Lucretius’ decision to embody his philosophical message in the form of an epic/didactic poem is an inherently paradoxical one. Though the idea that poetry might deal with such an abstruse and highly technical subject as atomic physics would not have seemed alien to an ancient audience (the didactic poets of the Hellenistic period seem to have relished the challenge of versifying apparently intractable material, while the philosopher-poets of the sixth and fifth centuries bce offered a precedent for the combination of verse-form and philosophical subject matter), Lucretius had to confront a problem which arose specifically from the combination of Epicurean philosophy with this particular literary form. A number of ancient authorities (see especially Epicurus frr. 117 and 163; Diog. Laert. 10.120; Cic. Fin. 1.71-2 and 2.12; Plut. Mor. 1087a, 1094d-e) suggest that
Epicurus himself maintained a dismissive and hostile attitude towards poetry and the liberal arts in general. There is some controversy about the precise details of Epicurus’ views on the subject (almost nothing survives of the philosopher’s own writings on this topic, and the treatises on poetics and rhetoric composed by the Epicurean Philodemus - a contemporary of Lucretius - are also very fragmentary and often difficult to interpret). It can be argued with some plausibility, however, that his objections were twofold: first, poetry was strongly associated in the ancient world with mythology; and, secondly, Epicurus’ linguistic theory seems to have involved the idea that words should be employed in their ‘‘proper’’ sense (Epicurus, Ep. Hdt. 37-8; Diog. Laert. 10.31), an attitude which would seem to preclude the use of the stylized and figurative language characteristic of poetic discourse. Homeric epic, in particular, had been subject to philosophical criticism from at least the sixth century bce for its depiction of amoral and frivolous gods; given Epicurus’ rationalist and anti-theological worldview, as well as the centrality of the epics in the Greek (and Roman) educational system, it is easy to see how they might have become a particular target for attack (Gale 1994: 10-18; Asmis 1995; on ancient critical responses to the ‘‘divine apparatus’’ of epic, see also Feeney 1991: 5-56; on the importance of epic poetry in the ancient educational system, see Keith 2000: 8-18).
On the other hand, the prestige attached to epic as the most authoritative and highly respected of the literary genres made it in some respects a very appropriate and desirable vehicle for a poet seeking to insist on the sublimity and supreme importance of Epicurus’ teachings (Conte 1994a; cf. Schrijvers 1970, esp. 27-50). Lucretius does not attempt to gloss over the tension between rationalist doctrine and poetic form; rather, he can be seen to justify his appropriation of the epic form by a process of implicit negotiation which continues throughout the poem.
Lucretius’ most explicit comments on his relationship with the epic tradition fall in the proem to Book 1. Following the opening invocation of Venus (discussed below) and a brief “syllabus’’ for the poem (1.50-61), the poet acclaims Epicurus as a hero who defeated the ‘‘monster,’’ religio (‘‘religion’’ or ‘‘piety’’); the sacrifice of Iphigenia is then described at some length to exemplify the evils prompted by traditional belief in interventionist gods. The reader is warned not to be deterred from philosophical study by the “terrifying words’’ of the vates (‘‘soothsayers,’’ a word later adopted by the Augustans to designate poets writing in an inspired or elevated manner, but at this date still, apparently, somewhat derogatory); as a representative of these vates, Lucretius singles out Ennius (on whom see Chapter 31, by Goldberg), whose ideas about the afterlife are held up to ridicule. Ennius and Homer - whose reincarnation the Roman poet had claimed to be - are handled here with a characteristic combination of admiration and derision. The former is praised in 1.117-18 as ‘‘the first to bring down from lovely Helicon a garland of everlasting leaves,’’ and the admiring epithet ‘‘ever-flourishing’’ is applied to the latter (1.124); Homer’s ghost is represented (probably in allusion to Ennius’ own proem) as teaching his successor about - significantly - ‘‘the nature of the universe’’ (rerum natura, 1.126). Lucretius, then, follows in the critical tradition of reading the Homeric poems as bearers of philosophical and theological meaning, but emphatically rejects the message they convey (indeed, he goes on to make the errors promulgated by Homer and his successors the grounds for his own engagement with theological and eschatological questions, 1.127-35). Also striking, from a programmatic point of view, is the juxtaposition of Epicurus as hero (note especially the imagery of conquest and victory in 1.72-9 (West 1969: 57-60; Hardie 1986: 194-5; Gale 1994: 118-19)) with the Trojan War heroes sardonically referred to in line 86 as ‘‘foremost of men’’:
Humana ante oculos foede cum vita iaceret in terris oppressa gravi sub religione
Primum Graius homo mortalis tollere contra est oculos ausus primusque obsistere contra
Ergo vivida vis animi pervicit, et extra processit longe flammantia moenia mundi atque omne immensum peragravit mente animoque, unde refert nobis victor quid possit oriri, quid nequeat, finita potestas denique cuique quanam sit ratione atque alte terminus haerens. quare religio pedibus subiecta vicissim obteritur, nos exaequat victoria caelo.
Illud in his rebus vereor, ne forte rearis impia te rationis inire elementa viamque indugredi sceleris. quod contra saepius illa religio peperit scelerosa atque impia facta.
Aulide quo pacto Triviai virginis aram Iphianassai turparunt sanguine foede ductores Danaum delecti, prima virorum.
(DRN 1.62-3, 66-7, 72-86)
When human life lay shamefully grovelling on the earth for all to see, weighed down beneath the oppressive weight of Religion... a man of Greece [namely Epicurus] was first who dared to raise his mortal eyes and first to stand against her... And so the lively force of his mind prevailed, and he advanced far beyond the flaming walls of the world and ranged through the unbounded universe in his mind and thought; from there, in victory, he brought back to us knowledge of what can come to be and what cannot, what limits are placed on the power of each thing as a deep-set boundary-stone. And so Religion in turn is trampled underfoot, and we - by his victory - are raised to heaven.
In dealing with these matters, I am anxious about one thing: that you might perhaps think you are embarking on the study of an impious philosophy and setting foot on a path of wickedness. On the contrary, religion itself has more often inspired wicked and impious deeds - just as at Aulis, the chosen leaders of the Greeks, foremost of men, foully polluted the altar of the Virgin Diana with the blood of Iphianassa [Iphigenia].
Lucretius, by implication, sets up a line of generic succession stretching from Homer through Ennius to his own poem; but at the same time, there is a hint that the DRN will surpass or even supersede its predecessors. Homer and Ennius are lauded as the producers of ‘‘everlasting’’ poetry; but the kind of heroism they celebrated is implicitly called into question, and Epicurus’ philosophical ‘‘conquest’’ held up as an alternative to the military exploits with which epic is most strongly associated. Earlier epic poetry is criticized for its propagation of false stories about the afterlife (and, presumably, about the gods); Lucretius’ poem, by contrast, offers us the Truth.
The combination of rejection and appropriation programmatically displayed at this early stage in the poem is reflected in various ways throughout the rest of the work. Homer is once again referred to by name at the end of Book 3, in the course of the diatribe against the fear of death. Lucretius recommends that his readers dispel any lingering reluctance to confront their own mortality by employing the conventional topos ‘‘even the greatest of men must die.’’ The point is expanded into a catalogue of Greek and Roman ‘‘heroes’’ (3.1025-44), the ordering of which is rhetorically significant. The poet begins conventionally enough with kings and warriors, but the climactic position at the end of the list is reserved for Democritus and - of course - Epicurus. The poets (unus Homerus, ‘‘the one and only Homer,’’ is specifically singled out here) come after the generals, but before the philosophers: the implication is, once again, that poetic artistry, though admirable, is ultimately less important than philosophical truth (Segal 1990: 171-80).
Metapoetic subtexts can be detected in a number of other passages. In 1.471-82, for example, the Trojan War is pointedly selected as an example of an historical event, something which - Lucretius is arguing - does not exist in its own right, but as an epiphenomenon of the interaction of atoms in space. Strikingly, the void is referred to both at the beginning and at the end of this passage as ‘‘the space in which all things come about’’ (‘‘res in quo quaeque geruntur/gerantur’’), a phrase evocative of the Latin expression res gestae, ‘‘exploits.’’ The implication once again seems to be that the metaphorical ‘‘exploits’’ of Epicurean atoms are far more fundamentally important than the literal exploits of the Trojan War heroes. Similarly, in 3.832-42 the Punic Wars are dismissed, in strikingly Ennian language (compare Enn. Ann. fr. 309, Skutsch 1985), as matters of little importance to us now, given that we were not yet born when they occurred. A more extensive quotation - this time from the Odyssey - is incorporated into the proem of the same book: here, Lucretius describes in terms of a mystical revelation the power of Epicurus’ philosophy to uncover all the secrets of the universe, including the abodes of the gods. Lines 3.18-22 are a close translation of Odyssey 6.42-6, where Athena is returning to Olympus after bringing aid to her favorite, Odysseus: she leaves behind the mortal world and ascends to the peaceful dwellings of the gods. But Lucretius adds two lines which again seem to offer a pointed commentary on the errors of Homer’s worldview: ‘‘nature supplies them with all their needs, and nothing detracts at any time from their peace of mind’’ (3.23-4). It is easy to see here an implicit critique directed at the original Homeric context of the lines: for Lucretius, the gods could never interfere in human affairs as Athena does, because this would very emphatically ‘‘detract from their peace of mind’’ (see further Gale 1994: 107-14).
In addition to passages ofimplicit programmatic engagement, Lucretius seeks throughout the poem to ‘‘neutralize’’ the dangerous mythological content of his epic intertexts (Hardie 1986: 176-93; Gale 1994: esp. 26-50 and 111-14, and 2000: 113-15). On a number of occasions (e. g. 2.600-60, 4.580-94, 5.396-415), a brief mythological narrative is juxtaposed with a scientific explanation for the phenomenon in question. The process of demythologization effected by this combination of traditional myth and Epicurean truth can be seen to operate on a more subtle level in several of the (relatively numerous) passages where Lucretius echoes Homeric language or imagery. Particularly characteristic is the cooption of Homeric similes in descriptions of natural phenomena. Whereas Homer compares a warrior’s prowess, or an army advancing into battle, to a storm or flood, Lucretius describes the storm or flood itself in Homeric language. Often, though not always, tenor and vehicle are reversed (that is, Lucretius implicitly or explicitly compares his storms and floods to warriors, as in 6.96-8, where the ‘‘battling winds’’ recall a simile applied in Il. 16.765-9 to Greeks and Trojans clashing in battle). In all these instances, the poet is careful to emphasize the fact that these are natural and impersonal processes: personification is acceptable as a poetic ornament (a point explicitly stated with reference to the use of metonymy in 2.655-60), so long as we keep clear in our minds the fact that the elements of the natural world are neither animate nor controlled by gods. Lucretius seeks to appropriate the grandeur and glamour of Homeric narrative for his epic of nature, while rigorously excluding the conventional divine machinery.
We have seen that this exclusion is programmatically announced in the proem to Book 3; on a more subtle level, a similar element of polemic can be detected in the very first simile of the poem, at 1.280-9. By way of introduction to the concept of invisible particles, the poet reminds us that we already accept the existence of unseen forces in nature, such as wind; and winds must be corporeal because they have a similar impact on their surroundings to that of flooding rivers. The comparison of wind and flood is based, again, on a Homeric simile {II. 5.87-92: Diomedes attacks like a river in spate); but where Homer attributes the flood to ‘‘Zeus’ rain,’’ Lucretius pointedly substitutes natura as the agent of destruction {more specifically, mollis aquae... natura, ‘‘the soft substance of water,’’ 1.281; but in this marked context the periphrasis seems more than just an equivalent to the simple noun aqua).
Though, as I have argued, Lucretius invites the reader to consider his poem primarily in the tradition of Homeric/Ennian epic, occasional allusions to didactic predecessors suggest that the poet is also keen to offer a corrective to this branch ofthe tradition, insofar as it too has contributed to erroneous conceptions of the relationship between human beings and the gods. The most sustained example is the history of civilization at the end of Book 5, which repeatedly evokes the Hesiodic Myth of Ages {Hes. WD 109-201; cf. also 42105 {Prometheus and Pandora) and 225-37 {the just city)), particularly in describing the life of the very first human beings {5.925-1010). Lucretius accepts certain features of Hesiod’s picture of the Golden Age {spontaneous production of food, 5.937-8; no agriculture, 5.933-6; absence of disease, 5.929-30), but - once again - denies any role to the gods, and severely rationalizes the details of the Hesiodic account {the absence of disease is attributed to the greater toughness of early humans’ physique and the milder climate they enjoyed; the earth’s spontaneous production of food is not miraculous, rather the primitive humans simply live on wild fruits and acorns similar to those which can still be found today). Hesiod’s four “metallic’’ ages are similarly demythologized and integrated into Lucretius’ account of early developments in metalworking {5.1241-96: note especially the Hesiodic echo in 1289, which recalls WD 150-1); and the Prometheus myth is implicitly dismissed in 5.1091-1104, where Lucretius explains how a thunderbolt first brought fire down from heaven and ‘‘distributed’’ it amongst human beings {see further Gale 1994: 164-74 and 177-8).
The philosophical poet Empedocles is handled somewhat more gently, and in fact receives warmer praise than any other writer apart from Epicurus. Lucretius expresses admiration, it appears, for both the style and the content ofEmpedocles’ work: in contrast to the ambiguous, riddling language of Heraclitus {1.638-44), his “surpassingly bright discoveries’’ {praeclara reperta, 1.732) are, it seems, clarified rather than obscured by the use of poetic form.
The imagery of light and darkness employed in the poet’s critique of Heraclitus and Empedocles is picked up in 1.921-50 {repeated, with the omission of the first five lines, as the proem to Book 4), where Lucretius comments on his own employment of poetic form. Poetry, he suggests, is like the honey which doctors smear round the rim of a cup in order to fool a sick child into taking unpleasant-tasting medicine: like honey, his poetry is bright and sweet, while Epicurus’ teaching seems at first glance ‘‘rather grim’’ {tristior, 1.944 = 4.19). The apologia embodied in these lines constitutes Lucretius’ most explicit response to Epicurus’ critique of poetry, and offers a theoretical justification for the opportunistic exploitation of Homeric and Ennian intertexts which I have outlined in this section. Poetic form, Lucretius suggests, has a unique power to attract and ‘‘enchant’’ the reader {just as the honey ‘‘captivates’’ the sick child). This is, of course, just what makes it so dangerous; but it also renders it a powerful tool if used as a vehicle for philosophical truth {the child would not drink the medicine at all if not lured by the sweet honey). Poetic imagery and language can help to shed light on the sometimes difficult and superficially unattractive truths of Epicurean philosophy; but such poetry will only be beneficial if the content {the medicine in the cup) accords with {Epicurean) truth.
Lucretius’ admiring but antagonistic relationship with his poetic predecessors is easily explicable in purely literary terms: the literary principles inherited by late Republican and Augustan writers from the enormously influential Alexandrian poet and scholar
Callimachus (fl. ca. 285-246 bce) set a premium on originality and avoidance of trite and hackneyed themes. A partial allegiance to Callimachean poetics is implied by the metaphors of untrodden path, untouched spring, and garland of fresh flowers at the beginning of the passage under discussion (1.926-30 = 4.1-5). It is important, however, that Lucretius also offers us a philosophical justification of his poetic practice: ultimately, poetic form is subordinated to philosophical content in this work, and the poet’s ramble through ‘‘the pathless haunts of the Muses’’ (1.926 = 4.1) is, paradoxically, already mapped out by the footprints left by Epicurus (3.3-4). (On Lucretius and Callimachus, see further Kenney 1970; Brown 1982; on Lucretius’ poetics in general, see Schrijvers 1970: 27-50 and 325-40; Clay 1976; Gale 1994: 138-55; Kat. Volk 2002b: 94-118.)
World History
