Spiritual Travels
Practical Advice For Soulful Journeys

Bust of Epicurus (Wikimedia Commons image)

Today’s post by Bob Sessions continues yesterday’s book review of Daniel Klein’s Travels with Epicurus: A Journey to a Greek Island in Search of a Fulfilled Life:

I first encountered Klein’s book in a piece he wrote for CNN called Dancing Into Old Age. I was intrigued by what he had to say in the essay, and once I started reading his book, I was hooked from its first pages as well. I can’t recall another book of philosophy that made me smile and laugh as much as this one. He spoke directly to my experiences and delighted me with the easy way he interweaves philosophical teachings with personal anecdotes and stories.

So why should we be interested in a long-dead Greek philosopher who is remembered (if at all) as someone who advocated a hedonistic pursuit of pleasure?

The answer, in part, is that the popular conception of Epicurus is wrong. When many people today hear the word epicurean they imagine someone devoted to pursuing pleasure, especially through the eating of sophisticated and delicious food. While there’s a nugget of truth in this, the full story of Epicurus is much different.

In the third century BCE, Epicurus founded a school (which today we might call a commune) called “The Garden” in Athens. He was a hedonist, yes, but don’t forget that hedonism not only says that pleasure is good, but also that pain is bad. You can maximize your pleasure by seeking pleasure or by reducing pain, or both. A wise hedonist also realizes that some pleasures are better than others, and therefore one must choose them carefully.

A Greek village similar to the one that Daniel Klein writes about in Travels with Epicurus (Wikimedia Commons image)

So Epicurus’ two key principles are aponia, the absence of pain, and ataraxia, peace and freedom from fear. He believed that the best way to maximize one’s joy in life is to live simply, which involves reducing your needs and desires (our basic sources of suffering). This frees you to approach whatever you do with full time and attention. For him, this meant being surrounded by friends most of the time. He practiced a radical egalitarianism of both gender and social class, with women as well as men welcome around his table. Klein describes Epicurus’ life this way:

Epicurus was a man who lived his philosophy…He and a small and devoted group of friends lived simply, grew vegetables and fruit, ate together, and talked endlessly–mostly, of course, about Epicureanism. Anyone who wished to join them was welcome, as evidenced by the words inscribed on the Garden’s gate: ‘Stranger, here you will do well to tarry; here our highest good is pleasure. The caretaker of that abode, a kindly host, will be ready for you; he will welcome you with bread, and serve you water also in abundance, [and greet you] with these words: ‘Have you not been well entertained? This garden does not whet your appetite, but quenches it.”

Not exactly a gourmet menu, but the price was right and the company intriguing.

This emphasis on the importance of friendship is one of Klein’s central insights from his time in Greece. Epicurus understood, as psychologists today are only just beginning to realize after extensive study, that our happiness is best found in mutual relationships with no ulterior motives except to enjoy being with each other. In scene after scene in his book Klein describes old friends being together playing cards, dancing, admiring women from afar, sitting together gazing in silence at the sea, and many other simple activities that have the single goal of enjoying life together.

The climactic story of the book is (no surprise here) a Greek feast. What Klein, a secular Jew, comes to realize is that this feast is both democratic and spiritual in the best sense of those words: everyone of good will is welcome, regardless of background or status. What matters is not how “Epicurean” the food or wine, but rather how wonderful the company. And that company is made wonderful when the feast is ruled by Epicurus’ epithet: “It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and well and justly, and it is impossible to live wisely and well and justly without living a pleasant life.”

My own version of Epicurus’ Garden, I’ve come to realize from reading this book, happens every other week when I meet with a group of men friends over breakfast at a local cafe. Over several years we’ve become friends with the waitresses (they know my order without being told) as well as deepened our ties with each other. Over endless cups of coffee we solve the world’s problems, share our joys and sorrows, and laugh about the absurdities of life. So far none of us has danced on the table, but the amount of pleasure we take in each other’s company might compel us to do so one day.

My husband and I have been arguing about who gets to write this book review (“I love this book more than you do.” “No, I love it more.”) In the interest of marital harmony, we’re both going to offer our opinions about Daniel Klein’s Travels with Epicurus: A Journey to a Greek Island in Search of a Fulfilled Life. You get my thoughts today, and Bob’s tomorrow.

Let me begin by saying that if you’re under 50 years of age, this is probably not a book for you. But for those of us of a certain vintage, this slim volume offers a wealth of wise advice about living well as we age.

The author takes his inspiration from two main sources: the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus and his own visits to the Greek isle of Hydra. He begins with this epigram from Epicurus: ”It is not the young man who should be considered fortunate but the old man who has lived well, because the young man in his prime wanders much by chance, vacillating in his beliefs, while the old man has docked in the harbor, having safeguarded his true happiness.”

The book is set during Klein’s most recent visit to Hydra. He brought with him a suitcase of philosophy books (doesn’t everyone?), and the story is sprinkled with his distillations of wisdom from some of the world’s great thinkers. But Klein learned as much from observing the rhythms of village life as he did from philosophers. In writing about the role of play in old age, for example, he recalls seeing a group of men in a taverna:

Daniel Klein

Five old men were dancing side by side, connected one to the other by handkerchiefs held in their raised hands. Their craggy faces were tilted upward with what struck me as pride, defiance, and above all, exultation. All of them were straining to keep their backs erect, though none fully succeeded, yet their legs executed the dance’s sideward steps in perfect, graceful synchrony. When, toward the end of the song, the music gradually accelerated, their steps accelerated along with it. For a long moment after the music’s crescendo climax, they remained standing silently next to one another with upraised arms. What I had witnessed, quite simply, was a dance to life–to its endurance in spite of the totalitarian regime in Athens and, ultimately, in spite of the impediments of old age. This was play at its most exalted. I fully understood what Plato meant when he stated that pure play has intimations of the divine.

I appreciated many things about this book. I loved its blend of whimsy and  bittersweetness. I loved the way it celebrates the simple pleasures of life, like eating, drinking good wine, and watching the sunset. I appreciated how it sees old age as a time for savoring and being grateful. But I think what I appreciated most is Klein’s description of the value of friendship. In this he follows the lead of Epicurus, who said, “Of all the things that wisdom provides to help one live one’s entire life in happiness, the greatest by far is the possession of friendship.”

Klein writes that as people grow older, one has fewer friends who are business connections or companions-of-convenience. If you’ve lived well, you’ve come to the point where friends are to be cherished simply for who they are, not for what they can do for you. Those interactions may be casual–the exchange of greetings with shopkeepers and neighbors–or deep and profound. And perhaps the most valuable friends of all are those with whom you can sit in companionable silence.

While Greece certainly has had its economic trials of late, this book celebrates its deep reserves of wisdom about how to live a good life. Read this book. I think you’ll learn something important from it. I know I did.