Epicureanism
Page 18
It is not quite so obvious, however, that the Epicureans’ argument against the badness of death depends on their hedonism. The crucial manoeuvre that Nagel makes is to admit the existence of what we might call “counterfactual harms”: things that are not bad in themselves but are bad because of what would have been had they not occurred. But once we admit such harms, hedonists could also say that death is harmful, in so far as it deprives a person of pleasures he would otherwise have experienced, and hence makes him worse off.
For a follower of Bentham, this is especially obvious: longer time allows me to accumulate a greater amount of pleasure. And Nagel, although no hedonist, follows this basic line of thought when it comes to the value of life: in so far as life is something good, more of it is better (ibid.: 9–10). As we have seen (Ch. 12, § “Varieties of pleasure”), Epicurus rejects this conception of pleasure. Once we have reached the limit of pleasure, which is the removal of all pain in mind and body, time does not increase pleasure. So infinite time and finite time contain equal pleasure (KD 19). Furthermore, once you obtain the things that remove the pain caused by desire, your whole life is complete (KD 21). So the life of the Epicurean sage who has reached the state of ataraxia is complete. Since he enjoys his life, he is happy to continue living, but continuing to live does not fundamentally make his life any better, and he loses nothing when he dies.1
Still, if we admit such counterfactual harms, it seems that even Epicurus would have to admit that some people are harmed by death. Imagine a misguided politician, struggling to hold on to power, who is also worried about being sent to Acheron. He reads Lucretius and is attracted by his message, and he realizes that his present life is troubled. He seeks out the local Epicurean community and starts to spend time there, admiring the tranquillity of the people he meets. His life is still harried, but he resolves to work through Epicurus’ On Nature, to see if the answers he seeks are there. But shortly before he is going to look at the arguments for why death is annihilation, he steps out of his office, and a passing horse tramples him to death. In his case, at least, it looks as though death harmed him: if the horse had not trampled him, he would have attained ataraxia, with just a little more time to work on his desires and to embrace Epicurus’ healing message, but he did not.
But Epicurus could simply restate the basic “no subject of harm” argument in this case too. The politician’s death did not affect him while he was alive, as it had not occurred yet, so it was not bad for him while he was alive, and after he died he does not exist, so it is not bad for him then either. His vain and empty desire for power and his belief in Acheron harmed him while he was alive, and his early death prevented him from curing himself, but his death still was not bad for him, as he did not exist after his death to be harmed. Paradoxically, as third-person observers, we can look back on the politician’s life as a whole and say that it was worse than it would have been had he not been trampled, but for the politician living his life, there is never a point at which he is harmed by death.
This leads to Nagel’s second main contention: trying to locate the exact time when the harm of death occurs is mistaken. Death is bad for the person who died, in so far as he is the one who is deprived of life and all of the goods of life. This may seem to involve some sort of objectionable backwards causation: how can I be harmed in 2009 by an event that has not yet occurred? But in so far as my life as a whole is rendered worse by the bus pulverizing me, it is bad for me and harms me, although not at any time in particular (Nagel 1979: 5–7).2
The symmetry argument
The Epicureans assume that it is mainly the possibility of postmortem suffering that fuels the fear of death. Still, many people also find the prospect of permanent non-existence unsettling. I now exist. But one day, whether by bus, pancreatic cancer or something else, I will die. And then I will not exist. Ten years after I die, I still will not exist. And a hundred years, a thousand years, for ever and ever: an eternity of non-existence, stretching forward endlessly, awaits.
Fortunately, says Lucretius, nature has provided a mirror to allow us to contemplate what that eternity of post-mortem non-existence will be like: the eternity of pre-natal non-existence (DRN III 972–7). After all, there was an eternity of time before our births in which we did not exist. And when we think back on that time, we do not regard it with horror. We do not say to ourselves, “Oh my god – nonexistence was so terrible! I’m lucky to have escaped it, for at least a brief time. But with death, alas, I will slip back into that wretched non-existence”. Really, it was not all that bad. And we should face the prospect of our post-mortem non-existence with equal equanimity, as in all relevant respects the two are the same.
In theory, one could respond to Lucretius by agreeing that the two periods are the same, but arguing that we ought to bring our attitudes toward them in line with one another by starting to regard our pre-natal non-existence with horror. But most people who object to Lucretius grant him the supposition that we do and should regard the eternity of time before our births with equanimity. Instead, they argue that birth and death are importantly asymmetrical, so that we are rational to have differing attitudes towards each.
This is what Nagel does. Death is bad because of the goods it deprives us of. But birth does not deprive us of goods in the same sort of way. It might be asked why this is the case. After all, if my death in 2010 is bad for me because of all of the goods I would have enjoyed had I died in 2030, why is my birth in 1968 not bad for me, as it deprived me of all of the goods I would have enjoyed had I been born in 1948 instead, such as listening to Jimi Hendrix at Altamont?
People often ask silly counterfactual questions about their lives, such as “What would my life have been like if I had been born in the Middle Ages?”, and then they argue over whether they would have been hailed as geniuses or burned at the stake as heretics. The correct answer is that anybody born in the Middle Ages would not have been you, but another person. (On the other hand, we can sensibly ask what would have happened to Jimi Hendrix had he not overdosed when he did.) Leaving aside cases of slight premature birth, you had to have been born when you were in order to be you (Nagel 1979: 7–8).
At least two different sorts of justification can be given for this position. The first is put forward by Saul Kripke (1980: lecture III). There are many different lives you could have led, but in order for it to be your life, and not the life of another human being, the same egg and sperm must have united to produce you. So the biological origin of your life is necessary as the start of your life, even though many possible futures branch off from this starting-point.
The second is inspired by Derek Parfit’s (1971; 1984: pt III) account of personal identity. What makes me the person I am now is that I have certain beliefs, desires and character traits. And what makes me the same person across time are the bonds of psychological continuity and connectedness between my present self and past selves, especially (although not exclusively) through memory. So if “I” had been born at any time other than when I was, “my” life would have been so utterly different that it would not have been mine in any significant sense, but that of another person. Even if, under some science fiction scenario, the sperm and egg that united to form me had been harvested earlier and united five years prior to when I was born, the resultant person would not have been me, in a Parfitian sense. In fact, we can make the same basic point without science fiction. My parents – my adoptive parents – adopted me when I was about six months old. In Kripke’s sense, there is another possible world in which Tim O’Keefe was adopted by different parents, although in that world he would not be named Tim O’Keefe, but (let us say) Dirk Dragovic. But by Parfrt’s standards, even though that human being could have been adopted by different people, when I look back at it now, Dirk’s life is not a life that I could have led, but the life of a different person, as it would be so completely different in almost every particular that makes my life my life.
So the symmetry argument seems to succeed in so
far as it shows that there is nothing fearful in eternal non-existence as such, past or future. But if one is attracted to Nagel’s contention that death is bad because of what it deprives us of, there still seems to be an important asymmetry between birth and death.
The deaths of others and the effects of your death on others
As we have noted, the main Epicurean arguments against the fear of death address you fearing that your death will be bad for you. But the Epicureans do address the deaths of others and the effect of our death on other people. As strict psychological and ethical egoists, we might expect them to take a hard line concerning these: after I am dead, the welfare of my family is nothing to me, and the death of my friend is not my problem, except in so far as it has an impact on how he can provide for my welfare. But, consistently or not, they do not take this crass and cold-hearted line.
In so far as the main Epicurean arguments show that death is not bad for the person who has died, they should also help greatly lessen our grief at the deaths of loved ones. Most people would feel terrible if their daughter were to die during open-heart surgery or their friend were to be obliterated in a car crash. But as Lucretius notes (DRN III 904–11), if death is not bad for the person who has died, and the dead feel no pain whatsoever, for us to feel great pain on their behalf seems irrational.
While realizing that death is not bad for the person who has died might help reduce our grief, it does not eliminate the impact the absence of loved ones has on us. Still, even though a wise Epicurean benefits from his friends, he should have a network of friends such that the death of one of them will not ruin his life. Epicurus says that the memory of a dead friend is sweet (Plut. Non posse 1105e, IG I-121). This goes along with the general Epicurean recommendation to experience mental pleasures by calling up memories of past good times: when my friend has died, I should fondly and gratefully think back on him. And as a good friend and a just person, a wise Epicurean will scrupulously make whatever provisions he needs to in order to ensure the well-being of his loved ones after he dies. Indeed, Epicurus himself did so in his will.3
Despite all of this, the Epicureans apparently say that to eliminate entirely pain, tears and lamentations at the deaths of friends would be a kind of bad insensitivity These pains are worth experiencing in order to seem tender and gain the benefits of friendship (Plut. Non posse 1101a-b, IG I-40). Here, it is hard to see why it would be good to experience pain at the deaths of friends for the sake of cultivating friendship – Plutarch even mentions weeping copiously and swooning – rather than its being good to risk great pain in order to benefit one’s living friends for the sake of cultivating friendship. Likewise, the Epicurean Philodemus says that it is natural to shed a tear and feel a “bite” of sorrow at the thought that people you love will face material hardship because of your death (Phld. On Death XXV 2–10). These “bites” are genuine, painful emotions, but they are passing and are not severe enough to threaten seriously the overall state of tranquillity of the sage.4 But this position might not be orthodox: as noted above (Ch. 15, § “A heterodox account of friendship”), Philodemus is probably one of the heterodox “timid” Epicureans in Cicero’s On Ends who advance a theory of friendship in which, with familiarity, you come to love your friend for his own sake. A person who does develop this sort of other-regarding love for friends and family might be expected to feel a bite of pain at the thought that they might suffer from his death, even if it could have no impact on him directly.
The psychological complexity of the fear of death
The Epicureans believe that their arguments succeed in showing that the fear of death is irrational, and that accepting these arguments will help move you towards a state of psychic health. Still, they have no illusions that an argument or two, no matter how clever, will immediately cure the fear of death. The fear of death is a complex phenomenon, and maybe only the wise Epicurean will be free of it entirely.
The Epicureans acknowledge the existence of subconscious mental states, especially when it comes to death. For example, Lucretius discusses our attitudes towards our corpses. Many people worry about their bodies slowing putrefying, or being burned up, or being torn apart by wild animals. Lucretius says that people who have these sorts of worries may emphatically declare that they will feel nothing when they are dead, but deep in their hearts they still have the unconscious belief that some part of them survives their death to suffer (DRN III 870–93). Likewise, the fear of death can manifest itself in ways that the person himself does not recognize as being caused by the fear of death. Lucretius gives a vivid description of a restless man, bored at his spacious mansion, rushing off to his country villa, only to find he is no better off there. Lucretius writes that his restlessness and dissatisfaction are caused by his fear of death. He does not realize that he is engaging in the fruitless attempt to escape from himself, and that he hates himself because he is sick and does not understand the cause of his illness. What such a person needs to do first is to study the nature of things (DRN III 1053–75).
But if the fear of death can express itself in unexpected ways, such as restless pacing through the halls of one’s mansion, the process can work the other way too: other types of psychic illness express themselves through our fear of death, so perhaps it is only the person who is entirely healthy who will be entirely free of the fear of death. Certain unjustified and destructive attitudes towards life fuel the fear of death. Lucretius depicts a personified Nature as chastising an old man for his fear of death. According to Nature, he fears death because he always desires what is not there (DRN III 957), and because he thinks that he has not had enough out of life. Thus, since he thinks that his life is incomplete (DRN III 958), he is fearful when he thinks of it being taken away from him. In his own voice, Lucretius makes much the same point at the end of book three: acquisitive attitudes and the fear of death are closely entwined. Many people are never satisfied with what they presently have. This causes them to lust for life, in order to get what they do not yet have, but this gaping thirst can never be quenched (DRN III 1076–86). So even if a person accepts the conclusion that death is “nothing to us”, this would not immediately remove the acquisitive attitudes that cause him (inconsistently) to continue to fear death and cling to life. For that to happen, the complete Epicurean cure is needed.5
Lucretius also writes that the afterlife tortures of mythology are really just projections of torments that afflict people here and now (DRN III 978–1023). For example, there is no literal Sisyphus, condemned to push his rock to the top of a mountain, only to see it repeatedly roll back down to the bottom. But real-world politicians thirsty for public approval are like Sisyphus, as they suffer great hardships in the pursuit of power, in the end always to come away disappointed. Lucretius catalogues the real-world analogues of those mythologically tormented in Hades, and he concludes, “Hell exists here on earth – in the lives of fools” (DRN III 1023).
Realizing that hell is here allows us to focus our energies where we should: away from the empty torments of superstition and towards eradicating the desires that make our earthly lives hellish. Likewise, Epicurus writes, realizing that there are no afterlife blessings or torments frees us to concentrate on attaining blessedness in our ephemeral lives here and now: “We are born only once, and we cannot be born twice; and one must for all eternity exist no more. You are not in control of tomorrow and yet you delay your opportunity to rejoice” (SV 14, IG trans.).
Glossary of terms
aponia Lack of bodily distress. Considered the limit of bodily pleasure by the Epicureans.
apraxia Inaction. The Epicureans would often deploy apraxia arguments (“inaction” or “lazy” arguments), alleging that their opponents’ positions (such as determinism and scepticism) would make action irrational or impossible.
ataraxia Lack of mental turmoil; tranquillity or peace of mind. Considered the limit of mental pleasure by the Epicureans, and the primary constituent of the happy life.
atom�
�Unsplittable building-blocks of matter.
canon (kanōn) Literally “measuring rod”, the Epicurean term for the criteria of truth.
cosmos An ordered world-system: the earth, sun, moon and other celestial bodies. For the Epicureans, our particular cosmos is only one of an infinite number of cosmoi.
cradle argument “Cradle” arguments use observations of infant behaviour to establish what is desirable. The Epicurean version claims that infant behaviour establishes that only pleasure is intrinsically desirable.
eidōla (images) Streams of atoms constantly thrown off of the surfaces of objects that cause visual sensations when they strike our eyes.
katastematic pleasures “Static” pleasures that have to do with being in a state free of want or need, such as being satiated after having eaten.
kinetic pleasures Pleasures that have to do with experiencing an enjoyable “motion”, such as the sensation of eating something when hungry.
minima Smallest spatial magnitudes, which cannot even theoretically be divided further. Posited by the Epicureans to solve Zeno of Elea’s paradoxes of motion.
physics The study of nature (phusis). For the Epicureans, “physics” includes subjects such as the basic constituents of the world and the principles that govern their movement, cosmology, biology and the relationship of the mind to the body.
preconception (prolēpsis) Basic concept whose meaning we grasp without need for any additional definition.
swerve An undetermined atomic motion to the side by exactly one spatial minimum. Supposedly necessary for there to be atomic collisions and for freedom of action.
teleological explanation A telos is somethings goal, end or purpose, and tele-ological explanations appeal to such things as the purpose of the heart or the intentions of the gods. With the exception of appealing to the desires of animals, Epicureans generally oppose teleological explanations.