[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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.
|
| |
[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,
he will battle
against all misery
and pain.
Philosophy
would first have
to convince him
that an act
of will
makes
sense
only
when the pleasure
is greater than the pain;
for
by nature
he will strive
for the objects
of his desire
if
he can bear
the necessary pain,
however great it
may be.
But
such a philosophy
would be mistaken
because
it
would make
the human will dependent
on a circumstance
(the surplus
of pleasure
over pain)
which is originally foreign
to man.
The original measure
of his will
is desire,
and desire
asserts itself
as long as it can.
When it
is a question
of pleasure
and pain
in the satisfaction
of a desire,
the calculation
that is made,
not in philosophical theory,
but in life,
can be compared
with the following.
If in buying
a certain quantity
of apples
I am obliged
to take twice
as many
rotten ones
as sound ones
-- because
the seller wants
to clear his stock --
I shall not hesitate
for one moment
to accept
the bad apples
as well,
if
the smaller quantity
of good
ones are worth so much
to me
that
in addition
to their purchase price
I am also prepared
to bear
the expense
of disposing
of the bad ones.
This example
illustrates the relation
between the quantities
of pleasure
and pain
resulting
from an instinct.
I determine
the value
of the good apples
not by
subtracting
the total number
of the good
ones from
that
of the bad ones
but by assessing
whether
the good
ones still have
value
for me
in spite of
the presence
of the bad ones.
|
| |
[42] Just
as I leave
the bad apples
out of account
in the enjoyment
of the good ones,
so
I give myself
up to the satisfaction
of a desire
after having shaken
off the unavoidable pain.
|
| |
[43] Even
if
pessimism
were
right
in its assertion
that
there is more pain
then pleasure
in the world,
this would have
no
influence
on the will,
since
living creatures
would still strive
after the pleasure that remains.
The empirical proof that pain
outweighs
joy
(if
such proof
could be given)
would certainly be effective
for showing up
the futility
of the school
of philosophy
that sees
the value
of life
in a surplus
of pleasure (eudemonism)
but
not for showing
that the will,
as such,
is irrational;
for the will
is not set
upon a surplus
of pleasure,
but
upon the amount
of pleasure that remains
after getting over the pain.
This still appears
as a goal worth
striving for.
|
| |
[44] Some
have tried
to refute
pessimism
by stating
that it
is impossible
to calculate
the surplus
of pleasure or
of pain
in the world.
That any calculation
can be done
at all depends on
whether
the things to be calculated
can be compared
in respect
of their magnitudes.
Every pain
and every pleasure
has
a definite magnitude
(intensity
and duration).
Further,
we can compare
pleasurable feelings
of different kinds one
with another,
at least approximately,
with regard to their magnitudes.
We know
whether
we derive more entertainment
from a good cigar
or from a good joke.
Therefore there can be
no objection
to comparing different sorts
of pleasure
and pain
in respect
of their magnitudes.
And
the investigator
who sets himself
the task
of determining
the surplus
of pleasure
or pain
in the world starts
from fully justified assumptions.
One may declare
the conclusions
of pessimism
to be false,
but
one cannot doubt
that quantities
of pleasure
and pain
can be scientifically estimated,
and
the balance of pleasure
thereby determined.
It is,
however,
quite
wrong
to claim
that the result
of this calculation
has
any consequences
for the human will.
The cases
where
we really make
the value
of our activity dependent
on whether pleasure
or pain
shows
a surplus
are
those
where the objects towards which
our activity
is directed
are all
the same to us.
If it
is only a question
whether,
after the day's work,
I am
to amuse myself
by a game
or by light conversation,
and
if I
am totally
indifferent
to what
I do as long
as it serves
the purpose,
then
I simply ask myself:
What
gives me
the greatest surplus
of pleasure?
And
I shall most certainly abandon
the activity
if
the scales incline
towards the side
of displeasure.
If we
are buying a toy
for a child
we consider,
in selecting,
what will give him
the greatest happiness.
In all other cases
we do not base
our decision
exclusively on the balance
of pleasure.
[45] Therefore,
if
the pessimists
believe
that
by showing
pain
to be
present
in greater quantity
than pleasure
they are preparing
the ground
for unselfish devotion
to the work
of civilization,
they forget
that the human will,
by its very nature,
does not allow itself
to be influenced
by this knowledge.
Human
striving
is directed
towards the measure
of satisfaction
that is possible
after all
difficulties
are overcome.
Hope
of such satisfaction
is the foundation
of all human activity.
The work
of every individual
and of the whole
of civilization
springs
from this hope.
Pessimistic ethics
believes
that it must present
the pursuit
of happiness
as an impossibility
for man
in order that
he may devote himself
to his proper moral tasks.
But
these moral tasks are nothing
but the concrete natural
and spiritual instincts;
and man
strives
to satisfy them
in spite of
the incidental pain.
The pursuit
of happiness
which
the pessimist
would eradicate
is therefore nowhere
to be found.
But the tasks
which man
has to fulfill,
he does fulfill,
because
from the very nature
of his being
he wants to fulfill them,
once
he has properly recognized
their nature.
Pessimistic ethics
declares
that
only
when a man
has given
up the quest
for pleasure
can
he devote himself to what
he recognizes
as his task
in life.
But
no system of ethics
can ever invent
any life tasks other
than
the realization
of the satisfactions
that human desires
demand
and the fulfillment
of man's moral ideals.
No ethics can deprive man
of the pleasure
he experiences
in the fulfillment
of his desires.
When
the pessimist says,
"Do not strive
for pleasure,
for you
can never attain it;
strive rather
for what you
recognize
to be your task,"
we must reply,
"But this is just
what man does,
and the notion
that
he strives merely
for happiness
is no
more than
the invention
of an errant philosophy."
He aims
at the satisfaction
of what
he himself desires,
and
he has
in view
the concrete objects
of his striving,
not "happiness"
in the abstract;
and
fulfillment
is for him a pleasure.
When
pessimistic ethics demands,
"Strive
not for pleasure,
but
for the attainment
of what you
see as your life's task,"
it hits
on the very thing
that man,
in his own being,
wants.
Man does not
need to
be turned inside out
by philosophy,
he does not need to
discard his human nature,
before
he can be moral.
Morality
lies
in striving
for a goal
that one
recognizes as justified;
it is human nature
to pursue
it as long
as the pain incurred
does not inhibit
the desire
for it altogether.
This is
the essence
of all genuine will.
Ethical behaviour
is not based
upon the eradication
of all striving
for pleasure
to the end
that bloodless abstract ideas
may establish their dominion unopposed
by any strong yearnings
for the enjoyment
of life,
but rather
upon a strong
will
sustained
by ideal intuitions,
a will that reaches
its goal
even though
the path be thorny.
|
| |
[46] Moral ideals
spring
from the moral imagination
of man.
Their realization
depends
on his desire
for them
being
intense enough
to overcome
pain and misery.
They are his intuitions,
the driving forces
which
his spirit harnesses;
he wants them,
because
their realization
is his highest pleasure.
He needs
no ethics
to forbid him
to strive
for pleasure and
then to tell him
what
he shall strive
for.
He will strive
for moral ideals
if
his moral imagination
is sufficiently active
to provide him
with intuitions
that give
his will
the strength
to make
its way
against all
the obstacles inherent
in his constitution,
including
the pain
that is necessarily involved.
|
| |
[47] If a man strives
for sublimely great ideals,
it is
because they
are the content
of his own being,
and
their realization
will bring him
a joy compared
to which
the pleasure
that a limited outlook
gets
from the gratification
of commonplace
desires
is
a mere triviality.
Idealists revel,
spiritually,
in the translation
of their ideals
into reality.
|
| |
[48] Anyone
who
would eradicate the pleasure brought
by the fulfillment
of human desires
will first have
to make man
a slave
who acts not
because
he wants
to
but only
because he must.
For the achievement
of what
one wanted
to do
gives pleasure.
What
we call good
is not
what
a man
must do
but
what
he will want to do
if
he develops
the true nature
of man
to the full.
Anyone
who
does not acknowledge
this must first drive
out of man all
that man
himself wants to do,
and then,
from outside,
prescribe
the content
he is
to give
to his will.
|
| |
[49] Man values
the fulfillment
of a desire
because
the desire springs
from his own being.
What is achieved
has its value
because it
has been wanted.
If
we deny any value
to what man
himself wants,
then aims
that do have
value
will have
to be found
in something
that man
does not want.
|
| |
[50] An ethics
built
on pessimism
arises
from the disregard
of moral imagination.
Only
if
one considers
that the individual human spirit
is itself incapable
of giving content
to its
striving
can
one expect
the craving
for pleasure
to account
fully for
all acts of will.
A man
without imagination
creates
no moral ideas.
They must be given
to him.
Physical nature
sees
to it
that
he strives
to satisfy
his lower desires.
But the development
of the whole man
also includes
those desires that originate
in the spirit.
Only
if
one believes
that man
has
no such spiritual desires
can
one declare
that
he must receive
them from
without.
Then
one would also be entitled
to say
that it
is man's duty to do
what he
does not want.
Every ethical system
that demands
of man
that
he should suppress his own
will
in order to fulfill
tasks
that he
does not want,
reckons not
with the whole man
but with one
in which
the faculty of spiritual desire
is lacking.
For a man
who is harmoniously developed,
the so-called ideals
of virtue lie,
not without,
but
within the sphere
of his own being.
Moral action consists not
in the eradication
of a one-sided personal
will
but
in the full development
of human nature.
Those
who
hold
that moral ideals
are attainable only
if man
destroys
his own personal will,
are not aware
that these ideals are wanted
by man
just
as he wants
the satisfaction
of the so-called animal instincts.
[51] It cannot be denied
that the views
here outlined
may easily be misunderstood.
Immature people
without moral
imagination like
to look
upon the instincts
of their half-developed natures
as the fullest expression
of the human race,
and reject all
moral ideas
which they
have not themselves produced,
in order that
they may
"live themselves
out" undisturbed.
But
it goes
without saying
that
what is
right
for a fully developed human being
does not hold good
for half-developed human natures.
Anyone
who still needs
to be educated
to the point
where
his moral nature
breaks through
the husk
of his lower passions,
will not have
the same things
expected
of him
as of a mature person.
However,
it was not
my intention
to show
what needs
to be impressed
upon an undeveloped person,
but
what lies
within the essential nature
of a mature human being.
My intention
was
to demonstrate
the possibility
of freedom,
and
freedom
is manifested not
in actions
performed
under constraint
of sense or soul
but
in actions
sustained
by spiritual intuitions.
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[52] The mature man
gives himself
his own value.
He does not aim
at pleasure,
which
comes
to him
as a gift
of grace
on the part
of Nature
or of the Creator;
nor does
he fulfill
an abstract duty
which
he recognizes as such
after he
has renounced the striving
for pleasure.
He acts
as he
wants
to act,
that is,
in accordance
with the standard
of his ethical intuitions;
and
he finds
in the achievement
of what
he wants
the true enjoyment
of life.
He determines the value
of life
by measuring achievements
against aims.
An ethics which replaces "would"
with mere "should",
inclination
with mere duty,
will consequently determine the value
of man
by measuring
his fulfillment
of duty
against the demands
that it makes.
It measures man
with a yardstick external
to his own being.
The view
which
I have here developed
refers man
back to himself.
It recognizes
as the true value
of life
only
what
each individual
regards
as such,
according to
the standard
of his own will.
It no more acknowledges
a value of life
that is not recognized
by the individual
than
it does
a purpose
of life
that has not originated
in him.
It sees
in the individual
who
knows himself
through and through,
his own master
and his own assessor.
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Author's addition,
1918
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[1]
The argument
of this chapter
will be misunderstood
if
one is caught
by the apparent objection
that the will,
as such,
is the irrational factor
in man and
that once
this irrationality
is made
clear
to him
he will see that
the goal
of his ethical striving
must lie
in ultimate emancipation
from the will.
An apparent objection
of exactly
this kind
was brought
against me
from a reputable quarter
in that
I was told
that it
is the business
of the philosopher
to make
good
just
what lack
of thought
leads animals
and most men
to neglect,
namely,
to strike
a proper balance
of life's account.
But this objection
just misses the main point.
If freedom
is to be realized,
the will in human nature
must be sustained
by intuitive thinking;
at the same time,
however,
we find that
an act
of will
may also be determined
by factors other
than intuition,
though
only in the free
realization
of intuitions
issuing
from man's essential nature
do
we find morality
and its value.
Ethical individualism
is well able
to present morality
in its full dignity,
for it
sees
true morality
not in what
brings
about the agreement
of an act
of will
with a standard
of behaviour
in an external way,
but
in what arises
in man
when he
develops his moral will
as an integral part
of his whole
being
so that to do
what is not
moral
appears
to him
as a stunting and
crippling
of his nature. |
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