To be human is to be perpetually insecure. Real securitas, the parable implies, can only be achieved in death, when our spirits return to Jupiter and our bodies to Tellus, freeing us from Cura’s influence. In other words, as long as we are alive, we are destined to exist in a condition of what I’ll call existential insecurity. This existential insecurity is the kind that comes from being dependent on others for survival; from being vulnerable to physical and psychological illness or wounding; and, of course, from being mortal. It’s the insecurity of randomness and risk, of a future that is impossible to control or to know. It is a kind of insecurity we can never wholly escape or armour ourselves against, try as we might to mitigate potential harms.