The last major chapter of the book reflects on the question of ‘happiness’ as discussed by Popper, Hayek, and Neurath, but also presents a case study of how Neurath not only theorized on such matters but also sought to make a practical difference by collaboration in planning projects. He became a consultant for the redevelopment of Bilston, a small town blighted by the legacy of the Industrial Revolution. In discussion with town councillors and architects, he steered plans by taking into account the needs of residents, seeking to represent those whose voice was generally not heard. This finally led to Neurath being interviewed in the mainstream media, marking acceptance and respect for Neurath in British culture. He did not want to use his broad learning to set himself apart as an intellectual but instead to articulate the needs of ordinary people.

Hume’s ‘four essays on happiness’ are distinctive in Hume’s oeuvre, and not merely in the 1741 volume of Essays, Moral and Political in which they appeared. They are written in the style of philosophical monologues, with Hume ‘personating’ a representative of each of the main, late Hellenistic philosophical sects in turn. Each such representative, however, engages critically with the philosophical positions staked out by his rivals and antagonists. The ultimate question each of the philosophical sects seeks to answer is: what is the true end (summum bonum) of human life, and where is true contentment to be found? Scholars have tended to be preoccupied with the question of which sect best articulates Hume’s own underlying philosophical commitments. This chapter argues that such an approach is mistaken, because Hume dismissed the quest for the summum bonum altogether. Hume presented all the late Hellenistic philosophical sects as capturing something important about human life, and about the purpose of philosophical activity. Yet ancient moral philosophers had ultimately failed to develop the ‘science of man’ that Hume took to be the greatest achievement of modern philosophy. The four essays, then, reveal Hume’s keen – and lifelong – interest in the history of moral philosophy, and his attentiveness to the distinctive (and superior) character of modern approaches to the discipline.

The second chapter places Walter Pater, the widely acknowledged founder of British aestheticism, in conversation with mathematician and philosopher W. K. Clifford in order to illuminate the overlapping development of aestheticism and evolutionism in the 1860s and 1870s. Around the same time that Pater made the case for “art for art’s sake,” Clifford laid out a sweeping secular humanism that reaffirmed an anthropocentric and pseudo-religious view of the cosmos. Clifford’s optimistic reinterpretation of evolutionary science, this chapter argues, reinforced and drew on Pater’s contemporary conception of the aesthetic temperament: a discriminating, tasteful personality capable of transforming, in Pater’s words, the “ghastly spectacle of the endless material universe” into the “delightful consciousness of an ever-widening kinship and sympathy.” The chapter concludes with an analysis of the work of Mathilde Blind, who synthesized Clifford’s and Pater’s ideas in a poetic oeuvre that sought to inculcate readers into reverent ways of experiencing an otherwise atheistic world.

From the outset, food and the essay have shared a kinship, given that one of the original senses of the word ‘essai’ meant the ritual of tasting the French king’s food and drink. From metaphor to content, food has permeated the essay form; in turn, the essay became the vehicle for the emerging field of gastronomy. This chapter constellates several important moments of interaction between literal and literary taste, consumption and appetite, cultural criticism and culinary knowledge in essays by Michel Montaigne, Alexandre-Balthazar-Laurent Grimod de La Reynière, Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, William Kitchiner, Launcelot Sturgeon, Charles Lamb, William Makepeace Thackeray, and Elizabeth Robins Pennell. As cosmopolitan practices of discretionary dining became more widespread, these gastronomic essayistic writers often satirised the burgeoning bourgeoisie and their cultural milieu. Given its flexibility, the essay remains paramount to food writing, in its many forms and genres.

Ancient literary-historical narratives commonly envisage developments in poetry and music in terms either of gradual technical progress, or of decadence and hyper-sophistication. This chapter argues that Lucretius strikingly combines these two perspectives in the concluding paragraphs of the culture-history at the end of De Rerum Natura 5: the invention of carmina as songs (5.1379–1411) is associated with simple pleasures, emphatically unsurpassed by later refinements in technique which are linked in turn to the insatiable and destructive desire for novelty and luxury; whereas carmina as (epic?) poems are mentioned amongst the refinements listed in the book’s closing lines as steps on the way to a ‘peak’ (cacumen) of artistic and cultural progress (5.1448–1457). The dual narrative adumbrated here may be linked in turn with the dichotomy between text as written artefact and poem as disembodied ‘song’, which has been a focus of attention in recent scholarship on Latin poetry: both models of textuality, like the conflicting models of cultural development that shape the finale to Book 5, are important to Lucretius’ poetics and his Epicurean didaxis. Lucretius’ poem thus exemplifies the manifold ways in which literary-historical narratives may be determined by the discursive demands of the text in question.

In ‘Doing Things with Concepts in Sextus Empiricus’, Richard Bett examines Sextus’ terminology in connection to his use of such strategies and highlights their inventiveness and sophistication. On the one hand, Sextus appears to agree with his dogmatic opponents insofar as he says that we need to get our concepts clear before investigating any topic. On the other hand, he often raises objections against dogmatic concepts, arguing, for instance, that they are inherently inconsistent and therefore there are no objects corresponding to such concepts or, alternatively, that even if we accept these concepts, there exists nothing real corresponding to them. It is not clear whether or how these two lines of approach can be coherently combined. Nonetheless, Sextus frequently runs the two together, and Bett enquires into his reasons for doing so. An important upshot of this study is that it leads us to consider what kinds of concepts and what sort of reflection about concepts are available to a sceptic of Sextus’ variety.

This chapter gives an account of the origins of our present understanding of the natural/supernatural divide, showing how the terminology of the ‘supernatural’ first emerged in the Middle Ages and gradually assumed its modern form between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries. The attendant ‘isms’—naturalism and supernaturalism—arrive at the end of this period, during the 1800s. The original context for the naturalism/supernaturalism distinction was neither science nor philosophy, but the sphere of biblical criticism. From there it was imported into a scientific context. The nineteenth century also witnessed attempts to reconstruct the history of science with a view to arguing for a long-standing alliance between naturalism and science. A more accurate portrayal of the relevant history shows, to the contrary, that ‘science’ had been consistently aligned with theistic assumptions about the regularities of nature. These regularities were formalised as laws of nature in the seventeenth century, at which time they were understood as divinely authored imperatives to which nature necessarily conformed. In the nineteenth century, what had originally been understood as expressions of the divine will were simply redescribed in purely naturalistic terms by advocates of naturalism. Ironically, they were now claimed to represent evidence against theistic readings of nature.

This chapter sums up the main argument of the book and offers a brief overview of the reception of the Epicurean theory of justice.

This chapter provides an account of the agreements that lead to the creation of justice on the Epicurean view. In doing so, the three sections of the chapter complete the argument of Chapter 1 by focusing on the textual evidence in Epicurus and later Epicurean authors. The first section elaborates on the claim that the Epicureans defend a middle position in the nomos-phusis debate. The second section describes in more detail the content and function of agreements in Epicureanism. And the third section deals with the topic of who can make agreements on the Epicurean view, including the question of whether there can be agreements with nonhuman animals.

This chapter discusses the nomos-phusis debate of the fifth and fourth century BCE and introduces the book’s main argument: that the Epicureans defend a sophisticated middle position (vis-à-vis Plato and Aristotle, on the one hand, and some sophists, on the other) in this debate when it comes to justice. On the Epicurean view, justice is neither fully natural nor conventional; there is a robust virtue of justice and it is always better to be just than to be unjust, but it is not always better to obey the laws.

Modern discussions of Epicureanism often use the descriptions “legal positivism” and “natural law theory” without providing clear definitions of what is meant by these terms. This chapter remedies this deficiency by characterizing the Epicurean theory of justice and law from the perspective of contemporary philosophy of law. The first section develops a clear conceptual framework by distinguishing between different theses that characterize a view as leaning more toward legal positivism or natural law theory. The second section then tests Epicurean theory against these theses, concluding that even if the Epicurean account has some legal positivist leanings, it is overall closer to a kind of natural law theory.

This chapter argues that while being just is of supreme importance in Epicureanism, obeying the law in all cases is not: the Epicureans allow that laws whose adherence is not useful and whose violation does not entail negative consequences may be violated. In arguing for this claim, the chapter discusses a question that Epicurus posed himself in a work that is no longer extant, namely, whether a sage, an ideal agent, would violate a law, knowing he will escape detection. The chapter provides a detailed suggestion on how to understand Epicurus’ pronouncement, discusses alternative readings that have been advanced by other scholars, and addresses some objections that one could raise against the suggestion of the chapter.

This chapter shows that although the Epicureans claim that justice comes to be by agreements, they also argue for the existence of a robust virtue of justice. The first section of the chapter gives a general overview of the Epicurean theory of the virtues, while the second section examines in detail the passages in which Epicurean authors discuss the virtue of justice. The third and last section of the chapter turns to the precise relationship between contractual and aretaic justice on the Epicurean view. It argues that the former is a precondition for latter, as contractual justice specifies the content of aretaic justice and provides the developmental basis for aretaic justice to emerge.

This chapter argues that the Epicureans defend a kind of ethical naturalism. The first section of the chapter, focusing on ontology, shows that for the Epicureans justice is conceived of as an accidental property (sumptōma/eventum) and is of the same general sort as the properties that are investigated in science. The second section, turning to moral epistemology, argues that, on the Epicurean view, what is just is directly perceived, showing that the investigation of ethical properties happens in the same general way as investigation in the sciences on the Epicurean view.

This chapter relates how justice comes to be on the Epicurean view by examining in detail the Epicurean account preserved in Lucretius’ On the Nature of Things V. In doing so, the chapter shows that the Epicureans are defenders of a kind of social contract theory and so side with defenders of nomos in the nomos-phusis debate. Nevertheless, their conception of nomos is importantly constrained by phusis. Furthermore, the chapter also argues against those readers who have characterized the Epicurean account of the social contract as Hobbesian. If the Epicurean account is to be assimilated to a modern view, the ideas of Jean-Jacques Rousseau are a much better fit.

Often viewed as derivative, philosophy written in Latin has in recent years been enjoying a scholarly renaissance, as critics realise that philosophical thought does not develop in a vacuum but is intrinsically linked to the time, place and language in which it is expressed.This chapter brings a historicising approach to the phenomenon of Roman philosophy, combining a diachronic narrative with a focus on particular themes.After considering the Roman adoption of Greek philosophy in the second century BCE, I use Lucretius as a case study for the Latinisation of Greek thought and Cicero as an example of the political and cultural uses of philosophy in the late Republic.I explore some of the many appearances of philosophy in Latin poetry – evidence of the saturation of the Roman cultural imaginary with philosophical ideas and the fact that Latin philosophical writing was not restricted to genres viewed as philosophical.Moving into the Empire, I discuss Seneca as a proponent of philosophy as a way of life and consider the self-representation of philosophers, with a focus on Apuleius, before concluding with an exploration of the Christianisation of philosophy in late antiquity.