Book 3, Chapter 17

“If Pythagoras or Socrates or Plato were to say to me:

36 “‘Why are you lying there, why are you grieving, why do you sink and yield to fortune? Perhaps she could tug at you and sting you; certainly she could not break your strength. Great power resides in the virtues: rouse them, if perhaps they sleep. Courage, their leader, will immediately come to your side and compel you to show such greatness of soul that you look down on everything that can happen to a human being and count it nothing. Temperance will come too, which is also moderation, and which I called worth a little earlier; it will not let you do anything shameful or worthless. Yet what is more worthless or shameful than an unmanly man? Not even justice will let you act so, though it seems to have the least scope in this matter. Still, it will tell you that you are doubly unjust: you covet what belongs to another when, born mortal, you demand the condition of the immortals; and you resent having returned what you received only for use.’

37 “‘What answer will you give practical wisdom, when it teaches that virtue is self-sufficient, as for living well, so also for living happily? If virtue hangs bound to things outside itself, instead of rising from itself and returning again to itself, embracing all its possessions and seeking nothing from elsewhere, I do not understand why it should seem worthy of such vehement praise in words or such ardent pursuit in fact.’—If you recall me to these good things, Epicurus, I obey, I follow, I take you yourself for my guide. I even forget evils, as you command, and all the more readily because I think they should not even be counted as evils. But you divert my thoughts to pleasures. What pleasures? Bodily ones, I suppose, or those that are considered in memory or hope on account of the body. Is there anything else? Am I interpreting your view correctly? For these people habitually deny that we understand what Epicurus says.

38 “This is what he says. And that sharp little old man Zeno, the keenest of them all, used to insist on it and declare it loudly in my hearing at Athens: a happy person is one who enjoys present pleasures and trusts that he will enjoy them throughout all, or a large part, of his life without the intervention of pain; or, should pain intervene, that if intense it will be brief, and if prolonged it will contain more pleasure than evil. A person thinking this will be happy, especially when he is also content with the good things already experienced <and> fears neither death nor the gods. There you have Epicurus’ picture of the happy life, expressed in Zeno’s words, so that nothing can be denied.”

“Suppose Pythagoras or Socrates or Plato said this to me:

36 “‘What keeps you lying there in grief? Why are you letting fortune beat you, why yield to it? It may have pinched or pricked you; it certainly hasn’t been able to destroy your strength. The virtues have enormous power: rouse them if they’re sleeping. First to arrive will be courage. It will give you the greatness of spirit to dismiss as nothing any event a human being might encounter. Self-control will join it—moderation, the quality I earlier called sound character. Under its protection you won’t act shamefully or worthlessly. Could anything be more worthless or shameful than a man becoming unmanly? Justice, too, will stop such conduct, even though it appears to have very little scope here. Its charge will be that you’re unjust on two counts. You covet what belongs to someone else by asking, despite your mortal birth, for the life of the immortals. And you bitterly resent returning something lent to you to use.’

37 “‘Then there’s practical wisdom. How will you answer its lesson that virtue provides everything needed for happiness, just as it does for living rightly? Suppose virtue were tethered to outside things, dependent on them. Suppose it didn’t begin with itself and come back to itself, keeping all its possessions together and wanting nothing from elsewhere. I wouldn’t see why we should either praise it so emphatically or put so much effort into obtaining it.’ Direct me to good things like these, Epicurus, and I’ll do as you say. I’ll follow you, with you yourself to lead me. I’ll even put the bad things out of mind at your command. That’s easier still because I don’t count them as bad in the first place. Instead, you send my thoughts toward pleasures. What pleasures? Presumably those of the body, or memories and expectations whose object is the body. Are there any others? Have I got your view right? Your people are always saying we don’t grasp Epicurus’ meaning.

38 “This is what he says. I heard that sharp old man Zeno, the most acute of his followers, insist on it in Athens, repeatedly and at the top of his voice. A happy person, he said, enjoys present pleasures and trusts that they’ll continue for all or most of life without pain interrupting. If pain does interrupt, it’ll be brief if it’s extreme; if it lasts longer, it’ll have more pleasantness than badness. Someone who thinks that will be happy, especially if they’re also satisfied with the good things they’ve already enjoyed and aren’t frightened of either death or the gods. There’s Epicurus’ picture of a happy life, set out in Zeno’s words, so there’s no room for denial.”