beneficial, and no man loves those whom he fears. You, Epicurus,
ended by making God unarmed; you stripped him of all weapons, of
all power, and, lest anyone should fear him, you banished him out
of the world. There is no reason why you should fear this being,
cut off as he is, and separated from the sight and touch of mortals
by a vast and impassable wall; he has no power either of rewarding
or of injuring us; he dwells alone half-way between our heaven and
that of another world, without the society either of animals, of
men, or of matter, avoiding the crash of worlds as they fall in
ruins above and around him, but neither hearing our prayers nor
interested in us. Yet you wish to seem to worship this being just
as a father, with a mind, I suppose, full of gratitude; or, if you
do not wish to seem grateful, why should you worship him, since you
have received no benefit from him, but have been put together
entirely at random and by chance by those atoms and mites of yours?
"I worship him," you answer, "because of his glorious majesty and
his unique nature." Granting that you do this, you clearly do it
without the attraction of any reward, or any hope; there is
therefore something which is desirable for itself, whose own worth
attracts you, that is, honour. Now what is more honourable than
gratitude? the means of practising this virtue are as extensive as
life itself.

XX. "Yet," argues he, "there is also a certain amount of profit
inherent in this virtue." In what virtue is there not? But that
which we speak of as desirable for itself is such, that although it
may possess some attendant advantages, yet it would be desirable
even if stripped of all these. It is profitable to be grateful; yet
I will be grateful even though it harm me. What is the aim of the
grateful man? is it that his gratitude may win for him more friends