Principal Doctrine 11:
If we were not at all disturbed by apprehensions about celestial phenomena and about death, fearing that it meant something to us, as well as by our ignorance of the limits of suffering and desire, we would have no need of natural science.
Principal Doctrine 12:
It is not possible for someone to dispel his fears about the most important matters if he does not understand the nature of the universe, but makes conjectures according to mythology. This is why one cannot attain unmixed pleasure without knowledge of natural science.
Principal Doctrine 13:
Obtaining security against men is no use if you still regard things in the heavens, beneath the earth, and in the boundless universe with suspicion.
Commentary
Epicureanism has a unique position in the history of science. On the one hand, the Epicureans were remarkably prescient on a wide number of factual claims about the physical world and employ methods that are strikingly closer to modern science than those of their predecessors (and many of their successors). On the other, however, they were notably moderate in their enthusiasm for the pursuit of science qua science—Epicurus insists that the main function of any study should be to assuage the fears that keep us from happiness. Today, many enthusiasts of the sciences would probably endorse the value of “knowledge for knowledge’s sake,” but I think the Epicurean perspective is correct: we should keep our scientific pursuits focused on the ultimate goal of making our inner lives better.
In today’s selection from the Principal Doctrines, Epicurus claims that natural science will sooth our fears and apprehensions about subjects such as celestial phenomena and death. If you haven’t reviewed your Epicurean advances in physics, cosmology, and meteorology recently, it might help to review some of the perspectives they advanced, often against the popular consensus of their day:
The universe was not designed, nor is it currently managed, by any omnipotent deity.
All celestial phenomena, from comets to thunderstorms, can therefore be attributed to purely material causes, rather than divine agency.
Everything is made of tiny, invisible particles (atoms), which are combined in different ways to form different substances and objects.
Since everything is material, when our bodies die, we die. There is no afterlife.
The universe is inconceivably vast. We are not the center of it and there are other worlds.
To these we can add some more biological insights as well:
The animals that we see living today are those that were well-suited to survive. In the past there were other animals that were not well-suited to survive—these have gone extinct.
Humans are basically similar to other animals. Our more complex language and social systems developed over time because they were useful to our survival.
And some important methodological improvements:
Our understanding of the world cannot come from purely a priori reasoning, but must incorporate empirical, sensible data along with our rational evaluation of its significance.
Sometimes, the limits of human observation do not allow us to explain the cause of a given natural phenomenon with certainty. In such cases, we should formulate multiple hypotheses—all physical in nature, with no postulate of divine intervention—and suspend our judgment as to which one is correct.
This is, of course, a brief and favorable summary. Specific Epicurean claims can easily be found that did not pan out, and some of their theories now seem quaint. For instance, while Epicurus entertained the (correct) possibility that the daily setting of the sun came from the earth blocking its light, he also felt that we could not rule out a daily extinguishing and subsequent rekindling based on the conditions of different layers of the atmosphere. Overall, however, it is striking how much the Epicureans got right.
More important than the minutiae of the Epicurean meteorological claims are two insights that run throughout their scientific writings. First, they were highly prescient in their famous method of “multiple causes”—it is sound scientific practice to formulate multiple plausible hypotheses, then evaluate your evidence to see if you can rule each one out. Sometimes, our available tools and data will not allow us to decide which one is correct, and in that case, remaining agnostic as to the precise mechanisms of nature is the responsible thing to do. This approach is arguably central to modern scientific method. Secondly, the Epicureans were tremendously successful in their core goals of reducing our fears of the gods and of death. Their central relevant claims would come to be endorsed by the great mass of subsequent scientific progress—physical phenomena have physical causes, there is no afterlife—and are increasingly accepted by the public with each passing century.
Such are the Epicurean scientific bona fides. Where they probably differ from much of the modern scientific or academic community, however, is in their insistence that science be useful. Nor does this mean “useful for increasing material abundance,” which is another mindset you might encounter today, but rather “useful for achieving peace of mind.” Much of the research taking place in modern universities—whether in the hard sciences, social sciences, or humanities—would probably be rejected by Epicurus as rather pointless in reference to this goal. (Plato and Aristotle would likely be more sympathetic.) This requirement of therapeutic usefulness is quite explicit in the first of today’s maxims:
11. If we were not at all disturbed by apprehensions about celestial phenomena and about death, fearing that it meant something to us, as well as by our ignorance of the limits of suffering and desire, we would have no need of natural science.
The point of natural science is to dispel fear and ignorance that causes us pain. If we experienced no disturbance or pain, we would have no need of science. PD 12 and 13 reinforce this message of the proper function of science:
12. It is not possible for someone to dispel his fears about the most important matters if he does not understand the nature of the universe, but makes conjectures according to mythology. This is why one cannot attain unmixed pleasure without knowledge of natural science.
13. Obtaining security against men is no use if you still regard things in the heavens, beneath the earth, and in the boundless universe with suspicion.
According to PD 12, the point of natural science is to help us attained “unmixed pleasure,” which is not degraded or offset by fear. According to PD 13, just as our fears can be reduced by taking practical action to increase our worldly security, we also need to systematically eliminate our suspicions about natural phenomena. There is no prudential action that will prevent us from encountering thunder, earthquakes, and comets—the correct remedy for fear of such things is natural science, which will teach us that these phenomena do not originate from divine displeasure and cannot be prevented through prayer or sacrifice.
Elsewhere, Epicurus expands on the case of useless knowledge. While to know the “essential cause” of natural phenomena is important for peace of mind, certainty regarding the exact details of natural processes is not. Some people dedicate their lives to such investigations, but continue to live in fear. Their version of natural science is not helping them much: while it is very important to know that thunder does not come from an angry Zeus, it is not that important to actually be able to explain the precise physical process behind the phenomena:
We must believe that to discover accurately the cause of the most essential facts is the function of the science of nature, and that blessedness for us in the knowledge of celestial phenomena lies in this… But what falls within the investigation of rising and settings and turnings and eclipses, and all that is akin to this, is no longer of any value for the happiness which knowledge brings, but persons who have perceived all this, but yet do not know what are the natures of these things and what are the essential causes, are still in fear, just as if they did not know these things at all.
(Letter to Herodotus 78–79, translated by Cyril Bailey)
While most people today do not think of themselves as “natural scientists,” these precepts continue to be perfectly relevant in the modern world. Many of us are heirs to the Epicurean scientific legacy, in that we do not experience baseless fears of an afterlife or of divine displeasure as expressed through weather. But some people do continue to suffer such fears. Similarly, many people express concerns about ghosts, aliens, and other paranormal phenomena. For anyone in such a case, Epicurus would recommend the practice of science, including discriminating judgment when evaluating evidence and the provisional acceptance of multiple hypotheses that are grounded in known physical possibilities over the introduction of unwarranted supernatural assumptions.
Furthermore, although “celestial phenomena” play a prominent role in these maxims, we should recognize that “natural science” is not limited to such topics. Epicurus also includes the correct understanding of death and human desires as subjects treated by natural science. Most broadly, then, we can say that science consists in looking at the evidence for how things work and drawing the most parsimonious and rational conclusions we can, while avoiding the intrusion of any unwarranted assumptions based on “myths”—a broad category that includes all the hearsay and stories that get repeated and handed down without critical evaluation.
Many people are free from superstitions about Zeus and Poseidon, but still behave in broadly superstitious ways when it comes to, say, understanding human nature, interpreting animal behavior, simplistic determinism, risk evaluation, and so on. People consequently adhere to unrealistic political expectations, think of their dogs as more human-like than they are, curse their fate/childhood/genes as preventing their happiness, and engage in compulsive gambling, just to name some of the multitudinous instances of irrationality that might be dispelled by more sober evaluation of the evidence.
Finally, what about the non-instrumental pleasures of learning and knowledge? Reading the bare sentences of the Principal Doctrines might make you think that the Epicureans are utterly dismissive of the joy found in the pursuit of knowledge. I don’t think that’s really the case. First, if something is a net source of pleasure to you, Epicureans generally consider that benign and perfectly reasonable to pursue. They forbid no harmless pleasures. Next, in practice, Epicureans obviously spent significant time investigating natural phenomena. They found the biggest and most essential component of that pleasure to come from the dispelling of fear, but this doesn’t disallow the possibility of enjoying the research process along the way.
Finally, natural science is vital to the grand sense of wonder Lucretius discussed in a passage that I shared a few weeks ago, addressed to Epicurus:
For as soon as your reason proclaims the nature of things, And your mind like a god’s shows us at last what is real, All the terrors that once haunted the soul disappear, The walls of the world open, and everything is revealed. … Granted these sights, a divine pleasure takes hold of me, And I am filled with awe and wonder, seeing by your power Nature now uncovered and her beauty all laid bare.
Our scientific knowledge has advanced. It is easier than ever to live without fear of the gods or the afterlife. Superstitious fears retreat on all sides. Things that were baffling have become comprehensible. But the world is not denuded of wonder or beauty by this process. Rather, illusory simplifications have been replaced by richer webs of meaning. The world used to be a comic book, with stories fit for children; now it is a vast and subtle novel. And to read that novel well is to see how little we have to fear, and how much we have to wonder at.
Read the complete series on the Principal Doctrines here.
Original Text
11. εἰ μηθὲν ἡμᾶς αἱ τῶν μετεώρων ὑποψίαι ἠνώχλουν καὶ αἱ περὶ θανάτου, μή ποτε πρὸς ἡμᾶς ᾖ τι, ἔτι τε τὸ μὴ κατανοεῖν τοὺς ὅρους τῶν ἀλγηδόνων καὶ τῶν επιθυμιῶν, οὐκ ἄν προσεδεόμεθα φυσιολογίας.
12. οὐκ ἦν τὸ φοβούμενον λύειν ὑπὲρ τῶν κυριωτάτων μὴ κατειδότα τίς ἡ τοῦ σύμπαντος φύσις, ἀλλʼ ὑποπτευόμενόν τι τῶν κατὰ τοὺς μύθους· ὥστε οὐκ ἦν ἄνευ φυσιολογίας ἀκεραίους τὰς ἡδονὰς ἀπολαμβάνειν.
13. οὐθὲν ὄφελος ἦν τὴν κατ’ ἀνθρώπους ἀσφάλειαν κατασκευάζεσθαι τῶν ἄνωθεν ὑπόπτων καθεστώτων καὶ τῶν ὑπὸ γῆς καὶ ἁπλῶς τῶν ἐν τῷ ἀπείρῳ.
It also does a disservice to children, they are far more capable, or many are, than we give them credit for.
Well done. My only quibble, and this doesn't impact the Epicurean points, is the line "The world used to be a comic book, with stories fit for children." I'm a big fan of the medium of comics, from Maus to Derf's masterful Kent State: Four Dead in Ohio and many other "comic books" written for an adult audience. So, when comic books (or, if one likes, "graphic novels") are equated with children and simplistic stories, it does a disservice to the medium and the creators and strengthens a stereotype. I would have preferred "the world used to be a fairy tale" as the metaphor, but that's the only thing that took me out of your flow of ideas. Keep up the good work!