at which all nations call by this name,) with a good deal of
eagerness, he is at times in great difficulties, so that, if he could only
pass undetected, there is nothing so shameful that it does not seem likely
that he would do it for the sake of pleasure. And then, when he has been
put to the blush, (for the power of nature is very great,) he takes refuge
in denying that any addition can possibly be made to the pleasure of the
man who is free from pain. But that state of freedom from pain is not
called pleasure. I do not care, says he, about the name. But what do you
say about the thing being utterly different?--I will find you many men, or
I may say an innumerable host, not so curious nor so embarrassing as you
are, whom I can easily convince of whatever I choose. Why then do we
hesitate to say that, if to be free from pain is the highest degree of
pleasure, to be destitute of pleasure is the highest degree of pain?
Because it is not pleasure which is the contrary to pain, but the absence
of pain.

X. But this he does not see, that it is a great proof that at the very
moment when he says that if pleasure be once taken away he has no idea at
all what remaining thing can be called good, (and he follows up this
assertion with the statement that he means such pleasure as is perceptible
by the palate and by the ears, and adds other things which decency ought
to forbid him to mention,) he is, like a strict and worthy philosopher,
aware that this which he calls the chief good is not even a thing which is
worth desiring for its own sake, that he himself informs us that we have
no reason to wish for pleasure at all, if we are free from pain. How
inconsistent are these statements! If he had learnt to make correct
divisions or definitions of his subject, if he had a proper regard to the
usages of speaking and the common meaning of words, he would never have
fallen into such difficulties. But as it is, you see what it is he is
doing. That which no one has ever called pleasure at all, and that also
which is real active pleasure, which are two distinct things, he makes but
one. For he calls them agreeable and, as I may say, sweet-tasted
pleasures. At times he speaks so lightly of them that you might fancy you
were listening to Marcus Curius. At times he extols them so highly that he
says he cannot form even the slightest idea of what else is good--a
sentiment which deserves not the reproof of a philosopher, but the brand
of the cens