In the history of Western atheism, Epicurus marks the turning point where religious skepticism turns into full-fledged philosophy as a way of life. Rather than simply denying the gods (or the popular conceptions of them, anyway)—as previous thinkers had surely done—Epicurus constructs, from scratch, a philosophy of life that, for the first time, leaves the gods out of the picture entirely—and takes the implications of that move seriously. 

It can’t be stated forcefully enough that this is a truly momentous epoch in the history of ideas, as it lays the groundwork for a secular morality and an entirely religion-free yet purposeful way of life—something stubborn theists have long claimed is impossible. Epicurus, along with his dedicated followers—the poet and philosopher Lucretius, among them—prove that it’s not.

It’s also worth noting that Epicurus completely inverts the standard logic; whereas a modern believer may pretentiously pose the question, “How can you live a good and meaningful life without God?” Epicurus would respond by asking how you could do the same with one (as traditionally conceived). The common understanding of the gods, according to Epicurus, is a terrible source of anxiety, fear, guilt, and repression, and it is only in shedding our standard beliefs in them that we can truly, in this life and in this moment, be happy. 

The corollary is that Epicurus is not only telling us it’s irrational to believe in “the gods of the masses”—he’s telling us that it’s psychologically restricting and damaging to do so. We should, as a result, not only reject these gods, but rather be quite happy that they don’t exist. (What Epicurus did think the gods were like, we will get to shortly.) 

This is why Epicurus’s “four-part remedy” for a happy life (as originally formulated by Philodemus) revolves around the elimination of bodily pain and mental agitation (largely attributed to our delusions regarding the “supernatural”). The Epicurean prescription for the modern world, therefore, might look something like this: 

1. Don’t worry about death
2. Don’t fear God
3. Limit your desires
4. Patiently endure pain

Let’s take a look at each in turn. There is a lot to learn from this deceptively simple framework, with some real surprises along the way.

1. Don’t worry about death

The origins of religion, and belief in God specifically, is complicated and multifactorial, but the fear of death undoubtedly factors prominently in the mix. It may even be the primary factor. In the 1973 book The Denial of Death, American anthropologist Ernest Becker proposed the idea that humans, uniquely aware of their own mortality, engage in “immortality projects” that convince us we’re not actually going to die. This takes different forms; whereas humans sometimes seek immortality through works and deeds that are meant to live on in the memories of others, the ultimate immortality project, according to Becker, is religion, as it offers us literal immortality (with souls and an afterlife). So humanity’s ultimate defense mechanism against its biggest fear is…elaborate denial!

Becker’s work was an important precursor to Terror Management Theory, which proposes that much of our behavior results from “death anxiety” and our efforts to overcome it—again, mainly via religion. 

The problem, however, with our “immortality projects”—religions chief among them—is that (1) they’re almost entirely invented or imagined and (2) they cause passionate levels of commitment that compel their adherents to, in some cases, kill and be killed in defense of them. This is, of course, majorly ironic, in that the very system that is meant to relieve one’s anxiety of death in fact compels them to quicken its arrival. 

It appears, then, that people believe in immortality at the expense of their own sanity and, sometimes, their own life. But as Epicurus showed us, this is entirely unnecessary. There is a better way to manage our fear of death; namely, by understanding that it was never something to be feared in the first place. 

There are, in fact, four reasons not to fear death:

1. Death is the absence of sensation. Every good and evil lies in sensation; since death is the absence of sensation, it’s impossible for death to be either good or evil. As Epicurus wrote in his second Principle Doctrine, “Death means nothing to us, because that which has been broken down into atoms has no sensation and that which has no sensation is no concern of ours.”
2. Death is not something we experience. As Epicurus wrote in the Letter to Menoeceus, “This, the most horrifying of evils, means nothing to us, then, because so long as we are existent death is not present and whenever it is present we are non-existent.”
3. Death is like a restful sleep. We do not fear the loss of consciousness that results from a restful, deep sleep. Death is simply the continuation of this peaceful state.
4. Death is analogous to the time before we were born. We have no recollection or concern for the period of time before we were born; so why should we feel any different about the period of time after we die. 

As Epicurus wrote, “for that which makes no trouble for us when it arrives is a meaningless pain when we await it.” Death is simply not something we experience; it’s the cessation of all experience. Death therefore turns out to be an irrational fear, in that it relates to something that we will never actually have to endure. 

Further, once we’ve overcome our fear of death—and stop yearning for immortality—we can better appreciate life in the moment, and can spend our time more wisely and with more gratitude. As many thinkers throughout history have discovered, the very fact of our mortality is what gives life meaning and value. “You could leave life right now,” said Marcus Aurelius, “let that determine what you do and say and think.”

Religion, then, as the ultimate immortality project, is a false hope meant to overcome an irrational fear. But what about God? Is he also a product of Terror Management Theory? Let’s see what Epicurus has to say. 

2. Don’t fear God

You would think that any philosopher embracing a materialistic philosophy that posits the existence of only atoms and the void would be, by default, an atheist. But for Epicurus, this was not the case. Epicurus didn’t tell us not to fear the gods because the gods don’t exist; he told us not to fear the gods because the gods are not anthropomorphic, nor are they concerned with our everyday affairs. As Epicurus wrote in the Letter to Menoeceus:

The gods do indeed exist, since our knowledge of them is a matter of clear and distinct perception; but they are not like what the masses suppose them to be, because most people do not maintain the pure conception of the gods. The irreligious man is not the person who destroys the gods of the masses but the person who imposes the ideas of the masses on the gods. 

This is a fascinating passage. Epicurus—the materialist philosopher who many presume to be an atheist—is claiming that those who impose the “ideas of the masses” on the gods—in effect, those who anthropomorphize the gods—are in fact the ones who are the most irreligious. This means that if Epicurus were alive today, he would likely believe that a Christian, for instance, does more damage to the “pure conception” of God than would an atheist trying to dissuade others from belief in a personal god that answers prayers. 

We can see from the first of Epicurus’s Principle Doctrines exactly how he characterizes the gods (or “God,” had he come around to monotheism):

The blessed and indestructible being of the divine has no concerns of its own, nor does it make trouble for others. It is not affected by feelings of anger or benevolence, because these are found where there is lack of strength.

Epicurus would point out that the modern conception of God as immortal and perfect implies that God would not display any human characteristics. God does not get mad, sad, bored, desirous, or angry, for that would necessarily imply weakness or imperfection. 

Think about it: If you could disrupt the perfect serenity of God, for example, by eating pork, or by using your reproductive organs in the wrong way or at the wrong time—organs and impulses God supposedly gave you—or even by thinking the wrong thoughts, in what way can we say that God is perfect? In this view, he turns out to be an irascible, narcissistic control freak—more like your sociopathic ex-boyfriend than a perfect transcendent being.

This, of course, is all perfectly absurd to Epicurus, and is completely out of line with our “clear and distinct” perceptions of a perfect being—one who necessarily lives in perfect harmony and contentment and is therefore entirely unconcerned with human wishes and actions. 

Epicurus would add that this is just how we should want it to be. If an all-powerful, all-knowing, yet ultimately unknowable god could so easily or unpredictably be risen to anger, then we should, as a result, expect to live in near-constant fear of divine retribution and eternal damnation. The stakes are simply too large to ignore, creating incalculable levels of anxiety, fear, and guilt. On the other hand, a perfectly serene and unconcerned god creates no psychological torment for humanity. 

And so Epicurus has, as classicist George K. Strodach wrote, swept “mankind’s two greatest foes and phobias”—death and hell—“from the board together by atomic theory—truly the most humane act ever performed by any philosophy, materialist or otherwise!” 

Without the fear of death, God, or hell, we can now get on to the business of actually living, delusion-free. 

3. Limit your desires

It’s one of history’s great ironies that the philosopher best known for hedonism—or the ethical theory that pleasure is the highest good and proper aim of human life—is the one who recommended a steady diet of nothing more than “barley bread and water” and thought that “sex never benefited any man, and it’s a marvel it hasn’t injured him.” If someone today subscribed to such a diet, and abstained entirely from sex, we wouldn’t call them a hedonist, we’d call them an ascetic. And that’s what Epicurus—the ancient Greek philosopher and founder of Epicureanism—essentially was.

This raises an obvious question: How is it that a near-ascetic—a person who eats bread and water and never has sex—could simultaneously believe that pleasure is life’s greatest good? Is it possible that we’ve simply misinterpreted Epicurus’s doctrines, falsely attributing to him the philosophy of hedonism when he actually taught something quite different? 

The quick answer is no, not exactly, but the full answer requires that we recognize the distinction between two separate and opposing definitions of pleasure. As Epicurus wrote, in the Letter to Menoeceus:

Thus when I say that pleasure is the goal of living I do not mean the pleasure of libertines or the pleasures inherent in positive enjoyment, as is supposed by certain persons who are ignorant of our doctrine or who are not in agreement with it or who interpret it perversely. I mean, on the contrary, the pleasure that consists in freedom from bodily pain and mental agitation. The pleasant life is not the product of one drinking party after another or of sexual intercourse with women or boys or of the sea food and other delicacies afforded by a luxurious table. On the contrary, it is the result of sober thinking—namely, investigation of the reasons for every act of choice and aversion and elimination of those false ideas about the gods and death which are the chief source of mental disturbances.

As this passage clearly demonstrates, Epicurus’s conception of pleasure is entirely negative; pleasure, as a goal of living, is the absence of bodily pain and mental agitation, not the pursuit of positive pleasures and luxuries, which can only bring future pain and discomfort. In ways very similar to Buddhism, Epicurus considered human suffering to be mostly self-inflicted, and he took it upon himself to provide the cure by eliminating the most common causes of mental disturbance and physical pain. 

This is why it may be fairer to say that Epicurus, like the Buddha, considered tranquility to be life’s greatest good, in that peace of mind itself represents the highest pleasure. Rather than thinking of Epicurus as a “hedonist” or “ascetic,” we’d be better off labeling him a “tranquilist,” as this more fairly represents his actual teachings and resolves the apparent contradiction between his abstention on one hand and his focus on pleasure as the highest good on the other. 

It also makes clear what Epicurus was trying to accomplish: the freeing of humanity from its primary causes of suffering (again, like Buddhism). However, the Epicurean prescription for a good life differs in important ways from its Eastern counterpart; whereas the Buddha sought peace by turning inward and contemplating his oneness with the universe, Epicurus sought peace by turning outward, enjoying a life of simple pleasures spent in philosophical contemplation with friends (which he pursued at his own philosophical school in Athens called the Garden). The result of this philosophizing aimed to eliminate the ideological confusions and superstitions most responsible for mental distress. 

We’ve seen how overcoming the fear of death and the fear of the gods was the top priority; but now, to “live like the gods,” as Epicurus put it, we must also free ourselves from unrestrained desire, a chief source of our self-inflicted mental disturbance. To do so requires that we first understand Epicurus’s three categories of desire:

1. Natural and necessary – These desires seek to fulfill our basic biological imperative to survive. Water, sustenance, warmth, and shelter are by nature necessary, as the lack of these resources causes actual physical pain and possibly death. We have no choice but to pursue these basic desires, but, as Epicurus would remind us, satisfying them is simple and easy. 
2. Natural but unnecessary – The second category entails desires that satisfy natural urges, but that do so in a lavish way, for example through gourmet food and drink. The issue here is that these goods can be (1) hard to get and (2) sources of future states of pain that outweigh the pleasures they deliver. Unsatisfied desires, Epicurus would tell us, are a form of pain, and so anything that is difficult to acquire is a potential source of discomfort, particularly if one who grows accustomed to such luxuries falls on hard times. Additionally, immoderate pleasures, such as a night spent drinking, can result in a hangover that brings disproportionate levels of suffering. We would be better off, according to Epicurus, by avoiding the hangover altogether and being satisfied with simpler pleasures that do not create future pain. As Epicurus said, “No pleasure is in itself evil, but the things which produce certain pleasures entail annoyances many times greater than the pleasures themselves.” 
3. Neither natural nor necessary – These include desires that are culturally or socially constructed, such as the desires for wealth, power, and fame. Just as with luxurious food and drink, these desires are both hard to get and sources of future pain and mental disturbance. They are also limitless, in that even if one achieves them, the desire to achieve even more is equally strong. These boundless desires therefore can never be satisfied and as a result cannot be expected to produce true peace of mind. Epicurus summarized it well: “Nothing is sufficient for the person who finds sufficiency too little.”

Epicurus, crucially, was not suggesting that you should never enjoy extravagant things. On the contrary, by limiting your desires and habits to simple pleasures—basic food and drink, the pleasure of friendship, philosophical contemplation—you will not only be prepared to experience hardship if it ever arises, but you’ll be more prone to actually enjoy the luxuries you’re fortunate enough to experience. True wealth, in the Epicurean sense, entails being satisfied with the basics; anything extra simply adds pleasure to your life without the pains of uncontrollable desire or overconsumption. As Epicurus wrote in the Letter to Menoeceus:

In addition, we consider limitation of the appetites a major good, and we recommend this practice not for the purpose of enjoying just a few things and no more but rather for the purpose of enjoying those few in case we do not have much. We are firmly convinced that those who need expensive fare least are the ones who relish it most keenly and that a natural way of life is easily procured, while trivialities are hard to come by.

Above all, keep in mind that there are only two paths to wealth: (1) acquiring more things, or (2) limiting the things you want. The latter is by far the easier path.

4. Patiently endure pain

The Epicurean remedy to this point has focused on the elimination of bodily pain and mental agitation and on the optimization of the amount of total pleasure one experiences over the course of their life. Freed from the fear of God and death, and unbothered by unfulfilled desires that are difficult to obtain, the Epicurean “lives like the gods” in a state of tranquility, engaging in philosophical contemplation in the company of friends, which, according to Epicurus, was absolutely essential. As Epicurus said in the 27th Principle Doctrine, “Of all the things that wisdom provides for the happiness of the whole man, by far the most important is the acquisition of friendship.”

Nevertheless, despite your best efforts to limit pain, it is impossible to avoid pain altogether. We can live like the gods, but we cannot become the gods. The vicissitudes of life guarantee that we will experience our fair share of both physical pain and mental disturbance. But for Epicurus, this is nothing to be concerned about, because pain, when properly considered, is easily endured. As Epicurus said in the fourth Principal Doctrine:

Continuous pain does not last long in the body; on the contrary, pain, if extreme, is present a short time, and even that degree of pain which barely outweighs pleasure in the body does not last for many days together. Illnesses of long duration even permit of an excess of pleasure over pain in the body.

This idea is more succinctly expressed in the fourth Vatican Saying: “All pain is readily discounted. Intense pain has a short life, and longer lasting bodily pain is weak.”

Epicurus would agree with the sentiment expressed in the saying “this too shall pass.” If intense pain is short-lived, then surely we have the resolve and courage to face it until it passes. And if long-term pain is weak, then surely we have the perseverance to handle low-level pain that is overcompensated for, on balance, by bodily pleasure over time. Pain, therefore, properly managed and considered, is no impediment to our ability to attain tranquility.  

Return to the (Epicurean) Garden of Eden

In the Biblical account, humanity was expelled from the Garden of Eden by “eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” For the Epicurean, the story is quite different: you actually need this knowledge before you can even get in. As Jennifer Hetch wrote, in her book Doubt: A History:

This is a very different garden than the one we got kicked out of in the Eden story. This time you have to eat from the tree of knowledge in order to get in. You build this one yourself, in part in your character, in part in your real environment. It is a lot of work, but you can stay as long as you like.

If taken seriously, and put into practice daily, the culmination of the Epicurean four-part remedy leads to a life that both maximizes total pleasure and results in unmitigated contentment and peace of mind. As Epicurus wrote, in the Letter to Menoeceus:

Can you think of anyone more moral than the person who has devout beliefs about the gods, who is consistently without fears about death, and who has pondered man’s natural end? Or who realizes that the goal of the good life is easily gained and achieved and that the term of evil is brief, both in extent of time and duration of pain? Or the man who laughs at the “decrees of Fate,” a deity whom some people have set up as sovereign of all? 

We would clearly respect any person exhibiting these serene characteristics; therefore, should we not strive ourselves to achieve this impressive and impervious frame of mind? Following the four-part remedy will allow us to do just that. 

Additionally, there is a positive social element to adopting this way of life. As Epicurus said in the 44th Vatican Saying: 

The wise man, after adjusting himself to the bare necessities of life, understands better how to share than to take—so large is the fund of self-sufficiency that he has discovered.

Consider for a moment a sampling of some of the greatest social evils in the world today: senseless murders, theft, corruption, war, intolerance, bigotry, greed. For the practicing Epicurean, these malevolent compulsions simply disappear. If you’re by nature self-sufficient and fully satisfied—desiring only easily obtained goods—and you have no fears or unfulfilled desires, then what could possibly compel you to harm, deceive, or steal from others? (Incidentally, this is also the reason God, if He existed, would never be malevolent.) Further, you’d have little inclination to convert others to any religion or dogma, or to punish people for holding the wrong beliefs. Having attained true and lasting happiness, you’d wish the same for others. This is probably why the Epicurean Garden was known for egalitarianism—it even famously admitted both women and slaves, an unheard of practice at the time. 

Indeed, if a life free of pain is the best life for you, and you further reflect that you do not deserve any special consideration above anyone else—becuase you, after all, are made of the same stuff (atoms) as everyone else—then a life free from pain is what you should want for others as well (this is the Epicurean spin on the Golden Rule). It’s hard to think that the world would not be a better place with more Epicureans in it. 

It’s worth pointing out, though, that no philosophical system is perfect or immune to criticism. While Epicureanism has a lot going for it—especially in relation to the problems of the modern world—one valid criticism regarding this approach to life is that it is, at least in its purest form, politically irresponsible. Epicurus shunned political involvement as a source of pain not worthy of whatever pleasures it may produce, but for a modern citizen that benefits from the democratic society in which they live, turning away from civic duties and obligations seems, in a sense, immoral, or at least ungrateful. While Epicurus said that “the justice that seeks nature’s goal is a utilitarian pledge of men not to harm each other or be harmed,” there is no real sense of further civic responsibility in Epicurus’s teachings. This is a problem in a modern, technological, interconnected world.

Epicureanism also seems to downplay the significance of striving for meaningful goals, even if doing so is hard, or brings about a fair amount of pain. Perhaps Epicurus would tell us that the pleasure of achieving altruistic aims for others outweighs the pains involved, but either way, the Epicurean imperative to withdraw from the world seems to send the wrong message, especially to those who are naturally inclined to devote their lives to the public good. An argument could perhaps even be made that altruism or the pleasure of helping others is a greater good than mere subjective tranquility. 

In any case, I think it is generally true that we could all stand to add some tranquility to our lives. Eliminating the fear of God and death is a good place to start, and the paring down of our limitless and unrestrained desires will go a long way towards mitigating future frustrations, while freeing up time for us to spend on the things we are most passionate about. Perhaps this is as close to “living like gods” as we can reasonably expect to get. 

Further reading

Epicurus was a prolific writer, having written around 300+ works. Unfortunately, almost all of his works are lost. We are therefore forced to piece together his philosophy from three extant letters, his principal doctrines and sayings, and the commentary of other ancient authors. Our sources include the following:

• Epicurus’s extant letters (the Letter to Menoeceus is the most important for understanding the four-part remedy):
  • Letter to Herodotus – summarizes Epicurus’s metaphysics
  • Letter to Pythocles – an essay on meteorological phenomena
  • Letter to Menoeceus – summarizes Epicurus’s ethics
• The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers by Diogenes Laertius
• Principal Doctrines – forty authoritative conclusions set up as official doctrines by the founders of Epicureanism
• Vatican Sayings – a collection of quotes of Epicurus and other Epicureans preserved in a 14th century manuscript from the Vatican Library
• The Nature of Things by Lucretius – a six-book poem expounding Epicurus’ metaphysics

Additional works by Cicero and Plutarch provide supplemental, if somewhat hostile, commentary on Epicurean philosophy. The Art of Happiness by Penguin Classics is a fantastic introduction. This volume provides an introductory essay concerning the entirety of Epicurean philosophy, all three surviving letters, the Principal Doctrines, the Vatican Sayings, and parallel passages from The Nature of Things.

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