Friends of Classics

Since Christmas is the season of good cheer but seems to leave millions squabbling, resentful and as miserable as sin, it is an appropriate time to consider what the key to happiness is. The ancients provided two distinct but highly practical theories, easily condensable into the average cracker.

The ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus (341-270 BC) is popularly associated with the philosophy of hedonism (Greek hêdonê, 'pleasure'), but this is a misunderstanding. For him, happiness was ataraxia, 'freedom from anxiety': it was the absence of physical and mental pain that counted. In other words, pleasure was fine, but only on certain conditions. For example, eternal self-indulgence sounds great, but think of the nasty after-effects; eternal law-breaking too, but it could land you in serious trouble, and even if you were never caught, the fear that you might be would make life a constant misery. The key lay in avoiding a desire for anything that might cause anxiety, especially anything that had no limits, like wealth or status, because these could never be satisfied.

The objection to Epicureanism is its negativity. No man of ambition or spirit would choose to live such a drab, risk-free existence. It results in institutions ruled by Health and Safety regulations, Charter Marks for Excellence, League Tables, and awards announcing 'We Invest in People' (whatever that means) - all hallmarks of a mentality whose purpose is to draw people into a ring-fenced, conforming, anxiety-free world where rules and regulations 'for your own good' drain existence of all initiative, and in so doing deprive you of most of the things that make life worth living.

The alternative route to happiness canvassed by the ancients was the proposition that happiness depended on virtue. Given the modern propensity to associate happiness with fun and virtue with prim puritanism, this seems like a contradiction in terms. But to the ancients, philosophical aretê (Greek) and virtus (Latin) meant something much more like doing the right thing for the right reason without having to think about it.

In his famous Apology of 399 BC (Greek apologia, 'speech in self-defence'), Socrates argues that 'virtue does not come about because of money, but money and all other things, both private and public, become good because of virtue'. The important point here is that Socrates does not reject the idea that money and other such things are 'good'. All he is doing is arguing that their goodness somehow depends on their connection with virtue.

But what connection? The answer emerges in another dialogue, Euthydemus. Here Socrates is discussing with a young man, Cleinias, the purpose of philosophy and begins by saying that everyone wants to 'be happy'. But to be happy, people need 'good things', and he goes on to reach agreement with Cleinias as to what they might be - wealth, health, looks, good birth, abilities, honours, prudence, justice, bravery, and wisdom. But it cannot end there. Clearly, says Socrates, we must use the good things we have got, since mere possession of them will not ensure our happiness; and if we use them, then we must use them rightly. In other words, good things alone do not make us happy: happiness arises only from the way in which we use those good things. We can now see what Socrates is driving at in the Apology. Things like money are good(s), but they are not good per se. They become good only when they are used virtuously; and when so used, they make us happy. Hence the connection between good(s) (material, mental, and so on), happiness, and virtue.

But this raises another problem: can we be virtuous (and therefore happy) in the absence of goods? Do we really need wealth, health, looks etc. in the first place to stand any chance of realising our happiness, or is virtue on its own enough? For Socrates, the answer was 'yes'. If a person has the means to make himself happy, i.e. is virtuous, he will be happy whatever the circumstances in which he finds himself, since it is the possession of virtue which enables him to be happy in the first place. Virtue does not need anything to work on. It is sufficient by itself to produce the desired result. Socrates' disciple Plato even calculated the difference that being virtuous made to a man's life - the virtuous man is 729 times happier than the unvirtuous. Hence Socrates can go on to say, as he does in the Apology, that the virtuous man cannot be harmed - as long, of course, as he remains virtuous.

This was a conclusion that Aristotle regarded as ridiculous. In his Nicomachean Ethics, he argues that a happy man does in fact need the various 'goods' that Socrates outlines 'in order not to be obstructed in his happiness by their absence'. He continues: 'But those who assert that a man is happy even under torture and when great disasters befall him, as long as he is virtuous, are talking nonsense, whether they know it or not'. It is hard for us to disagree. But the ancients did disagree; many found Socrates' theory perfectly plausible.

Perhaps the explanation of our difficulty lies in the fact that, for us, virtue does not feature as a principle of behaviour. Do a good deed and you are virtuous; do a bad one and you are not. So what? But for the ancients, there was something transforming about virtue; it involved a complete change of outlook on the way one led one's life, brought about by long and carefully reasoned reflection on the world and one's purpose and place in it. If such a concept is not easy for us to grasp, the American classicist Julia Annas comes up with a useful analogy. She likens it to religious conversion - a transforming experience, throwing a new light on every aspect of life and altering one's whole attitude to e.g. death or persecution or the meaning of existence. But conversion comes via revelation. Ancient virtue is the product of the mind.

So as sporadic gunfire breaks out all over the house this Yule-tide, light up a classical philosophical cigar and make the tough mental decision (with the Epicureans) to desire only what is natural and necessary (even ataraxic food, drink and sex can't be bad, after all), or (with Socrates) to enjoy all your worldly goods, but virtuously. Or abandon the classical and just be converted. It is, after all, Christmas, which is traditionally a good time for revelations.


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Ancient & Modern: Christmas 2003
Since Christmas is the season of good cheer but seems to leave millions squabbling, resentful and as miserable as sin, it is an appropriate time to consider what the key to happiness is. The ancients provided two distinct but highly practical theories, easily condensable into the average cracker. The ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus (341-270 BC) is popularly associated with the philosophy of hedonism (Greek hêdonê, 'pleasure'), but this is a misunderstanding. For him, happiness was ataraxia, 'freedom from anxiety': it was the absence of physical and mental pain that counted. In other words, pleasure was fine, but only on certain conditions. For example, eternal self-indulgence sounds great, but think of the nasty after-effects; eternal law-breaking too, but it could land you in serious trouble, and even if you were never caught, the fear that you might be would make life a constant misery. The key lay in avoiding a desire for anything that might cause anxiety, especially anything that had no limits, like wealth or status, because these could never be satisfied. To help the budding Epicurean, Epicurus defined desire in three categories: Natural and necessary (sub-divided into necessary for happiness, for freedom from disturbance, and for life), e.g. food, drink, sex, and security Natural and unnecessary, e.g. specific types of food and drink. Unnatural and unnecessary, e.g. fame, power. The objection to Epicureanism is its negativity. No man of ambition or spirit would choose to live such a drab, risk-free existence. It results in institutions ruled by Health and Safety regulations, Charter Marks for Excellence, League Tables, and awards announcing 'We Invest in People' (whatever that means) - all hallmarks of a mentality whose purpose is to draw people into a ring-fenced, conforming, anxiety-free world where rules and regulations 'for your own good' drain existence of all initiative, and in so doing deprive you of most of the things that make life worth living. The alternative route to happiness canvassed by the ancients was the proposition that happiness depended on virtue. Given the modern propensity to associate happiness with fun and virtue with prim puritanism, this seems like a contradiction in terms. But to the ancients, philosophical aretê (Greek) and virtus (Latin) meant something much more like doing the right thing for the right reason without having to think about it. In his famous Apology of 399 BC (Greek apologia, 'speech in self-defence'), Socrates argues that 'virtue does not come about because of money, but money and all other things, both private and public, become good because of virtue'. The important point here is that Socrates does not reject the idea that money and other such things are 'good'. All he is doing is arguing that their goodness somehow depends on their connection with virtue. But what connection? The answer emerges in another dialogue, Euthydemus. Here Socrates is discussing with a young man, Cleinias, the purpose of philosophy and begins by saying that everyone wants to 'be happy'. But to be happy, people need 'good things', and he goes on to reach agreement with Cleinias as to what they might be - wealth, health, looks, good birth, abilities, honours, prudence, justice, bravery, and wisdom. But it cannot end there. Clearly, says Socrates, we must use the good things we have got, since mere possession of them will not ensure our happiness; and if we use them, then we must use them rightly. In other words, good things alone do not make us happy: happiness arises only from the way in which we use those good things. We can now see what Socrates is driving at in the Apology. Things like money are good(s), but they are not good per se. They become good only when they are used virtuously; and when so used, they make us happy. Hence the connection between good(s) (material, mental, and so on), happiness, and virtue. But this raises another problem: can we be virtuous (and therefore happy) in the absence of goods? Do we really need wealth, health, looks etc. in the first place to stand any chance of realising our happiness, or is virtue on its own enough? For Socrates, the answer was 'yes'. If a person has the means to make himself happy, i.e. is virtuous, he will be happy whatever the circumstances in which he finds himself, since it is the possession of virtue which enables him to be happy in the first place. Virtue does not need anything to work on. It is sufficient by itself to produce the desired result. Socrates' disciple Plato even calculated the difference that being virtuous made to a man's life - the virtuous man is 729 times happier than the unvirtuous. Hence Socrates can go on to say, as he does in the Apology, that the virtuous man cannot be harmed - as long, of course, as he remains virtuous. This was a conclusion that Aristotle regarded as ridiculous. In his Nicomachean Ethics, he argues that a happy man does in fact need the various 'goods' that Socrates outlines 'in order not to be obstructed in his happiness by their absence'. He continues: 'But those who assert that a man is happy even under torture and when great disasters befall him, as long as he is virtuous, are talking nonsense, whether they know it or not'. It is hard for us to disagree. But the ancients did disagree; many found Socrates' theory perfectly plausible. Perhaps the explanation of our difficulty lies in the fact that, for us, virtue does not feature as a principle of behaviour. Do a good deed and you are virtuous; do a bad one and you are not. So what? But for the ancients, there was something transforming about virtue; it involved a complete change of outlook on the way one led one's life, brought about by long and carefully reasoned reflection on the world and one's purpose and place in it. If such a concept is not easy for us to grasp, the American classicist Julia Annas comes up with a useful analogy. She likens it to religious conversion - a transforming experience, throwing a new light on every aspect of life and altering one's whole attitude to e.g. death or persecution or the meaning of existence. But conversion comes via revelation. Ancient virtue is the product of the mind. So as sporadic gunfire breaks out all over the house this Yule-tide, light up a classical philosophical cigar and make the tough mental decision (with the Epicureans) to desire only what is natural and necessary (even ataraxic food, drink and sex can't be bad, after all), or (with Socrates) to enjoy all your worldly goods, but virtuously. Or abandon the classical and just be converted. It is, after all, Christmas, which is traditionally a good time for revelations.	A&M Archive 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007

Ancient & Modern: Christmas 2003