Though the Stoics are having a bit of a heyday, having become rather popular philosophers of late, the Epicureans are puzzlingly neglected in contemporary discussions of .

Like the Stoics (and Aristotle), the Epicureans are “eudaimonists” or what us philosophers call “virtue theorists.” Like other eudaimonists, they insist that is our final end, that in order to live well we must recognize happiness as the aim of every single thing we (aim to) do. Unlike the Stoics (and Aristotle), the Epicureans are also hedonists, though not that kind of hedonist. They dismissed as false the type of pleasure we associate with hedonism—fast and short-term. Instead, they told us that real pleasure is long-term and psychologically calming rather than exciting. Real pleasure comes from understanding what you are here to do—to just be happy—and what happiness consists in—a simple kind of pleasure, one not marred by needless and self-generated “psychological terror” (as Julia Annas memorably translates the Greek).

Historically, people were shocked and appalled that the Epicureans thought we could be brave or honest only because it feels good (and feels terrible to be otherwise), but this part of their view does not seem so strange today.

What does seem strange is their refusal to think the little luxuries and presents we crave are doing us any good. I am reminded each year that asking children to come up with a Christmas list is an arch-mistake according to the Epicureans. It is a real misdirection as to what it takes to be happy, and should do the children lasting harm! Obviously, this is not the modern consensus! (Alain de Botton has produced some lovely videos explaining the Epicurean worry about : here.)

Another thing that seems strange to us today is their refusal to require we be ambitious, competitive, or even sporting. We can see how unusual their view is if we contrast it to a line in a recent, very well-written essay. The author explains that he realized he had clinical when he did not feel joy over finding out his book had made The New York Times bestseller list. As he described his reaction, it was “Yeah, fine, whatever. Is this really going to lift life above 2 p.m. on a gray Tuesday in March?”

Surely most of us would think it a great to reach that level of popularity and not feel special. If getting on a bestseller list does not make us feel good, what else could possibly?

The Epicureans disagree vigorously with these assumptions. We so rarely hear their view that it probably sounds absurd at first (like the idea that getting presents can harm children), but imagine their perspective: reaching that level of accomplishment is not that big of a deal.

How could anyone say such a thing? After all that hard work that must have been put in? Well, the Epicureans insist that true pleasure simply does not come from learning others' opinions of our work.

This is anathema today, when parents insist that their children become successful to avoid being failures. The recently-released film Lady Bird examines this aspect of our culture. It contains a scene where the nit-picky and mother explains to the daughter that she only wants the daughter to be “her best self.”

The mother: I want you to be the very best version of yourself that you can be. The daughter: What if this is the best version?

The mother does not reply, and the remainder of the scene lets us dwell on the ideas involved in the awkward exchange.

What would an Epicurean say, if there?

They would certainly want the daughter to become a good person. Virtue is difficult to acquire and takes a lot of effort. So in that sense, in the sense that we should all work to become ethical, they can agree that people should strive to become their best self.

But if the mother meant, instead, that she wanted her daughter to become a success in the world (get into college, etcetera), the Epicureans would disapprove. They would compliment the film for demonstrating how expectations like this bring needless misery to families (at bottom, the mother seems concerned that the daughter is disappointed by her parents' lack of "success").

Despite how benign it seems to hope a child "makes it," we are not here to win something in a contest with others. We are not at risk of being successes or failures due to some prize or set of prizes. We've only pretended that is how life works. And those prizes we seek are actually unrelated to happiness. They are each distraction from it. The only thing worth acquiring is the kind of steady contentment that they call happiness. If you have that, they tell us, you have everything and need nothing else.

As paradoxical as it is, where we register depression on not being thrilled to have made it to The New York Times bestseller list, the Epicureans would register .