Last week some readers of my Beliefnet blog had a hard time accepting that the rabbinic term “apikoros,” a kind of heretic, denotes someone who rejects — if I may use the contemporary term — intelligent design. One fellow, by a rigorous Google search, even believed he’d found Internet-based proof that an apikoros designates a Christian! Um, no.
The Mishnah uses the word without explanation, for a category of persons who have no share in the World to Come. The Talmud links it with insolence either to the face of the Sages or in their presence. (See Sanhedrin 90a, 99b.) Maimonides finds an etymological connection to an Aramaic word for “disparagement.” But what of the idea content of the term? In the Mishnah’s context, it’s linked with other heretical ideas. The apikoros is listed alongside other heretics, those who say the resurrection of the dead has no support in the Torah and those who deny the Torah’s divine origins. These are intellectual matters, not merely ones of temperament or manners. In a Hebrew dictionary, it is defined as an “atheist, freethinker, heretic.”
Rabbi Joseph Albo, a medieval luminary, explains the term as referring to the Greek philosopher Epicurus (born c. 342 BCE) and his school (Sefer ha-Ikkarim 1:10). In Hebrew, Epicurus is “Epikoros.” In case you’re curious, Apikoros and Epikoros are spelled the exact same way, though for some reason the traditional Talmudic pronunciation, unlike modern Hebrew, gives the initial vowel sound as an “a” rather than an “e.” In popular English usage today, an “Epicurean” means someone who seeks pleasure in fine food or wine, but that’s not what Epicurus himself was about. Epicurean thought does stress the pursuit of pleasure but not the short term kind. Rather, it urges us to avoid pain and think in terms of longer term, though not eternal, happiness. Among other things, to escape emotional pain, Epicurus advocated masturbation over sexual relationships.
Part of Epicurus’s program was to eliminate fear of divine justice. The gods, he explained, were off in their distant celestial realm, indifferent to our world. In line with this, the philosopher taught that human life is a purely material affair. Even the soul is made of physical matter. There’s nothing to fear from the gods in part because once you’re dead, your dead. There is no afterlife. This is understood to be a comfort.
Reality, he taught, is purely material, composed of “atoms.” The universe came into being through the unguided colliding of these atoms. “The world is, therefore, due to mechanical causes and there is no need to postulate teleology” — purpose or design — summarizes Frederick Copleston in A History of Philosophy. For the rabbis, this last point is the key to what’s wrong with Epicureanism.
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