On the Nature of Things is a poem in six books that sets out the physics and ethics of Epicurus for a Roman reader named Memmius. After an opening hymn to Venus as the generative force of nature, Lucretius states his aim plainly: to explain the world through natural causes and so release the mind from religious dread. He compares his method to a physician who rims a cup of bitter medicine with honey, using verse to make a hard doctrine go down.
The first two books build the foundation. Lucretius argues that nothing can be created from nothing and nothing destroyed into nothing, that all things are made of imperishable atoms moving through void, and that empty space must exist for motion to be possible. The atoms differ in shape and combine in countless ways; as they fall, they swerve a little from their straight paths, and from that small deviation come both the collisions that build the world and the free will of living creatures.
The third book turns to the soul. Mind and spirit are themselves bodily, woven of especially fine and swift atoms, bound up with the body and born and growing with it. When the body dies, these atoms disperse, and with them goes all sensation. From this Lucretius draws his central consolation: since we will not exist to feel anything, death is nothing to us, and the tortures imagined in the underworld are really the self-made fears of the living.
The fourth book treats perception, dreams, and desire, explaining sight and the other senses through thin films of atoms streaming off objects, and warning against the illusions of romantic passion. The fifth book gives a sweeping natural history: the world is mortal, born in time and destined to die; the earth is a common mother and common grave; and human society arose gradually from rough beginnings through fire, language, family bonds, and law rather than from any divine gift.
The sixth book explains frightening phenomena such as thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and disease through ordinary physical causes, again to strip them of supernatural terror. The poem ends abruptly with a stark account of the plague at Athens, where bodies pile up and even funeral rites collapse. The unsoftened close leaves the reader with nature's indifference, the very fact the whole work has been training the mind to face without fear.