Democritus c. 460 b.c.-c. 370 b.c.
Democritus is best known for the atomic or atomistic theory he co-developed with his teacher, Leucippus. Although a contemporary of Socrates, Democritus is considered among the last of the pre-Socratics. It is generally believed that Leucippus contributed more to atomism's founding than Democritus, but that Democritus was more responsible for the theory's refinement. Although their work was based on the earlier theories of the Milesians, the two made notable advancements, particularly in their explanation of density. The atomic theory is mechanistic: it holds that all matter is composed of an infinite number of indivisible and indestructible atoms of various shapes moving about in an infinite void, in an infinite universe, always and forever colliding with each other, and sometimes joining to form combinations. Nothing happens by chance, nor on purpose, and all can be explained in terms of mechanical principles, one thing causing another. Democritus's philosophy, including his belief that the soul itself is composed of atoms, angered some philosophers including Plato—who pointedly did not mention him— and Aristotle, who, in his writings, criticized Democritus and his theory. Most of the few hundred fragments that remain of Democritus's writings deal with ethics rather than atomism. His ethics stress moderation and the practice of that which is beneficial to society. Democritus also asserted that man's belief in divinities is due to his ignorance about nature, and his emphasis on cheerfulness as the goal for all individuals led to his nickname, the Laughing Philosopher.
Democritus was born on the northern shore of the Aegean Sea in Abdera, a city of ancient Thrace which was also home to the Sophist Protagoras. Little else is known about his life, except that he traveled on one occasion to talk with Anaxagoras, the leading scientist of Athens, but was rebuffed. It is believed that Democritus was fairly wealthy and that he traveled extensively in the East—to Egypt, Babylon, India, and Persia. He lived a long life, probably ninety years or more.
Democritus is said to have written many books (seventy, according to Diogenes Laertius), including one entitled Little Cosmology as a nod to Leucippus's Great Cosmology. The ancients report he was fascinated by all subjects, and wrote on music and on all aspects of science, including biology and astronomy. Only fragments of his work survive, however, and most of these are concerned with ethics. In these terse fragments, Democritus discusses laws and his belief that individuals will obey them because it is in their collective self-interest to do so. He explains the importance of maintaining a balance between too much and too little material wealth, and also promotes altruism.
Democritus's ideas failed to please those who attempted to explain the nature of things by looking at their function, as well as those who tried to explain the world in terms of a divine power. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle all disagreed with him. In modern times he is credited with starting on the correct path: without modern scientific tools, Democritus could do little more than practice atomism as a philosophy. Robert L. Oldershaw points out, though, that “he had a remarkably modern understanding of concepts like the conservation of mass/energy, the indirect nature of perception, the continual formation of and destruction of physical systems, the reality of empty space, the basic theory of colours and the fundamental principles of causality and determinism.” Most scholars have acknowledged the impossibility of determining exactly where Leucippus's ideas end and Democritus's begin, but they continue to debate whether or not Democritus authored the ethical fragments often attributed to him. One group believes he was not the author since there is little similarity between the atomic theory writings and the ethical fragments, and further, they question why so many of these fairly unremarkable ethical pieces exist. The opposition maintains that Democritus was responsible for both sets of writings; that they lack similarity because they are concerned with vastly different topics; that they nonetheless do contain some similar elements; and that the Cynics may have preserved the ethical fragments, which would explain why so many of them are extant. Some scholars concentrate on Democritus's political theory, so far as it can be deduced. Eric A. Havelock investigates Democritus's views on laws intended to promote good behavior in society, while Michael Nill studies Democritus's views governing higher and lower forms of pleasure and their function in a well-run community. Jonathan Barnes explores the dilemma the atomists faced concerning belief and the imprecise nature of knowledge. There is disagreement on exactly what Democritus meant in certain instances—understandable given the dearth of surviving texts. Richard D. McKirahan takes a close look at the extant fragments of Democritus and places them alongside the work of contemporaneous and near-contemporaneous commentators in an attempt not only to explain atomism but to explain what the ancients thought it meant. C. C. W. Taylor contributes a similar effort in his study of Democritus's theological writings.
∗Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker (prose) 1952
Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers: A Complete Translation of the Fragments in Diels, “Fragmente der Vorsokratiker” (translated by Kathleen Freeman) 1957
The Atomists: Leucippus and Democritus (translated by C. C. W. Taylor) 1999
SOURCE: “The Political Theory of Democritus,” in The Liberal Temper in Greek Politics, 1957. Yale University Press, 1964, pp. 125-54.
[In the following excerpt, Havelock examines Democritus's political statements and concludes that he was satisfied to leave some problems unsolved.]
The political theory of Democritus has been preserved by antiquity in the form of some twenty-three aphorisms, or programmatic statements, attributed to his name. These are contained in a large ‘chrestomathy’ or anthology of useful statements compiled perhaps in the early fifth century of our era by John of Stobi [4.1 On Polity; 4.2 On Laws; 4.5 On Government]. The reader whose conception of Greek philosophy follows traditional lines will, when he looks at this allegedly Democritean material, be tempted to say to himself: ‘Democritus was famous in antiquity for a materialist metaphysic. He taught the doctrine of a mechanical universe in which infinite atoms moving through infinite space perpetually collided to form combinations essentially fortuitous. Whatever be the precise meaning of these statements about man in society, their doctrine must derive from the general theory of his system. Let us, therefore, in attempting to interpret the political theory of Democritus, first assume that it depends on his atomic principles and reflects the same mechanism and determinism.’
But when we consider the problem of how to connect his atomism with his politics, the testimonies fail us. Democritus clearly had precise views about many matters affecting society and the city state and law and justice. But no writer of antiquity reports where Democritus the atomist stood in relation to Democritus the political scientist. There were writers after him who claimed the Democritean tradition, and who did make the connection for themselves. One thinks, for example, of Lucretius, but this is not the same thing as reporting for Democritus, the man of Abdera. This adopted son of Athens was an intellectual of the Periclean Age. That a connection existed between his politics and his cosmology is virtually certain. Quotation from Democritus conveys the impression of a keen and a coherent mind, thinking structurally. The impression is reinforced by what tradition says of his metaphysics. If we say he was coherent and cogent rather than systematic, it is because the term systematic is better reserved to describe that mastery of the technique of exposition which was achieved in the ideologies of Plato and Aristotle. The style of Democritus is essentially pre-Platonic. It reflects those methods of organizing ideas which were characteristic of the age. We perceive in him an intuitive coherence which we can, if we choose, reformulate and reproduce as a system. But in the absence of any explicit report which defines the connection between his politics and his metaphysics, let us postpone this question. Let us first estimate his statements about man and society in their own right and determine whether they exhibit an inner direction. If they do, then a just estimate of their logic may put us on a road of connection between metaphysics and politics more reliable than any that might suggest itself if we used traditional assumptions about materialism and mechanism.
It is difficult to describe the sayings of Democritus as either aphorisms or proverbs or axioms or maxims. They overlap these categories. To understand them, one has to understand the role of the gnomic method in antiquity. Here it is pertinent to note a historical distinction. The rounded sentence began its career in the preliterate days of oral communication, when indoctrination depended on word of mouth and retention of doctrine depended on the memory. Democritus himself was a writer, but he wrote in a period when readers were still outnumbered by listeners. It is therefore not surprising that he compressed his ideas into gnomic formulations, for he can be pictured, like the poets who were his contemporaries, as composing under what we may call a form of audience-control. Collections of gnomae, therefore, stamped with the hallmark of individual thinkers were characteristic of the first stage of Greek prose writing. But the anthologies of such which were accumulated systematically in the Hellenistic Age and later, and which dominated so much thinking and writing in later antiquity and the Middle Ages, were devoted to the special task of preserving in an epoch of books and readers that kind of material which was still suitable for oral memorization. Fresh thinking was now done on paper in continuous exposition. Thus the province of the gnome (Latin sententia) ceased to be the creative and became the commonplace.
This tended subtly to alter the vocabulary, temper and tone of the ancient gnomic statements as they were preserved. It was as though the chemical thinking of pre-Platonic antiquity, a dynamic creative process, had now been precipitated in crystallized form at the bottom of the glass; and one collected, arranged and packaged the crystals in commonplace books. The historian, therefore, who examines the preserved statements of any pre-Platonic thinker has to fortify himself against two quite different sources of error, the one in the text, the other in himself. On the one hand, there are the ancient compiler and the compiler from whom he may have compiled; they may have edited the material subtly but inescapably out of its archaic and awkward originality, by changes in vocabulary or syntax, by omissions or eclectic additions of commonplaces of other thinkers. The historian, therefore, is all the more thankful when he deals with a philosopher who adhered to metre. But on the other hand, even when an original survives in its archaic stiffness and angularity, the modern mind approaches it half expecting that it will be, indeed, a commonplace, a proverb or maxim with recognizable relation to the accumulated truisms of Western culture. What is specific and original in terminology, what is surprising and significant in syntax, will tend to be glossed over and ignored. The sayings of Heraclitus are notorious for their concentration and obscurity, but are only an extreme example of a method of exposition which is still discernible in Anaxagoras. The sayings of Democritus are stylistically intermediate between these two thinkers. They are little universes in themselves, and yet also they can be said to be flung like the feathered phrases of the epic minstrel from a mind comprehensive in vision, yet intensely particular in formulation. In short, the political sayings of Democritus present themselves both as self-contained units and yet as items in a ‘system’. They can be marshalled and deployed one by one in a sequence which gradually exposes the coherence of their inner logic. They are, so to speak, electrically charged, but the messages they deliver can be monitored because they are transmitting over a consistent wavelength.
1 [FVS6 68 B257]
As to animals in given cases of killing and not killing the rule is as follows: if an animal does wrong or desires to do wrong and if a man kill it he shall be counted exempt from penalties. To perform this promotes well-being rather than the reverse.
According as has been written concerning wild things and creeping things, if they are ‘enemy’, so also [such is my doctrine] is it needful to do in the case of human beings.
If a thing does injury contrary to right it is needful to kill it. This covers all cases. If a man do so he shall increase the portion in which he partakes of right and security in any [social] order.
According to the custom laws of the fathers you kill the ‘enemy’ in every [social] order where custom-law in that order does not prohibit; for the several groups there are prohibitions of local religious sanctions of solemnized contracts of oaths
Right is to perform what is needful and wrong is to fail to perform what is needful and to decline to do so.
If men have wrong done to them there is need to avenge them so far as is feasible. This should not be passed over. This kind of thing is right and also good and the other kind of thing is wrong and also bad.
This group of formulations has a long ancestry. In its curiously stiff archaic simplicity and its participial constructions, it recalls both the syntax and the subject-matter of the Code of Hammurabi, that cuneiform original of the legal systems of the Near East and the West. But the Greek thinker has cast his legalisms in a typically Hellenic and rational context. He is looking at the behaviour of man in a cosmic and historical setting. Why concentrate on such a trivial matter as the ethics of disposing of dangerous animals, the goring ox, the vicious dog? In primitive communities, such issues provoked disputes between neighbours over valuable property, and it is easy to see how their disposition required the aid of regularity in a code. But Democritus is not interested in the custom-laws of a rural economy, not, that is, for their own sake. He is looking at the usage of men toward animals in order to extract a criterion for the usage of men toward other men. He says so explicitly (No. 2). We might expect the reverse line of reasoning. Surely the disposition of hostile animals is an application of the laws of property among men. But this is not the historical genetic approach of Democritus. He is searching less for the principles than for the methods by which human communities have been able to found themselves. He finds the method in law enforcement. This in turn depends for its effectiveness on the application of sanctions, and the essential sanction is the right to kill, legally that is. The power to execute is primary, if societies are to exist at all. He finds the prototype of this power in the right to kill animals. Why? The only answer can be that his conception of human society is based upon an anthropology in which man, himself an animal species, proceeded to organize himself in social orders (cosmoi) in order to protect himself against other species. When Democritus first states the rule of killing and not killing, he speaks of animals as ‘living things’ (zoa). This word could include men; in the ‘zoogonies’, the origin of the animal and human species was described without distinction of kind. In the anthropologies constructed on this foundation, organized war against the animals had been recognized as a necessary stage in man's social advance. Such had been the mythos, the drama in which his early departure from primitivism had been imaginatively conceived. Democritus takes this drama and uses it genetically to establish basic criteria for right and wrong. In the same genetic spirit he cites ancestral usage, not to support some specific party programme in the present, as was often done by practical politicians, but in its most general sense as that pattern of behaviour historically devised and normatively sanctioned in the remote past.
What then do we mean by ‘Right’ and ‘Unright’ (dike and adikia)? This is the question he asks. And his mind (we can see the naturalist, the materialist at work here) argues that to understand them we have to understand the minimum parts, so to speak, out of which they are constructed. In a civilized society they may be symbols for complicated value-judgments or applications of value-judgments; but they had an historical origin. This was essentially simple; nor will they ever lose the quality of their origin. The origin lay in the sanction of protection to achieve security. The sanction itself in its simplest form was negative—the right to kill the ‘enemy’. To forget this is to betray society (as he later argues). It is not verbal looseness on his part when he speaks of animals ‘doing wrong’. He deliberately reduces wrong, and therefore right, to bare essentials by viewing animal as man and man as animal. To make this quite clear, he reformulates the rule in the most general terms possible:
‘If a thing does injury contrary to right it is needful to kill it.’
By ‘contrary to right’ he indicates the violation of another's security, and to make clear that this minimum condition of right and wrong is meant seriously as a definition of their essence, he makes the definition explicit—
‘To do right is to do what you have to do, to do what there is need of …’
—in the most simple and concrete sense.
If we have defined the repulse of injury as self-protection, however, we can begin to mistranslate the direction of his thought, which would seem an apology for modified anarchy, with atomized individuals repelling wrong but otherwise minding their own business. Strictly speaking, Democritus has no word for individual, that is, for individual self-subsistent personality, and he is incapable of thinking of the concept. His terminology baffles us because while viewing groups or aggregates as made up of simple parts he never seems to visualize the laws of behaviour of the parts without automatically visualizing that behaviour as social. He certainly considered the savage condition of man as pre-civic; but he almost certainly never imagined it as wholly atomized into individuals. Just as in the early anthropologies, the killing of ‘enemies’ was rationalized as that condition necessary for protecting organized society, so in Democritus as he warms to his theme and further defines the action taken against ‘the enemy’ the action is discovered to be social (item 4), sanctioned by the social order (cosmos) in which you are living. If you kill, you kill in the name of social security, and your act is sanctioned by this ‘need’. Nay more, in those human groups which constitute social orders, the definition of ‘right’ (dike) now advances to a more complex level: the sanction of killing is regulated. It is qualified by religious provisions and exceptions. These, he observes keenly, are local (item 4). His empiricism here reinforces his historical method. The right of asylum, for example, the protection afforded by temples to wrong-doers, depends upon the validity of local cults. There is no standard pattern for these. But solemnized agreements accompanied by libations (his next example) reflect practices widespread and accepted, and so do the oaths by which host swears to protect guest, or friend defends friend, or tribes and cities ratify their agreements. These also cut down the freedom to kill the ‘enemy’. Democritus in effect argues that no social group ever applies the simple law of self-protection in its total sense. There is a possibility of mitigation, of truce, of agreement in the unending effort to establish security. Is he in effect pointing to the regulation of intergroup relations as requiring a set of rules more complicated than mere outlawry? Is he hinting that societies, as they progress, learn other usages beside that of right and unright? He has not yet reached the polis but he is getting nearer to it.
Thus far, unright and right, respectively, could be described as symbols of aggression on the one hand and repulse or correction of aggression on the other. The first premisses of moral man, if such these be, are disappointingly negative. But when Democritus sums up the rule of the right to kill and states it as a general principle ‘covering all cases’, he significantly describes the wrong-doer not merely as the ‘enemy’ but as the ‘injurer’ (No. 3). He uses the participle of an epic verb. His style still falls short of the prosaic in the technical sense of that term. But, stylistic considerations apart, he adopts a word which in Homer indicated injury, damage, disaster, done in hostile relations between enemies (for example, by Greeks or Trojans). Injured feelings are not in question. He is advancing by implication a definition of unright as the infliction of material damage. This supplies a hint of the direction of his thought, a hint confirmed by his defence (No. 1) of killing the animal who is ‘enemy’.
‘To perform this promotes well-being rather than the reverse.’
Injury or damage on the one hand, well-being or prosperity on the other, are placed in antithesis. You have to prevent or decrease the former, and to assist or increase the latter. He is thinking perhaps in terms of some calculus, for he says:
‘contribute to well-being rather than the reverse’
and it is also symptomatic that when he formulates the right to kill as a necessary law (items 2, 3), his verb of compulsion (chre) symbolizes the need arising out of the inherent situation, rather than that impersonal compulsion (ananke) imposed from some source external to the situation.
This calculus suggests that he is looking for an operational definition of right and unright. Across the intervening centuries we hear an echo of this, of course unpremeditated, in the accents of Jeremy Bentham. But the comparison with English Utilitarianism is no sooner made than it should be withdrawn. The greatest good of the greatest number is a formula built on the conception of units of personality which can be added up to form arithmetic aggregates. No fresh values enter in at the group level which are not present in its atomized parts. Democritus, to repeat what has already been said, shares with his age an inability to reach such a concept of the human ethos. He would have rejected it as an illusion, we suspect, had it been stated to him. His utilitarianism, then, if it be fair to use the term—and it probably is, for the symbols of utility, profit and interest had already been advanced by thinkers of the naturalist school before Plato united them strategically with the form of the good—his utilitarianism conceives of well-being versus ill-being, of profit versus damage, as indicating alternative conditions which affect the person and his community simultaneously, for a person's ‘way of life’ is life in a community. The group and its component parts have a double-acting relationship. The group is a dynamic context. This is not spelled out for us in Democritus' statements. It is reflected, however, in the ambiguity of his terminology. For example, when he surrounds the right to kill with qualifications (No. 4), he says:
‘For the several groups there are prohibitions.’
Here the phrase ‘several groups’ seeks to translate an untranslatable ambivalence. More strikingly, he says of the man who carries out the need for killing the injurer (No. 3):
‘He shall increase the portion in which he partakes of right and security in any society.’
Democritus means that such a man in the first instance increases the security of the community. But to this security he has himself contributed by his act. He therefore feels good because of his service and also deserves well of the community which he has served. His ‘portion’ is not a fraction of the whole, but amounts to a degree of participation.
So far the Democritean theory of right has presented itself in these legalisms as resting on narrow and negative premisses. To argue that human society could only start its ascent toward civilization by strict enforcement of the most primitive laws of security is no doubt true and valuable; but it does not express the hallmark of civilization itself. Seized as he was of the value of security as a positive thing, Democritus was bound to enlarge and advance his conception until it could comprehend action not only narrowly defensive but also helpful and co-operative. This he begins to do by propounding axiom No. 6; that if you repulse injury and punish it, you do not do this for yourself alone. In a community, you do this in the interests of others who are wronged.
‘If men have wrong done to them there is need to avenge them so far as is feasible. This kind of thing is right and also good.’
This carries us beyond narrowly selfish considerations. Such action is therefore always in danger of being ignored or ‘passed over.’ But (if we may fill in his thought for him) a community comes into existence not as a mere sum of private interests, each protecting their own security, but as a complex in which the need of avenging all who are wronged becomes a matter of ‘principle’, we would say. It has to be recognized, regardless of whether or not the particular victims are strong enough to protect themselves without help. He uses the verb ‘avenge’ perhaps to locate the rule far back in primitive society as he has already located the right of self-preservation. It is the prototype of those methods of legal redress which an advanced society makes available as a substitute for direct succour. But the point is that at least some vengeance must always be taken, whoever is wronged, in order to guarantee that a collective system of mutual security will work for all members. If he asks for it ‘so far as is feasible’, he may mean to hint that group protection by members for other members has always had limited efficacy as contrasted with direct action. But when he vigorously defends this vicarious rule as ‘right and also good’, and the opposite as ‘wrong and also bad’, the second adjective in each pair points up the utility and strength which accrue to the community as a whole.
Two-thirds of Democritus' social and political axioms still remain to be considered. They deal with matters of increasing complexity—law and custom, faction and consensus, the polis, its ethos and administration. His thinking in politics seems to have proceeded along organic lines, viewing the human group as founded on a very few simple principles but discovering and then solving more complicated issues in later stages of development. This kind of progress means that the problems formulated for solution cease to be negative and become positive. They advance from mere security to the creative values and enjoyments of a polis type of community.
Faction within the clan is a bad thing for both sides. Those who win and those who lose share impartially in common disaster.
Envious malice between men constitutes the genesis of faction.
The custom laws would not prevent each of us from living his life in accordance with those powers and opportunities which are his own if it were not true that A inflicted injury on B.
It is the desire of custom law to do good to the way of life of men but it is able to do this only when men also desire to have good done to them. If men hearken to it the custom law demonstrates to them that excellence which is its own.
To establish the basis of sociality, human beings must initially recognize sanctions which protect the group from without. This is a simpler matter than maintaining its cohesion within. If right is a value-symbol to be placed on action taken against the anti-social ‘enemy’, then the objective of reconciling tensions within will call into play other terms and different formulae.
These four political axioms focus their attention on the provenance of custom-law. In Greek tradition, Greek law (nomos) came to be viewed as the specific creation of the city-state. The virtual identification of nomos and polis was already implicit in the theory (or the myth) of law-givers who had established ‘polities’, that is, civic institutions. The idealism of Plato and the teleology of Aristotle only confirmed the identification and made it an article of faith. But Democritus true to his genetic method sees law generated as a solution to problems which were already crystallizing in pre-civic conditions. The factional quarrel which threatens to split the civic group and end its existence can be seen already at work in the clan of blood-kindred. Long before Democritus, Solon had phrased it in this way, and his successor in the democratic experiment, Cleisthenes, had set out to solve the problem practically, by breaking up the ancient clans and distributing their members among demes. Perhaps both men confronted an ancient inheritance, handed down from more primitive days, in the form of blood-feud, which dividing a clan of kindred families can decimate its members. Herodotus saw the same danger in a Pan-Hellenic setting: the quarrel over the command of the united forces against Persia at Salamis; and he applied the same phrase to describe it. These examples show that the clan (phyle) did not describe a kin-group of any defined size. Depending on context, it might refer to the consanguinity of a kin-group within a polis, or to all members of a polis as for example Athenians, or to all Greeks as a ‘race’. Democritus, then, in presenting the factions of the clan as a problem in politics, takes advantage of the ambiguity. He wants a term as general as possible in order to view faction historically as a process endemic in the social order at all stages of its evolution. Upon this perennial and now proverbial danger he places a reflective interpretation. Historically, the way of settling a feud had been a conflict which ended in victory and subjugation. This solution is illusory, says Democritus. The victors and vanquished have suffered a common destruction. Of what, we may ask? In any immediate sense, the vanquished lose definite things like life or status or property; and the victors gain corresponding and equally definite benefits. Democritus cannot be defining loss in these terms. Something has been destroyed which was the common property of the two factions before the fighting began.
That common property could be defined as the group's over-all security, or its law. But Democritus does not at once jump, as a more traditional and superficial thinker might, to the necessity of supporting law at all costs—eunomia, the Greeks called it—as a preventive of faction. The enemy from without the group had been simply ‘the enemy’, externally viewed. You do not have to deal with his ethos or motives. You establish the rule of right (dike) on purely positivist lines. Punishment by expulsion or elimination or execution is the first law of group survival. But it is only the first law. For an in-group problem, you are forced to consider the inner ethos and motives of human beings. Thus, still looking at the cause of feud genetically, you discover it in the propensity of the human animal to compete and to conceive and nurse a grudge against his competitor, to make envious comparisons. These connotations are all packed into the Greek noun phthonos and its more ancient verb phthoneo. Competition, primarily envious, secondarily emulative, between fellow-craftsmen had become a proverb before Hesiod. Envious malice describes an emotion not self-generated in isolation but one which ab initio exists between two or more people. The curse of Adam is the way Adam handles his primary relationships with other Adams. Adam the single man never existed. The ‘grudge’ is almost the condition of being a human being so far as our manhood depends on some relationship to other men. Hence Democritus, viewing the growth of morals and politics from an anthropological standpoint, at least implies that within this growth are comprehended two warring principles: an inherent grudge of man against man; and a compulsion nevertheless to live in groups which can co-operate because the grudge is somehow controlled or sublimated. Hebraic analogies even when helpful can often mislead. Did ‘malice’ express the Greek equivalent for original sin? Or was it not more characteristic of Greek realism combined with Greek rationalism to assume that if two men or groups could advance in prosperity at mathematically equal rates, grudge and envy would not arise; but that chance and fortune see to it that they almost never do; and so the envy on one side and the fear on the other that result are reactions of the human material to an emotional strain imposed upon it by the non-mathematical operation of circumstances. This might have been Democritus' complete doctrine. We cannot be sure. In what we have of him, we start with the fact of the competitive grudge as an originating force (arche) which sets in motion...
(The entire section is 11796 words.)
SOURCE: “Democritus and the Atomic Theory: Materialism,” in The Philosophers of Greece, Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1964, pp. 78-92.
[In the following excerpt, Brumbaugh summarizes Democritus's atomist philosophy, considers some criticisms of it, and relates it to the development of Greek mechanical devices.]
There is no chance, but all is from necessity.
Nothing exists but atoms and the void.
Applying the logic developed in the Eleatic school by Parmenides and Zeno to the ideas of matter that had...
(The entire section is 4742 words.)
SOURCE: “Cosmology from Parmenides to Democritus,” in The Presocratics, Duckworth, 1972, pp. 127-48.
[In the following excerpt, Hussey summarizes the atomistic theory and explains in what ways it was revolutionary.]
THE ATOMISTS: LEUCIPPUS AND DEMOCRITUS
Of the life of Leucippus we know next to nothing, and there is little trustworthy information about that of Democritus. Both were citizens of Abdera, a small city on the northern shores of the Aegean, which like Elea had been founded by refugees from old Ionia. Democritus was perhaps the younger and, born like Socrates around 470, he lived on well into the fourth century.
(The entire section is 2719 words.)
SOURCE: “The Bounds of Knowledge,” in The Presocratic Philosophers: Volume 2: Empedocles to Democritus, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1979, pp. 234-62.
[In the following excerpt, Barnes discusses Democritus's skepticism regarding humankind's ability to know anything with certainty.]
Metrodorus of Chios, a pupil of Democritus (e.g., Clement, 70 A 1) who held solidly to the main tenets of atomism (e.g., Theophrastus, A 3), purveys an extreme scepticism which foreshadows, in its ingenious comprehensiveness, the most extravagant claims of Pyrrho: at the beginning of his book Concerning Nature Metrodorus said:...
(The entire section is 2575 words.)
SOURCE: “Democritus and the Origins of Moral Psychology,” in American Journal of Philology, Vol. 106, No. 1, 1985, pp. 1-31.
[In the following essay, Kahn explores Democritus's texts as a source for moral psychology and ethics in the time of Socrates.]
The fragments of Democritus constitute the most important body of material for the history of philosophical ethics and psychology before the dialogues of Plato. This fact has not received the attention it deserves, largely because interest in Democritus has focused on his physical doctrines. The physical theory is known to us from Aristotle and the doxography, but the fragments themselves speak primarily about...
(The entire section is 13002 words.)
SOURCE: “Democritus,” in Morality and Self-Interest in Protagoras, Antiphon and Democritus, E. J. Brill, 1985, pp. 75-91.
[In the following excerpt, Nill examines Democritus's moral theory, particularly concerning pleasure and the ability of an individual to attain an ideal state.]
Democritus (c. 460-396 b.c.) was a younger contemporary of Protagoras; both were born in Abdera.1 Although he had encyclopedic interests and was the author of many works, the 298 fragments ascribed to him in Diels-Kranz are at most all that has survived of his writings.2 Almost all of these fragments concern ethical matters. But despite this, Democritus has...
(The entire section is 12720 words.)
SOURCE: “Democritus and the Impossibility of Collision,” in Philosophy, Vol. 65, No. 252, April, 1990, pp. 212-17.
[In the following essay, Godfrey explains a modern argument concerning the mathematical indivisibility of atoms and compares it to Greek thought on the subject.]
The Abderite philosophers Leucippus and Democritus sought to solve many of the problems facing Greek thought in the fifth century b.c. by taking all things to be made up of atoms of matter moving in a void. One of the major controversies surrounding their work is whether their atomism was logical or merely physical. Did they consider their atoms to be mathematically indivisible?
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SOURCE: “Remarkable Ingratitude: Bacon, Prometheus, Democritus,” in Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, Vol. 32, No. 1, Winter, 1992, pp. 79-90.
[In the following essay, Barbour explores the influence of Democritus on Francis Bacon's essay on Prometheus.]
Despite Robert Kargon's argument that Bacon abandoned atomism, the seventeenth-century reformer never got Epicureanism off his mind.1 More carefully than any of his contemporaries, Bacon explored the relations between the atomism, hedonism, and theology of Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius, which appear in a wide arrange of contexts and with an array of values in Bacon's works. At times Bacon...
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SOURCE: “Fifth-Century Atomism: Leucippus and Democritus,” in Philosophy before Socrates: An Introduction with Texts and Commentary, Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 1994, pp. 303-43.
[In the following excerpt, McKirahan explicates passages concerning atomic theory by Democritus and ancient Greek commentators.]
The third and most ambitious response to the Eleatic challenge was the atomic theory, invented by Leucippus and developed by Democritus. Leucippus is a shadowy character1 who we are told was from (a) Miletus, (b) Elea, and (c) Abdera2, though these claims could simply reflect the facts that (a) his philosophy was strongly of the Ionian...
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SOURCE: “Did Democritus Ascribe Weight to Atoms?” in Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 75, No. 3, September, 1997, pp 279-87.
[In the following essay, Chalmers attempts to eliminate contradictions concerning the weight of atoms in Democritus's theory by making fine distinctions in particular definitions.]
The problems concerning the question of whether or not Democritus ascribed weight to atoms are twofold. First, if we take their words at face value, it would appear that the ancient Greek commentators on Democritus disagreed on the matter. Aristotle and his pupil Theophrastus both made statements that can readily be...
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SOURCE: “Democritus—Scientific Wizard of the 5th Century b.c.,” in Speculations in Science and Technology, Vol. 21, No. 1, March, 1998, pp. 37-44.
[In the following essay, Oldershaw explains the methodology that enabled Democritus to achieve extraordinary results considering the unavailability of all but the most rudimentary form of mathematics.]
LAUGHTER IN THE GARDEN
An elderly man sat in a beautiful garden on the outskirts of Abdera, Greece, staring fixedly at various parts of his natural surroundings. He often chuckled to himself and occasionally burst out laughing to the heavens. At first his neighbours just winked at each...
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SOURCE: “Ode to a Grecian Atomist,” in The Humanist, Vol. 59, No. 1, January-February, 1999, pp. 34-35.
[In the following essay, Hall answers moral arguments against modern science that parallel objections made against atomism in the time of Democritus.]
The ancient Greek atomism of Democritis and Leucippus was an attempt to reconcile observations of the physical world with the existing philosophical wisdom concerning change in the world. Although the methods of reasoning they used were not those of the modern scientific method, it is remarkable how close many of the properties of their atoms come to matching those of the atoms of modern science. At the very least,...
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SOURCE: “Commentary,” in The Atomists: Leucippus and Democritus, University of Toronto Press, 1999, pp. 157-234.
[In the following excerpt, Taylor examines Democritus's ideas on the gods and religion.]
Democritus' theology is naturalistic, in its accounts both of the nature of the gods and of the origins and grounds of belief in their existence. Despite obscurity over some details (see below), it is clear that he believed that there are gods, which are living, intelligent, material beings (of a peculiar sort), playing a significant role in human affairs. They are atomic compounds, and like all such compounds they come to be and...
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