At the beginning of the De rerum natura Book 5, Lucretius praises the intellectual achievements of his mentor, Epicurus, and contrasts them to those of Ceres, Liber and Hercules. The profound benefits Epicurus’ teachings have brought to humanity are presented as vastly superior to the discoveries of bread and wine and to the mythical hero’s taming and killing of monsters in distant lands. After cataloguing some of Hercules’ labours, Lucretius claims (5.37–42):

Scholars who have discussed this passage have noted Hercules’ prominence as a Stoic figure, particularly in light of the ensuing lines where Lucretius catalogues the passions that Epicurus was able to conquer (5.43–54).Footnote ² This traditional reading is deeply embedded in the intellectual and cultural climate of Lucretius’ era, making Hercules a fitting target for critique.

Recent scholarship has further highlighted the value of interpreting the poem in relation to Lucretius’ engagement with the culture and politics of his time.Footnote ³ Stefano Rebeggiani has argued that mythological passages in the De rerum natura can function as allusions to Roman politics and historical figures, illuminating the poet’s ideological stance.Footnote ⁴ Specifically, he identifies the hymn to Venus (1.1–43), the subsequent praise of Epicurus (1.62–79), and the account of Iphigenia’s sacrifice (1.80–101) as references to figures such as Lucullus and Pompey, who associated themselves with mythical heroes such as Agamemnon and Alexander the Great. A central implication of this reading is a critique of the ‘imperialist’ endeavours of these generals—policies that faced opposition until the mid-50s b.c. from C. Memmius L.f., who is widely believed to be the poem’s addressee.Footnote ⁵

While Rebeggiani’s analysis centres on Lucullus and Pompey in the proem to Book 1, I suggest that the comparison between Epicurus and Hercules at the beginning of Book 5 can further evoke these and other key military figures of the Late Republic. By doing so, I propose that Hercules carried additional connotations for Lucretius’ contemporary audience (whether a restricted circle of aristocratic readers, the newly wealthy or anyone who might have attended a possible recitatio of the poem),Footnote ⁶ evoking not only the image of a Stoic sage but also these warlords.Footnote ⁷ Such an interpretation underscores Lucretius’ critique of imperial ambition, contrasting the destructive pursuits of these figures with the philosophical ideal of inner peace championed by Epicurus.

By the time Lucretius composed his poem in the mid first century b.c.,Footnote ⁸ the practice of Roman generals associating themselves with Hercules had become a long-standing tradition. In the previous century, prominent leaders such as Lucius Mummius Achaicus (CIL i² 2.626 = ILS 20) and Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus (Plut. Prae. ger. reip. 816C)—the conquerors of Corinth and Carthage in 146 b.c. respectively—dedicated temples to Hercules.Footnote ⁹

This tradition continued with Lucius Cornelius Sulla, who built a temple or a statue of Hercules on the Esquiline (Notitia Vrbis Romae 5) and restored the shrine of Hercules Custos near the Circus Flaminius (Ov. Fast. 6.209–12). He also organized a festival featuring public offerings of aged wine and abundant meat and dedicated a tithe of his property to the hero as an act of thanksgiving (Plut. Vit. Sull. 35).Footnote ¹⁰ On a more private level, Sulla perhaps possessed a statue of this demigod, allegedly made by Lysippus, which may have belonged to Alexander the Great and Hannibal (Mart. 9.43.10; Stat. Silu. 4.6.85–8).

Two of Sulla’s legates sought to emulate their commander by fostering a connection with Hercules. During his first consulship in 70 b.c., following his victory over Sertorius’ rebellion in Spain the previous year, Marcus Licinius Crassus, the future triumvir, is said to have offered, like Sulla, a tenth of his fortune to the hero. He commemorated the event with public banquets and distributed enough grain to every Roman citizen to sustain them for three months (Plut. Vit. Crass. 2, 12).

Similarly, Lucius Licinius Lucullus reportedly made a similar dedication (Diod. Sic. 4.21.4), possibly during the triumph he celebrated upon his return from the Third Mithridatic War between 66 and 63/beginning of 62 b.c.Footnote ¹¹ At that time, both Lucullus and his brother found themselves under prosecution by C. Memmius L.f. for the mismanagement of Lucullus’ brother during his tenure as quaestor under Sulla (Plut. Vit. Luc. 37). A statue of Hercules in the Tunic, likely depicting the hero wearing the toga that caused his death, is recorded to have borne an inscription identifying it as part of Lucullus’ booty, along with another inscription stating that it was dedicated by his son under a decree of the Senate. A third inscription indicated that the curule aedile Titus Septimius Sabinus restored it to public ownership from private hands (Plin. HN 34.93).Footnote ¹²

Coins can provide further clues that the identities of some generals were linked to Hercules. A denarius minted by P. Cornelius Lentulus Spinther in 74 b.c. (RRC 397/1) features the bearded head of Hercules on the obverse and, on the reverse, the Genius of the Roman People crowned by Victory. Although some have suggested that this coin may refer to the war against Sertorius, definitive evidence for this connection is lacking. Nevertheless, the imagery underscores Hercules’ role as a god of victory and suggests a broader symbolic connection between the hero and the military successes of Roman leaders during the Late Republic.Footnote ¹³

This bond becomes even more pronounced in the coins minted between 62 and 54 b.c. by Faustus Cornelius Sulla. One of these denarii (RRC 426/2) depicts Hercules with the lion skin on the obverse and Diana on the reverse. It remains unclear whether it was intended to celebrate Faustus’ father, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, or his father-in-law, Pompey, under whom Faustus served as both son-in-law and lieutenant during the latter’s eastern campaigns. In contrast, the other denarius (RRC 426/4), featuring Hercules with the lion skin on the obverse and a globe framed by four wreaths on the reverse, is generally understood to honour Pompey.Footnote ¹⁴

The latter dedicated a temple to the hero in Rome (Vitr. De arch. 3.3.5; Plin. HN 34.57), though the precise date of this event is uncertain. Some of the reasons adduced for his connection to Hercules include the influence of the hero’s cult in Spain, where Pompey campaigned against Sertorius, and the devotion of Alexander the Great to the hero, a figure with whom the Roman general had been tied since his youth.Footnote ¹⁵

The enduring public association between Hercules and Roman generals suggests that a potentially large number of readers of the time might have connected the demigod with key military leaders of the Late Republic.Footnote ¹⁶ In subsequent years, this tradition was exploited by figures such as Mark Antony and possibly alluded to in texts such as Cicero’s Pro Marcello.Footnote ¹⁷ In the De rerum natura, the connection in question provides an interpretative framework for understanding the passage that immediately follows the digression on Hercules. In this section, Lucretius contrasts the inner battles and turmoil caused by unexamined desires and fears with the tranquillity offered by Epicureanism (5.43–8):

Along with vocabulary often associated with kingship or used to slander high-ranking political opponents (superbia, spurcitia, petulantia, luxus, desidia),Footnote ¹⁹ in these lines we find terms from the semantics of war (proelia, pericula, clades). This imagery can evoke not only Hercules but also the Roman generals whose campaigns defined the Late Republic, although it is difficult to determine whether Lucretius is referring to a single individual or alluding more broadly to a broader and enduring pattern in Roman political discourse that persisted into the era of Antony and Octavian. The martial feats of these figures contrast sharply with the triumph that Lucretius attributes to Epicurus—a victory achieved not through physical force but through reason and intellectual clarity (5.49–51):

This juxtaposition underscores Lucretius’ philosophical critique of imperial ambition, contrasting the fleeting rewards of military conquest with the lasting peace of Epicurean enlightenment.Footnote ²⁰ Moreover, it resonates with the Epicureans’ general aversion to the glorification of historical figures (for example Cic. Fin. 2.67), with the obvious exception of their schoolmaster.

Scholars have already observed how Epicurus’ teachings, despite their politically subversive implications, could indirectly benefit the Roman Republic by removing from the citizens’ minds those passions that could lead to its demise.Footnote ²¹ Viewed in this context, Lucretius’ presentation of Epicurean philosophy can be seen as offering an alternative to the deeds of recent and contemporary political actors.

The placement of this passage at the beginning of Book 5 mirrors a broader compositional strategy in the De rerum natura, where Lucretius uses the openings and closings of books to articulate some of his most pointed critiques of political ambition and his most emphatic endorsements of Epicurean philosophy. In the proem to Book 1 (1.29–43), the embrace of Venus and Mars evokes the ideal of peace in response to contemporary civil conflict, casting Epicurean serenity as an antidote to martial violence. The beginnings of Books 2 and 3 (2.1–61, 3.59–73) likewise attack the lust for power and praise the calm afforded by philosophical detachment. In Book 2, Lucretius explicitly denies that wealth, noble birth or royal authority can benefit the mind, unless—he suggests ironically—one believes that superstition, fear of death (2.45 timores), and cares (2.46 cura, 2.48 curae) could be dispelled by watching military legions clash in battle across an open plain, fully equipped and resplendent in arms and purple garments. But since such displays offer no real consolation, and since even the powerful remain afflicted by these fears, the true power lies in reason. The opening to Book 3 extends this critique, presenting the desire for honours as a cause of both personal suffering and political catastrophe. Such ambition drives men to violate justice, betray allies and pursue wealth through civil war, even rejoicing in the funerals of their own brothers. At the end of Book 3 (3.1024–35), the poet starkly confronts the futility of military glory in the face of death, listing figures such as Ancus, Scipio and an unnamed general—likely Xerxes—who, in a display of imperial hubris, bridged the sea to lead his armies across it. These once-exalted men are now mere bones, returned to the earth like those of the humblest servant. This parade of the dead punctures the illusion of posthumous glory and underscores the futility of conquest when measured against the certainty of death.

The concentration of such critiques at structurally prominent points in the poem—beginnings and endings—enhances the possibility that they are meant to be read in dialogue with one another. Against this backdrop, the critique of Hercules and his modern analogues in Book 5 acquires added weight as part of a sustained argument. The contrast between military and philosophical conquest not only echoes earlier books but also anticipates the later critique of political life and the disastrous effects of ambition found in the account of early civilization (5.1113–42).

By framing Book 5 with these comparisons, the poet underscores the futility of external conquests when compared to the pursuit of inner peace and rational understanding, which are the true paths to human fulfilment according to Epicurean thought.