On The Nature Of Things

Though English translations of this work tend to be in prose, it is important to remember that On the Nature of Things is in fact a poem; Lucretius wrote it in the epic meter, which is the same used by Homer in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Lucretius is very much aware of the epic genre and it serves several useful purposes in this work.

Lucretius explores his poetic self-awareness in the opening lines of Book IV, boasting, “I am penetrating the remote regions of the Pierian maids (the Muses, goddesses of inspiration), hitherto untrodden by any foot […] [on] an obscure subject I compose such luminous verses, overspreading all with the charm of the Muses” (Book IV, lines 1-10; page 100). Here, he is celebrating his accomplishment as the first to write about Epicurean philosophy in epic meter (in Latin, at least). He goes on to explain the reason for this choice (in words that he repeats several times throughout the work): “since this philosophy of ours often appears somewhat off-putting to those who have not experienced it […] I have preferred to expound it to you in harmonious Pierian poetry and, so to speak, coat it with the sweet honey of the Muses” (Book IV, lines 19-23). His purpose, then, is to make dull or challenging ideas more palatable by presenting them within the framework of beautiful poetry. Indeed, throughout the work, Lucretius often breaks up difficult technical arguments with poetic digressions that provide some relief for the reader.

Lucretius’ poetry engages with a centuries-long tradition of epic and other genres. He is heavily influenced by the great poets who came before him, both in Greek and in Latin, and there are frequent allusions to other great works in On the Nature of Things. Such allusions were common in ancient poetry, and this device is known as “intertextuality.” Sometimes, these allusions serve a persuasive purpose, as well.

For example, Lucretius often evokes the poet Homer in contexts that actually subvert Homer’s original message. When Lucretius says, “Even if the halls contain no golden figures of youths, clasping flaring torches in their right hands to supply light for banquets after dark…” (Book II, lines 24-26; page 36), he is directly imitating Homer’s lines: “And golden youths stood on well-built pedestals, holding lighted torches in their hands to give light by night to the banqueters in the hall” (Odyssey Book VII, lines 100-102). However, while Homer is admiringly describing the lavish home of the god Hephaestus, Lucretius is arguing that we have no need of any of those things in order to find contentment.

Similarly, when Lucretius describes the realm of the gods, he paints them as “calm realms which, buffeted by no wind, sprinkled by no storm cloud’s shower, sullied with no white fall of snow crystallized by biting frost, are ever pavilioned by a cloudless ether that smiles with widespread flood of radiance” (Book III, lines 18-22; page 68). This echoes Homer’s description of Mt. Olympus, mythical home of the gods: “Here no wind beats roughly, and neither rain nor snow can fall; but it abides in everlasting sunshine and in a great peacefulness of light, wherein the blessed gods are illumined for ever and ever” (Odyssey Book VI, lines 42-46). Again, while Homer’s poetry takes the gods to be involved in human life, and places their home on Earth, Lucretius uses Homer’s words to describe the opposite situation. In Lucretius’ description, he is evoking a realm for the gods that is far removed from our world, in some intangible part of outer space. Lucretius is thus appropriating Homer’s words to subvert their original message.

Lucretius frequently employs imagery of darkness and light to represent ignorance and understanding throughout this work. Four times, he repeats the lines, “This terrifying darkness that enshrouds the mind must be dispelled not by the sun’s rays and the dazzling darts of day, but by study of the superficial aspect and underlying principle of nature” (Book I, lines 146-148; page 7. Repeated at 2.59-61, 3.91-93, 6.39-41). In each of these cases, the lines appear immediately before Lucretius launches into a scientific argument. Lucretius equates darkness with the confusion of an ignorant mind, and in describing it as “terrifying,” he reminds us that we tend to fear the unknown. The terror is cured by shining the light of understanding upon it: once we have examined nature, we will realize that there is nothing to fear in it.

Lucretius credits two individuals with bringing light upon the world. The first is Venus, the goddess of love, who is also associated with the Spring. In the very opening lines of the work, Lucretius praises the goddess, saying, “To you every kind of living creature owes its conception and first glimpse of the sun’s light…” (Book I, line 3; page 2) and later, “for you...the sky, tranquil now, is flooded with effulgent light” (Book I, lines 8-9; page 2). This invocation of a deity is a typical poetic opening, but it establishes light as an important symbol within the work.

It is that much more significant, then, when Lucretius opens Book III with similar praise of the philosopher Epicurus, who, “out of such deep darkness first found a way to raise such a brilliant light and illumine life’s comforts” (Book III, lines 1-2; page 67). Here, Lucretius elevates Epicurus to the status of a god; just as Venus is said to bestow actual light, Epicurus has brought the light of understanding to a world that was previously shrouded in ignorance. This implication is made more explicit in the introduction of Book V, when Lucretius says of Epicurus, “a god he was, a god […] who first discovered that principle of life which is now identified with wisdom, and who by his genius saved life from such mighty waves and such deep darkness and moored it in such calm water and so brilliant a light” (Book V, lines 8-11; pages 136-137).

The interplay of divine and mortal here is significant, since humanity’s “terrifying darkness” is marked by fear of the gods. Lucretius would rather have us realize that the truly divine one is Epicurus, who assuaged that fear and brought “light” to humanity.

Crucially, Lucretius promises that this work, On the Nature of Things, can share the enlightenment of Epicurus with all readers. As he promises at the end of Book I, looking ahead to the rest of the work, “Light will be shed on one thing after another, and blinding night will not blot out your path. Truth will illumine truth until you gain a clear insight into nature’s profoundest principles” (Book I, lines 1116-1117; page 33). Thus, not only does the light of truth dispel the darkness of ignorance, but it illuminates the path to further enlightenment.

Lucretius uses vessels as a metaphor for both the body and the mind: the body is a vessel for the mind and spirit, and the mind is a vessel for knowledge.

Lucretius evokes the vessel to make a nuanced argument about the impossibility of the spirit remaining intact after death. He asks:

 For if the body, which is, as it were, the vessel of the spirit, is shattered by some force and made porous […] so that it is no longer able to retain it, how can you believe that the spirit can ever be retained by air, which is a more porous container than our body? (Book III, lines 440-446; page 79).

By this, Lucretius means that the spirit needs to be held together by something; if even the body is an insufficient vessel for the spirit once it has been “shattered,” how can mere air hold a spirit intact after death? Through the use of the vessel simile, then, Lucretius shows that the soul must be mortal. He does acknowledge that this is an imperfect symbol, however: the vessel and its contents are not as mutually dependent as the body and the spirit. Therefore, he invites the reader to picture “anything else you care to imagine that implies a more intimate relationship with it, since the two are closely interlinked” (Book III, lines 556-557; page 82).

Lucretius employs the image of a leaky vessel to evoke the insatiable mind of one who does not practice Epicurean moderation. He says that there is no reason to complain in old age, for example, “If your past life has been a boon, and if not all your blessings have flowed straight through you and run to waste like water poured into a riddled vessel…” (Book III, lines 936-937; page 92). He references the myth of the Danaids, fifty murderous sisters whose punishment in the afterlife was to try to fill leaky vessels for all eternity. There is no need to fear such a punishment in the (non-existent) afterlife when we in fact suffer it in life: “Then again, to keep feeding an ungrateful mind with good things, without ever being able to fill it and satisfy its appetite […] this, in my opinion, is what is meant by the story of those maidens […] pouring water into a riddled vessel that cannot possibly be filled” (Book III, lines 1003-1010; page 95). In the end, the vessel’s Epicurean use is as a delimiter: when there are no leaks, it requires only a particular amount of enjoyment in order to be filled. Lucretius explains the process by which Epicurus reached this understanding:

He became convinced [that the unenlightened mind was the source of unnecessary misery] […] because he saw that the vessel was leaky and riddled, so that it could never be filled […] Therefore with words of truth he purged people’s minds by laying down limits to desire and fear (Book VI, lines 20-25; page 178).

An underlying principle throughout this work is that everything in the universe is governed by laws of nature. These laws establish the physical limits of every object and phenomenon, and so the key to achieving Epicurean enlightenment is to work out the natural laws. Lucretius frequently employs the image of the boundary stone to represent this principle: boundary stones were used in antiquity to mark out territorial limits.

At four points in the work, Lucretius uses the same words for this metaphor, outlining “knowledge of what can arise and what cannot, and again by what law each thing has its scope restricted and its deeply implanted boundary stone” (Book I, lines 76-77; page 5. Repeated at 1.595-596, 5.89-90, 6.65-66).

Lucretius uses this metaphor not only to represent the laws of nature in general, but also to emphasize the limitations on atoms, the world (specifically, its mortality), and the gods—all vital concepts in Epicurean philosophy. The “deeply implanted boundary stone,” then, symbolizes the strictness and immovability of the physical laws upon which an understanding of the entire universe is possible.