SOURCE: A. J. Festugière, "The Religion of Epicurus," in Epicurus and His Gods, translated by C. W. Chilton, Basil Blackwell, 1955, pp. 51-65.

[Originally published in France in 1946, Festugière's Epicurus and his Gods quickly became standard criticism in discussions of Epicurean theology. In the excerpt below, Festugière looks at Epicurus—both as an Athenian citizen and as a philosopher—in the context of his culture's religious thought.]

Ever since men in Greece had believed in the existence of gods—and this belief seems to go back to an unfathomable antiquity—they had thought also that the gods rule human affairs. These two aspects of faith are connected; for this very faith in the existence of superior powers, whose favour we must win and whose anger we must turn aside, is born of the observation, a thousand times repeated, that most of our actions do not achieve their object, that almost of necessity there remains a gap between our best laid plans and their fulfilment, and that as a result our being is circumscribed by doubt, whose offspring is hope and fear. By the same psychological law, human conjectures about the attitude of the gods varied according as men enjoyed prosperity or suffered misfortune. When our projects succeed we readily believe that the gods take notice of us, that they are good, and that they love us; but when we suffer a reverse, we imagine that the gods are far away, indifferent, or hostile. On this point Greek religion is no different from any other; it is one of the sentiments most deeply rooted in the heart of man and can be found alike in all peoples and in all times.

If there were any need to demonstrate the strength of these beliefs in Greece itself we should only have to dip into literature from the time of Homer. Let me quote but one example, exactly contemporary with Epicurus. When in September 290 Demetrius Poliorcetes and his new wife Lanassa made their solemn entry into Athens as gods made manifest (Demetrius and Demeter), the city instituted a contest of paeans in honour of the divine couple. Now this is what we read in the paean of Hermocles, who carried off the prize: 'As to him (Demetrius), he appears with a kindly face…, as befits a god, and he is fair and full of joy… The other gods are far away, or they have no ears, or they do not exist, or they pay not the least attention to us: but you we see face to face, not in wood or in stone but in truth and reality.' What could be more obvious? If the old gods are left on one side it is because they no longer concern themselves with the affairs of Athens and because for the last fifty years (since Chaeronea 338) Athens had lived under foreign domination. The gods of Athens are far away, or they have no ears: or even, since they are no longer active, they do not exist. Demetrius on the other hand appears as a smiling conqueror: it is he who is the god. Traditional expressions show how usual it was to link in this way the existence of the gods with their activity. A man could not succeed except 'with the gods'…, he got nothing without them. These expressions were so common that Epicurus did not hesitate to use them in his private letters. In the archonship of Charinus (308-7) he wrote to a friend: 'Even if war comes it will bring us nothing dreadful if the gods are favourable…', and again, 'Thanks to the gods… I have lived and intend to live a pure life in the company of Matro alone' (fr. 99 Us[ener, Epicure, 1887]).

As long as men ascribed to the gods the entire government of earthly matters they could not help but live in permanent anxiety. Theophrastus has given us a good example in his portrait, hardly overdrawn, of the deisidaimõn, that is to say, not of the 'superstitious man' as it is usually translated, but of the man who lives in perpetual fear of divine powers. 'Undoubtedly,' he begins, 'deisidaimonia would seem to be a feeling of constant terror… in regard to the divine power; and here is a picture of the deisidaimõn.' There follows a series of instances the accumulation of which certainly gives us the impression that such a man exaggerates, but each instance taken by itself shows nothing at all abnormal in Greek religion. Our deisidaimõn celebrates the Feast of Pitchers (16, 2); we shall soon see that Epicurus also took part in this feast without distinguishing himself in any way from the good people of Athens… fr. 169 Us.). On the fourth and twenty-fourth days of the month, the deisidaimõn gives himself a holiday, has warm wine prepared, and spends his time garlanding the statues in his house (16, 10): Epicurus used to banquet with his friends on the twentieth day in each month. Every month the deisidaimõn betakes himself with his children and his wife (or, in her place, the nurse) to the Orpheotelestai to renew his initiation (16, 11): we are told that Epicurus had himself initiated 'into the mysteries of the city—no doubt the Eleusinian mysteries—and into other (initiations?)'. The deisidaimõn as such is distinguished by the keenness which makes him repeat the ceremony indefinitely, as though the first time did not afford him a sufficient guarantee. To shun the pollution brought by contact with a tombstone, a corpse, or a woman in childbed (16, 9) was, so to speak, one of the most rigid dogmas of Greek religion. Equally there was nothing more common than the fear of bad omens (16, 3, 6, 8), the need to have an explanation of one's dreams (16, 11), the belief in the purificatory virtues of the olive (16, 2), of sea-water (16, 12), of garlic and the sea-leek (16, 13), the panic caused by the sight of a madman or an epileptic (16, 14), or the veneration felt towards a snake that has glided into the house (16, 4). We must not, therefore, think that the deisidaimõn of Theophrastus is an exception: at the time of Epicurus, and much later still, he had thousands of brothers in all parts of the Greek world.

It is clear, then, that for an infinite number of people religion remained a bondage which weighed heavily on their souls. No doubt in educated circles it was possible to banish the fear of the Olympians by denying their existence. It is also perfectly true that doubt and indifference as regards the civic gods had made great progress at the end of the fourth century; hence the parallel efforts on the one hand of Lycurgus and Demetrius of Phalerum to revive the official cults, on the other, earlier still, of Plato, of the author of the Epinomis, and of Aristotle… to introduce the new religion of the astral gods. But these well-educated men, more in the public eye perhaps and in any case better known to us because they were writers, are far from representing the masses. They remained attached to their gods, and so imprisoned in fear and hope; in fear, because they always had to dread that by an omission, even involuntary, of some ritual observation they might have offended the divinity; in hope, because it was always possible to believe that by purifications, sacrifices, and offerings the heart of the gods might be touched.

There is any amount of positive proof that these sentiments were thoroughly implanted in the pagan soul quite apart from the proof by implication provided by Lucretius' eloquent protest against the terrors of the over-devout. In the third century of our era one of the commonest motives for the popular hatred felt towards Christians was the belief that, neglecting the sacrifices themselves and encouraging others to do likewise, they had aroused the fury of the gods against the Empire. In 410, after the capture of Rome by Alaric and his Goths, this prejudice still had such power that St. Augustine was compelled to answer it; in the first ten books of the City of God he is engaged in showing that the Christians were not responsible for Rome's misfortunes. Let us simply recall, to cut the matter short, Plutarch's little essay on deisidaimonia. Plutarch opposes atheism—by which he means the Epicurean doctrine—to an excessive fear of the gods. But the latter evil seems to him worse than the former. Atheism may well be a false idea (C.1.,… C.2), but at least it does not cause any unrest of soul; far from doing that, it steeps a man in a state of insensibility (… C.2) and as a result drives out fear (… C.2). On the other hand deisidaimonia does untold harm. There is no peace any more for a man once he regards the gods as spiteful and given to doing harm (… C.2); the Divinity is everywhere, it can pursue him even in sleep and beyond the grave.

No doubt not everything is original in this little work of Plutarch. Certain features were probably stock themes in the school of Epicurus since they are found both in Lucretius and Philodemus; Plutarch must have borrowed them from Epicurean literature. Nevertheless when we read his finely drawn analyses we are very soon convinced that they are not merely a statement of commonplaces but are the result of observation and experience. Take for example chapter 7 where Plutarch is contrasting the feelings of the atheist and the deisidaimõn when things are not going as they would like.… If the atheist is a moderate man he keeps silent and seeks his consolation within. If he has a peevish disposition he blames Chance or Fortune; accustomed to thinking that all is confusion here below, his own plight confirms him in that belief. In any event the atheist escapes more or less unharmed. It is otherwise with the deisidaimõn. 'If he suffers the most trivial misfortune he loses heart and builds upon his grief painful and serious afflictions from which he will be unable to rid himself; of his own accord he fills himself with fears and terrors, suspicions and worries, never ceasing to wail and groan. He blames neither man, nor chance, nor circumstances, nor himself but the sovereign Creator, God; it is from God, he would have us believe, that these tempestuous billows of heaven-sent malediction unfurl upon him. According to him it is not because he is unfortunate but because the gods hate him that he is punished by them; that is why he submits to expiation and he is convinced that he deserves and has brought on himself everything he suffers?' This passage, and what follows, could have been written by the most modern spiritual director. The reason is that excessive fear of God is a malady which is always with us, and one of the most difficult to cure, as Plutarch notes. It is congenital with religious emotion and grows pari passu with that emotion because it is in proportion to the degree of faith. If we really believe that, giving no scope to secondary causes, God intervenes himself, directly, in the smallest incidents in our life, and if we are really conscious of the impurity of our being in comparison with the divine being, we are not far from being convinced that all our misfortunes have as their cause some sin or, more likely, that permanent state of sin which is the peculiar lot of man and which gives him his essential character in the eyes of God. Hence comes a continuous vexation of the Divinity because we never cease offending against him. 'How can one speak to the deisidaimõn? What means is there of helping him? He sits outside his house muffled in a miserable sack or girt in hideous rags. He often rolls naked in the mud confessing at the top of his voice certain faults, certain omissions of which he is guilty, crying out that he has drunk this and eaten that, or that he has followed such and such a course without the permission of his Guardian Spirit'. Plutarch invents nothing; epigraphy confirms what he says. We possess such public confessions carved upon stone.

This fear of the gods did not afflict men for this life only, it made them anticipate an eternity of punishment. No doubt generalization must be avoided, for the sentiments of the ancients on this subject admitted of infinite variation, especially perhaps in the Hellenistic age, from complete scepticism to a sincere disquiet which drove a man to become initiated in all the oriental Mysteries so as to obtain a surer guarantee of immortality. The belief in punishment beyond the grave had a long history in Greece, where the Nekyia of Homer, which all knew by heart, had popularized it, and it appears in fourth-century literature. A client of Lysias declares herself ready to take the oath and, to give it more weight, recalls the punishments which are reserved in Hell for perjurors. Cephalus, the father of Lysias, admits that ever since he became an old man he has been tormented by the fear of having to expiate in Hades the faults which he might have committed during his long life. 'Demosthenes says that the author of a detestable law should be condemned to death so that he might administer his law to the impious in Hell. Elsewhere, he assumes that a base informer will one day be hurled by the infernal gods into the place where the impious are.' The punishments of Hell were a favourite subject with painters; an archaic vase as early as the sixth century depicts them, Polygnotus in the fifth had drawn them in the Lesche at Delphi, and a line from the Captivi of Plautus, a play imitated from a Greek original, is witness for the spread of these representations. Finally, if the celebrated text in the Republic does not mean that a man could seek purification in the place of his dead parents so as to rescue them from their pains, it does at least prove that many had recourse to certain sacrifices in order to obtain pardon for their crimes both during life and also after death.

So fear of the gods, fear of their anger towards the living and of their vengeance on the dead, played a great part in Greek religion. Perhaps Epicurus had experienced it himself. Perhaps he had undergone a crisis of conscience from which he had emerged victorious. If that is so we can understand better his unfailing certitude. He was convinced, at any rate, that deisidaimonia prevailed all about him, and as he had reached the haven of safety and, in a sentiment of universal benevolence, wished to lead others into it, he felt it to be his first care to banish this fear which utterly prevents peace of mind (ataraxia).

Now the whole of this evil comes from a false notion about the gods. The remedy for the evil, that is to say, a true notion about the gods, will be furnished by the first principles themselves of the doctrine of ataraxia. The system of Epicurus is perfectly coherent on this subject, and the solution which it provides is not without elegance in its simplicity.

Freed from all anxiety by the limitation of his desires the Sage, in this world, finds peace of soul and thereby blessedness. But is it credible that the gods do not enjoy an equal happiness—the gods whom the Greek had always been accustomed to regard as immortal and happy beings par excellence so much so that this double privilege of immortality and happiness is the very thing that essentially distinguishes the god from wretched, mortal man? Surely, if man can attain to happiness, so can the gods; and that which constitutes happiness for humans must also be the substance of the happiness enjoyed by the gods. Now human happiness consists of the absence of worry or, at least, this absence of worry is its first condition. It is to avoid being worried that a man restricts himself to the simplest mode of life, gives up the comforts of wealth, and lives apart from the world, politics, and affairs, thereby cutting off at the source all the causes of passion which might spoil his peace. The same considerations apply to the gods. It is absurd, then, to imagine that the gods constantly concern themselves with the government of the Universe and human affairs. That would run counter to the perfect serenity which is the basis of their happiness. 'Furthermore, we must not believe that the movement of the heavenly bodies, their turnings from one place to another, their eclipses, their risings and settings, and all such phenomena are brought about under the direction of a being who controls or will always control them and who at the same time possesses perfect happiness together with immortality; for the turmoil of affairs, anxieties, and feelings of anger and benevolence do not go with happiness, but all that arises where there is weakness, fear and dependence on others' (Ep., I, 76-77). 'Blessed and immortal Nature knows no trouble herself nor does she cause trouble to anyone else, so that she is not a prey to feelings either of anger or benevolence; for all such things only belong to what is weak' (k.d., 1). 'In the first place believe that god is a living being, immortal and blessed, exactly resembling the common idea of the divine being that is engraved in us, and do not attribute to him anything that is alien to immortality or ill suited to blessedness, but consider that he possesses everything which can preserve his happiness and immortality. Certainly the gods exist—the knowledge that we have of them is clear vision—but these gods are not as the vulgar believe them to be. For the vulgar do not know how to keep unblemished the idea they have of the gods. And it is not the man who denies the gods of the vulgar who is impious, but he who attaches to the idea of god the false opinions of the vulgar. For the assertions of the vulgar about the gods are not concepts born of sensation… but erroneous suppositions. Hence it comes about that the worst injuries are inflicted on the wicked by the doing of the gods, as also the greatest benefits are conferred . These latter, in fact, having through their own excellence been familiar during their whole life with the true nature of the gods gladly receive into their souls the gods who are like themselves, while they regard as foreign to the divine nature everything which is not such' (Ep., III, 123-124). 'From their indestructibility (i.e. the gods') it follows that they are strangers to all suffering; nothing can cause them any joy or inflict on them any suffering from outside' (fr. 99 Us. = Philod.,… p. 125 G.).

In this situation, then, what was the religion of Epicurus likely to be? To begin with, there was no question of denying the gods: 'The gods exist, the knowledge which we have of them is clear vision' (Ep., III, 123). Far from reckoning Epicurus among the sceptics or the indifferent whose numbers were increasing at the end of the fourth century we must on the contrary regard him as one of those who reacted against the growing unbelief. He himself believed in the gods and in the benefits of religion. He was punctilious in performing the traditional acts of worship and was, in short, a pious man in the sense in which the ancients understood that word. That he must have received, in his childhood in Samos, the religious education of a young citizen of Athens goes without saying—even without giving currency to the story spread about by his enemies, 'that he used to go round with his mother from house to house so as to read the formulae for purification'. Nor is it necessary, in order to be convinced of his piety, to note the use he makes of the language of the Mysteries, for that might well be merely a literary borrowing. It is enough to hear him speak: '', declares Philodemus, 'was not only the teaching of Epicurus but it is clear from his conduct also that he loyally observed all the traditional feasts and sacrifices. In the archonship of Aristonymus, when writing to Phyrson about one of his fellow citizens, Theodotus, he says that he has joined in all the festivals… that he has celebrated with the people the festival of Pitchers… on the 2nd day of Anthesteria) and has been initiated into the Mysteries of the city as well as other (initiations?).' In another letter quoted by Philodemus, Epicurus writes, 'As for us, let us piously and fittingly sacrifice on the proper days, and let us perform all the other acts of worship according to custom, without letting ourselves be in any way troubled by common opinions in our judgments about the best and most august beings. Besides, let us remain also observant of custom for the reason I have mentioned; for it is thus that we may live in conformity with nature… ' According to Philodemus again, in the second book On the kinds of Life Epicurus says that the Sage 'will show marks of respect to the gods', and Philodemus adds a little later: 'Furthermore it will appear that Epicurus loyally observed all the forms of worship and enjoined upon his friends to observe them, not only because of the laws but for reasons in conformity with the nature of things… Indeed, he says, in the book On the kinds of Life, Prayer is proper to wisdom, not because the gods would be annoyed if we did not pray, but because we see how much the nature of the gods is superior to us in power and excellence.' Finally let me add the evidence of one of the ancients who was not a member of the School, Cicero, in his De Natura Deorum: 'Certainly Epicurus holds that the gods exist and indeed I have never seen a man so afraid of things which, according to himself, he ought not to fear, I mean death and the gods.'

These texts are enough, and there is not the least reason for interpreting the facts they report as evidence of hypocrisy. That charge is part of the usual collection of insults and calumnies that one sect hurled against another in antiquity. The Stoics used it against Epicurus and Plutarch repeats it after them. Philodemus in turn throws it in the teeth of the Stoics. In the same way, relying on the De Mundo which they wrongly attributed to him, the Fathers of the Church charged Aristotle with impiety, and it is well known how often the crime of άθϵᾳτης has been imputed to the Christians. Such accusations, coupled most often with that of immorality, are usually worthless. In the case of Epicurus it can be seen at once how easily they could arise from a misunderstanding of the Sage's thought.

Sincere in his fidelity to the civic cults Epicurus was not less so in the use he made in his writings of those interjections in which the name of the gods is called as witness. 'It would be laughable to mention that they sanctioned the use of oaths,' remarks Philodemus, 'since their philosophic works are full of them. It is right, however, to say that Epicurus urged them to keep the faith pledged by these and other oaths, and particularly to respect the emphatic oath by the name of Zeus himself. For he is not the man to write, "In the name of…—but what shall I say? How can I speak piously?" And he counsels Colotes to pay attention always to the regard for oaths and to the proper use of the name of the gods.

Epicurus, then, observed the forms of the State reli gion not only so as to 'obey the law' but from genuine feeling. Nevertheless his religion was not that of the common people. It differed from it in two ways.

In the first place, Epicurus' gods, being without cares like the Sage, take no interest in human affairs. Let us go over this essential dogma once again with the help of some quotations. 'In his treatise On Holiness he (Epicurus) calls the life of the Divinity infinitely pleasant and happy, and he considers that we must remove all impurity from the notion we have about the divine, understanding the conditions of such a kind of life (i.e. that of the gods) so that we adapt everything which happens to us to the manner of living which befits divine felicity. It is thus, thinks Epicurus, that holiness is made complete while at the same time common traditions are carefully preserved. But those people that we call "smitten with 'religious' dread", into what unsurpassable impiety do they not hurl themselves? He is not impious, who upholds the immortality and the supreme blessedness of God, together with all the privileges that we attach to those two. Rather he is pious who holds both opinions about the divine (i.e. that the divine is immortal and happy). And he who sees also that the good and ill sent us by God come without any unhealthy anger or benevolence, shows clearly that God has no need of human things, but enjoys all good in full realization.' And again, 'Let it suffice to say now that the divine needs no mark of honour, but that it is natural for us to honour it, in particular by forming pious notions of it, and secondly by offering to each of the gods in turn the traditional sacrifices.' ' we must then admit that they toil in an unsurpassable fashion, and not only for a limited time. For to say that we are convinced that the gods, being endowed with prudence, cannot enter into the category of bunglers, any more than zealous men here be low, is, according to our doctrine, to destroy their seren ity. Therefore to speak correctly we must assert that the gods know neither toil nor fatigue.'

On the other hand, since the gods are indescribably happy, to praise them in prayer, to draw near to them on those solemn occasions when the city offers them a sacrifice, and to rejoice with them at the annual festivals is to take part in their happiness. That is why the disciple of Epicurus would be faithful to the prescriptions of religion. If the feasts at Athens were an occasion of merriment for all, the Epicurean had a still better reason for rejoicing. Was he not the equal of Zeus? As long as he suffered neither hunger nor thirst nor cold, as long as he was provided with a little barley-cake and water—easy things to obtain—he could rival Zeus himself in happiness. That is why, also, the Epicurean sage did not scruple to call upon the name of the gods: 'He appeals to the Completely Happy so as to strengthen his own blessedness.'

The Sage would perhaps have been surprised to hear it said, nevertheless it remains true that this religion of Epicurus is related to Plato's. Both put the goal of religious activity in the contemplation of beauty, and in so doing show themselves to be true sons of Greece. For them, as for all Greeks, the divine being, whatever its essence, is a being of perfect beauty who lives a life of harmony and serenity. Thus the Divine Universe of the Timaeus is a work of finished beauty which the Demiurge 'the best of artists', has lovingly chiselled; and this theme of beauty constantly recurs as the leitmotiv in every reference to the fabric of the Universe. Likewise the gods of Epicurus are filled with beauty; 'We must start from the nature of man so as to deduce, by analogy, the nature of the gods, and to assert, as a result, that the Divinity is a being living for ever and imperishable, and that it is totally filled with blessedness. Yet there is this reservation, that it does not admit of the fatigues of man or of the evils relating to death, to say nothing of the punishments after death, that we cannot attribute to it any of the things which make us suffer, but rather all good things, and that it possesses beauty in plenitude.' So again, following the Greek tradition, the Divine Universe of the Timaeus is completely self-sufficient and needs nothing. The same applies to the gods of Epicurus. However, to quote from Plato, these blessed gods who lack nothing 'have taken pity on the human race doomed by nature to suffer. They have therefore instituted, as moments of relief from our troubles, the festivals in which men hold converse with the gods, and they have given us as companions in the festivals the Muses, Apollo Musagetes, and Dionysus so that, associating with the gods in these meetings we might set right once again our way of living… Hence come rhythm and harmony. For the gods who have thus been given to us as companions in the dance make us feel pleasure when we perceive rhythm and harmony. It is they who, instructing us to move ourselves in order and making themselves our leaders, unite us one to another by a mixture of dances and songs and have called these exercises choirs… from the joy which we feel in them.… Philodemus in his turn says, 'It is principally through the gods that pleasure springs up in the heart of man (voluptatem in homine a deo auctore creatam adserit principaliter).' As Diels has well seen, this remark refers to religious festivals. The gods have instituted these festivals to give us a share in their everlasting joy. No doubt a man can taste of the happiness of the gods at other times as well, whenever he receives into his soul the blessed emanations which flow from the persons of the gods. But it is on festal days, when we approach the altar of sacrifice or contemplate the divine statue, that the influence of the gods makes itself more strongly felt and produces the greatest joy. 'That', says Epicurus, 'is the most essential thing and the one which is, as it were, pre-eminent. For every wise man has pure and holy opinions about Divinity and believes that its nature is noble and august. But it is particularly in festivals that he, progressing in the perception of its nature whilst having its name on his lips the whole time, comes by a more vivid sensation to understand (or, "to possess") the immortality of the gods.' ' to the gods, he admires their nature and condition, he strives to come near to it, he aspires, so to speak, to touch and live with it, and he calls wise men friends of the gods, and the gods friends of wise men.'

All these elements of the Epicurean religion are brought together in a letter written by the Sage to an unknown friend; discovered in an Egyptian papyrus, recognized as belonging to Epicurus and carefully edited by Diels, this precious document will form a fitting conclusion to our analysis. In it we meet again, of course, the dogma of the ataraxia of the gods and, therefore, that of their indifference towards human affairs. But in it we see also that this dogma, far from abolishing religion, should purify it; the truly pious man does not approach the gods to appease them or to obtain some favour from them, but to unite himself to them by contemplation, to rejoice in their joy, and so to taste for himself, in this mortal life, their unending happiness.

' on suitable occasions may be, as I have said, in keeping with nature—nor is it, by Zeus, when someone or other goes about repeating, "I fear all the gods, and honour them, and want to spend all my money in making sacrifices and consecrating offerings to them." Such a man is perhaps more praiseworthy than other individuals, but still it is not thus that a solid foundation for piety is laid. You, my friend, must know that the most blessed gift is to have a clear perception of things; that is absolutely the best thing that we can conceive of here below. Admire this clear apprehension of the spirit, revere this divine gift. After that, , as people will think when they see you performing acts of piety, but only because, in comparison with your own happiness, you see how the condition of the gods is infinitely more august, according to our doctrine. And certainly, by Zeus, this doctrine—the doctrine most worthy of belief, an act which gives confidence and is a pleasure to see, if it is done at the proper time, because you honour your own doctrine by enjoying those pleasures of the senses which befit such occasions and besides you conform in some sense to religious traditions. [Only be careful that you do not permit any admixture of fear of the gods or of the supposition that in acting as you do you are winning the favour of the gods.]

'For indeed, in the name of Zeus (as men affect to say) what have you to fear in this matter? Do you believe that the gods can do you harm? Is not that, on any showing, to belittle them? How then will you not regard the Divinity as a miserable creature if it appears inferior in comparison to yourself? Or will you rather be of the opinion that by sacrificing thousands of oxen you can appease God if you have committed some evil deed? Can you think that he will take account of the sacrifice and, like a man, remit at some time or another a part of the penalty?

'No doubt men tell each other that they should fear the gods and honour them with sacrifices so that, restrained by the tribute they receive, the gods will not attack them; as a result they think that if their surmise is correct they will altogether escape injury and if it is not, all will be well because they pay homage to the power of the gods. But if these close relations , after the funeral ceremonies, as soon as a man was cremated. For then men would suffer injury even beneath the earth and everyone would have to expect punishment. Moreover, I need not describe how men would have to beg for signs of favour from the gods in their fear of being neglected by them (for they would think to induce the gods in this way to communicate with them more readily and come down into their temples), any more than I can tell of the diversity and number of the methods they would employ because of their fear of harm and so as to guard against punishment. For to speak the truth all this seems a pure illusion of these people when compared with the doctrine of those who think that a life of happiness exists for us in this world and do not admit that the dead live again—a marvel not less unlikely than those which Plato imagined.'