I was just reading the beginning of the Histories of Herodotus in which he claims that the happiness of any person is discoverable only upon death. How cheery! This is similar to the claims of, I believe, Plato, and at least one of my professors in graduate school.
An adjunct to his argument seems to be that it is being good that makes one happy (gain prosperity, luck, good looks(!) and morally honorable offspring).
I would have to say that for me, happiness is first, because pursuing the perfect good is a destructive, endless and useless occupation.
Okay, I'll stop pretending. I need love.
When there is a way to know oneself, then I will be a person.
Surprise! I don't know myself.
Blah blah blah.
Tendency is to be loving so that I remember the freedom of home (where home is love).
Crap.
Still waiting for comments.
Love, Estoril Brigid.
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