Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics

Part of 2014/2 PHI110 Stoic Ethics. Content is copied from the library in fair dealing for purpose of research or study.

Stoics, Epicureans and Sceptics: An introduction to Hellenistic philosophy

Written by R. W. Sharples. Published 1996 by Routledge.

Available from Amazon and Booktopia.

Extract: How can I be happy?

Also available in PDF.

The Central Question of Ethics

The opposition between Epicureanism and Stoicism is as marked in their ethics as anywhere; and disagreements over how best to live one's life are going to have more practical consequences, and be more noted by society at large, than disagreements over such issues as the infinite divisibility of matter. But once again there are also similarities between the two schools, and indeed with the sceptical schools as well. These similarities are of two types, first those concerning the basic framework of the discussion, and second those concerning some, though only some, of the practical attitudes that the schools recommend.

For the Epicureans and the Stoics, as for other ancient Greek thinkers and notably for Aristotle, the basic question of ethics is not 'what sort of actions are right?' but 'what sort of person should I be?', or 'what life-style and policies should I adopt?' The very term 'ethics' is derived from êthos, which means 'character'. The sort of person one is and the life-style one adopts will indeed have and immediate bearing on the actions one performs, and both Stoics and Epicureans would agree with Aristotle (EN 1.8) that character cannot be divorced from action -- you cannot be a just or courageous person if you behave in an unjust or cowardly fashion; but the emphasis of an ethics that centres upon characters and life-styles is going to be different from that of one that centres upon actions. And that is why I have formulated the title of this chapter in a way that includes a reference to the agent.

This, however, carries with it a further implication. If the primary concern of ethics is with how it is best for me to live, then even when it has been established what sort of actions are 'right', there remains the question whether performing such actions is the best way for me to live, and if so why. (Unless, indeed, we simply define 'right actions' as the ones it is best for me to perform.) Even Plato in the Republic has Socrates commend justice to others by the rewards it brings to oneself, not indeed the material rewards (though once the argument is concluded these are rather optimistically added in; 612D-614A) or rewards in the next world (614A ff.), but the intrinsic reward of happiness which justice brings (361C; 367D; 445A; 588A ff.).

The difference between the ancient Greek ethics of personal 'happiness' and the Kantian ideals of duty which prevailed until quite recently (at least in what people said) can be captured by the thought that for the former 'why should I do what is right?' is a question requiring an answer, while for the latter it no more admits or requires an answer than does 'why should I believe what is true?' In 1960 Arthur Adkins could, famously, declare that 'We are all Kantians now'; but already in 1974 Sir Kenneth Dover could comment on this that 'Unless I am seriously deceiving myself, I and most of the people I know well find the Greeks of the Classical period easier to understand than Kantians.' Nevertheless, in the mid-1970s first-year Classics undergraduates were in my experience still shocked, ostensibly anyway, at the suggestion that one might need a reason for doing what one accepted was right. Not so more recently -- which may just show that moral discourse has become more realistic than it used to be. Perhaps, then, reflecting on ancient Greek moral discourse may have something to tell us about the terms in which discussions might (not 'should') be framed, even if we do not accept the ancients' conclusions.

For Aristotle it was axiomatic that all people both naturally pursue, and ought to pursue, eudaimonia -- conventionally, and subsequently in this book, translated into English by 'happiness', sometimes translated instead by 'flourishing', but essentially the sort of life that brings satisfaction and of which we congratulate or 'felicitate' the possessors. And this approach was shared by Aristotle's successors. Being 'happy' and being a 'good' person necessarily go together; but 'a good person' means not so much a morally virtuous one (though moral virtue is a necessary and important component of goodness and happiness for Aristotle, a necessary component of it for Epicurus, and identical with it for the Stoics) as a human being who is living the best life for a human being. The question, for Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus and Stoics alike, is what sort of life is best, what sort of life constitutes 'happiness'.

It follows that ethics for both Epicureans and Stoics is self-referential; the agent is concerned with how he or she can achieve a happy life, with what is the good for me. Here, however, there is a danger of misunderstanding. There are aspects of both Stoic and Epicurean ethics that may seem to a modern sensibility selfish and self-regarding in a bad sense, inconsiderate of others and lacking in humanity. But these features need not be the inevitable consequences of adopting a self-referential approach to ethics. In much modern thought, influenced by Christianity, there is a polar opposition between altruism on the one hand and selfishness on the other; if we think of ourselves at all, this view would imply, we must be sacrificing the interests of others to our own in a selfish and reprehensible fashion.

Aristotle is aware, to be sure, that there can be such a thing as bad self-love. But he does not regard it as the only kind. And in this he is surely right; concern that one should oneself by the best sort of person possible and live the happiest life may well involve actions for the benefit of others, if these are characteristic of the good and happy person. There may be a more realistic hope of encouraging people to act in the interests of others, if doing so is seen as being a part of acting in one's own true interest too, rather than self-interest and acting in the interest of others being necessarily antithetical. Such at least seems to be the ancient perspective, and we will have cause to return to it not only in this chapter but also in the next.

The Epicureans

For Epicurus the goal of life is pleasure, and the happy life is that with most pleasure and least pain. But this does not mean, as might be thought, the life of perpetual physical self-indulgence -- though Epicurus already in his own lifetime protested against those who understood him so (ad Men. 131 - LS 21B5), and Sedley has shown that a former follower of Epicurus, Timocrates, who quarrelled with him, was partly responsible for encouraging such misunderstandings. Misunderstandings were probably, however, inevitable.

For Epicurus, the limit of pleasure is the removal of pain -- both physical pain and mental anxiety. Once pain has been removed, anything further can only be a 'variation' (poikilmos) -- a 'seasoning', as it were -- of pleasure; it cannot increase it, and so it can be dispensed with:

The limit of magnitude of pleasures is the removal of all pain. Wherever pleasure is present, for as long as it is present, there is neither pain, nor distress, nor the combination of the two. (PD 3 = LS 21C)

Pleasure is not increased, but only varied in the flesh, when once what caused pain because of lack has been removed. (PD 18 = LS 21E)

Lavish banquets may give variety to life, but they do not bring a greater degree of pleasure than does simple food, provided that such food is enough to dispel hunger:

We think that self-sufficiency is a great good, not in order to use only a little in every case, but so that we can make use of a little when we do not have much; being genuinely persuaded that the people who have the most pleasant enjoyment of extravagance are those who need it least, and that everything which is natural is easily obtained, while it is what is empty that is hard to obtain. Simple flavours give as much pleasure as an extravagant diet, whenever all the pain due to lack is removed; and barley-bread and water produce the summit of pleasure, whenever someone in need consumes them. (ad Men. 130-1 = LS 21B)

[How blind you are] not to see that nature barks for nothing else for itself, except that pain should be absent and removed from the body, and that in the mind it should enjoy pleasant sensation with anxiety and fear banished? So we see that for our bodily nature few things altogether are needed, whatever can remove pain, and also furnish many delights. Nature herself on each occasion requires nothing more welcome, even if there are not golden statues of young men throughout the house holding flaming lamps in their right hands to provide light for the night-time banquets, and the house does not shine with silver and glitter with gold, and gilded coffered ceilings do not echo to the lyre -- when lying down together in soft grass beside a stream of water beneath the branches of a lofty tree people pleasantly relax without great wealth, especially when the weather smiles on them and the season of the year sprinkles the green grass with flowers. Nor do hot fevers leave the body more swiftly if you toss under embroidered cloths and ruddy purple, than if you have to lie under the common person's cloak. (Lucretius, 2.16-36 = LS 21W)

Or more succinctly: 'He who knows the limits of life knows that what removes pain due to want and renders the whole of life complete is easily obtained; so that there is no need of deeds which involve competition' (PD 21 = LS 24C).

The Epicurean will enjoy banquets and the good things of life if possible, provided of course he or she does so in moderation and in a way that will not bring more pain in the long run. Epicurus is not an advocate of asceticism like those Platonists or Christians who argued that bodily pleasures were a hindrance to intellectual or spiritual advance. But the Epicurean will not be anxious about maintaining a social and financial position which will ensure that continued availability of banquets, for such security cannot in fact be achieved for certain, and the anxieties involved in the attempt are likely to spoil the enjoyment one would otherwise have; and general frugality makes us more able to appreciate the occasional luxury properly (ad Men. 131 = LS 21B):

The anxiety of the soul is not removed, nor any joy worth mentioning produced, either by the presence of the greatest wealth or by honour and notability among the multitude or by anything else of what comes from causes that know no limit. (Epicurus, Vatican Sayings 81 = LS 21H; my emphasis)

All pleasures qua pleasant are good, but just for that very reason (ad Men. 129 = LS 21B) we need to be discriminating to ensure our course of action will not bring us more pain in the long run. Desires can for Epicurus be divided into three types: the natural and necessary, the natural but non-necessary, and the unnatural and non-necessary; the necessary desires are further subdivided into some of which the satisfaction is necessary for happiness, others for the body's being free from disturbance, others for life itself (ibid. 127 = LS 21B). The necessary desires will presumably include those for food, drink, and shelter, without which we cannot live; for sex, if that is what is referred to by 'the body's being free from disturbance'; and, presumably, for happiness, desire for freedom from anxiety. Natural buy non-necessary desires will include those for specific types of food and drink, which are not necessary but bring us natural pleasure if we can get them. And examples of the unnatural desires will include ambition for fame and political power, which many, according to Epicurus and Lucretius, regard as the route to happiness, though in fact they are impelled by a desire for security (which results, whether they know it or not, from the fear of death, as we shall see later), and their ambition will bring them disappointment and misery rather than happiness:

Some people wished to become famous and conspicuous, thinking that in this way they would achieve security from people. So if such people's life is secure, they have gained what is naturally good; but if it is not secure, they have not gained that which they desired in the first place because it was naturally appropriate. (PD 7 = LS 22C)

If anyone would steer his life by true reasoning, it is great riches for a person to be able to live thriftily with equanimity; for there is never shortage of a little. But people have wanted to be famous and powerful, so that their fortune might rest on a sure foundation and so that in their wealth they could live a tranquil life -- all in vain, for by striving to reach the highest honour they have made the path a hostile one, and when they reach the top envy strikes them like a thunderbolt and casts them down in time, despised, to the foul pit... so let them wearily sweat blood to no purpose, struggling along the narrow path of ambition, since their wisdom comes from others' mouths and their search is based on what they have heard rather than on the evidence of their own senses. (Lucretius, 5.1117 ff. = LS 22L)

The best way to achieve security and happiness is rather to withdraw from public life and dwell with a circle of like-minded friends, as Epicurus did in the Garden that gave its name to his school, enjoying the good things of life when one can but being aware how little one really needs.

One might expect that some non-natural desires do bring a degree of pleasure if satisfied, but not enough to justify the anxiety and possible subsequent actual pain involved, while others may be so misguided as never to bring any pleasure at all. If Epicurus was to claim that no non-natural desire ever brings any pleasure, he would be committed to claiming that those who think they enjoy pleasure from such sources are simply deluded. On the face of it, it seems more plausible to say that they are right about the pleasure but wrong about its inevitable concomitants. In conformity with Epicurus' general theory of knowledge, pleasure and pain are sensations which show us the truth about good and evil, and cannot themselves be in error, though we may err in our opinions about how to achieve the greatest pleasure. Nevertheless, the description of non-natural desires as 'vain' or 'empty' (ad Men. 127 = LS21B) does rather suggest that their satisfaction brings no pleasure at all. Perhaps, as we shall see below, the point is that the anxiety and frustration which Epicurus sees as accompanying a life spent in pursuit of non-natural desires will be so great that they will prevent any pleasure at all being felt; if this seems an exaggerated claim, Epicurus' can still more Lucretius' desire to persuade us to a certain way of life need to be borne in mind. Certainly all non-natural desire is misguided and should be eliminated.

The tradition of recommending satisfaction with what one has goes back at least to Democritus (KRS 594). Seneca (Letters on Morals 21.7-9) cites Epicurus for it and continues by saying

These utterances shouldn't be thought to be Epicurus'; they are public property. I think one should do in philosophy what customarily happens in the Senate; when someone proposes something which pleases me in part, I tell him to divide his proposal into two parts, and I support what I approve.

The question, however, arises: just what is the basis on which Epicurus determines that some desires are natural and others non-natural? That pleasure is the good he argued, notoriously, from observation of animals as soon as they are born (Cicero, On Ends 1.30 = LS 21A; the so-called 'cradle argument', which we will meet again, used for a very different purpose, in a Stoic context). Is it by similar criterion that desires are judged natural or otherwise, which would suggest the elimination of the artificialities of civilisation and a 'back-to-nature' ethics? Or is the criterion rather that experience shows (in Epicurus' view) that we are better off not trying to fulfil certain desires which are therefore dismissed as non-natural? Would Epicurus cope with the claims of rival life-styles by arguing that their proponents were wrong about human nature, perhaps all nature (rather as Plato makes Socrates in the Gorgias argue that Callicles is wrong: 508A)? Or would he rather try to convince us that experience shows that lives based on other principles will not achieve happiness in practice? Perhaps, indeed, both; Lucretius 5.1117ff., quoted on p. 87, refers to the ambitious being guided by other people's opinions rather than their own experience. However, while Lucretius' account of the development of civilisation in his fifth book stresses the problems sophistication brings -- a common theme of Roman literature -- it does not idealise the primitive condition. Indeed, it has been well argued that in relation to this issue book 5 should be interpreted not as self-contained but as leading up to the prologue of book 6 which stresses the blessings Epicureanism brings. What matters is not whether your circumstances are primitive of civilised, impoverished or luxurious, but the attitude you have towards them.

But even if we can establish to our satisfaction which desires are natural and which not, it may still be objected that the sort of restrained happiness which Epicurus offers is still going to be hard for most people to achieve. Are not pains and losses of various sorts things about which we are necessarily going to be anxious? Here the Epicurean answer is twofold. The third Principal Doctrine, which asserts that the limit of pleasure is the removal of pain, is immediately followed by the fourth, which asserts that no pain is both great and long-lasting (LS 21C). In the conditions of ancient medicine that was perhaps truer than now; great pain was likely to be swiftly followed by death (or recovery), while in chronic illness, Epicurus argued, there is actually more bodily pleasure present than pain, if (one may add) we choose to be aware of it. And second, physical pain can be outweighed by mental pleasure. The body, or as Epicurus puts it 'the flest' (see Chapter Four) is confined to the present moment, while the mind can range over past and future (DL 10.136 = LS 21R; Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.95 = LS 21T). This suggests that unfounded anxieties about the future cause even more distress than does physical pain; it also implies that the memory of past happiness can outweigh present physical pain. And so Epicurus, dying after a fortnight's illness with kidney-stone (DL 10.5) which had earlier prompted him to write 'For seven days before writing this I have been unable to pass urine, and there have been pains of the type that bring people to their last day' (Epicurus, fr. 36 Bailey), wrote to his friend Idomeneus

Passing this happy day of my life, and dying, I write this to you. The strangury and the affliction in my guts are progressing, lacking no excess in their severity; but set against all these things is the joy in my soul at the memory of the discussions we have had. (DL 10.22 = LS 24D)

The wise person will be happy when tortured on the rack, even though he or she will cry out and lament (DL 10.118 = LS 22Q); again, past memories do not remove present bodily pain, but they can outweigh it.

Bodily pleasures are fundamental for Epicurus, it seems, not in the sense that we should pursue them indiscriminately, but in that freedom from anxiety, or ataraxia, itself a pleasure in the mind, is ultimately freedom from anxiety about physical pain -- in the form of punishments in the afterlife, for example. This explains such passages as the following, which could on the face of it seem to be advocating gross physical indulgence:

For I for my part cannot understand that good, if I remove those pleasures which are perceived by taste, those which are perceived in sex, those from listening to singing, those pleasant movements too which are received in the eyes from beautiful things, or any other pleasures which come about in the whole person through any of the senses. Nor can it be said that joy of the mind only is among good things, for I recognise a joyful mind by its hope that its nature will be in possession of all things that I have mentioned above, and free from pain. (Epicurus cited by Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.41 = LS 21L)

I do not know how I can understand the good, if I remove the pleasures that come through taste and sex and hearing and the pleasant movements caused in sight by beautiful shape. (Epicurus cited by Athenaeus, 7.280A = Epicurus fr. 10 Bailey)

And, notoriously, 'The beginning and root of all good is the pleasure of the stomach; even wisdom and refinements (of culture) are to be referred to this' (Epicurus cited by Athenaeus, 12.546 = LS 21M). As Cicero makes his Epicurean spokesman say, recognition that mental pleasures and pains have their origin in bodily ones does not stop them being much greater than bodily ones (On Ends 1.55 = LS 21U). But one may still wonder whether Plutarch may not have some justification in complaining, in his essay That a Pleasant life is not Possible by Following Epicurus, that Epicureanism neglects the higher aspirations of the human spirit; and even with Epicurus' own doctrine it is difficult to see how the pleasure of remembering past philosophical discussions can be accommodated on this model, unless indeed the pleasurable thing about the discussions was just their removal of anxieties about the future. One fragment of Epicurus speaks of philosophy being distinctive in that enjoyment is present in the whole pursuit and not just at the end (Vatican Sayings 27 = LS 25I); but whether this implies that philosophy has value in itself, rather than as a means to the end of removing unfounded anxieties, and whether if so it entitles us to dismiss as rhetorical exaggeration the passages that imply that the value of philosophy is purely instrumental, is uncertain. (See in Chapter Two, on heavenly phenomena; also

If we were not troubled at all by misgivings about celestial phenomena, and misgivings that death might in some way be our concern, and also by not being aware of the limits of pains and desires, we would not stand in need of the study of nature. It is not possible to dispel fear about the most important things if one does not know what is the nature of the universe, but has some misgivings about the things in the myths. So it is not possible to enjoy pleasures in their purity without the study of nature. (PD 11-12 = LSS 25B)

The ancient sources draw a distinction between 'kinetic' pleasures, or pleasures involving change, on the one hand, and 'katastemic' or 'stationary' pleasures on the other; Epicurus, we are told, recognised both types with reference both to the body (or 'flesh') and the mind, unlike the rival Cyrenaic hedonist school which recognised only the kinetic pleasures of the body (DL 10.136 = LS 21R). The contrast has commonly been interpreted in the light of discussions of pleasure in Plato and Aristotle, as a contrast between (i) the pleasures involved in the process of change that removes a lack -- drinking to satisfy thirst, for example -- and (ii) the pleasure of simply not being subject to any lack, such as the pleasure of simply not being thirsty. Plato had in his Gorgias (493-4) symbolised two attitudes to pleasure by, on the one hand, a leaky jar that constantly needs to be refilled, and on the other a sound jar which needs little topping up; and he made Socrates' opponent there, Callicles, describe the sort of existence suggested by the latter as like that of a corpse or a stone.

To interpret the contrast between kinetic and katastemic pleasures in this way seems natural in the context of the doctrine that the limit of pleasure is the removal of pain. But the pleasure of simply not being thirsty seems somewhat lacking in positive content, and open to the objection -- made indeed by ancient critics: Cicero, On Ends 2.15ff. -- that Epicurus is not really entitled to apply the same term 'pleasure' to the kinetic and katastemic types.

While Plato is writings after the Gorgias had continued to regard the pleasures of replenishment as inferior because of their necessary connection with pain, he had also argued that those who say that pleasure is nothing more than the absence of pain are mistaken (Philebus 44BC) and that there are other, superior pleasures not involving pain at all (ibid. 51-2, cf. Republic 9. 584-5). Aristotle's connection of pleasure with ongoing activity rather than with processes like that of replenishment makes a similar point (EN 10.3, cf. 7.12). For Epicurus too some have therefore suggested that katastemic pleasure is rather a positive sense of well-being that we enjoy when not subject to a lack. This could be connected with the fact that our soul and body atoms are, after all, in constant movement. (Since there is katastemic pleasure of the body as well as of the mind, we cannot argue that katastemic pleasure has positive content because it is just the mental pleasure of reflecting on the fact that the body is not subject to a lack.) Perhaps there is a positive pleasure in having one's atoms moving in harmonious patterns rather than being disrupted by some lack. Parallels have been seen with a text of Democritus which asserts that moderation brings 'good spirit' (euthumïê) and that deficiency and excess produce large movements which exclude this (KRS 594). But the interpretation of this passage in terms of atomic physical theory is controversial in Democritus (cf. KRS p. 432), let alone its extension to Epicurus.

Recently, however, Purinton has argued that the parallel with Plato's and Aristotle's discussions of replenishment is misleading, and that kinetic pleasures are to be interpreted as including all pleasures which we directly experience as such; they may accompany the replenishment of a lack, but do not have to do so (though, as we have seen, once the lack is satisfied pleasure can only be varied and not increased). The role of katastemic pleasure, in Purinton's view, is essentially different, relating to the Epicurean point that in taking the long view, not pursuing any and every pleasure indiscriminately, we should not ignore -- as the Cyrenaics did -- the fact that not being in pain, even if it does not positively feel pleasant in itself, is a good not to be disregarded, and one which may even lead us to endure a lesser pain now for the sake of avoiding a greater one in the future. A life could not indeed be katastematically pleasant without some kinetic pleasures -- pleasure is something which living creatures need; but getting this particular kinetic pleasure rather than that is less important that the overall katastemic pleasure of a life founded on the principle that the removal of pain is the limit of pleasure.

Moral virtue will play a part in freedom from anxiety. The person who is unjust will be beset by anxieties which will destroy his or her peace of mind, as we shall see in Chapter Six. Cicero indeed suggests that virtue's relation to pleasure for Epircurus is purely as a means to and end, and finds this shocking, citing the Stoic Cleanthes' critical description of the virtues as Pleasure's servants (On Ends 2.69 = LS 21O). Other passages suggest that acting virtuously is pleasant in itself; virtue will still, however, derive its value from pleasure, which is the sole good, rather than constituting an independent good.

The anxieties which according to Epicurus and Lucretius most trouble people stem from two fears: from fear of divine wrath, and from fear of death which, whether we realise it or not, creates our desire for the wrong sort of security and is thus a major cause of wrongdoing:

The principal anxiety in human souls comes about through thinking that [the heavenly bodies] are blessed and indestructible, and yet have wishes and act and cause things to come about in a way that is inconsistent with this; and in always expecting some eternal terror or being apprehensive of what is in the myths, or also being fearful of the very loss of sensation in death, as if it applied to themselves... (ad Hdt. 81)

Against the fear of death Epicurus' and Lucretius' basic argument is simple: since we do not exist after death, it is no concern to us: 'Death is nothing to us; for what has been dissolved is without sensation, and what is without sensation is nothing to us' (PD 2). Stories of torments in the underworld are therefore false and should cause us no fear.

This, however, is open to a double objection. First of all, it may be questioned -- and is questioned by critics of Epicureanism in Cicero's dialogues -- whether fears of punishment in the afterlife were really as widespread as Epicurus, and especially Lucretius, make out. May they not to some extent be creating a target just in order to attack it? 'What old woman is so stupid as to fear those things which you allegedly would fear if you had not learnt natural science?' (Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.48; cf. On the Nature of the Gods 1.86, 2.5).

To this there may be two replies. First, Lucretius argues that people's claims that they are not affected by superstitious fears should not be believed, especially when they say one thing in times of prosperity but behave in quite a different way in times of adversity (the 'churches are fuller in wartime' argument: 3.48ff.). Second, as with fear of the heavenly bodies as divine, Epicurus at least may be aiming his polemic against a specific target: Plato's writings, and here his myths of retribution in the afterlife.

Nevertheless, the suspicion of attacking the wrong target remains; for people's fear of death may be not fear of existing after death in some unpleasant circumstances, but fear of annihilation itself. As Seneca puts it,

Even when you are persuaded that those are fables and that those who have died have nothing more to fear, another apprehension arises; for people are afraid not only that they will be in the underworld, but also that they will be -- nowhere. (Seneca, Letters on Morals 82.16)

Here the best that Epicurus or Lucretius can offer is, first, the claim that it is pointless to worry about the prospect of something that will not trouble us when it is actually present (ad Men., 125 = LS 24A), and, second, an argument from the analogy with the past: the thought that there was a time in the past when we did not exist does not cause us any anxiety, so why should the corresponding thought about the future?

Again, consider how the endless ages that elapsed before we were born are nothing to us. Thus nature shows us this as a mirror of the time that will be after we have finally died. Surely nothing appears there to shudder at, surely nothing seems gloomy; is it not more free from care than any sleep? (Lucretius, 3.972ff.)

But to this the natural reply is that our attitudes to the past and the future in general are not the same, and that the threat of future ills quite generally causes us more anxiety than the memory of past ones; or, putting it another way, that human beings have natural desires concerning future projects which death as annihilation seems to threaten. And we may not all find much consolation in the thought that, however long we may live, we will still be dead for an infinite length of time after that (ibid. 3.1087 = LS 24G). Perhaps to unchanging gods -- Aristotelian, or even Epicurean? -- past and future are alike; and Epicurus claims that by following his philosophy we can be like the gods. But he may, as Martha Nussbaum in particular has forcefully argued, be disregarding what makes human life distinctively human.

Lucretius ends his third book with a whole series of arguments against the fear of death. Where he may seem to be on stronger ground is when he is in fact arguing, though without himself explicitly distinguishing the two points, not so much that death is not to be feared as that to be preoccupied with the fear of death achieves nothing except to ruin the life you already have. Some of his arguments may seem to beg the question, as is natural enough in what is, after all, rhetorical exhortation verging on satire, rather that dispassionate philosophical argument. Thus he likens the person who fears death to a guest at a banquet (3.935ff.; the image is taken up by Horace, Satires 1.1.117-19), and presents Nature personified as saying that if life has been satisfactory one should be content to leave it, if unsatisfactory one should not with to prolong it:

For if your past life has been pleasant for you, and all its benefits have not, as if poured into a leaky vessel, run out and perished without being enjoyed, why do you not retire satisfied by the banquet of life, and with a calm spirit accept rest free from care, you fool? But if whatever you have enjoyed has been wasted and come to nothing and your life is a burden to you, why do you seek to add more which will in turn perish and come to nothing without being enjoyed; why do you not rather make an end both of life and of trouble? For there is nothing further that I can discover or contrive to please you; all things are always the same. (Lucretius, 3.935ff.)

One might object that a third case has not been taken into account, that of the person who has lived an unsatisfactory and unhappy life so far but could reform and achieve at least some time of happiness (by adopting Epicureanism) if given more time to do it in.

Both Epicurus and Lucretius claim that pleasure is not increased by being prolonged -- in effect, that it is quality of life that matters rather than quantity. Longer life may give you the same pleasure for more time; it cannot, if you have achieved the most pleasurable life that is humanly possible, bring any greater degree of pleasure:

Infinite and finite time contain equal pleasure if one measures the limits [of pleasure] by reason. The flesh takes the limits of pleasure to be unlimited, and pleasure [as requiring] unlimited time to provide it. But the mind, having understood the goal and the limits of the flesh, and removed fears concerning eternity, provides us with a life that is complete, and we no longer need unlimited time; [the mind] neither avoids pleasure nor, when circumstances are making ready our departure from life, does it come to its end as if it lacked anything from the best life. (PD 19-20 = LS 24C; cf. Lucretius, 3.1081)

This, however, raises the question: does Epicurus, in his anxiety to dispel the fear of death, not risk suggesting that there is nothing to choose between living for another twenty years with the maximum happiness possible for a human being, on the one hand, and dying tomorrow, on the other? May Epicurus and Lucretius not end up by presenting existence and non-existence as alternatives between which there really is not much to choose, playing down the joys of life in order to make us less reluctant to relinquish it? Not that Epicurus advocates suicide, except in extreme circumstances; if your life is such that you do not want to continue it, it is your own fault for living in a way that has made it so, and indeed it is paradoxically often the fear of death that produces the anxieties that drive people to suicide. (Cf. Epicurus cited by Seneca, Letters on Morals 24.22.)

When Lucretius insists that we should not spoil the life we have by anxiety about our death, which is inevitable anyway, he surely has a point. Nature's speech, quoted above, continues, to the person who complains at the prospect of death even though already old,

Away with your tears, clown, and check your complaints. Having enjoyed all life's rewards, now you are in decline. But because you have always desired what you do not have, and despised what is there for the taking, your life has slipped away, incomplete and without being enjoyed, and death stands unexpectedly beside you before you can depart from your affairs replete and satisfied. (Lucretius, 3.955ff.; my emphasis)

Enjoying the present is in fact the genuine Epicurean version of the 'popular Epicureanism' enshrined in the injunction to 'eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die'. But the popular notion often carries with it overtones of anxiety which are quite un-Epicurean, as in Horace:

Tell them to bring here wine and perfume and the flowers of the lovely rose which do not last, while circumstances and your age and the black threads spun by the three Fates still allow. (Horace, Odes 2.3.13-16)

While we speak, jealous time is flying past; enjoy the present day, trusting as little as possible in tomorrow. (ibid. 1.11.7-8)

The genuine Epicurean will indeed enjoy life (frugally, for the most part) because it is the only opportunity for enjoyment we have. But he or she will do so with due regard for the future consequences of present actions (since, presumably, although we may not be alive tomorrow, we probably will be, and should not risk a greater pain then for the sake of a lesser pleasure now, or avoid a lesser pain now if it will save us from a greater one tomorrow), and without being anxious or preoccupied with the thought of death. Lucretius describes in terms which are not without some present-day echoes the dissatisfaction -- we would call it neurotic anxiety or alienation -- which is, in his view, prompted by the fear of death, whether we realise this or not:

We see people for the most part not knowing what they want for themselves and always seeking a change of place as if they could cast off a burden. The great man often goes out of his lofty doors, which he is bored with being at home, and swiftly comes back since he feels no better outside; he drives his expensive ponies headlong to his country house, as if hurrying to save a house on fire; he starts yawning as soon as he crosses the threshold, and either falls into a deep sleep and seeks oblivion, or again hurries to get back to the city. In this way everyone is running away from himself, but unwillingly he is stuck to and hates the one whom, as it turns out, he cannot escape, because in his sickness he does not grasp the cause of the disease... (Lucretius, 3.1057-70)

Modern sensibilities tent to regard Lucretius as callous when he writes

'Now your happy home will no longer welcome you, or your good wife, and your sweet children will not run to meet you and snatch the first kiss and touch your heart with silent sweetness. You will not be able to prosper in your affairs and protect your family. Alas, alas,' they say, 'on unhappy day has completely taken away from you so many rewards of life.' But what they do not add in these circumstances is 'and now you don't miss any of these things any longer'. (ibid. 3.894ff. LS 24E: my emphasis)

We suppose that we ought to be distressed at the thought that after death we will not be able to protect our families (an even more important matter, indeed, in ancient conditions of social organisation than in modern); and we may resent the fact that Lucretius first shows us a picture of domestic happiness, unusual enough in Roman literature, and then deflates it. Indeed, if he is speaking of someone who dies relatively young, with children not yet grown to adulthood, and who is unable to look after the family when one might naturally expect that one would, then we may be justified in finding his attitude callous; but, like it or not, for all of us, if we do not suffer the misfortune of our children predeceasing us, there will come a time when we will have to leave them to their own devices and will no longer be around to influence them. And since this is inevitable, the Epicurean message goes, we will be happier if we do like it than if we don't. For the Epicurean as for the Stoic, happiness lies in accepting the inevitable. The paradox is that the Epicurean, who believes that each person's attitudes to events and situations are not predetermined, adopts what most would see as a more passive approach to life, while the Stoic, who believes that each person's attitudes are predetermined, adopts a more active one, as we shall see.

Most telling of all, perhaps, in the context of the Epicurean atomic theory, is the argument that we should accept our death because the everlasting atoms of which we, body and soul alike, are made are needed for reuse -- for recycling, in the modern jargon. Lucretius addresses the person who is reluctant to die:

There is need for matter for future generations to grow, and yet they will all follow you when they have finished with life; just so before now generations have perished no less than you, and so they will continue to do. Thus one thing never ceases to spring up from another; no one is granted life as a freehold, but everyone has a temporary lease of it. (ibid. 3.967-71 = LS 24F)

It may seem to the reader that the discussion of Epicurean ethics in this chapter has devoted excessive space to the question of the fear of death. The justification for this is twofold. We are, first of all, constrained by the actual state of our sources, and Lucretius develops this particular theme at length. But second and more importantly, Lucretius' discussion of the fear of death provides us with an extended context in which we can see what Epicurean ethical attitudes amount to in practice -- though we should remember that Lucretius is in this section drawing not just on Epicurean sources but on themes of popular moralising in general, and on the literary genre of consolation to the bereaved in particular.

The Stoics

Plato had made Socrates argue that a wicked person cannot be happy, however prosperous that person is in worldly terms. But he does not make him explicitly argue the converse, that a virtuous person will be happy just by being virtuous, regardless of the material circumstances. Plato's Socrates is challenged (Republic 2.361) to show only that the righteous person who is being tortured is happier than the wicked person who is prosperous, not that he or she is happy tout court. And Aristotle for his part describes the claim that a person who is suffering the greatest misfortune is happy as one that no one would defend who was not arguing for the sake of argument (EN 1.5 1096z1; cf. 7.13 1153b19) -- though he nevertheless suggests that a virtuous person cannot ever be truly wretched, either. (EN 1.10 1101a34; we will have occasion to return to this passage later.) In his Rhetoric (1.5 1360b14ff.; adopting a more popular view to suit the context, but cf. also EN 1.8 1099b3) Aristotle regards happiness and much else besides; later writers picked out his follower Theophrastus as 'weakening' virtue by claiming that it was not sufficient for happiness (Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.24; Academica 1.33ff.).

They did so because they required a view to contrast with that of the Stoics. For the Stoics did hold that virtue or wisdom (the two being equated) is sufficient in itself for happiness (DL 7.127 = LS 61I; Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.82 = LS 63M), and that virtue alone is good, wickedness along evil (DL 7.102 = LS 58A). Where others might say that virtue was so important that no other considerations could outweigh it or come anywhere near doing so -- so that between virtue plus poverty and wickedness plus riches there is no real contest -- the Stoics went further and denied that riches and virtue could enter into the same calculation as all; in judging what is good our only concern should be to behave virtuously:

Indeed, if wisdom [i.e. virtue] and wealth were both desirable, the combination of both would be more desirable than wisdom alone; but it is not the case that, if both are deserving of approbation, the combination is worth more than wisdom alone on its own. For we judge health deserving of a certain degree of approbation but do not place it among goods, and we consider that there is no degree of approbation so great that it can be preferred to virtue. This the Peripatetics do not hold, for they must say that an action which is both virtuous and without pain is more desirable than the same action accompanied by pain. We [Stoics] think otherwise. (Cicero, On Ends 3.44; my emphasis)

Virtuous behaviour, however, needs to be defined. For the Cynics virtue consisted in 'living according to nature', and Zeno, the founder of the Stoic school, who had been a pupil of the Cynic Crates before founding his own school, took over this definition; his successors modified the formulation but preserved its essence (Stobaeus, Selections 2.7.6a, p. 75.11ff. Wachsmuth-Hense, DL 7.87-9 = LS 63BC). For the Cynics it seems that 'life according to nature' was largely a negative slogan, involving the rejection of conventional ways of behaving; but for Zeno and for orthodox Stoics after him it had positive content, indicating that we should live in accordance with our own human nature, and also with the nature of the universe of which we are parts. No human being, not even the Stoic sage, can foresee everything that the future -- which is to say, fate and providence -- has in store; since our knowledge is limited we should follow the guidance of our own nature, but if things turn out otherwise we should accept this as the for best (Chapter Four).

What, then, is the guidance of our own nature? Where Epicurus claimed that the first instinct of any new-born living creature was for pleasure, the Stoics claimed that it was for self-preservation (DL 7.85-6 = LS 57A). The instinct for self-preservation is described in terms of the creature's 'appropriation' to itself -- its recognition of its body, first of all, as its own. 'Approbation', oikeiôsis, is a term with no very natural English equivalent; its force can perhaps be more easily grasped by contrasting it with its more familiar opposite, 'alienation'. Significantly, for the Stoics it is usually a matter of us being appropriated to things by nature, rather than appropriating them to ourselves. Bulls are instinctively aware of their horns (Hierocles, Elements of Ethics 2.5 = LS 57C); a tortoise placed on its back struggles to right itself, and endures pain in order to do so (Seneca, Letters on Morals 121.8 = LS 57B) -- the point presumably being that if the animal could calculate it might be trading off present pain for future pleasure, but if it cannot it must be instinct that drives it to strive for its natural condition. As Long and Sedley stress (p. 352) the appeal to nature is not intended to imply that we should behave in a certain way because animals do so; rather, observation of animals can help to reinforce our understanding of what is natural for us and for them, and to refute the Epicureans.

As the infant human being grows and develops, its 'appropriation' develops in two ways; it comes to recognise more fully what its own nature involves, and it builds links with other human beings, in its family, its city and so on (DL 7.86 = LS 57A). The latter aspect we will return to in Chapter Six. A human being thus comes to recognise that it is natural to pursue certain things and avoid others; health and wealth, for example, will fall in the first group, sickness and poverty in the latter. Ordinary people think that these are respectively goods and evils; but the person who eventually comes to be a Stoic sage will realise that they are not (Cicero, On Ends 3.21 = LS 59D). For one's own true nature, what really matters is one's reason; virtue, the only good, consists in making the right selections (not choices, for virtue alone is worthy of choice) among external and bodily goods and in attempting to put one's selections into effect as far as one can. This is in our own individual control; whether we succeed is not, and is irrelevant to our happiness.