Why Schopenhauer?
July 16, 2007
Schopenhauer is one of my simple pleasures. By which I mean, I simply enjoy him (or perhaps I enjoy him simply). His pessimism, his certainty that the human condition is frustration and therefore misery, makes me happy.
My response to Schopenhauer’s dour assessment of the human condition originates deep inside me. It is something that I know in my being to be wrong. Schopenhauer is absurd and so he makes me laugh. I like Schopenhauer in part because he is a foil that reaffirms my own optimism.
Schopenhauer, no doubt, would call such optimism folly or naïveté, but I do not think it is my choice any more than he consciously decided to be a pessimist – and it seems obvious to me that his pessimism came first. His writing – as justification for his disposition – followed.
My optimism is, of course, an act of faith and a way of seeing the world. In this way it is similar to any other religion or philosophy. Like Schopenhauer’s pessimism, happiness (or at least satisfaction) is not a constant willing of the world into a certain existence, but a matter of belief, or temperament. It is a way of being in the world.
My relationship with Schopenhauer will be colored forever by a conversation I overheard while working in the security booth at Bennington College. For those of you who know Bill (a no-nonsense security guard and an aviator-wearing, pompadoured Vietnam vet who can’t hide the fact that he is soft at heart), this will make a lot of sense:
SCHOPENHAUER:
I therefore know of no greater absurdity than that absurdity which characterizes almost all metaphysical systems: that of explaining evil as something negative. For evil is precisely that which is positive, that which makes itself palpable; and good, on the other hand, i.e. all happiness and all gratification, is that which is negative, the mere abolition of a desire and extinction of a pain.
This is also consistent with the fact that as a rule we find pleasure much less pleasurable, pain much more painful than we expected.
A quick test of the assertion that enjoyment outweighs pain in this world, or that they are at any rate balanced, would be to compare the feelings of an animal engaged in eating another with those of the animal being eaten.
BILL:
You call that philosophy?
Entry Filed under: Philosophy, Schopenhauer, Simple Pleasures. Tags: Optimism, Pessimism, Religion & Faith.
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1.
MLH.NC | September 2, 2007 at 10:53 am
If you believe that one cannot actively choose between optimism and pessimism, that these are innate qualities, than your response to Schopenhauer betrays a lack of compassion for those people who are not blessed with your orientation towards the world. In this light, your writings appear self-congratulatory.
If, on the other hand, you believe that it is possible to come upon and employ an approach to life, you may wish to consider whether pessimism, for Schopenhauer, became a vehicle or voice with which he succeeded in expressing a number of worthy ideas. It may also be valuable to wonder whether, at times, Schopenhauer himself was joking.
2.
jleiss | September 5, 2007 at 7:17 pm
You are right. I am somewhat self-congratulatory, and I’m not sorry about it. I was a rather angry child and an unhappy adolescent, and am a pretty happy adult. So why shouldn’t I be happy? But that does not mean I should lose compassion, and I have no right to consign the unhappy to unhappiness. You always make me clarify; thank you.
I do think that Eleanor Rigbys of the world are living the result of a way of being, rather than moment-to-moment willing of their world. But I am not completely fatalistic. One can create new ways. While it wasn’t exactly deliberate, I am sure I played an active role in my becoming a happier person.
My high school Latin teacher, Mrs. Murray, told us that one day she decided not to be bored. She decided to adopt a new posture in the world. I know that it is possible, at least in some instances, to create for oneself a new way of being in the world.
(I say create instead of will on purpose – sometimes, I do not think that willing is enough. For example, a person may not be able to will himself out of depression, although he could decide to seek some form of healing. So the will may be necessary, but it is not always sufficient for the act of creation.)
Experience also changes us. Dramatic events – my mother dying. Incidental events – reading The Alchemist. What we take out of our lives can inform – and change – us or our world. These lessons can change over time, and we can consciously shape them. (This is, in part, what I wrote my thesis about.)
Schopenhauer’s humor is something I need to consider more. I am pretty trusting, and so I took him at face value. Once again, my naïveté. (Part of my way of being in the world.) I doubt that he would have said something contrary to his beliefs. Still, I say things that are not precisely my beliefs in hyperbole or because I like the way the sound. He may have been done the same. Next time I read him, I will try to keep this in mind.
But you must also look at the way I use Schopenhauer. As a foil, I say. Perhaps I don’t want to really understand him? I know that is not flattering, but it is always a possibility. And I say that without any self-congratulation.