Chapter 13 The Value Of Life Part 2
[31] All this presupposes that pleasure
is the yardstick
for the value
of life.
Now
life manifests itself
through a number
of instinctive desires (needs).
If
the value of life
depended
on its
producing more pleasure
than pain,
an instinct
which
brought
to its owner
a balance
of pain
would have
to be called
valueless.
Let us,
therefore,
examine instinct
and pleasure
to see
whether
the former
can be measured
by the latter.
In order not
to arouse
the suspicion that
we consider
life
to begin only
at the level of
"aristocracy
of the intellect",
we shall begin with the
"purely animal"
need,
hunger.
[32] Hunger
arises
when
our organs
are unable
to continue
their proper function
without a fresh
supply of food.
What
a hungry man
wants first
of all is
to satisfy his hunger.
As soon
as the supply
of nourishment
has reached the point
where
hunger ceases,
everything
that the instinct for food craves
has been attained.
The enjoyment that comes
with being satisfied
consists primarily
in putting
an end
to the pain caused
by hunger.
But
to the mere instinct
for food
a further need
is added.
For man
does not merely desire
to repair
the disturbance
in the functioning
of his organs
by the consumption
of food,
or to overcome
the pain
of hunger;
he seeks
to effect this
to the accompaniment
of pleasurable sensations
of taste.
If
he feels hungry
and is
within half
an hour
of an appetizing meal,
he may even refuse
inferior food,
which could satisfy him sooner,
so as not
to spoil
his appetite
for the better fare
to come.
He needs hunger
in order to
get the full enjoyment
from his meal.
Thus
for him
hunger
becomes
at the same time
a cause
of pleasure.
Now
if
all the existing hunger
in the world
could be satisfied,
we should
then have
the total quantity
of enjoyment attributable
to the presence
of the need
for nourishment.
To this
would still have
to be added
the special pleasure
which
the gourmet
achieves
by cultivating
his palate
beyond the common measure.
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[33] This quantity of pleasure
would reach
the highest conceivable value
if
no need
aiming
at the kind
of enjoyment
under consideration
remained
unsatisfied,
and
if with the enjoyment
we had not
to accept
a certain amount
of pain
into the bargain.
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[34] Modern science
holds
the view that nature
produces more life
than
it can sustain,
that is to say,
more hunger than
it is able
to satisfy.
The surplus
of life
thus produced
must perish
in pain
in the struggle
for existence.
Admittedly
the needs
of life
at every moment
in the course
of the world
are greater than
the available means
of satisfaction,
and
that
the enjoyment of life
is affected as a result.
Such enjoyment
as actually does occur,
however,
is not
in the least reduced.
Wherever
a desire is satisfied,
the corresponding quantity of pleasure
exists,
even though
in the desiring creature
itself
or
in its fellows
there are plenty
of unsatisfied instincts.
What is,
however,
diminished
by all
this is the value
of the enjoyment
of life.
If only
a part
of the needs
of a living creature
finds satisfaction,
it experiences
a corresponding degree
of enjoyment.
This pleasure
has
a lower value,
the smaller it
is
in proportion
to the total demands
of life
in the field
of the desires
in question.
One can represent
this value
by a fraction,
of which
the numerator
is the pleasure actually experienced
while
the denominator
is the sum total
of needs.
This fraction
has the value 1
when
the numerator
and the denominator
are equal,
that is,
when all needs are fully satisfied.
The fraction
becomes greater than 1
when
a creature
experiences more pleasure
than
its desires demand;
and
it becomes smaller
than 1
when
the quantity of pleasure
falls short
of the sum total
of desires.
But the fraction
can never become
zero as long
as the numerator
has any value
at all,
however small.
If
a man
were
to make
up a final account
before his death,
and were
to think
of the quantity
of enjoyment
connected
with a particular instinct (for example, hunger)
as being distributed
over the whole
of his life
together
with all
the demands
made
by this instinct,
then
the pleasure
experienced
might perhaps have
a very small value,
but
it could never become valueless.
If the quantity
of pleasure remains constant,
then,
with an increase
in the needs
of the creature,
the value of the pleasure
diminishes.
The same
is true
for the sum
of life
in nature.
The greater
the number
of creatures
in proportion
to those
which are able
to satisfy their instincts fully,
the smaller
is the average value
of pleasure
in life.
The cheques on life's pleasure
which
are drawn
in our favour
in the form
of our instincts,
become less valuable
if we
cannot expect to cash
them
for the full amount.
If
I get enough
to eat
for three days
and as a result
must
then go hungry
for another three days,
the actual pleasure
on the three days
of eating
is not thereby diminished.
But
I have now
to think of it
as distributed
over six days,
and thus
its value
for my food-instinct
is reduced by half.
In just
the same way
the magnitude of pleasure
is related
to the degree
of my need.
If
I am hungry enough
for two pieces
of bread
and can only get
one,
the pleasure
I derive from it
had only half
the value it
would have had
if the eating of it
has satisfied my hunger.
This is the way that
the value of a pleasure
is determined in life.
It is measured
by the needs
of life.
Our desires
are
the yardstick;
pleasure
is
the thing
that is measured.
The enjoyment
of satisfying
hunger
has a value only
because
hunger exists;
and
it has
a value
of a definite magnitude
through the proportion
it bears
to the magnitude
of the existing
hunger.
[35] Unfulfilled
demands
of our life
throw
their shadow
even upon satisfied
desires,
and thus
detract
from the value
of pleasurable hours.
But
we can also speak
of the present value
of a feeling
of pleasure.
This value
is
the lower,
the smaller the pleasure is
in proportion
to the duration
and intensity
of our desire.
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[36] A quantity of pleasure
has its full value
for us
when
in duration
and
degree it exactly coincides
with our desire.
A quantity
of pleasure
which is smaller
than
our desire diminishes
the value
of the pleasure;
a quantity
which is greater produces
a surplus
which
has not been demanded
and
which
is felt
as pleasure
only so long as,
whilst enjoying
the pleasure,
we can increase the intensity
of our desire.
If
the increase in our desire
is unable
to keep
pace
with the increase
in pleasure,
then pleasure
turns into displeasure.
The thing
that would otherwise satisfy us
now assails us
without our wanting it
and makes us
suffer.
This proves
that pleasure
has value
for us
only to the extent
that
we can measure it
against our desires.
An excess
of pleasurable feeling
turns into pain.
This may be observed especially
in people
whose desire
for a particular kind
of pleasure is very small.
In people
whose instinct for food
is stunted,
eating
readily becomes
nauseating.
This again shows
that desire
is the standard
by which
we measure the value
of pleasure.
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[37] Now the pessimist
might say that
an unsatisfied instinct for food
brings
into the world
not only displeasure
at the lost enjoyment,
but also positive pain,
misery and want.
He can base
this statement
upon the untold misery
of starving people
and upon the vast amount
of suffering
which
arises indirectly
for such people
from their lack
of food.
And
if
he wants to extend
his assertion
to nature outside man
as well,
he can point
to the suffering
of animals
that die
of starvation
at certain times
of the year.
The pessimist
maintains
that
these evils far
outweigh the amount of pleasure
that
the instinct for food
brings into the world.
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[38] There
is indeed
no doubt
that one
can compare pleasure
and pain
and can estimate
the surplus
of one
or the other
much as we
do
in the case
of profit and loss.
But
if the pessimist
believes that
because there is a surplus
of pain
he
can conclude
that life is valueless,
he falls
into the error
of making
a calculation
that
in real life
is never made.
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[39] Our desire,
in any given case,
is directed
to a particular object.
As we
have seen,
the value
of the pleasure
of satisfaction
will be the greater,
the greater
is the amount
of pleasure
in relation
to the intensity
of our desire.
On this intensity
of desire
also will depend
how much
pain
we are willing
to bear
as part
of the price
of achieving the pleasure.
We compare
the quantity
of pain not
with the quantity
of pleasure
but with the intensity
of our desire.
If
someone takes great delight
in eating,
he will,
by reason
of his enjoyment
in better times,
find it easier
to bear
a period
of hunger than
will someone
for whom
eating
is
no pleasure.
A woman
who wants to have
a child
compares the pleasure
that would come
from possessing it
not with the amount
of pain
due to pregnancy,
childbirth,
nursing and so
on,
but
with her desire
to possess the child.
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[40] We never aim
at a certain quantity
of pleasure
in the abstract,
but
at concrete satisfaction
in a perfectly definite way.
If we
are aiming
at a pleasure
which
must be satisfied
by a particular object
or a particular sensation,
we shall not be satisfied
with some other
object
or some other sensation
that gives us
an equal amount
of pleasure.
If we
are aiming
at satisfying
our hunger,
we cannot replace
the pleasure this
would give us
by a pleasure equally great,
but produced
by going
for a walk.
Only
if
our desire were,
quite generally,
for a certain fixed quantity
of pleasure
as such,
would
it disappear
as soon
as the price
of achieving
it
were seen
to be
a still greater quantity
of pain.
But
since
satisfaction of a particular kind
is being aimed at,
fulfillment
brings the pleasure even
when,
along with it,
a still greater pain
has
to be taken
into the bargain.
But
because
the instincts of living creatures
move
in definite directions
and
go after concrete goals,
the quantity
of pain
endured
on the way
to the goal
cannot be set down
as an equivalent factor
in our calculations.
Provided
the desire
is sufficiently intense
to be
present
in some degree
after having overcome the pain
-- however great
that pain
in itself
may be --
then
the pleasure of satisfaction
can still be tasted
to the full.
The desire,
therefore,
does not compare
the pain
directly to the pleasure
achieved,
but compares it
indirectly by
relating
its own intensity
to that of the pain.
The question
is not
whether
the pleasure to be gained
is greater than
the pain,
but
whether
the desire for the goal
is greater than
the hindering effect
of the pain involved.
If the hindrance
is greater than the desire,
then
the desire
gives way
to the inevitable,
weakens
and strives no further.
Since our demand
is for satisfaction
in a particular way,
the pleasure
connected
with it
acquires
a significance
such that,
once we
have achieved satisfaction,
we need
take the quantity
of pain
into account
only to the extent
that it
has reduced the intensity
of our desire.
If
I am
a passionate admirer
of beautiful views,
I never calculate
the amount
of pleasure
which
the view
from the mountain top
gives me
as compared directly
with the pain
of the toilsome ascent
and descent;
but
I reflect whether,
after having overcome
all difficulties,
my desire for the view
will still be sufficiently intense.
Only indirectly,
through the intensity
of the desire,
can pleasure
and pain
together
lead
to a result.
Therefore
the question
is not at all
whether
there is
a surplus
of pleasure or of pain,
but
whether
the will
for pleasure
is strong enough
to overcome the pain.
[41] A proof
for the correctness
of this statement
is the fact
that
we put
a higher value
on pleasure
when it
has
to be purchased
at the price
of great pain
than
when
it falls
into our lap like
a gift
from heaven.
When suffering
and
misery
have toned
down our desire
and yet
after all
our goal
is reached,
then the pleasure,
in proportion
to the amount
of desire
still left,
is all
the greater.
Now,
as
I have shown (page 189),
this proportion
represents
the value
of the pleasure.
A further proof
is given
through the fact
that living creatures (including man)
give expression
to their instincts
as long
as they
are able
to bear
the pain and misery involved.
The struggle for existence
is
but a consequence
of this fact.
All existing life
strives
to express itself,
and
only that part
of it whose desires
are smothered
by the overwhelming weight
of difficulties
abandons the struggle.
Every living creature
seeks
food
until lack of food
destroys
its life.
Man, too,
does not turn his hand
against himself
until
he believes,
rightly
or wrongly,
that
those aims
in life
that
are worth his striving
are beyond his reach.
So long
as he still believes
in the possibility
of reaching what,
in his view,
is worth
striving for,
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