This paper reexamines the intertextual connection between Lucretius and Ennius from a multi-medial angle. Ennius’ tragedies were regularly revived in the late Republic, and selections from his epic Annals appear to have been recited in public contexts as well. These performances seem to have stood in a relationship of reciprocal influence with wall paintings, as stagings inspired painters, and their artwork influenced actors in turn. Accordingly, Lucretius treats Ennius’ works as particularly influential expressions of a harmful philosophy that threatens Epicurean ataraxia in a variety of contexts. Analyzing familiar points of contact between the two authors in Book One of On the Nature of Things and highlighting a number of as-yet undiscussed allusions, I argue that Lucretius equips his readers with the tools to challenge Ennius in all three of the relevant media, be it on the page, on the stage, or in images.

After the return to the defense, Simmias and Cebes raise objections to Socrates’ kinship argument, Socrates warns them to avoid misology, and then he responds to Simmias’ objection. These objections and this warning simultaneously serve as the climax of the first half of the dialogue and set the agenda for the second. I argue that misology is a more specific problem than it is typically taken to be, a problem that aspiring philosophers (like Socrates’ companions) are especially at risk of suffering, one that involves not merely becoming cynical about arguments but positively hating them. I then turn to Simmias’ objection and Socrates’ response to it. I argue that, as Socrates interprets Simmias’ theory that the soul is a harmonia, it makes the soul a properly fitted together composite, not the formal structure possessed by such a composite. This means that Socrates is not arguing against a type of supervenience theory or epiphenomenalism, as is frequently claimed. Socrates’ arguments against Simmias’ theory highlight how it cannot explain basic ethical features of the soul that the kinship argument’s account can explain.

Socrates provides here an eschatological account that is thoroughly integrated into a novel cosmology. I argue that the Phaedo’s cosmology draws on and reflects the account of forms and ordinary objects that Socrates presented over the course of the Phaedo. The result is a distinctly Platonic account of the cosmos and the afterlife, one that treats the best parts of the cosmos as form-like and the worst parts as the source of flux. How we live now determines whether after death we will live in a more form-like or flux-like area; this dwelling, in turn, determines whether our souls are benefited or harmed in the afterlife. Since Socrates does not suggest in the Phaedo that any god is responsible for the cosmos, I argue that he avoids needing to explain why our souls can be harmed in the afterlife. In the secondary literature, this section of the dialogue is universally called “the myth,” which has led to treating the entirety of his account as having the same epistemic status. I argue instead that the account has five distinct stages, only the fifth of which Socrates calls a “myth” (muthos).

In this chapter, I examine to what extent Epicurus’ message was still relevant as such in the late Roman Republic and to what extent it had to be adapted to the new ideological and political circumstances. An analysis of books 1 and 2 of Cicero’s On Ends shows that Cicero had perfectly appropriated the Greek philosophical tradition and that he basically thought along the lines of the age-old school discussions. A typically Roman context seems to have had only limited influence on his argument: his conception of virtue, for instance, or his stress on the importance of the brilliant achievements of famous ancestors, though illustrated with many Roman examples, are borrowed from traditional Greek arguments. His attack on Torquatus’ inconsistency between words and deeds is clever and convincing, but rests on a theoretical construct. All in all, the Epicureans of Cicero’s day saw no major problems in adapting their philosophical convictions to the complex world of the Roman Republic.

This famous argument is important for understanding how, according to Socrates, we can inquire without the senses: the knowledge is already within us; the senses are merely necessary for triggering the beginning of inquiry. I argue that Socrates treats recollecting as an extended process. His claim is that learning is a type of recollecting that begins when we first perceive something and continues until we acquire knowledge of the relevant form. Moreover, I argue that Socrates is interested in a type of recollecting that involves perceiving one thing and bringing to mind another, which is the very standard by which one can judge the first. Socrates does not provide here an argument for accepting “Platonic forms,” where these are understood as including all of Plato’s central commitments about the forms. Instead, his argument highlights one key difference between ordinary objects and forms: that the latter do not change over time, whereas the former do.

This paper offers a provocative re-reading of the passage about the sizes of the sun, moon, and stars late in Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura (5.564-613). Attention to not only details of argumentation but also shades of meaning and contorted syntax shows a more complex, ambiguous presentation than generally acknowledged. This paper suggests that Lucretius' narrator—rather than merely parroting wrong, ridiculed doctrines—pulls student-readers into the process of inquiry. It becomes the didactic audience’s task to receive data from sense-perception and use lessons learned earlier in the poem in making correct judgments based upon that data. In Epicurean and Lucretian accounts of reality, the senses themselves are infallible; so the Lucretius-ego’s assertion that the sun as big as perceived by our senses must also be infallible. But our interpretation of what that assertion entails about the sun’s actual size is a matter of judgment, and thus fallible and uncertain indeed.

This chapter argues that Plato wrote the Phaedo so that we would see Socrates as a philosophical hero, a replacement for traditional heroes such as Theseus or Heracles. The dialogue tells a new sort of story of how a hero faces death, providing an alternative to tragedy, as Plato thought that tragedy was actually practiced. I discuss the topic here because the opening of the dialogue plays an important role in setting up the Phaedo as an alternative to tragedy. But my case’s strength comes from cumulative evidence drawn from across the dialogue, and so this chapter provides an overall reading of the dialogue as an alternative to tragedy. After arguing for this, I turn to two other ways in which storytelling arises in the opening of the dialogue: in Socrates’ Aesop fable and in his dream that tells him to compose poetry.

This argument (typically called the “affinity argument”) is central to the structure of the Phaedo, setting up much of the remainder of the dialogue. Moreover, it develops the dialogue’s most detailed account of the forms and of ordinary objects, and it argues for an innovative account of the nature of the soul, which is relied upon in Socrates’ ethical account in the next section. Despite this, the argument has received very little scholarly attention, supposedly because scholars widely view it as an especially bad argument. This chapter shows that the argument is much more precise and stronger than has been appreciated. In doing so, it argues that Socrates describes here a new, fundamental feature of the forms: they are simple in a way that makes them partless – in strong contrast to ordinary objects, whose complex structure allows them to have opposing features at the same time.

This chapter introduces the book’s approach and its main theses, ending with an overview of the Phaedo. I argue that the dialogue has an unfolding structure, in which claims made early are often explained only at later stages. I briefly lay out the distinct stages of Socrates’ accounts of the forms, of the soul, and of ethics. These are not three independent topics; instead, his ethical account is grounded in his account of the soul, which is in turn grounded in his account of the forms. Another important thread running through the dialogue is how Socrates responds to Simmias’ and Cebes’ fears by trying to help them acquire the right sort of rational confidence in their views. I also discuss how Socrates appropriates and transforms ideas from his religious, scientific, and literary context in articulating and defending his philosophical theories.

Cebes’ cloakmaker objection presents an alternative model of the soul according to which it is ultimately destroyed in the process of providing life to the body. Socrates’ final argument rejects this model by arguing that the soul’s bringing life to the body, far from destroying the soul, is precisely what ensures that it must be immortal and imperishable. In doing so, the argument identifies a way in which the soul has a characteristic of the divine – immortality – thereby specifying one way in which it is akin to the divine, as Socrates claimed in the kinship argument. Thus, the final argument responds to Cebes’ cloak maker objection in a way that further fills in the kinship argument’s account of the soul. The final argument also includes an important discussion of forms and ordinary objects. I argue that Socrates here identifies the most basic reason why forms cannot be ordinary, perceptible things: ordinary objects are receptive of opposites, whereas forms cannot be.