “-ism” is used to indicate distinctive “doctrines“, “theories”, “attitudes”, “beliefs”, “practices“, “processes“, “states“, “conditions“, “religions“, “systems“, and “philosophies“.

Here, however, is where we note a difference that our Mediterranean friends have often recognized: while the Greek language — like (for example) Celtic and Indic languages — has evolved from a common Indo-European root, it did NOT adopt Latin conventions the same way that Romance and Germanic languages have. Ancient Greek philosophers — perhaps, especially Epicurus — would NOT have thought of a “philosophy” as an “-ism”.

–ize | –ίζω | –ízō |

We receive the Latin –ISMVS or “-ismus” from the ancient Greek “-ισμός” (“-ismós“), which, itself, is a bracketing of two other ancient Greek words, those words being “-ίζω” (“–ízō“) and “–μός” (“–mós“). We’ll start with the former word. The suffix “-ίζω” (“-ízō“) was added to nouns to form new verbs. Let’s look at (x3) examples:

canonize | κανονίζω | kanonízō
κανών or “kanṓn” literally referred to a “reed”, and carried the connotation of a “measuring rod” or “standard”.
+ “-ίζω“ (“-ízō or “-ize“) rendered “κανονίζω“, “kanonízō” or “canonize” meaning “to make standard“.
Hellenize | ἑλληνίζω | Hellēnízō
ἑλλην or “Héllēn” literally referred to that which is “Greek”.
+ “-ίζω“ (“-ízō or “-ize“) rendered “ἑλληνίζω“, “Hellēnízō“, or “Hellenize” meaning “to make Greek“.
synchronize | συγχρονίζω | súnkhronosízō
σύγχρονος or “súnkhronos” literally referred to “synchronous”
+ “-ίζω“ (“-ízō or “-ize“) rendered “συγχρονίζω“, “súnkhronosízō“, or “synchronize” meaning “to sync“.

The key point with “-ίζω” (“-ízō“) — and our Modern English suffix “-ize” — is that we can turn any concept into a verb, or, in more philosophically interesting terms, we can ACTIVATE it.

–μός | –mós

The second suffix from which the ancient Greek “-ισμός” (“-ismós“) was bracketed is “–μός” (“–mós“). Contrary to the convention of ACTIVATING a word that represents a concept, adding “–μός” (“–mós“) ABSTRACTS an action. We can demonstrate this convention through (x3) other examples that translate well into Modern English:

cataclysm |κατακλυσμός | kataklusmós
κατακλύζω (kataklúzō) – literally meant “to wash away”.
+ “–μός” (“–mós“) rendered “κατακλυσμός“, “kataklusmós” or “cataclysm“, meaning a “great flood“.
sarcasm | σαρκασμός | sarkasmós
“σαρκάζω” or “sarkázō” literally, and figuratively meant “tearing apart” or “to tear off the flesh”.
+ “–μός” (“–mós“) rendered “σαρκασμός“, “sarkasmós” or “sarcasm“, meaning “(figuratively) tearing apart“.
syllogism | συλλογισμός | sullogismós
συλλογίζομαι (sullogízomai) literally meant “to compute” or “to infer”.
+ “–μός” (“–mós“) rendered “συλλογισμός“, “sarkasmós”, or “syllogism“, meaning an “inference“.

The key point with “–μός” (“–mós“) is that the ancient Greeks could turn any verb into a word that expressed an abstract concept, or, in more philosophically interesting terms, it could systematize activity into an idea.

–ism | –ισμός | –ismós

The re-bracketing of the suffix “–μός” (“–mós“) appended with “-ίζω” (“–ízō“) presents us with “-ισμός” (or “-ismós“) or the suffix “-ism“, a convention which systematizes a verb that has been activated from a noun. Very few examples exist in ancient Greek. A suitable example for English mono-linguists can be demonstrated in the word “Sabbath”:

σάββατον | sábbaton literally means “the Sabbath” (borrowed from the Hebrew שבת or “shabát”)
+ “–ίζω” (“-ízō or “–ize“) σαββατίζω | sabbatízō means “to make, observe, or keep the Sabbath”
+ “–ισμός” (“–ismós“) σαββατισμός | sabbatismós means “the state of keeping the Sabbath”

UNLIKE the ubiquitous –ISMVS of Latin, and the overused “-ism” of Modern English, the ancient Greek –ισμός (or “ismós“) is almost NEVERused. The ancient Greeks did NOT shared our zeal for Ismism. When faced with the need to express a NEW word with FRESH meaning, the ancient Greeks built words from either [1] the names of people and objects they directly knew or observed, and [2] active forces they felt or experienced, but NOT as [3] abstract systems.

So, why NOT “Epicureanism“?

The philosophy of Epicurus recognizes that we EXPERIENCE NATURE DIRECTLY and NOT indirectly as an abstract system. Epicurean philosophy and the instruments with which humanity can make informed and ethical decisions — the sensation of an atomic reality, theanticipation of natural patterns, and the feelings of pleasure and pain — neither depend upon allegiance to a single leader, nor initiation into a secret society, nor longing for a golden age.

Christ’s resurrection would NOT be known without the Gospels.
Muhammad’s revelations would NOT be known without the Qur’an.

Even without the historical personage of Epicurus, human beings would still have sensed an atomic reality, anticipated the patterns of nature, and felt pleasure and pain, still have made mutual agreements, and still have formed friendships.

Without Jesus of Nazareth, Christians would NOT know to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
Without Muhammad, Muslims would NOT know to perform Salah to Mecca five times a day.

NATURE, itself, is so much LARGER, more important, and more fundamental than any one personage or tradition. Even without Epicurean Philosophy, humans would still have developed scientific intellects to their own advantage.

“Epicureanism” (or, also, “Epicurism“) carries a connotation – albeit very slightly – that the philosophy of Epicurus is just another doctrinal institution that advertises immaterial truths from an untouchable dimension. It is not quite as authentic to recognize serious seekers of pleasure as “Epicureanists” who follow “Epicureanism” as opposed to “Epicureans” who study “Epicurean philosophy“. Our endeavor rests within our own bodies; NATURE, itself, is the greatest teacher.

All that being said …

… for practical purposes, there most isn’t anything inherently incorrect about preferring the term “Epicureanism“; the “-ism“innocuously identifies a “philosophy“. In Modern English, this does correctly indicate the philosophy of Epicurus, apart from any oath to a mythic person or principle.

Nonetheless, the employment of “Epicurean philosophy” over “Epicureanism” serves to keep our anticipations FRESH, to indicate to others that our interactions are bigger than disembodied souls paddling ideas back and forth in a court of Mind. It acts as a reminder that the path to wisdom is NOT a map that has been given to us from an Eternal Place of Perfection, but that we each carry a well-calibrated compass within ourselves to know the world and guide us to happiness.

“DON’T call [my belief system] an –ism!“

While the preference toward the phrase “Epicurean philosophy” may better reflect its ancient Greek origin, it should NOT indicate that the suffix “-ism” should be reserved as a derogation for non-Epicurean ideas, nor exclusively employed as a polemic toward Idealism. Even Epicurean philosophy, itself, incorporates the “-isms” of atomism, hedonism, naturalism, and materialism; these are most certain NOT idealistic.

Even ancient Greek opponents to Epicurean philosophy did NOT employ the “-ism”. Members of Plato’s Academy were “Academics”; members of Aristotle’s Lyceum with “Peripatetics”; members of Zeno’s Stoa were “Stoics”. It was only later that scholars began to employ the terms “Platonism”, “Aristotelianism”, and “Stoicism”.

Furthermore, this same acknowledgment applies to religious traditions:

The earliest rendering of the religion we refer to as “Judaism” was יהדות or “Yahadút”, from the Hebrew word יהודי (or “Y‘hudá”) meaning “the Jewish people” and the suffix ־ות (or “-ót” ) meaning “the tradition of”. The ismed word that we employ — “Judaism” — is found in Maccabees 2 in the Koine Greek language by Hellenistic Jews, written around 124 BCE (over a thousand years after the foundation of Hebrew monotheism), rendered as ιουδαϊσμός (or “Ioudaismós”).

The word “Zoroastrianism” is first attested from 1854 as an anglicization of the ancient Greek Ζωροάστρης (meaning “Zōroástrēs” or “Zoroaster”) borrowed from the Avestan word or “Zarathustra”. Ancient Iranians referred to their religion as or “Mazdayasna” translating to “worship of Mazda” (also romanized as “Mazdaism”). The word or “Mazda” both identifies the name of the Iranian Creator deity, and also, translates to “wisdom”.

The isming of the religion of post-Classical Arabs has been noted for its inadequacy, and identified in the contemporary era as being largely offensive to the Islamic populations. Until the 20th century, the monotheistic religion of ٱلْإِسْلَام‎ (or “al-Islām”) was identified by Europeans as “Mohammedanism” (or “Muhammadanism”), inappropriately implying that the prophet Muhammad was divine himself, in the same way that Christians think of Jesus of Nazareth as divine.

People from the Punjab region of India refer to their religious tradition as ਸਿੱਖੀ (or “Sikhī) anglicized to the English-speaking world as “Sikhism”. The word comes from the Sanskrit root शिक्षा or “śikṣā” meaning “to learn” or “to study”. (This recognition of the religious practitioner as a “student” is also found in the “Confucian” tradition).

The same is true of “Hinduism”, an anglicization of the Sanskrit सनातन धर्म or “Sanātana Dharma” meaning “Eternal Order“. In fact, the word “Hindu” itself was used by non-Indians to refer to people living around the Indus river. Ancient Indo-Iranian populations would have referred to themselves as आर्य or “Arya” (from which we get the term “Aryan“).

“Jainism” is first attested from 1858 as an anglicization of the Sanskrit adjectiveजैन “Jaina” which comes from the Sanskrit name for the 6^thcentury BCE tradition जिन (or “Jina”). The word “Jina” is related to the verb जि meaning “to conquer”, coming from जय (or “jaya”) meaning “victory”. The word “Jain” indicates a spiritual “conqueror”.

Our rendering of “Buddhism” is an anglicization of the original Pali बुद्ध धम्म (or “Buddha Dhamma“) meaning approximately “The Awakened One’s Eternal Law“. The first recorded use of “Buddhism” was in 1801, after Europeans romanized the spelling of Indic vocabulary.

There is NO direct Chinese equivalent to the word “Confucianism” since it has never been organized as a formal institution. The word was coined in 1836 by Sir Francis Davis, a British sinologist, and second Governor of Hong Kong who reduced the vast collection of ancient Chinese practices into a title named after the philosopher Kǒng Fūzǐ ( or “Master Kong”). While no single Chinese word or logogram represents the collection of beliefs and practices that developed from the teachings of Master Kong (anglicized as “Confucius”), the word 儒 (or “Rú”) roughly translates as a “Man receiving instruction from Heaven” (also, a “scholar”), and is used to describe a student of Master Kong’s body of works.

The Taoists of ancient China identified the universal principle as 道 or “Dào”, meaning “road”, “path” or “Way”. In China, the religious tradition is written 道教 or “Dàojiào” pronounced /’daʊ.ʨaʊ/ (or, for English mono-linguists, roughly transliterated as “dow-chyow”). It was anglicized as “Taoism” in 1838.

“Shintoism”— the anglicized name for the native religion of Japan — provides an interesting example of an ismized tradition. The word “Shinto” is of Chinese origin, constructed from the Kanji logograms for the words 神 “Shén”, (meaning “God”) and 道 “Dào” (meaning “Way”) rendering 神道 or “Shéndào”. However, Shinto populations do not employ this phrase as often as they do the Japanese かむながらのみち or “kan’nagara no michi”, (written in the Hirgana writing system) loosely translated as “way of the divine transmitted from time immemorial”. Consequently, the word “Shintoism” is the anglicization of two syllables from Japanese Kanji, inherited from ancient China’s Hanji logograms.

Christianity has been the dominant tradition of the post-Classical, and modern worlds; thus, it has avoided being reductively –ismed (since the people who accused false traditions of being mere “–isms” tended to be Christian, themselves). The word “Christianism” is occasionally used to express contempt for Christian fundamentalism (much like “Islamism” is used to indicate contempt for Islamic fundamentalism.)

Even early Christians did NOT refer to their tradition using the same vocabulary as do modern Christians. Like Taoists, they used the metaphor of της οδου (or “tês hodoû”) meaning “The Way“. A non-Christian, community in Antioch first coined the term Χριστιανός (or “christianós“) to described the followers of The Way. Within 70 years, the early Church Father Ignatius of Antioch employed the term of Χριστιανισμός (or “Christianismós“) to refer to the Christianity.

Pleasure Wisdom

Regardless of a preference to “Epicurean philosophy” versus “Epicureanism”, the insight of Epicurus’ philosophy demystifies nature and deflates the superstition of common religion. Epicurus anticipated the sciences of particle physics, optics, meteorology, neurology, and psychiatry. His logic was NOT one of theoretical axioms, but of a demonstrable hedonic calculus. Epicurus knew Virtue as a guide post to happiness, but NOT as happiness, itself.

Here, you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is pleasure.

Cheers, friends!

Further Reading:
Hiram’s “On Isms“http://societyofepicurus.com/on-isms/

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Swinish Herds and Pastafarians: Comedy as an Ideological Weapon

The following piece was originally written for classics publication Eidolon.

Go ahead. Try us for thirty days. If you don’t like us, your old religion will most likely take you back. — Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

One of the newest international religious movements today requires its faithful to wear a pasta strainer on their heads and, on occasion, to dress up as pirates — as this couple did for the first Pastafarian wedding in New Zealand. The members of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster posit an afterlife in a paradise island that features pirates, strippers and a beer volcano. Naturally, eating spaghetti and meatballs constitutes a sacrament.

Pastafarianism is a parody religion invented in recent years to make the point that the supernatural claims at the heart of most faiths are mutually contradictory. If we’re going to act as if they’re all just as plausible as each other for the sake of political correctness, then we might as well treat the idea that the Creator is a flying intergalactic nebula of noodles and meatballs — and its hosts of pirates — with the same undeserved respect we afford all other unempirical beliefs.

The roles played and tactics used by secularist comedians and philosophers in the ancient and modern worlds are similar enough that one finds some continuity in their narratives, arguments, and identities. The so-called “New Atheism” is not new. It went through a period of arrested development, but its infancy can be located in dusty scrolls written by ancient intellectuals.

Both the old Epicurean tradition and the modern secular movement have had to deal with thorny issues of free speech, religious privilege, and diversity. They have employed similar tactics in their respective culture wars, including comedy as a weapon against authoritarianism and backwardness. They’ve also both faced persecution for said weaponry. More specifically, the modern practitioners of Pastafarianism are engaging in the kind of disruptive and insightful satire that ancient Epicureans were known for.

The Church of FSM is not the first parody religion in history. At times, the ancient Epicureans also seem to treat their legitimately recognized philosophical tradition as a kind of parody religion, the first inkling of which is their own designation of the Canon as the “book that fell from the heavens”. The Canon was the main piece of foundational writing of Epicurus of Samos, which established the materialist standard of truth based on empirical observation. Epicureans’ love of the Canon was such that their intellectual enemies joked that the Canon had fallen from heaven. The Epicureans seized on this mockery and began jokingly referring to it that way: the Canon had indeed fallen from heaven! It was the atomist Bible, the philosophical Quran. The designation stuck.

Later on, in the first century BCE, the Roman Epicurean poet Lucretius produced didactic and amusing caricatures of his contemporaries’ beliefs that still resonate. After asking why Jove hurls bolts of lightning at innocent people and not at sinners, and why the god should waste his efforts directing fire at deserts and other isolated regions, Lucretius goes on to mock the idea of divine origins of lightning:

Or, as the clouds pass by, does he climb down onto them, that he may aim his bolt close-range?

Lucretius, De Rerum Natura VI.402–403

Needless to say, the tactic of mockery is still in use today among the New Atheists, and there is no shortage of Christians, Muslims and animists who attribute weather phenomena and plagues to an angry, vindictive god.

In the second century CE, Syrian satirist Lucian of Samosata authored a satirical exposé of Alexander of Abonoteichus, a false pagan prophet who profited handsomely from giving obscure oracles to wealthy patrons. His antics are reminiscent of those of Christian televangelists and snake-handling cults of our day. In order to impress people, Alexander walked around carrying a snake and foamed at the mouth, which Lucian explained by accusing the prophet of chewing herbs containing saponin.

Lucian’s work, titled Alexander the Oracle-Monger, constituted the closest thing to our generation’s Religulous for the people of the late Roman Empire. It also nearly cost Lucian his life. Alexander, as it turns out, was not only vindictive but also two-faced — he showered Lucian with favors while plotting to have him killed for mocking his cult. Lucian narrates the event towards the end of his work, in the sixth paragraph before the ending:

When I intended to sail, he sent me many parting gifts, and offered to find us […] a ship and crew — which offer I accepted in all confidence. When the passage was half over, I observed the master in tears arguing with his men, which made me very uneasy. It turned out that Alexander’s orders were to seize and fling us overboard; in that case his war with me would have been lightly won. But the crew were prevailed upon by the master’s tears to do us no harm. “I am sixty years old, as you can see,” he said to me; “I have lived an honest blameless life so far, and I should not like at my time of life, with a wife and children too, to stain my hands with blood.” And with that preface he informed us what we were there for, and what Alexander had told him to do.

When Lucian attempted to bring charges against the false prophet, the Roman senators convinced him to abandon the entire matter. Many of the senators were not only clients of the prophet, but also fearful of retaliation from his mobs of followers. Lucian gathered stories about Alexander’s fraudulent practices until the prophet died in old age, at which point he published the satire. The false prophet got away with attempted murder.

Fun fact: it is in this work that Lucian invented the tradition of literally calling out bullshit. At the beginning of Alexander the Oracle Monger, Lucian makes the very first reference to bull crap in literary history when comparing Alexander’s fraudulent and evil practices to “the unspeakable filth that three thousand oxen could produce in many years”:

You, my dear Celsus, possibly suppose yourself to be laying upon me quite a trifling task: “Write me down in a book and send me the life and adventures, the tricks and frauds, of the impostor Alexander of Abonutichus” […] if you will promise to read with indulgence, and fill up the gaps in my tale from your imagination, I will essay the task. I may not cleanse that Augean stable completely, but I will do my best, and fetch you out a few loads as samples of the unspeakable filth that three thousand oxen could produce in many years.

Lucian’s narrative is peppered with affectionate words of praise for Epicurus and his legacy, and the work was allegedly written as an act of Epicurean solidarity. From this introductory paragraph, we get another picture of the cheerful cultural milieu of the Epicureans. It depicts a kind of “culture of comedy” advanced by Epicureans like Lucian — who, in addition to being funny, was known as a brilliantly engaging and entertaining narrator. His close associates, like the one Celsus mentions here, enjoyed listening to his stories so much that they wanted a record for their ongoing amusement and that of future generations.

Going back to the original tale of religious immunity and privilege, we see that it resonates with contemporary and recent events. Consider, for example, the Catholic Church’s predatory practices and dodging of the judicial system for generations, which has also inspired much satire. Another parallel could be the violent Islamic attacks and intimidation against cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo and authors like Salman Rushdie. These conflicts show the tension between comedy and authoritarian religions, where (perhaps excessive and undeserved) respect is channeled toward certain persons or symbols. Even when our societies do enshrine the right to blaspheme within broader guarantees of freedom of expression, there are communities under the sway of authoritarian religions that may coerce the state into annulling those guarantees — if only temporarily.

Some may argue that it’s precisely because of these dangers that one must artfully employ parrhesia, which translates as “frank criticism” or “frank speech”. Parrhesia was initially a power reserved for free Greek citizens, but Epicurean philosophers turned it into a tool for constant self-betterment and education. Philodemus of Gadara taught that “philosophy heals through frank criticism.”

In his scroll On Frank Criticism, Philodemus mentions that philosophers employed two forms of therapeutic parrhesia. On the one hand, private criticism cleanses the human character and purges bad habits and diseases of the soul. On the other hand, public criticism helps emancipate people from blind traditions, societal conventions, and false views that are degrading and generate suffering. The idea was to diagnose a disease of the soul for treatment. Parrhesia could be unpleasant, like bad medicine, particularly when the recipient was wealthy or arrogant. The Epicureans were known for softening the medicine with “suavity”, a virtue of soft and gentle speech. Comedy can also help to lubricate parrhesia’s harshness.

In the modern LGBTQ community, parrhesia can take the form of “reading” someone. Although it can sometimes be demeaning, at other times it can genuinely serve to therapeutically humiliate or demonstrate a weakness or flaw of character: the arrogance and empty insinuation of moral superiority of a preacher, the lying tendencies of a politician, the insecurities of a bigot. Societies need to appoint clowns who look from the outside and deflate hypocrisies with mockery and frankness. Drag queens frequently perform this role in the West, as their Two-Spirit gender-variant counterparts did in pre-contact Native American cultures. The LGBTQ community also employs parrhesia in another way: the process of coming out of the closet. This practice not only creates the opportunity of authenticity for the person coming out, but forces greater authenticity on the rest of society.

The use of various forms of parrhesia is one of the threads that unites secular activists and their allies. Creationism and notions of divine intervention in nature were as large of a concern to pagans and secularists as they are today. Modern Pastafarians have built an entire circus of parody around the inane, absurd beliefs in divine creation that persist into the 21st century.

A note here will help to illustrate the different attitudes adopted by progressive secular communities and regressive religious ones, as exemplified by ancient Epicureans and contemporary Muslims. The pig is considered dirty and insulting in the Islamic tradition, whereas the Epicureans accepted the pig as a symbol for the pleasant life of a hedonist. In the villa of Herculaneum, Philodemus and his Epicurean community prominently displayed a sculpture of a pig. The poet Horace jokingly asserted that he was “a fat pig of Epicurus’ den.” The comparison of Epicureans with pigs seems to have started out as an insult by enemy schools inspired by the Epicureans’ love of pleasure.

Their cheerful affirmation in poetry and sculpture of being a swinish herd, even up to the adoption of the pig as a formal symbol as we see in Herculaneum, together with their designation of their Bible-like Canon as “the book that fell from heaven”, demonstrates the Epicureans’ cheerfulness and willingness to not take themselves too seriously. This seems to have been a proud cultural trait of the Epicureans. It is impossible to imagine Muslims so easily and jokingly assuming epithets like “pig”.

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.”— George Carlin

This quintessential cultural difference characterizes both the modern and ancient culture wars between secularists and religionists. We may argue that it goes back to Democritus, the precursor of Epicurus who was known as the “Laughing Philosopher” for making cheerfulness his key virtue and for the way in which he mocked human behavior. The tradition of the laughing philosophers had to start with the first atomist: materialism liberates us from unfounded beliefs to such an extent that it renders absurd the beliefs and the credulity of the mobs.

Epicureans and Cynics have continued this tradition. Atheist comedian George Carlin — who was in fact a Philosophy major — is one of the most recent and most brilliant examples of a laughing philosopher. He employed comedy and frank criticism in a manner that was blasphemous, disruptive, and liberating. He did not reserve his bad medicine for religion alone. His rant against the bankers, many years prior to the 2008 banking collapse, was nearly prophetic.

The phenomenon of parody religions is quite popular today among militant atheists. Pastafarians worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster and, as a form of protest against and commentary about the excesses of religious privilege, have in recent years been involved in controversies for insisting on having their official picture IDs taken with pasta strainers and requesting that their faith be legitimized via census.

As we’ve seen, ancient Epicureans also often behaved like a parody religion and used Pastafarian-like tactics. But the political intentions behind their disruption took a second seat behind the educational, philosophical, and comedic value of their cultural output. In the “Isle of the Blessed” passage from True History, Lucian invents and describes in great detail a paradise. He sends all the Epicureans and kindred spirits to his version of heaven, in the center of which is a sacred Well of Laughter, but refuses to admit members of enemy schools by comically depicting how they failed to find the isle. Aristotelians, on their way to the Isle of the Blessed, stopped and were perplexed at how it was possible for such a thing to exist. Stoics were busy scaling the hill of virtue. Lucian uses wit to expound the Epicurean doctrine of how relying too much on logic, or setting goals other than pleasure, can hinder human happiness.

Similarly, some Pastafarians will temporarily put all joking aside and argue that their cult does present some legitimate philosophical points concerning who carries the burden of proof with regards to religious claims, and how every single unprovable supernatural assertion is just as valid as the creation myth that we find in the Bible.

There is great tension in Europe as a result of the rise of Islamic extremism, and many Westerners are looking to an idealized past for a shared identity and solidarity. Although Epicurus was not an atheist, many secularists frequently look to Epicurus for a role model. As a result, this Greek humanist hero is making a comeback, as attested by the proliferation of Epicurean blogs and memes on social media. The wise man of Samos has even been replicated in effigies made with 3D printers — a highly personalized, futuristic sculptural tradition that has begun in our generation. Perhaps that is a symptom of how Epicurus is being reimagined for future generations by modern humanists.

We need culture heroes to uphold the values of Western civilization and free expression. Epicurus and the tradition of laughing philosophers provide a deep-rooted cultural well that satisfies the strong desire that many Westerners feel to re-imagine their identities in line with strong scientific and secular principles.

Pastafarians and the New Atheists have appropriated many of the methods and discourse that Epicureans initially proposed and used. Lucretius’ arguments about how the gods didn’t make this imperfect world for humans are still used today. Today’s so-called culture wars, expressions of which we find in both New Atheism and parody religions, are in many ways a continuation of the ancient conversations, identities, tactics, and narratives of the Epicureans, and more broadly of the laughing philosophers.

Parrhesia and comedy are not the only tools in the Epicurean toolkit. There is also suavity, the virtue of gentle and kind speech that Epicureans were known for, and it is here that the Epicureans might have something to add to New Atheism, helping people to find the balance between militancy and ataraxia — the peace of mind and stable pleasure that was the ultimate goal of Epicurean therapy. Frank speech is the sign of us being free citizens. But there are many ways of saying something, and sometimes the utility of our words is sacrificed in their harshness.

Further Reading:
Lucian: Selected Dialogues (Oxford World’s Classics)

Happy Herculaneum Day!

Happy Herculaneum Day! Today is the anniversary of the eruption of the volcano that destroyed the city of Herculaneum, which hosted both Philodemus of Gadara and the poet Horace. In memory of those who came before us, this month we published links to essays and quotes from sources to help students of Epicurean philosophy who wish to deepen their understanding of the content of the Philodeman scrolls on piety and on property management.

First Principle of Autarchy

Second Principle of Autarchy

Fourth Principle of Autarchy

Third, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Principles of Autarchy

First Principle of Piety

Second, Third and Fourth Principles of Piety

FIfth, Sixth, and Seventh Principle of Piety