A Note on 'Eudaimonia': Why Greek Philosophy May not Make you feel 'Happy'

Introduction

In recent years, a wave of popular books, podcasts, and wellness platforms has turned to Greek philosophy for answers to modern challenges. Stoicism is repackaged as a kind of self-help minimalism; Aristotle is reinterpreted to address crises of meaning; Plato becomes a mentor in the art of mindful living. Central to this revival is a promise: that ancient wisdom can make us “happy.”

But what if this promise is based on a misunderstanding? What if the happiness Greek thinkers pursued is not the same as the one we seek today? While eudaimonia is often translated as “happiness,” the resemblance is deceptive. The ancients did not view happiness as an emotional state, nor did they locate it in wealth, popularity, power, or personal fulfillment. On the contrary, Aristotle dismissed the life of pleasure as “fit for cattle.”¹

This article offers a cautionary note. It explores how the meanings of happiness have changed over time, and why interpreting ancient ethics through a modern lens risks more than confusion—it may betray the very philosophy it hopes to celebrate.

Happiness Then and Now

Today, happiness is commonly treated as a feeling—subjective, measurable, and fleeting. We equate it with joy, contentment, or satisfaction. From surveys in positive psychology to algorithms optimizing our online experiences, happiness has become a quantifiable goal. Marketed in advertisements, framed as the purpose of life, and pursued through consumption, it often stands for success, stability, or pleasure.

But ancient Greek philosophy had a different vocabulary. For Aristotle, the word eudaimonia referred not to pleasure, but to a life lived in accordance with reason and virtue. It was the fulfillment of one’s nature, the actualization of potential over a complete life. “Happiness,” he wrote, “is something final and self-sufficient, and is the end of action.”² That end was not entertainment or ease but the contemplative life (bios theoretikos), the pursuit of truth through reason.

Other schools—Epicureanism, Stoicism, Skepticism—offered their own ideals, such as ataraxia, or tranquility of the soul. But even this tranquility was not mere peace of mind; it required philosophical training and detachment from desire. Later, in medieval thought, felicitas denoted a divine favor or a state of grace, combining earthly well-being with spiritual fruitfulness.

These notions share family resemblances but do not map neatly onto one another. Each term arises from a distinct world, shaped by different values, metaphysical assumptions, and ethical aims. To collapse them into a single meaning—our meaning—is to lose something essential.

The Structural Problem: Language, Signs, and Meaning

To understand why these terms resist translation, we turn to Ferdinand de Saussure. According to his theory of language, a linguistic sign is composed of a signifier and a signified, inseparable, like two sides of a sheet of paper³. These are not linked by natural correspondence but by social convention. Their meaning is not intrinsic but relational: “In language,” Saussure writes, “there are only differences… a system of pure values determined by their relations within the system.”⁴

This means that eudaimonia, ataraxia, felicitas, and happiness are not interchangeable labels for a universal concept. Each is embedded in a distinct linguistic system, bounded by its historical and cultural context. Take eudaimonia (εὐδαιμονία) in ancient Greek: it belongs to a conceptual field shaped by terms such as aretē (ἀρετή, virtue), logos (λόγος, reason), ethos (ἦθος, character), and telos (τέλος, end or purpose). By contrast, the modern term happiness tends to co-occur with notions like pleasure, success, well-being, self-esteem, wealth, or power.

These distinct paradigmatic and syntagmatic networks underscore the risk of treating eudaimonia and happiness as synonyms. The idea that there is a timeless essence of “happiness” floating through the centuries under different names is precisely what Saussure denies. There is no transcendental signified—no eternal, stable idea behind the sign.

The sign happiness functions within the grammar of modern liberal individualism; eudaimonia is embedded in the classical Greek philosophical paradigm. These terms cannot inform one another directly because they do not participate in the same system. As such, rendering eudaimonia as “happiness” introduces a subtle but profound distortion.

Why This Matters

This is not just a linguistic puzzle. Misunderstanding what Greek philosophy offers can mislead modern readers. Many turn to ancient ethics expecting comfort, not confrontation; tools for self-optimization, not self-overcoming. But Greek philosophy did not promise the management of stress or the cultivation of pleasure. It aimed at the transformation of the individual, the training of reason, and a life of virtue.

Take the Cynics: for them, ataraxia meant radical poverty, shamelessness, and a rejection of social norms. By contemporary standards, theirs was a recipe for misery. Likewise, the Stoics demanded the surrender of emotion, detachment from loved ones, and acceptance of fate. None of these programs align with the pursuit of happiness as we now conceive it.

The risk, then, is double: we distort ancient thought by imposing our categories, and we deceive ourselves by mistaking the content of what is offered. This is not to say that ancient philosophy is irrelevant—on the contrary, it can challenge our assumptions and reshape our goals. But we must approach it on its own terms, not ours.

Conclusion: Rethinking Happiness

If Greek philosophy is to have value today, we must resist the temptation to see it as a mirror of modern desires. Its notions of human flourishing, tranquility, and blessedness are not reducible to our search for emotional satisfaction. The words may seem familiar, but they operate in alien systems of thought.

To say that ancient philosophy can “make us happy” is misleading if we do not first interrogate what we mean by happiness. Is it the satisfaction of desires? The absence of pain? The perfection of virtue? Or the contemplation of truth?

As Derrida reminds us, “to interpret is to misunderstand the conditions under which meaning is produced.”⁵ Translation is never innocent; meaning never floats free of context. If philosophy has a task today, it is not to promise happiness but to ask whether we have understood the context in which this term occurs.

References & Notes

1. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Book I.
2. Ibid., Book I, 1097b20.
3. Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, ed. Bally & Sechehaye, 1916.
4. Ibid., Part I, Ch. IV.
5. Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology, trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976.

 Bibliography

• Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics. Trans. Terence Irwin. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1985.
• Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Trans. Gayatri Spivak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976.
• Hadot, Pierre. What Is Ancient Philosophy? Trans. Michael Chase. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002.
• Nussbaum, Martha. The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994.
• Saussure, Ferdinand de. Course in General Linguistics. Ed. Charles Bally and Albert Sechehaye. Trans. Wade Baskin. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1959.