The Value of the World and of Oneself: Philosophical Optimism and Pessimism from Aristotle to Modernity 0197634079, 9780197634073

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The Value of the World and of Oneself

The Value of the World and of Oneself Philosophical Optimism and Pessimism from Aristotle to Modernity M O R SE G EV

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2022 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Segev, Mor, author. Title: The value of the world and of oneself : philosophical optimism and pessimism from Aristotle to Modernity/ Mor Segev. Description: New York, NY, United States of America : Oxford University Press, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022000740 (print) | LCCN 2022000741 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197634073 (hb) | ISBN 9780197634097 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Optimism. | Pessimism. | Philosophy. Classification: LCC B829 .S425 2022 (print) | LCC B829 (ebook) | DDC 149/.5—dc23/eng/20220203 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022000740 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022000741 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.001.0001 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

To the memory of Martha Leonhardt, née Löwenberg (1902–1943).

Contents Acknowledgments  Abbreviations 

ix xi

Introduction 

1

1. Schopenhauer’s Critique of the Optimism of the Hebrew Bible and Spinoza 

18

2. Self-​Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism: Schopenhauer 

43

3. Nihilism and Self-​Deification: Camus’s Critical Analysis of Nietzsche in The Rebel 

78

4. Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism 

113

5. Optimism and Self-​Devaluation #1: Aristotle 

158

6. Optimism and Self-​Devaluation #2: Maimonides on Aristotle and the Hebrew Bible 

194

7. An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer’s Challenge to Optimism 

223

References  Index 

245 253

Acknowledgments This book is a product of years of thinking about and comparing the philosophical views of Aristotle, Maimonides, Spinoza, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Camus. Between 2016 and 2021, parts of this project were presented in Jerusalem, Oxford, Krakow, Tampa, Newcastle, Milwaukee, and Budapest, and I am thankful to my audiences on these occasions for many helpful comments and suggestions. My ideas took shape over the years with the help of feedback from and conversations with many individuals, including Audrey Anton, Hanoch Ben-Yami, Anastasia Berg, István Bodnár, Robert Bolton, Katarzyna Borkowska, Abraham Bos, Ursula Coope, John Cooper, John Cottingham, Kati Farkas, Maciej Kałuża, Andrea Kern, Philipp Koralus, Iddo Landau, Oksana Maksymchuk, Yitzhak Melamed, Angela Mendelovici, Alexander Nehamas, Sarah Nooter, Ács Pál, Michael Peramatzis, Max Rosochinsky, Anna Schriefl, Christiane Tewinkel, Andrea Timár, David Weberman, Robert Wicks, Jessica Williams, and Eric Winsberg. I am grateful to the Hardt Foundation for the Study of Classical Antiquity for granting me the Research Scholarship for Young Researchers in 2018, to the Institute for Advanced Study at the Central European University for granting me a fellowship in 2020, which enabled me to complete most of this book and to present and discuss it with colleagues from a variety of fields, to St. Catherine’s College, Oxford, for hosting me as a Visiting Fellow in 2021, and to the Faculty of Philosophy at Oxford University for allowing me to present the project at the Workshop in Ancient Philosophy during my stay. Thanks are also due to Lucy Randall, Hannah Doyle, Sean Decker, and Leslie Johnson at Oxford University Press, to my anonymous referees for their helpful comments and suggestions, and to

x Acknowledgments Nandhini Thanga Alugu and Dorothy Bauhoff for their assistance with the production of the book. Chapter 1 is based on my chapter “Schopenhauer on Spinoza’s Pantheism, Optimism, and Egoism,” in Y. Y. Melamed (ed.), A Companion to Spinoza (Hoboken, NJ, 2021), 557–​67. Chapter 4 is based in part on my “Death, Immortality and the Value of Human Existence in Aristotle’s Eudemus Fr. 6, Ross,” Classical Philology (forthcoming). Parts of Chapters 5 and 6 are based on my “Aristotle on the Proper Attitude Toward Divinity,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly (2020). I would like to thank the publishers for allowing me to make use of these materials.

Abbreviations The following are the abbreviations used for the titles of the works by the main authors discussed in this book. Works by Aristotle: Cael. DA De phil. Div. EE GA GC HA IA Metaph. Meteor. MM NE PA Poet. Pol. Protr. Rh. Top.

De caelo De anima De philosophia De divinatione per somnum Eudemian Ethics Generation of Animals Generation and Corruption History of Animals Progression of Animals Metaphysics Meteorology Magna Moralia Nicomachean Ethics Parts of Animals Poetics Politics Protrepticus Rhetoric Topics

Works by Maimonides: EC GP MT HD

Eight Chapters The Guide of the Perplexed Mishneh Torah Hilchot Deot (in MT )

xii Abbreviations Works by Spinoza: E TTP

Ethics Tractatus Theologico-​Politicus

Works by Schopenhauer: MR PP FHP WWR

Manuscript Remains Parerga and Paralipomena Fragments for the History of Philosophy (in PP) The World as Will and Representation

Works by Nietzsche: BGE BT BVN EH GM GS HH NCW NF Z

Beyond Good and Evil The Birth of Tragedy Briefe von Nietzsche (Nietzsche’s letters) Ecce Homo The Genealogy of Morals The Gay Science Human, all too Human Nietzsche contra Wagner Nachgelassene Fragmente (Posthumous fragments) Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Works by Camus: F MS R

The Fall The Myth of Sisyphus The Rebel

Introduction In evaluating the world and one’s life within it, two positions, diametrically opposed to one another, have often been taken by prominent figures in the history of philosophy. The view traditionally referred to as philosophical optimism may be encapsulated by the two following propositions: O1: The world is optimally arranged and is accordingly valuable. O2: As part of the world, human life is valuable enough to make one’s own existence preferable over one’s nonexistence. Philosophical pessimists, by contrast, maintain the following: P1: The world is in a woeful condition and is ultimately valueless.1 P2: Our nonexistence in the world is, or would have been, preferable over our existence. The commitment to either of these two corresponding pairs of propositions—​regarding the value of the world and the value of human life—​appears again and again in traditional formulations and characterizations of philosophical optimism and pessimism. Arthur Schopenhauer, reacting to optimism, characterizes it 1 Throughout, by “x is valueless” I mean, not that x cannot be evaluated, but rather that, upon evaluation, it turns out that x is not at all valuable (notice that, in addition, P1’s evaluation of the condition of the world as woeful in fact attributes disvalue to the world). The view that one might not appropriately form value judgments concerning the world, or anything in it, will be considered in Chapter 3. The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0001

2 Introduction as a view countenancing that “the world is what is best” (WWR II.L: 644), and that “our existence [is] to be gratefully acknowledged as the gift of the highest goodness guided by wisdom” and is thus “in itself praiseworthy, commendable, and delightful” (WWR II.XLV: 570).2 Implied in this description is the idea that the world is valuable, and is ordered rationally and optimally (O1), and that it is these features that ground the preferability of one’s own existence as a part of that good whole (O2). Schopenhauer goes on to characterize (without, however, naming) pessimism as the view according to which “this [human] existence is a kind of false step or wrong path” and “is the work of an originally blind will, the luckiest development of which is that it comes to itself in order to abolish itself ” (WWR II.XLV: 570). Disregarding the details of the metaphysical theory underlying this statement (to which we shall return later), the general point of contrast between this view and the optimism that Schopenhauer objects to is that pessimism rejects the existence of an ultimately valuable, rationally ordered world, and with it the prospects of viewing human existence as valuable, worthwhile, or otherwise choice-​worthy. Indeed, Schopenhauer claims, approvingly, that in the Gospels “world and evil are used almost as synonymous expressions” (WWR I, §59: 326). He also explicitly speaks of the “wretched condition of the world” (die jammervolle Beschaffenheit der Welt), associating it with pessimism (WWR II.XLVIII: 621), and repeatedly attributes “vanity” (Nichtigkeit) and “valuelessness” (Werthlosigkeit) to all things (P1),3 which he thinks expresses itself in the suffering of all that lives (I, §68: 397), and which in turn for him implies that 2 All translations and page numbers of Schopenhauer’s texts are taken from E. F. J. Payne, unless otherwise noted. 3 WWR II.XXXVII: 434; II.XLVI: 574; Brieftasche 9, pp. 17–​18 (Payne, 160–​1); Reisebuch 33, pp. 30–​1 (Payne, 13–​14). See Chapter 2 for a more detailed discussion of these texts. Payne translates Werthlosigkeit as “worthlessness”; reasonably, since Schopenhauer uses the word as an evaluative term (as I use “valuelessness” throughout). Nichtigkeit, for him, is an evaluative term as well (making Payne’s translation of it as “vanity” appropriate), as it denotes primarily the futility of all striving and aiming, which inevitably lead to suffering (WWR I, §68: 385, 394–​7; II.XXXVII: 435; II.XLVI: 634–​5).

Introduction  3 “complete nonexistence would be decidedly preferable to” human life (I, §59: 324) (P2). This understanding of philosophical optimism and pessimism is still quite standard. The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy, for example, describes as “the starkest expression of pessimism” the claim made by the chorus in Sophocles’s Oedipus at Colonus that it is best not to be born and second best to die as soon as possible (cf. OC 1224–​7) (P2), and associates optimism with, e.g., Aristotelian philosophy and its “sense of the harmony of nature and the attainability of ends,” implying, similarly to optimism as we have just seen Schopenhauer presents it, that the rational ordering of the world makes both the world itself and one’s existence within it valuable and their existence worthwhile (O1–​O2).4 However, several other ideas are often associated, and sometimes conflated, with these two views. Discussions of optimism and pessimism often refer, respectively, to the ideas that progress is possible or impossible, that this world is the best or worst one possible,5 and that there is more good in the world than evil or vice versa.6 For the sake of terminological clarity, let us distinguish these different ideas from optimism and pessimism as we have defined them and as they will be discussed in the rest of this book.7 It is natural enough to associate a view locating value in the world with the idea that progress is possible or even forthcoming. But an optimist may well hold the view that progress is unnecessary, or even impossible, because the world is already perfectly 4 S. Blackburn, The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy, 3rd ed. (Oxford, 2008), ad “optimism and pessimism.” 5 N. Bunnin and J. Yu, The Blackwell Dictionary of Western Philosophy (Maiden, 2004), ad “optimism” and “pessimism.” 6 L. E. Loemker, “Pessimism and Optimism,” in D. M. Borchert (ed.), Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2nd ed., vol. 7 (Detroit, 2006), 244–​54, at 244–​5. 7 P. Prescott, “What Pessimism Is,” Journal of Philosophical Research 37 (2012), 337–​56, helpfully distinguishes pessimism from cynicism, fatalism, the affirmation of decline, nihilism, and despair. Prescott’s own definition of pessimism is as “the belief that the bad prevails over the good.” He also claims, contrary to my understanding of pessimism in this book, that pessimism essentially involves “personal investment” and hence also “emotional commitment.”

4 Introduction good in its current condition. By the same token, a pessimist may concede the possibility of various kinds of progress—​say, in the distribution of resources and the enactment of human rights—​while maintaining that even at their peak, it would be better if human beings and the world at large had not existed.8 Similarly, although one would generally expect an optimist to adhere to the Leibnizian idea that ours is the best of all possible worlds, committing oneself to that idea is not enough to count as an optimist. Pessimists may consistently adhere to that same conception of the world, while arguing that even the best possible world is not good enough to justify its existence.9 As James Branch Cabell puts it in The Silver Stallion: “The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true.”10 Furthermore, both a consistently optimistic view and a consistently pessimistic one may hold that this world is both the best and worst one possible, if they maintain in addition that this world is the only one possible.11 Finally, thinking that the world on balance contains more good than bad is insufficient for motivating an optimistic position, since the world in that case may still contain enough evil pertaining to the human species, e.g., so as to make it preferable for humans not to exist. Sophocles’s dictum—​that it is best not to be born and second best to die quickly—​is clearly not meant to apply to the gods, who are of course repeatedly appealed to throughout the play, and the worth of whose life is left unchallenged, and this fact nevertheless does not detract from the pessimistic tone of that 8 On this point see also Prescott (2012, 341–​3), discussing J. F. Dienstag, Pessimism (Princeton, NJ, 2006). 9 L. E. Loemker (2006, 244–​5) and F. C. Beiser, Weltschmerz: Pessimism in German Philosophy 1860–​1900 (Oxford, 2016), 153, associate a similar move with Eduard von Hartmann. See also S. Neiman, Evil in Modern Thought: An Alternative History of Philosophy (Princeton, NJ, 2015), 22; M. Migotti, “Schopenhauer’s Pessimism in Context,” in R. Wicks (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Schopenhauer (Oxford, 2020), 284–​ 98 at 285–​6. 10 J. B. Cabell, The Silver Stallion (New York, 1926), 129. Quoted in D. Benatar, The Human Predicament (Oxford, 2017), 5; Cf. Migotti (2020), 285–​6. 11 Cf. Migotti (2020), 286.

Introduction  5 dictum. And, conversely, one may think that evil predominates in the world and still reject the pessimistic conclusion that a human life is not worth having. Though the terms “optimism” and “pessimism” are fairly recent,12 their basic tenets date back to the earliest stages of recorded philosophical discussion, and understandably so, given the basic questions that they address and their relevance to evaluating one’s environment and one’s own existence. It is sometimes argued that tracing optimistic and pessimistic views to pre-​modern philosophy is anachronistic. Joshua Foa Dienstag, for instance, claims that “pessimism is a modern phenomenon” since, “[l]‌ike optimism, pessimism relies on an underlying linear concept of time, a concept that only became a force in Western thinking in the early modern period,” with ancient thought being dominated by a “cyclical” conception of time.13 We need not assess Dienstag’s view of the gradual change in conceptions of time. It suffices for our purposes to note that optimism and pessimism, as we have defined them, apply on either conception. As we have noted, both optimism and pessimism may be consistently adhered to whether or not one even takes a stance on the possibility or likelihood of historical progress. Given the definitions we have offered, we seem warranted to look for optimistic and pessimistic views in any period and culture in which one could ask—​as one clearly already did ask in, say, ancient Israel and classical Greece—​whether the world is perfectly ordered and good, and whether human life is worth living. In this book we shall compare the views of several philosophers who did ask themselves just these questions and have answered them by constructing views that can appropriately be described as either optimistic or pessimistic, in entirely different intellectual environments and historical periods ranging from classical

12 Loemker (2006, 244) traces the term “optimism” to 1737 and “pessimism” to 1795. 13 Dienstag (2006), 8–​9; cf. ibid., 166.

6 Introduction Greece to twentieth-​century France. It would not be feasible, and there shall be no attempt, to provide a comprehensive survey of relevant views during that time frame. Instead, we shall focus on representative cases—​ Aristotle, Maimonides, Spinoza, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Camus—​which lend themselves particularly well to mutual comparison, especially since some of them engage with the others’ views explicitly. Maimonides consciously and openly adopts and develops major parts of Aristotle’s views concerning the value of the world and of human existence. Schopenhauer engages with Spinoza and criticizes his view, which he associates with the optimism that he finds in the Hebrew Bible. Nietzsche criticizes Schopenhauer’s pessimism, and Camus in turn criticizes Nietzsche and his attempt at transcending both optimism and pessimism. Of course, by creating a dialogue between themselves and their predecessors on these issues, the philosophers in question could have themselves been guilty of anachronism to some degree. Even if so, it arguably would still be worthwhile to examine their understanding and use of previous views, e.g., in order to analyze the chain of influence leading to modern theories on relevant issues.14 But I hope to show that, as I have already argued so far, comparing the views of all of these philosophers on the issues focused on in this book is both instructive and appropriate. Even on the assumption that ancient, medieval, and modern optimistic and pessimistic views may be safely compared, questions may nevertheless arise concerning the potential import of such a comparison. To begin with, it is sometimes suggested that optimism is a puerile position, upheld unrealistically and irrationally by those who have not been properly exposed to the evils of the world, and rejected and supplanted

14 On the usefulness of anachronism for such purposes, see D. Graham, “Anachronism in the History of Philosophy,” in P. H. Hare (ed.), Doing Philosophy Historically (Buffalo, NY, 1988), 137–​48, esp. 142–​4.

Introduction  7 by those who have. Discussing ancient Hebrew optimism, one scholar writes:15 Unclouded skies and perfect happiness are conditions of innocent childhood. But as the child grows older, clouds appear in the skies and happiness becomes less and less perfect. Thus while the ancient Hebrews during many centuries seemed wholly satisfied with the affairs of life, never doubting for one moment that JHVH had ordered everything for the best, the time came when they began to ask the why and wherefore of many happenings.

Similarly, as we shall see in Chapter 1, Schopenhauer criticizes optimism (in its monotheistic and pantheistic varieties), among other things, for its naïveté, and for failing to account for the suffering and misfortune prevalent in the world, having instead to blindly assert that all phenomena are manifestations of the world’s perfection, and hence that all human and even animal behavior, e.g., is “equally divine and excellent” (WWR II.XLVII: 590). Perhaps, then, optimistic views, as such, are too naïve to merit serious consideration? However, optimism, as we have defined it, need not be naïve in this way. For one may posit that the world is optimally arranged and is perfectly valuable without conceding that each and every one of its parts is equally valuable. Indeed, as we shall see in Chapters 5 and 6, both Aristotle and Maimonides offer a complex optimistic theory, on which the world, though perfectly arranged and valuable (O1), contains an axiological hierarchy pertaining to its various parts. Since humans are placed relatively low on that hierarchy, the world’s perfection and absolute value are not compromised by the imperfections pertaining to and the pain undergone by them. But, given the world’s perfection, the existence of such creatures, flawed though they are, is preferable to 15 A. Guttmacher, Optimism and Pessimism in the Old and New Testaments (Baltimore, MD, 1903), 125.

8 Introduction their nonexistence (O2). This version of optimism presents a viable alternative to pessimistic approaches. This is especially true because, as we shall see in Chapters 2 and 3, both the most influential modern pessimistic position (by Schopenhauer) and an influential attempt to do away with both optimism and pessimism (by Nietzsche) have been criticized for ultimately reverting to optimism, and hence for being fundamentally inconsistent. This fact raises the question as to whether “pure” pessimism, or a complete rejection of optimism, is possible in principle. And, if it is not, then it seems that conscious and explicit optimism could prove a viable alternative. As a second consideration, one might argue that the debate between optimism and pessimism is really a debate over the existence of a perfect deity. As we shall see in Chapter 3, this is precisely what Nietzsche does argue (cf. HH I.28). But, if that is the case, then one might be inclined to bracket the debate between optimism and pessimism as a theological controversy, and hence as potentially irrelevant for those who wish to evaluate the world and human life without recourse to the question of God’s existence. Indeed, all of the views discussed in this book do engage with the existence and nature of divinity and with religion, either supportively or critically. Schopenhauer responds to optimism primarily in its monotheistic and pantheistic varieties, and he links his own pessimistic view to Christianity and Buddhism. Nietzsche, while himself associating both optimism and pessimism with a theological framework and criticizing both on that account, is himself later criticized by Camus, ironically, for “deifying” the world and envisaging a divine human being in the form of an Übermensch. In turn, Aristotle’s view of the magnanimous person, and Maimonides’s corresponding notion of the “righteous person” (hassid), are both informed by the attitude such a person would have toward divinity. And the world’s perfection, for both thinkers, is a function of its divinity or its relation to the divine. It is therefore not surprising that the traditional debate between optimism and pessimism also reserves a special place (e.g., in Maimonides’s and Schopenhauer’s works, as we shall see in Chapter 2 and Chapters 6–​7) for an engagement with the classical “problem of

Introduction  9 evil,” challenging the existence of a benevolent and omnipotent deity in the light of the suffering and imperfections contained in the world. However, though the issues dealt with by philosophical optimism and pessimism intersect with discussions in theology and the philosophy of religion, they do not clearly depend on those domains of inquiry. An optimally ordered world, in principle, may be so without either having been created by a deity or being identified with one. And the existence of a given species within such a world could arguably also be worthwhile regardless of any relation to a deity. Thus, a pessimistic response to optimism need not attack the conception of divinity underlying it, and indeed would be potentially incomplete if it addressed only that conception. Similarly, the classical problem of evil admits of variations, and ones which need not appeal to the existence of God. Schopenhauer, as we shall see in Chapter 1, thinks that this problem confronts Spinozistic pantheism—​which does not countenance the existence of a benevolent and omnipotent God—​ because the world as God must on pantheism make the existence of suffering impossible. By the same token, a non-​theistic and non-​ pantheistic optimistic view could also be confronted with a version of the problem of evil, appropriately modified: How could a perfectly ordered and positively valuable world include imperfections and untoward agony? In this case, it seems that neither the question nor the answer needs to appeal to God or religion. One may also wonder whether it is neither optimism nor pessimism, but rather some intermediate position, that is more likely to ultimately convince. Without committing oneself to the optimal arrangement of the cosmos, nor to its valuelessness, one may locate some order and goodness in the world, and may attach such value specifically to certain human endeavors or experiences, which, if attained, may make human existence either worth having (O2) or not (P2), without thereby leading one either to full-​fledged optimism (O1 +​O2) or to outright pessimism (P1 +​P2).16 We may refer to views locating enough value to support O2 as quasi-​optimistic,

16 I am thankful to Anna Schriefl for a helpful discussion concerning this point.

10 Introduction and call those rejecting enough such value to support P2 quasi-​ pessimistic. All of these views, as well as an intermediate position that remains neutral concerning the worth of human life, may be represented on a spectrum as follows: Human nonexistence is preferable (pessimistic “camp”)

0 Pessimism

Human existence is preferable (optimistic “camp”)

Value in the world Quasi-Pessimism

Quasi-Optimism

Optimism

One challenge facing positions falling in between optimism and pessimism is to provide specific criteria for determining just how much value found in the world justifies supporting either the optimistic assessment of human existence as worthwhile, or the pessimistic counterpart of that assessment. Another challenge would be to show that value of the right kind and amount, once determined, can be reliably expected to persist so as to support those assessments consistently. Part of the attraction of a fully optimistic or pessimistic theory, by contrast, is that it provides an evaluation of the world that is clear-​cut and unfluctuating. Furthermore, optimism provides a unique reason for maintaining that human existence is worthwhile, which seems unavailable to other theories. For, if the world is perfectly ordered and good, then human life, however individually potentially distressing, may be worthwhile simply insofar as it contributes to that perfection as one of its parts (as we shall see in Chapter 4, Aristotle reasons along these lines in motivating his view of death as an evil). Granted, it may be the case that both optimism and pessimism can be conclusively shown to be false, with some intermediate theory being shown to be more plausible. Even in such a case, however, examining optimism and pessimism exhaustively would still prove beneficial. These theories

Introduction  11 could function as limiting cases, and their shortcomings may point out which type of intermediate theory is more likely to be true—​ one falling in the “optimistic camp” (i.e., upholding that there is enough value in the world to make human life preferable over nonexistence) or in the “pessimistic camp.” In Chapter 1, I examine Arthur Schopenhauer’s critique of the optimism he reads in the Hebrew Bible and in Spinoza’s philosophy. According to Schopenhauer, the Hebrew Bible presents a consistently optimistic worldview. Already in Genesis, Schopenhauer points out, the acts of creation are followed by the locution: “And God saw that [it was] good” (‫)וירא אלהים כי טוב‬. In fact, Schopenhauer continues, so good is this creation, according to the biblical view, that it leaves nothing to look forward to outside of this world, and the Bible consequently recommends simply rejoicing in the joys of the present (Ecclesiastes IX. 7–​10). On that view, the world in all its parts is impeccable by hypothesis. Any seeming imperfection within the world, including those pertaining to human beings and their lives, must be merely apparent. Schopenhauer finds an equivalent view in Spinoza’s pantheism. For Spinoza, God is a being whose “essence excludes all imperfection and involves absolute perfection” (E1p9s), and it is the only substance of which we can conceive (E1p14) and in which we (like everything else) have our being (E1p15). The conclusion to draw is that we, too, are parts of that perfect entity. And so, as Schopenhauer sees it, Spinoza’s theory, just like the biblical worldview, is essentially optimistic. By the basic assumption of these two systems, there can be no fault in our existence, and hence nothing to improve. Schopenhauer, however, finds this optimistic outlook unconvincing, for two main reasons. First, given the immense suffering one witnesses in the world, optimism generally generates some version of the classical problem of evil, which it is unable to solve. One’s individual life cannot plausibly be construed as “perfect,” as it must be if we consider it a part of a perfectly created cosmos. Second, optimism itself, once adopted, ironically makes

12 Introduction individuals worse than they otherwise would have been. For, since optimism encourages one to look favorably upon one’s individual life, it also promotes egoism, which inevitably leads to cruelty. In Chapter 2, we shall turn to Schopenhauer’s own pessimistic theory and to Nietzsche’s critique of it. Schopenhauer presents an alternative to Jewish and pantheistic optimism, and the unreasonable self-​commendation that he believes they promote. Human life, as Schopenhauer thinks it is standardly lived, is objectively futile and indeed miserable. Life, for him, involves continuous strife (WWR I, §61: 331), which is inescapable even by means of suicide (§54: 281). Whenever we find ourselves under the impression that our human condition is any better than that, we are simply mistaken. However, Schopenhauer also thinks that there is a way out of this predicament. The solution is to be found in his notion of the “denial of the will-​to-​live” (§68: 397). Knowing and acknowledging that no form of life can be free from suffering, and that attempting to alleviate one’s suffering from within the framework of one’s life is necessarily done in vain, one gradually grows frustrated with living as such, and ceases to will it. Such a process, if carried out properly, ultimately yields “[t]‌rue salvation” (§68: 397). By dimming (and, ultimately, eliminating) the subjective investment in one’s own life, with its various aims, goals, choices, and values, Schopenhauer thinks, one could potentially exist in an objectively praiseworthy way. However, Schopenhauer’s claim that self-​abnegation is preferable over any standard instance of individual life seems to involve him in a paradox. As Nietzsche (GM III.28) argues directly against Schopenhauer, and as Thomas Nagel (in Mortal Questions) later argued against similar positions, the recommendation of eliminating one’s aims is itself explainable only as the willful pursuit of an aim. Willing not to will, in other words, is still willing, and a desire not to desire is still a desire. Indeed, this criticism exposes an even graver problem for Schopenhauer. Since Schopenhauer promotes self-​abnegation as a desirable goal, his view turns out to

Introduction  13 share an important element in common with the Jewish and pantheistic optimistic views he sets out to reject. The very prospect of solving totally the misery and misfortune inherent to the human condition implies that, at least in principle, we need not find ourselves, or at least remain, in an imperfect world or in a less than fully desirable state. The problem intensifies when we attend to the theoretical basis for Schopenhauer’s recommendation. He believes that the denial of the will-​to-​live would bring about the most desirable state one could aspire to, precisely because in that state one ceases, for all intents and purposes, to exist as an individual human being or phenomenon. But that presupposes that there is something beyond phenomena for humans to exist as. For Schopenhauer, that is the “will”—​the “thing-​in-​itself ”—​constituting the true reality underlying all phenomena. If what we most truly are is a non-​phenomenal metaphysical substratum, however, then whatever phenomenal attributes we have, including all the imperfections and suffering Schopenhauer locates in the human condition, do not truly belong to us. At bottom, we are immutable, eternal, and impeccable, as is the entire world. As it turns out, the very commendation of world and self that Schopenhauer abhors in what he calls Jewish and pantheistic optimism can be attributed to Schopenhauer’s own view of the world and the self (understood as what they essentially and truly are). Nietzsche does not simply reject Schopenhauer’s recommendation of the denial of the will-​to-​live, along with the metaphysics underlying it. He also suggests an alternative. This alternative, which itself faces a formidable challenge, is the subject of Chapter 3. Based on his idea of the “death of God” and his rejection of absolute values, Nietzsche recommends creating novel values through affirming the world and oneself. Nietzsche envisages his alternative as overcoming the problems of both pessimism (à la Schopenhauer) and optimism (of the kind Schopenhauer himself rejects). He describes his Zarathustra as recognizing that the

14 Introduction optimist is just as bad as, if not worse than, the pessimist (EH IV.4). Nevertheless, Nietzsche’s view arguably does ultimately revert to the same evaluation of the world and of oneself that both he and Schopenhauer find problematic. It has been argued, that is, that Nietzsche, too, endows the world and its various parts, including individual human beings, with ultimate value. In The Rebel, Albert Camus suggests that Nietzsche’s top goal—​“creation” (Schaffen) or “yes-​saying” (Ja-​sagen), roughly, aligning one’s will with the world—​amounts to thinking of the world as a deity and of oneself as divine, after and despite the “death of God.” Thus, although Nietzsche criticizes monotheism for privileging God as singularly valuable and believers in Him as singularly correct (GS 143), he himself privileges the world and those individuals who value it in just this way. Both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, though criticizing optimistic views for overvaluing human beings, are nevertheless led, in different ways, to overvalue individual human beings to an arguably unprecedented degree. There is, however, one readily available view that seems to deliberately and consistently avoid this consequence. This view, which dates back to Aristotle and is later developed by Moses Maimonides, is interestingly one which both Schopenhauer and Nietzsche would consider optimistic, and rightly so. Aristotelian optimism will be examined in detail in Chapters 5 and 6. However, in order to appreciate the relevance of that theory to later views, we will first, in Chapter 4, compare the ancient pessimistic approaches that Aristotle engages with to their modern counterparts, and especially to Schopenhauer’s view (as we have already seen, pessimistic sentiments and views make an appearance already in ancient Greek philosophy and literature, and the connections of those to modern pessimism, as we shall see, do not elude Schopenhauer himself). In a fragment from a lost dialogue, titled the Eudemus, Aristotle tells a story about Silenus, who, upon being captured by King Midas, utters a statement encapsulating a pessimistic view resembling Schopenhauer’s views on human life

Introduction  15 and existence. I shall argue that Aristotle presents Silenus’s words in order to reject them, along with Plato’s view in the Phaedo of death as a blessing and a release. This criticism is applicable to Schopenhauer’s general view, and it sets the ground for establishing Aristotle’s own alternative to pessimism. In Chapter 5, I turn to the details of Aristotle’s optimistic theory. For Aristotle, the person who has reached the highest value humanly possible, and recognizes her value adequately, qualifies as “magnanimous” (megalopsuchos). Occupying a middle position between the “small-​ souled” and the “vain,” the magnanimous person is concerned with “honors and dishonors” exactly appropriately, knowing when to accept and reject them and taking the right amount of pleasure in them when they are deserved (NE IV.3). Despite a long controversy surrounding the criteria Aristotle thinks a magnanimous person must meet, there are good reasons to identify that person with Aristotle’s philosopher, who is best equipped to appreciate and assess, not only human honors and dishonors, but also what in Aristotle’s system are the greatest honors in existence—​ those attributed to the unmoved movers of the heavenly bodies and spheres, i.e., Aristotle’s gods. Being acquainted with these ultimate causes of reality and their magnificence, the magnanimous person comes to devalue humanity and devotes her life and efforts to the divine. This devotion to the divine, which seems to go against the natural tendency of organisms to further their own lives and species, is nevertheless quite consistent with Aristotle’s teleological view of nature, according to which nature exhibits a clear hierarchy of species, with each species teleologically oriented not only toward its own interests but also toward the good of superior species. Importantly, this view of nature is predicated on the assumption that the world functions optimally and is perfectly good as is. Thus, Aristotle’s view presents an alternative to pessimism. However, it also avoids a core feature characteristic of biblical and Spinozist optimism as characterized by Schopenhauer, of the unintentionally optimistic features of Schopenhauer’s theory revealed by Nietzsche,

16 Introduction and of Nietzsche’s inadvertent optimism as analyzed by Camus. For Aristotle’s view devalues humanity by comparison to superior entities, and hence resists overvaluing humanity or oneself. Moses Maimonides consciously appropriates much of Aristotelian theory and integrates it into both his philosophical system and his biblical interpretation. In Chapter 6, I discuss Maimonides’s appropriation and development of Aristotle’s optimism, which helps to put that theory in conversation with post-​classical debates on the value of the world and of human life. In the Guide of the Perplexed III, Maimonides sets out to solve the classical problem of evil. His solution rests, not on disregarding or explaining away suffering or evil in the world, but rather on the devaluation of human beings. Coming to terms with our own inferiority as humans to higher entities such as the heavenly bodies and the separate intellects, Maimonides thinks, allows us to adopt a sober and correct optimistic worldview. In establishing his devaluation of human beings for this purpose, Maimonides relies on his interpretation of Jewish sources and, implicitly, on his understanding of Aristotle’s philosophy. Various biblical and Talmudic texts venerate viewing oneself, and indeed the whole of humankind, as lowly. Abraham, Moses, King David, Isaiah, and Job have all been described as, and commended for, sharing in this recognition and conducting their lives in accordance with it. Humans, in general, are likened to a “vanity” in Psalms 144:4, and to maggots and worms in Job 25:6. Maimonides harmonizes such statements with his own conception (and ideal) of the righteous person and prophet—​a philosopher who, like Aristotle’s magnanimous person, devalues humanity and herself and devotes her life and efforts to the divine. Based on these views, Maimonides is able to sustain an optimistic worldview which, far from implying the impeccability of human beings, is in fact grounded in the devaluation of humanity. Finally, in Chapter 7, I assess the degree to which Aristotelian theory is capable of answering the challenge that Schopenhauer poses to optimism. I conclude that, contra Schopenhauer, Aristotle’s

Introduction  17 view, especially as developed by Maimonides, is capable of dealing with the classical problem of evil without compromising its optimistic principles and without having to resort to personal immortality. I also outline an Aristotelian-​Maimonidean response to Schopenhauer’s claim that optimism inevitably leads to moral depravity and cruelty. Indeed, the Aristotelian-​Maimonidean stance on these issues not only defends optimism against Schopenhauer’s challenge, but also suggests that it is indeed a view such as Schopenhauer’s that is essentially self-​centered and hence potentially morally hazardous. I close by considering further objections to optimism (raised both by Schopenhauer and by others), and the ways in which Aristotelian optimism might respond to them. One group of such objections focuses on the irrelevance of Aristotle’s theory to contemporary discussion, given its teleological principles and commitment to such things as the eternity of biological species. I argue that a modified version of Aristotelian optimism can withstand such objections.

1 Schopenhauer’s Critique of the Optimism of the Hebrew Bible and Spinoza Schopenhauer frequently assimilates Spinoza’s pantheism with Jewish monotheism, and contrasts both with his own system. In his view, both Spinoza and Judaism reject personal immortality and endorse a belief in a deity with the same “moral character” (moralischen Charakter) and “value” (Werth) (WWR II.L). This confluence of Spinozism and Judaism, and Schopenhauer’s opposition to both, seem surprising at first sight. First, Schopenhauer, by his own admission (WWR II.L), shares with Spinoza the basic view that the true nature of the world is single and unified, and that, contra Abrahamic monotheism, the world is not created. Second, belief in personal immortality is not standardly characterized as incompatible with Judaism. Indeed, according to recent influential accounts, it is precisely for rejecting this belief that Spinoza was so severely excommunicated from the Jewish community he had been a part of. Third, Spinoza is standardly taken to reject the Jewish conception of God, not least for its moral and practical implications. Hence it may seem, as indeed has been argued, that Schopenhauer’s assimilation of Spinozism to Judaism is simply the result of either anti-​Semitism or sheer ignorance (or both). In fact, however, Schopenhauer’s thesis is the conclusion of a carefully worked out argument, according to which the basic premises of both pantheism and theism lead directly to optimism. This argument, which is undoubtedly mounted in order to reject both The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0002

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  19 Spinoza’s philosophy and Judaism, is nevertheless a testament to Schopenhauer’s admiration for the internal consistency of both systems, a feature he explicitly denies to Christianity. It is specifically the optimism to which their ground assumptions allegedly inevitably lead that Schopenhauer rejects in both Judaism and Spinoza’s pantheism. Schopenhauer views that optimism as doubly problematic. First, he contends, since the world is evidently full of suffering, optimists face the problem of evil, and cannot successfully respond to it (at least without resorting to such ideas as personal immortality, which are inconsistent with their theoretical commitments). Second, it is Schopenhauer’s assessment that, by promoting the adherence to individual life as an ideal, optimism leads to egoism, which in turn promotes cruelty, both toward one’s fellow humans and, even more so, toward nonhuman animals.

1.1  Monotheistic and Pantheistic Optimism Schopenhauer regards Judaism as “the only purely monotheistic religion” teaching “a God creator as the origin of all things” (FHP §13: 127). He contrasts this tradition with both Buddhism, which is entirely atheistic, and Brahmanism, as well as Phoenician, Greek, Roman, and North American religions, which posit divinities but no Creator God (FHP §13: 127). For Schopenhauer, the word God necessarily indicates a “world-​cause that is not only different from the world, but is intelligent, that is to say, knows and wills, and so is personal and consequently also individual” (FHP §13: 115). The God of Judaism, Schopenhauer thinks, certainly meets these criteria. Not only has He intentionally and intelligently created the world, but He also assesses His own creation as a good one, as is exemplified by the recurring statement in Genesis 1, following His deeds of creation: “And God saw that [it was] good” (orig.: ‫)וירא אלהים כי טוב‬. This “optimistic history of creation,” as Schopenhauer calls it (WWR II.XLVIII: 620), sets

20  The Value of the World and of Oneself the tone for the rest of Jewish religion and culture as he sees them. Interestingly, he finds the most distinct pronouncement of this approach in Clement of Alexandria—​a Church Father. In Stromata III.3, Schopenhauer notes, Clement opposes the Marcionites for “having found fault with the creation” (WWR II.XLVIII: 621). For Clement, he continues, upon accepting the fact that God created the world “it is a priori certain that it is excellent, no matter what it looks like” (WWR II.XLVIII: 622). This attitude, Schopenhauer concludes, makes Clement “more of a Jew than a Christian” (WWR II.XLVIII: 622). Judaism, for Schopenhauer, is essentially optimistic. It is founded on the belief in a God responsible for the creation of an absolutely flawless world. Schopenhauer’s interpretation of Judaism on this point is consonant with prominent voices in Jewish theology and philosophy. In GP III.13, Maimonides comments on Genesis 1:31, where it is stated that “God saw all that He has created, and behold, [it was] very good (‫)והנה טוב מאד‬.” The word “very” )‫ )מאד‬is added at Genesis 1:31 for the first time, after repeated references earlier in the chapter to God’s seeing His creation and simply declaring it “good.” According to Maimonides, this addition means that Creation, in its entirety, conforms to God’s intention permanently (327:16–​21).1 Later, he assimilates that idea to “the philosophical opinion (‫ דעת הפילוסופים‬,‫ ”)אלראי אלפלספי‬that “in all natural things there is nothing that may be described as futile” (III.25, 365:30–​366:9), i.e., to the Aristotelian dictum that “nature does nothing in vain” (e.g., IA 8, 708a9–​11).2 Thus, in GP III.10, Maimonides extends the statement at Genesis 1:31 to the existence of particular natural phenomena, including organisms made of inferior, perishable matter, such as human beings. In the light of Genesis 1:31, Maimonides thinks, such beings are doomed to 1 The pagination and Judeo-​Arabic text of the Guide is based on Joel 1930/​1. The Hebrew translation following quotations of the Guide is by Ibn-​Tibbon. 2 Translations of Maimonides’s Guide are taken from S. Pines, Maimonides: The Guide of the Perplexed (Chicago, 1963), unless otherwise stated.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  21 undergo evils, including their eventual death, but “all of that is good as well (‫ כל זה גם כן טוב‬,‫)כל דׄ לך איצׄ א טוב‬,” because of the permanence of being through reproduction and the cycle of life (317:10–​16).3 For Maimonides, then, the account of Creation in Genesis implies that the world as such is perfectly good, and that the particular ordering of phenomena as we observe it in the natural world invariably contributes to that perfection. One finds endorsement of the optimistic reading of Genesis 1, very much along Schopenhauerian lines, in twentieth-​century biblical scholarship as well.4 More recently, one scholar describes the account of Creation in Genesis 1 as revealing a “majestic, rationally ordered, and morally good universe,” a cosmos in which “nothing . . . is random or incomplete,” and a structure of reality that is “orderly and philosophical.”5 It has also been argued, based on a comprehensive examination of Scripture, that, much like Schopenhauer concludes, the Hebrew Bible as a whole is predominantly optimistic, by contrast to the New Testament.6 Broad generalizations such as this are of course prone to being challenged, as indeed they have been.7 But, whichever opinion one reaches about the philosophical position underlying the books 3 Maimonides, in this respect, alludes to the emendation in Genesis Rabbah 9:5 of ‫ טוב מאד‬at Genesis 1:31 to ‫“( טוב מות‬it is good to die”). Interestingly, this text is often interpreted as indicating pessimism; see Guttmacher (1903), 78. 4 Thus, Guttmacher (1903, 28–​9) reads the declarations in Genesis 1 of Creation as “good” as endorsing optimism and finds further evidence for this view in the Hebrew Bible, such as Isaiah 45:18; Psalms 33:6, 9; 104:10–​15. 5 R. Hendel, The Book of Genesis: A Biography (Princeton, NJ, 2013), 37–​9. However, Hendel (2015, 43) adds that, by contrast, the account of the Garden of Eden in Genesis 2–​3 “depicts a reality that is very earthly and—​from the human point of view—​very imperfect.” 6 Guttmacher (1903), 241. 7 In a recent work, Lasine, discussing Schopenhauer’s and Guttmacher’s evaluation of the Hebrew Bible as optimistic, goes on to survey recent pessimistic interpretations of parts of books such as Genesis, Deuteronomy, Jeremiah, Elijah, and Ecclesiastes; see S. Lasine, Jonah and the Human Condition (London, 2019), ch. 1–​2 et passim. Lasine (2019), 15, for his part, argues that the Hebrew Bible contains both optimistic and pessimistic sentiments and that “each of its readers is called upon to decide where they stand on the issue of human worth and the appropriate role God should play in their lives.” Cf. n. 23 in this chapter.

22  The Value of the World and of Oneself comprising the Hebrew Bible, it is reasonable, assuming that such a unified position does dominate or at least is present consistently throughout these texts, to turn to Genesis 1 in order to identify it. For it has been argued that the Priestly writer (‘P’)—​a dominant source throughout the Pentateuch responsible for the first Creation account in Genesis 1—​“exhibited . . . consistent thematic interests,” and in particular was “far more optimistic and expansive [than ‘J’—​the Jahwist source], embracing a narrative arc that began with God’s establishment of the ‘very good’ created order and culminating in the assurance of God’s enduring presence among the people through the establishment of a legitimate cult at Mount Sinai.”8 At the very least, then, Schopenhauer seems to be on firm ground in tracking a consistently (if not solely) optimistic tone throughout the Pentateuch, beginning with Genesis 1 and its account of Creation. Let us turn to Schopenhauer’s assessment of Spinoza. In the very last chapter of The World as Will and Representation (II.L), titled “Epiphilosophy,” Schopenhauer presents an overview of the significance of his philosophical project, as well as its limitations. He states that philosophy, be it his or anyone else’s, cannot achieve “a perfect understanding of the existence, inner nature, and origin of the world” (WWR II.L: 642). Instead, philosophy, practiced properly, “sticks to the actual facts of outward and inward experience as they are accessible to everyone, and shows their true and deepest connexion, yet without really going beyond them to any extramundane things, and the relations of these to the world” (WWR II.L: 640). Though we may not gain perfect knowledge of the inner nature of the world, we nevertheless may learn quite a lot, in Schopenhauer’s view. By analyzing phenomena available for one to experience, and especially oneself (as the phenomenon

8 R. B. Robinson, “Primeval History: Genesis 1–​11,” in E. Fahlbusch, J. M. Lochman, J. Mbiti, J. Pelikan, L. Vischer, G. W. Bromiley, and D. B. Barrett (eds.), The Encyclopedia of Christianity (Leiden, 2005), 352.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  23 most readily available for one to experience and examine), one may gain a “key to the inner nature of the world,” and come to understand the way in which all phenomena relate to this inner nature, namely, as manifestations or representations of it (WWR II.L: 642). Schopenhauer takes himself to be the first to have adequately identified this metaphysical substratum underlying all objects of experience. He acknowledges, however, that others before him have already attended to the more basic, and crucial, idea that “the inner essence in all things is absolutely one and the same” (WWR II.L: 642). Schopenhauer attributes the recognition of this truth to such thinkers as Parmenides, John Scotus Eriugena, Giordano Bruno, and Spinoza, who “had taught it in detail” by Schopenhauer’s time, in his estimation (WWR II.L: 642). Schopenhauer, then, credits Spinoza with recognizing and developing a fundamental philosophical truth. Spinoza’s system, Schopenhauer maintains, elaborately captures the observation, at the core of both pantheism and Schopenhauer’s own theory, that all experienced phenomena share a single metaphysical substratum, and that in this sense everything is one (WWR II.L: 643). Indeed, the positive influence on Schopenhauer of Spinoza’s philosophy, as well as of his life, has been the subject of extensive discussion.9 However, Schopenhauer also thinks that Spinoza, like previous pantheists, makes a crucial error by identifying the true nature of the world with the Deity, and concluding that everything is God (WWR II.L: 643). This move, Schopenhauer thinks, leads directly to “optimism,” i.e., to the view that the world, in all its parts and details, is perfect (WWR II.L: 644). As we shall see in the next sections, Schopenhauer believes that systems of thought leading

9 S. Rappaport, Spinoza und Schopenhauer (Halle a/​S, 1899), 117–​42; H. W. Brann, “Schopenhauer and Spinoza,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 10.2 (1972), 181–​96; P. F. Moreau, “Spinoza’s Reception and Influence,” in D. Garrett (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Spinoza (Cambridge, 1995), 408–​33 at 423–​5; J. Golomb, “The Inscrutable Riddle of Schopenhauer’s Relations to Jews and to Judaism,” in R. Wicks (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Schopenhauer (Oxford, 2020), 425–​51, at 426–​7; 437–​8.

24  The Value of the World and of Oneself to this “optimism” are significantly challenged by certain unfavorable theoretical and ethical consequences that follow from it. It is important at the outset, though, to see what Schopenhauer thinks Spinoza’s “optimism” amounts to, and in what way he takes his own view to deviate from it. Schopenhauer, both in WWR II.L and consistently throughout his writings, compares Spinoza’s optimistic worldview to that of Judaism, and that comparison sheds light on his overall interpretation of Spinoza. Like Jewish monotheism, Schopenhauer thinks, “[p]‌antheism is essentially and necessarily optimism” (FHP §12: 73). Spinoza’s God is different from that of Judaism, to be sure. In fact, Schopenhauer notes, it would have been prudent of Spinoza not to even call his substance God (or, Deus) (FHP §12: 72). As indicated earlier, Schopenhauer thinks God is by definition a personal being. He also says expressly that personality is precisely what Spinoza denies his God (WWR II.L: 644). In fact, Schopenhauer thinks Spinoza shares his own basic view, in that both maintain that the world exists, not due to a creator God, but rather “by its own inner power and through itself ” (WWR II.L: 644). Nevertheless, Schopenhauer deviates from Spinoza on the characterization of the “inner nature of the world” (Spinoza’s Deus), which he thinks leads in Spinoza’s case directly to optimism reminiscent of Judaism (WWR II.L: 644). Spinoza’s God is a being whose “essence excludes all imperfection and involves absolute perfection” (E1p11s: eius essentia omnem imperfectionem secludit absolutamque perfectionem involvit). Thus, Schopenhauer’s association between Spinoza’s Deus and the monotheistic God (in WWR II.L) is compatible with his recognition (e.g., in FHP §12) of the substantial dissimilarities between the two.10 The association seems to work, for Schopenhauer, as long as both deities are assumed to be perfect by both systems. And of course, in Spinoza’s system, God is the only substance conceivable (E1p14),

10 Contra Rappaport (1899), 55–​8.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  25 and “Whatever has being, has its being in God” (E1p15: Quicquid est, in Deo est). The inevitable consequence of deriving one’s explanations of the natural world from such a starting point, for Schopenhauer, is the rejection of the possibility of anything less than a perfect state of the world a priori. The pantheistic world, as Schopenhauer puts it, exhausts the “entire possibility of all being,” and it is for this reason that he thinks pantheism, like Judaism, is “essentially optimism” (WWR II.L: 644). The optimistic worldview underlying both Judaism and Spinozism is a crucial common denominator between them, and constitutes a crucial difference between them and other religions or systems of thought, in Schopenhauer’s view. As he puts it (WWR II.XVII: 170): I cannot, as is generally done, put the fundamental difference of all religions in the question whether they are monotheistic, polytheistic, pantheistic, or atheistic, but only in the question whether they are optimistic or pessimistic, in other words, whether they present the existence of this world as justified by itself, and consequently praise and commend it, or consider it as something which can be conceived only as the consequence of our guilt, and thus really ought not to be, in that they recognize that pain and death cannot lie in the eternal, original, and immutable order of things, that which in every respect ought to be.

On the most crucial issue, then, Judaism and Spinozism are grouped together, and are contrasted with both Christianity and Schopenhauer’s philosophy. Significant though the difference might be between a personal benevolent Creator God and God understood as an infinite and eternal substance functioning as the inner nature of the world, Schopenhauer believes both principles consistently lead to importantly similar results. In particular, as we shall see, he thinks that by excluding the possibility of considering the world anything less than perfect, both systems lead to

26  The Value of the World and of Oneself identical views on the problem of evil, the possibility of an afterlife, and certain ethical issues. Indeed, Schopenhauer criticizes both systems, occasionally simultaneously, specifically for upholding these views.

1.2.  The “Problem of Evil” Any view or system of thought upholding optimism must confront the challenge of accounting for those features of the world that appear to be less than optimal. Schopenhauer thus takes Spinoza’s theory to be faced with that challenge as well. He thinks that it ultimately fails to meet the challenge. Since here, again, he links the failure with the connection between Spinoza’s pantheism and Jewish monotheism, it is helpful to discuss, first, the reasons why Judaism cannot successfully accomplish that task, in his view. For Schopenhauer, Judaism is committed to the goodness of the world given its creation by a personal God. Unlike Christianity, which introduces an evil force to account for the world’s ills, and even regards “the devil” as “ruler” over “the world,” Judaism seems to simply accept this world as entirely good (WWR II.XLVIII: 624). It is perhaps this feature that leads Schopenhauer to declare Judaism “the only purely monotheistic religion” (FHP §13: 127), which he indeed says is a distinction (Ruhm), by contrast to other features for which it ought to be criticized (more on these later) (FHP §13: 126). Surely, it is not its “monotheism” per se that Schopenhauer commends Judaism for, since he thinks (as does Spinoza) that a personal Creator God cannot exist. Rather, Schopenhauer applauds the “purity” of Judaism’s monotheism. Judaism begins with postulating a perfectly good, omnipotent God, and consistently attributes to Him all of creation, without introducing additional agents or factors.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  27 But, given such a commitment on the part of Judaism, it must according to Schopenhauer face up to the following fact (FHP §13: 120–​1): . . . the melancholy constitution of a world whose living beings subsist by devouring one another, the consequent distress and death of all that lives, the multitude and colossal magnitude of evils, the variety and inevitability of sufferings often swelling to the dreadful, the burden of life itself hurrying forward to the bitterness of death, all this cannot honestly be reconciled with the idea that the world is supposed to be the work of a united infinite goodness, wisdom, and power.

Alluding to the classical problem of evil, Schopenhauer says here that God cannot be perfectly good and omnipotent while still allowing for the imperfections and evils we know the world to contain. Theism, Schopenhauer notes, often responds to this problem by invoking “all kinds of shifts, evasions, and theodicies” (WWR II.XLVII: 591). Such shifts might include, for instance, introducing the devil as a counterforce to God’s goodness. Even such moves, Schopenhauer thinks, “succumbed irretrievably to the arguments of Hume and Voltaire”—​both presenting versions of the classical problem of evil (WWR II.XLVII: 591). But Judaism does not even have such means at its disposal. It must content itself with God’s own assessment concerning His creation—​that it is “good”—​in the face of even our most direct experience. A similar problem arises for pantheism, or so Schopenhauer charges. In fact, after discussing the problem of evil and its consequences for theism, he continues: “[b]‌ ut pantheism is wholly untenable in face of [the] evil side of the world” (WWR II.XLVII: 591). Of course, the problem of evil confronting pantheism results from the inconsistency between the existence of evil in the world and the existence of the pantheistic, not the theistic, God. The basic problem with the pantheistic God, for

28  The Value of the World and of Oneself Schopenhauer, is that it is supposed to provide an explanation of all of reality, without itself being known or explained by any means, and a fortiori not by means of experience (WWR II.L: 643). If everything in existence has its being in and as a direct consequence of a perfect God, then anything, regardless of the way we experience it, must itself be divine and faultless. As Schopenhauer puts it, on the assumptions of pantheism “the world would be a theophany” (WWR II.XXVIII: 349). But this optimism is untenable, Schopenhauer suggests, since it goes against the observable fact that “pain as such is inevitable and essential to life” (WWR I, §57: 315). We have, as Schopenhauer often reminds us, direct knowledge and experience of the “preponderance of want, suffering, and misery, of dissension, wickedness, infamy, and absurdity” (WWR II.XLVII: 591). Such “terrible and ghastly phenomena,” as Schopenhauer sarcastically puts it in response to John Scotus Eriugena’s proto-​pantheistic view, would make “fine theophanies!” (WWR II.L: 643). Though Schopenhauer does mention “palliatives and quack remedies” used by pantheists to combat charges such as his (WWR II.L: 643), it is not clear specifically what these devices are and, since they are mentioned in the context of discussing pantheism in general, it is not clear that Schopenhauer thinks they have been adopted by Spinoza himself. It is possible, however, that one of those pantheistic “quack remedies” for the problem of evil which Schopenhauer appeals to is Spinoza’s own oft-​discussed doctrine, stated in the preface to Ethics 4, that “good and bad (bonum et malum)” are “no positive [property] in things considered by themselves (nihil etiam positivum in rebus, in se scilicet consideratis),” but rather merely indicate “modes of thought or notions (cogitandi modos seu notiones)” resulting from our comparisons between objects. As it seems, had Spinoza embraced that doctrine in its entirety, it would have provided him with a possible solution to the problem of evil as it pertains to his philosophy, since there would be nothing objectively evil to generate such a problem to begin with. However, as has been pointed out by Steven Nadler, Spinoza in fact does not have this solution at his disposal. For, as it turns out,

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  29 Spinoza does maintain that some things, like gaining knowledge of God, are objectively good (E4p28), implying that good and bad (or evil) are not entirely subjective, human-​made categories.11 Spinoza, then, could not defend his optimism against Schopenhauer’s charge by appealing to the subjectivity of good and evil. It has also been argued, in the context of comparing Spinoza to Schopenhauer, that (1) for Spinoza, thinking that evil is prevalent in the world is an error, resulting from failure to recognize the necessity of all events and the absolute perfection of God,12 and (2) despite Schopenhauer’s criticisms (cf. WWR II.XLVII; WWR II.XVII), for Spinoza one’s astonishment at the suffering in the world is resolved with true knowledge, similarly to the way that for Schopenhauer himself recognizing the will as the essence of all things explains suffering.13 However, as far as Schopenhauer is concerned, (1) explaining away the prevalence of evil in the world is necessarily one-​sided, restricting one to evaluating the world exclusively “from the outside,” or “from the physical side” (WWR II.XLVII: 591). Looking at things also “from within,” or from “the subjective and the moral side,” Schopenhauer argues, one comes to realize that the prevalence of evil and suffering is ultimately ineliminable and that, consequently, the characterization of the world as a deity is wholly inappropriate (WWR II.XLVII: 591). And (2), quite distinctly from the prevalence of evils, pantheism is incapable of accounting for the fact that we tend to be astonished by the very existence of the world and “the evil and wickedness” within it, which would be felt, and would demand an explanation, even if evils were “far outweighed by the good” (WWR II.XVII: 170–​2). Such astonishment, Schopenhauer thinks, leads to the true conclusion that the world’s nonexistence “is preferable to its existence” (WWR II.XVII: 171; cf. WWR II.XLVI: 576)—​a conclusion that Spinoza’s optimism cannot accommodate. 11 S. Nadler, “Spinoza in the Garden of Good and Evil,” in E. J. Kremer and M. J. Latzer (eds.), The Problem of Evil in Early Modern Philosophy (Toronto, 2001a), 66–​80, at 69–​70. 12 Rappaport (1899), 42, citing E5p6s, E5p15, and E5p33. 13 Rappaport (1899), 49–​51.

30  The Value of the World and of Oneself

1.3.  Denial of Personal Immortality One standard way out of the problem of evil is of course via the idea of reward in an afterlife. While Schopenhauer criticizes Spinoza for not supporting either this or an analogous feature, he also thinks that he would have been inconsistent in doing so. No internally consistent optimistic theory can allow for the possibility that any features of either human life or the world at large leave anything to be desired. And so, it is to Spinoza’s credit that he does not compromise the consistency of his theory by resorting to an idea promising improvement in a life to come. Here, too, Schopenhauer interprets Judaism as closely akin to, and as substantially informing, Spinoza’s theory. For Schopenhauer, Judaism “has absolutely no doctrine of immortality” (FHP §13: 125). He is often accused of being ignorant on the subject,14 and he has been more generally called a “metaphysical anti-​Semite” who “abhorred Judaism, of which he knew very little.”15 More recently, it has been shown that at least Schopenhauer’s early comments on Judaism were either neutral or even positive.16 In any case, Schopenhauer is aware of discussions of metempsychosis in testimonies regarding Jews (e.g., in Tertullian and Justin) (WWR II.XLI: 506). He also reads a part of the Talmud (Sota 12a) as referring to the transmigration of soul between Abel, Seth, and Moses (WWR II.XLI: 506),17 though it should be noted that the Talmudic text only implicitly draws a connection 14 H. Zohn, “Review of Schopenhauer und das Judentum by Henry Walter Brann,” International Philosophical Quarterly 17.3 (1977), 359–​60, at 359; D. Brann, Schopenhauer und das Judentum (Bonn, 1975), 12–​13; C. Janaway, “Schopenhauer’s Christian Perspectives,” in S. Shapshay (ed.), The Palgrave Schopenhauer Handbook (Cham, 2017c), 351–​72, at n. 8; Golomb (2020), 433–​4; n. 31. 15 Brann (1972), 195. For a recent account arguing that Schopenhauer’s views were not antisemitic, despite his metaphysical critique of Judaism and occasional antisemitic remarks (especially in later writings), but rather engaged critically with Judaism, regarding it as a “formidable enemy,” see Golomb (2020), 440 et passim. 16 See R. Wicks, “Schopenhauer and Judaism,” in S. Shapshay (ed.), The Palgrave Schopenhauer Handbook (Cham, 2017), 325–​49. 17 See Brann (1975), 13.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  31 between these three figures, which is then developed as an account of metempsychosis (gilgul) in Lurianic Kabbalah.18 But these ideas, in Schopenhauer’s estimation, deviate from “the real religion of the Jews,” i.e., from the texts of the Hebrew Bible (FHP §13: 125). These texts, he says, directly exclude the possibility of an afterlife, in several places (FHP §13: 125–​6; cf. 2 Chronicles 34:28; Exodus 34:7; Numbers 14:8; Tobias 3:6: Deuteronomy 5:16, 33; Ecclesiastes 3:19), and when such ideas are presented, e.g., in Daniel 12:2, they are due to external (Babylonian) influences, mentioned explicitly in Daniel 1:4, 6 (FHP §13: 125–​6). And here again, Schopenhauer is on firm ground. According to the Encyclopedia Judaica, the Hebrew Bible as a whole “is comparatively inexplicit on the fate of the individual after death,” and, although it seems to emerge from certain passages that “there existed a belief in an afterlife of one form or another,” “the first explicit biblical formulation of the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead occurs in the book of Daniel [sc. 12:2].”19 For Schopenhauer, the absence of personal immortality from Judaism in its original form should not surprise us. First, since only eternal, and hence uncreated, things can be imperishable (FHP §13: 124), Judaism, which is committed to the creation of humans “out of nothing” (WWR II.XLI: 506), cannot consistently promise the lingering of human souls after death. “[N]‌o doctrine of immortality is appropriate to a creation out of nothing” (WWR II.XLI: 488), and Judaism, unlike Christianity and Islam, thus exhibits “perfect consistency” on this issue (FHP §13: 125).20 The 18 See S. Magid, From Metaphysics to Midrash: Myth, History and the Interpretation of Scripture in Lurianic Kabbala (Bloomington, 2008), 68; 256 n. 193. 19 F. Skolnik and M. Berenbaum (eds.), Encyclopedia Judaica, 2nd edition, vol. 1 (Detroit, 2007), 441. For Guttmacher (1903, 115), Daniel 12:2 is exceptional in the Hebrew Bible for introducing the idea of immortality. See also Lasine (2019, 132–​4) on the general absence of personal immortality from the Hebrew Bible, with a few exceptions which nevertheless “prove the rule: nothing worthwhile happens after one dies,” so that we might as well follow Eccl. 9:7–​10 and “content ourselves with eating our bread and drinking our wine with joy . . .” (2019, 134). As we shall see presently, Schopenhauer appeals to these verses in a similar vein. 20 See Wicks (2017), 341.

32  The Value of the World and of Oneself second reason why Schopenhauer thinks Judaism should not advocate personal immortality, if it is to remain consistent, is that its belief in a Creator God implies optimism, as we have seen. If everything created by God “turned out excellently,” Schopenhauer says, again echoing the opening chapter of Genesis, then one should “just enjoy his life as long as it lasts” (WWR II.L: 644). Indeed, he finds a conclusion to just this effect in Ecclesiastes 9:7–​10, in which Qoheleth recommends joyfully eating one’s bread and drinking one’s wine, wearing white clothing, letting one’s head lack no oil, and living one’s life with a beloved wife throughout one’s “vain days” under the sun, for “there is no deed, calculation, knowledge or wisdom in the grave [orig.: ‫ ]שאול‬to which you are headed.” At the same time, Schopenhauer also recognizes as pessimistic “the Fall” in Genesis,21 as well as Ecclesiastes 7:3, stating that “sorrow is better than laughter.”22 Indeed, Schopenhauer says of Ecclesiastes 7:3 that it is a text Spinoza should have attended to (FHP §12: 72–​3). And it has been argued that there is more in the Bible that is congenial to Schopenhauer’s view, and that Ecclesiastes’s optimism, which is built “on pessimistic foundations,” is echoed by Schopenhauer’s philosophy, particularly in the Aphorisms on the Wisdom of Life.23 21 It is also possible, however, to read Genesis 3 as consonant with optimism. Guttmacher (1903, 42–​4; 57–​8), while calling the account of “the Fall” “a sad and somewhat pessimistic tale,” goes on to say that it does not originally trace sin back to Adam, and that the idea of the inherent moral depravity of human nature is added to the account and given the status of doctrine in Christianity, giving that religion “a pessimistic tinge” distinguishing it from Judaism. 22 See Brann (1975), 14–​18; cf. WWR II.XLVIII–​XLIX; FHP §12. Again, Guttmacher, while interpreting Ecclesiastes as overall pessimistic (1903, 84–​5), qualifies that reading by saying that “Ecclesiastes is not a Pessimist, in the modern acceptation of that term” because, “[u]‌nlike the modern Pessimist, he nowhere makes assertion that this is the worst of all possible worlds” (on this point, Guttmacher cites Schopenhauer), and does not adhere to the idea that the world either degenerates or is to be denied (1903, 87). Unlike Schopenhauer, Guttmacher adds (1903, 88), Ecclesiastes’s despair does not lead him “to a denial of God’s existence.” 23 See Golomb (2020), 430–​1; Brann (1975), 14–​18. Controversy on the assessment of the attitude and general message of Ecclesiastes still rages to this day. Knopf reads the book as containing an optimism regarding the permanence of certain things in the cosmos and one’s potential share in good deeds; see “The Optimism of Koheleth,” Journal of Biblical Literature 49.2 (1930), 195–​9. More recently, Sneed argues against interpretations maintaining “that the recurrent carpe diem found throughout the book

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  33 Schopenhauer thinks that the second consideration against immortality noted previously—​that optimism makes the idea of an afterlife gratuitous—​applies to Spinozism as well as to Judaism, and his discussion of it in WWR II.L in fact occurs within the context of discussing Spinoza’s optimism. Schopenhauer’s point is precisely that since Spinoza’s Deus leads to optimism, exactly as the Jewish God does, his system, just like Judaism, alleviates the need for anything like judgment in an afterlife. Human beings, on that view, should seek nothing exceeding the scope of their natural life, a point that, as Schopenhauer notes, Spinoza himself puts in words clearly reminiscent of Ecclesiastes (WWR II.L; cf. E4p67d). Indeed, it has been suggested that Schopenhauer’s own idea of the “pure subject of knowledge” was originally influenced by Schleiermacher’s interpretation of Spinoza as denying personal immortality while affirming the eternity of the soul in God.24 Schopenhauer’s interpretation of Spinoza as denying personal immortality seems plausible. Steven Nadler, for example, suggests that Spinoza, while arguing that the mind “remains” after death inasmuch as it acquires knowledge of the order of reality (specifically, intuitive knowledge, or knowledge of the “third kind”) (E5p38), cannot countenance anything like personal immortality, e.g., because knowledge, especially when unlinked to continuous memory, is not sufficient to preserve personal identity.25 Nadler further argues that Spinoza’s arguments for the eternity of knowledge reveal his attitude toward organized religions, with their empty promise of personal immortality, which even such figures as Gersonides felt the need to support is its real message and, thus, that the book is not ultimately pessimistic”; M. Sneed, The Politics of Pessimism in Ecclesiastes (Atlanta, 2012), 8. Some of the controversy surrounds the interpretation of the word ‫( הבל‬see M. Sneed, “‫ הבל‬as ‘Worthless’ in Qoheleth: A Critique of Michael V. Fox’s ‘Absurd’ Thesis,” Journal of Biblical Literature 136.4 [2017], 879–​94, and M. V. Fox, “On ‫ הבל‬in Qoheleth: A Reply to Mark Sneed,” Journal of Biblical Literature 138.3 [2019], 559–​63), and the possible influence of Greek pessimism on Ecclesiastes (see Sneed 2012, 46; Guttmacher 1903, 253–​4). See also Lasine (2019), ch. 1–​2; 129–​32. 24 Rappaport (1899), 125–​6. 25 Nadler (2001a), 76–​8.

34  The Value of the World and of Oneself even though the conclusions of their theories are closer to Spinoza’s own.26 Schopenhauer would agree with Nadler’s assessment, with one caveat. For him, one organized religion in particular, namely Judaism, at least in its original form, in fact does not promise an afterlife, and is for this reason (and others) closely akin to Spinoza’s worldview. In fact, Nadler himself concurs with Schopenhauer’s interpretation of the Hebrew Bible as excluding any reference to the immortality of the soul, as do other prominent scholars.27 It has been suggested that Schopenhauer ought not to criticize the rejection of personal immortality, since he himself thinks individual lives are perishable.28 It is of course true that Schopenhauer countenances no doctrine of personal immortality. But, first, his criticism of the denial of immortality by Judaism and Spinoza’s philosophy is directed at the alleged inability of these optimistic systems to avoid or dismantle the problem of evil. Schopenhauer, precisely because he is not an optimist, acknowledges the existence of an abundance of evils and suffering in the world and finds no need to explain them away. Second, Schopenhauer’s philosophy in fact does provide a substitute for immortality, in the form of the negation of the will-​to-​live and the abnegation of one’s phenomenal existence—​the subject matter, to a large extent, of the entire fourth book of WWR I (which we shall revisit in Chapter 2).

1.4.  Ethical Consequences Apart from the theoretical problems that Schopenhauer locates in maintaining optimism, he also takes issue with its practical implications. As he puts it, “optimism is not only a false but also a 26 Ibid., 78. 27 S. Nadler, Spinoza’s Heresy: Immortality and the Jewish Mind (Oxford, 2001b), 49, citing S. P. Raphael, Jewish Views of the Afterlife (Northvale, NJ., 1994), 42; cf. Wicks 2017, 340–​1. See also p. 31 in this volume. 28 Brann (1975), 17.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  35 pernicious doctrine, for it presents life as a desirable state and man’s happiness as its aim and object” (WWR II.XLVI: 584). Optimism sees nothing suboptimal about the world as we know and experience it, and hence offers nothing in terms of an alternative to it. A fortiori, then, optimism sees no reason to supply an alternative to the life of individual human beings, with their various goals and aims. It also provides no motivation to look beyond individual phenomena, toward the unified essence that they might all share. But viewing the world exclusively through this individuation between phenomena in general, and in particular between our own self and all other living things, is conducive to egoism. In fact, Schopenhauer insists that “egoism has its continuance and being [ . . . ] in the fact that the objectification of the will has for its form the principium individuationis” (WWR I, §61: 332). Schopenhauer’s idea seems to be the following. Optimism accepts the individuation of phenomena at face value, as the optimal way in which the world might be arranged. But such individuation has as its inevitable consequence the privileging of one’s own being over all phenomena that one sees as distinct and remote from oneself (WWR I, §61: 332): [W]‌hereas each individual is immediately given to himself as the whole will and the entire representer, all others are given to him in the first instance only as his representations. Hence for him his own inner being and its preservation come before all others taken together.

The consistent optimist, Schopenhauer charges, must accept this egoistic consequence. Now, it is true that pantheism maintains that all phenomena are essentially one. As we have seen, Schopenhauer commends Spinoza for developing that very idea. But merely recognizing that shared essence is not enough to escape egoism. For Schopenhauer, it is necessary that one recognize that “the in-​itself of [one’s] own

36  The Value of the World and of Oneself phenomenon is also that of others, namely that will-​to-​live which constitutes the inner nature of everything, and lives in all” (WWR I, §66: 372). This more specific recognition is crucial in developing empathy for the suffering of other people and creatures, because it is precisely the fact that the will-​to-​live constitutes the inner nature of all living things that guarantees their continuous suffering, as Schopenhauer painstakingly explains in WWR I, §56–​59. Far from recognizing the shared essence of all things as a source of profound and inescapable suffering, pantheism detracts from the prospects of empathy. On the one hand, it offers as the shared essence of all things something entirely unknowable (in Schopenhauer’s terms, the pantheistic God “is an x, an unknown quantity”), which therefore is not conducive to recognizing, let alone understanding, the suffering in another person or creature as related to one’s own (WWR II.L: 643). And, on the other hand, pantheism explains away suffering, and assures us that the world, qua God, though unknown, is “what is best” (WWR II.L: 643–​4). It has been argued that the fact that Schopenhauer’s “will” is ultimately unknowable compromises his critique of the unknowability of the pantheistic God.29 Nevertheless, Schopenhauer’s proposed way out of egoism is rooted precisely in the idea that the inner nature of all individuated phenomena, unlike the God of pantheism, not only is one and the same, but is discoverable (if not capable of being perfectly understood; see section 1.1), and is useful both for appreciating the source of suffering in oneself and for empathizing with other beings who suffer similarly as a result of being, along with oneself and every other phenomenon, manifestations of a single “will.” Insofar as this applies to nonhuman living things as well, Schopenhauer thinks a person recognizing this truth would “not cause suffering even to an animal” (WWR I, §65: 372). By contrast, “from [the] standpoint of egoism [ . . . ] the sight or description of another’s sufferings affords us satisfaction and pleasure” (WWR

29 Rappaport (1899), 47–​8.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  37 I, §58: 320). Happiness, in Schopenhauer’s view, is essentially negative, in the sense that it only amounts to the avoidance of suffering, which alone is “positive” and “proclaims itself immediately” (WWR I, §58: 319–​20). For this reason, he thinks, we (operating as individuated phenomena oblivious of our true nature) actually enjoy remembering sufferings we no longer have to endure, as well as, similarly and for the same reason, witnessing others’ suffering (WWR I, §58: 320; cf. Lucretius, De rerum natura II.1). Though the manifest reason for this latter enjoyment is being reminded that we ourselves are spared the suffering we witness in others, rather than the fact that these others are indeed suffering, Schopenhauer notes that this type of pleasure “lies very near the source of real, positive wickedness” (WWR I, §58: 320). For Schopenhauer, as it turns out, maintaining that this world is impeccable, as both Spinoza and original Judaism do, leads directly to moral depravity, specifically to taking enjoyment in inflicting pain. And again, Schopenhauer finds both Spinoza and Judaism consistent with their ground principles on this point. Thus, he criticizes Spinoza for his “contempt for animals,” which, apart from being “absurd and abominable,” Schopenhauer also regards as “thoroughly Jewish” (WWR II.L: 645). It has been argued that Schopenhauer’s identification of cruelty toward animals in the Hebrew Bible is wrongheaded, as the Bible prescribes the proper treatment of and conditions for working animals (Deut. 5:14; 25:4), and indeed condones compassion toward beasts instead of cruelty (Proverbs 12:10).30 To these one may add the injunction to let the poor and the beasts eat from one’s fields during the Sabbatical year (Leviticus 25:6–​7), the prohibition on slaughtering an animal and its offspring on the same day (Leviticus 28:28),31 and the 30 Wicks (2017), 339–​40. See also Guttmacher (1903, 63–​4), who argues, more generally, that “to the ancient Hebrew the hedonistic value of life did not imply selfishness,” citing in this respect, e.g., Deuteronomy 16:9–​11. 31 In Chapter 7, we shall return to this text, and to the interpretation of it by Maimonides, who also stresses the humane treatment of non-​rational animals based on his understanding of the Hebrew Bible.

38  The Value of the World and of Oneself description of God as merciful “toward all His creations (‫על כל‬ ‫ ”)מעשיו‬and as “fulfilling the will of every living creature (‫ומשביע‬ ‫( ”)לכל חי רצון‬Psalms 145:9–​16; cf. 145:9).32 However, Schopenhauer is not entirely misguided in locating an unfair treatment of animals in the Hebrew Bible. It has been noted that “[t]‌he Bible contains no comprehensive principle regarding the rights of animals,” and that “in the Biblical account of creation man is made sole ruler over the lower creatures, with the right to use them for whatever purpose he desires (Gen. i. 28; Ps. Viii. 6–​8).”33 Lynn White has influentially argued, similarly, that in the Creation account inherited from Judaism “no item in the physical creation had any purpose save to serve man’s purposes.”34 As a recent survey of scholarship on ancient Judaism between 2009 and 2019 shows, the anthropocentric interpretation of the Bible has had its critics, but has also consistently enjoyed support,35 with scholars appealing to such features as the “androcentrism and anthropocentrism in Deuteronomy’s categories of man, woman, child, and animal,”36 and the exploitation of animals for meat-​eating, sacrifice, and tool-​making.37 This provides at least partial support for Schopenhauer’s estimation of the attitude toward animals in the Bible. For his part, Schopenhauer appeals to Genesis, in which the creation of human beings brings with it their dominion over all

32 Z. Kaplan, “Cruelty to Animals,” in F. Skolnik and M. Berenbaum (eds.), Encyclopedia Judaica, 2nd edition (Detroit, 2007), 165–​6. 33 L. Ginzberg and J. H. Greenstone, “Cruelty to Animals,” in I. Singer (ed.), Jewish Encyclopedia (New York, 1960), 376–​8 at 376–​7. 34 L. White, Jr., “The Historical Roots of Our Geologic Crisis,” Science 155 (1967), 1203–​7 at 1205. 35 See B. Berkowitz, “Animal Studies and Ancient Judaism,” Currents in Biblical Research 18 (2019), 80–​111, at 94. 36 Berkowitz (2019), 94. 37 Berkowitz (2019), 94; 16–​17. Wicks (2017, 340), discussing Schopenhauer’s interpretation specifically, acknowledges the existence in the Bible, and especially in Leviticus, of animal sacrifice (though he says that “one may presume that the killing is not intended to be cruel”) and of the ritual of the scapegoat in Leviticus 16:21–​2 (which, Wicks notes, “is unclear regarding the level of suffering that is being imposed upon the animal”).

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  39 living things (1:26–​30), as does God’s pact with Noah (9:2–​3). He compares these texts to Spinoza’s E4app cap. 26 and E4p37s, and he criticizes TTP 16 as being “the true compendium of the immorality of Spinoza’s philosophy” (FHP §12: 73; WWR II.L: 645 n. 7). At E4app cap. 26, Spinoza says that, since we can only take pleasure in and form friendships with other human beings, the consideration for our benefit (nostrae utilitatis ratio) dictates making use of other living things for our sake, rather than preserving them. Schopenhauer also mentions an anecdote, told by Colerus, about Spinoza’s practice of torturing spiders and flies, which Schopenhauer says “corresponds only too closely” to his (Spinoza’s) theory (FHP §12: 73). It has been argued that Schopenhauer thinks Spinoza, in theorizing and behaving in this way, failed to draw the correct conclusions from his pantheistic theory, because “a pantheist should not make such a rigid distinction between men and animals since, after all, they, like everything else, are modes of God or Nature.”38 This interpretation rests on Schopenhauer’s comment, referring to Spinoza’s attitude toward animals, that Spinoza “occasionally loses sight of the conclusion where it would have led to correct views” (FHP §12: 73). Schopenhauer does not specify which type of “conclusion” he has in mind. Berman assumes that the reference is to the conclusions of pantheism, which Schopenhauer allegedly thinks should lead away from cruelty to animals, and that Schopenhauer explains Spinoza’s oversight as being due to his Jewish background.39 However, since, as we have seen, Schopenhauer has independent reasons to think that pantheism does lead to egoism, wickedness, and the infliction of suffering, particularly on animals, we may do well to consider a different possibility. In speaking in FHP §12 of the “conclusion” which Spinoza does not follow, Schopenhauer may well have in

38 D. Berman, “Spinoza’s Spiders, Schopenhauer’s Dogs,” Philosophical Studies 29 (1982), 202–​9, 204. 39 Berman (1982), 204–​5.

40  The Value of the World and of Oneself mind, not the conclusions of pantheism in general, but specifically that conclusion which pantheism shares with Schopenhauer’s own theory, namely that “the world exists [ . . . ] by its own inner power and through itself ” (WWR II.L: 644). This view, when correctly followed, Schopenhauer thinks, indeed leads to the renunciation of cruelty toward animals, as well as to the rest of the features of Schopenhauer’s philosophical system. But when this basic view is used to establish pantheism—​when it is supposed, as it is with Spinoza, that the inner nature of the world is God, and hence perfect—​the idealization of individuation, and with it, egoism and anthropocentrism, follow.40 Though there is room for a comparison between Spinoza’s resulting view and Judaism, and though Schopenhauer draws this comparison himself, he also shows how it is that each system independently yields the conclusions he finds problematic. His analysis and arguments may of course be criticized, but they should not, it seems, be reduced to antisemitic rambling.

1.5.  Conclusion Schopenhauer rejects Spinoza’s pantheism for several features which it shares in common with Judaism, and which follow from the basic assumptions of both systems. Both systems posit a God whose nature necessarily entails optimism. Consequently, both systems must explain away the presence of evil in the world. But doing so, Schopenhauer contends, flies in the face of our most basic experience. Again, given their adherence to optimism, neither system, if it is to be consistent, can resolve the problem of evil by positing personal immortality. Finally, their optimistic approach 40 See Rappaport (1899), 102–​3; cf. ibid., 97–​9. Against Schopenhauer’s interpretation, it has been argued that Spinoza condones neither egoism (thinking, rather, that happiness requires altruistic behavior), nor contempt for animals (to be used only to secure the health needed for virtue, according to Spinoza); Rappaport (1899), 97–​9.

SCHOPENHAUER'S CRITIQUE OF OPTIMISM  41 forces both systems into anthropocentrism and egoism, with grave moral consequences. It is sometimes assumed that Schopenhauer criticizes Judaism for introducing God as a source of hope or stability amid vexations and fleeting phenomena.41 Two things may be said in response to that assessment, based on the analyses presented thus far. First, Schopenhauer rejects both Judaism and Spinozism first and foremost for their optimistic outlook, which he takes to be the feature most fundamentally distinguishing them from other systems of thought (WWR II.XVII: 170). And so, as long as these systems retain their optimistic conclusions and worldview, Schopenhauer would object to them in principle, and regardless of their conception of divinity. Second, as it happens, Schopenhauer thinks and argues that in both Judaism and Spinozism it is precisely the conception of God which leads directly to the optimistic conclusions he abhors. For Schopenhauer, neither Judaism nor pantheism offer their deity as a deus ex machina, intended to furnish hope in the face of a preexisting pessimistic assessment of reality. Rather, in his opinion, both systems proceed from the postulation of their particular version of God, which shapes, and serves as the indispensable theoretical basis for, their entire optimistic (and consistent) worldview. It may be asked whether Schopenhauer’s critique is applicable to all types of optimistic theory. We have defined optimism, to begin with, as the view according to which the world is optimally arranged and valuable (O1) and human existence is preferable over our nonexistence (O2). The views expressed in the Hebrew Bible and held by Spinoza, at least as Schopenhauer understands them, clearly qualify as optimism under this definition, but also go beyond it in adhering to the perfection and ultimate value of all phenomena within the world. Is optimism necessarily and essentially committed to the perfection of the world in such a way that implies 41 See Brann (1975, 17), who, citing Ecclesiastes 2:23–​4, argues that Schopenhauer criticizes Judaism for that feature, and not so much for its recommendation to enjoy life.

42  The Value of the World and of Oneself the flawlessness of all phenomena within it and is thus in principle incapable of responding successfully to the problem of evil? And does every form of optimism necessarily lead to egoism, and consequently to moral depravity, by focusing one’s attention on oneself as such a flawless phenomenon? As we shall see later, there is in fact a form of optimism, going back to Aristotle and Maimonides, that escapes both of these charges, and takes the world to be perfectly ordered and valuable in a way that nevertheless accommodates various imperfections and misfortunes pertaining, e.g., to human beings. Such an optimistic theory is capable of accommodating these features because it takes humans, e.g., to be less valuable than other existing beings. And it is also for this reason that this form of “sophisticated” optimism can argue against egoism, seeing that, as a human being, one belongs to a relatively insignificant class of beings. Before we examine this alternative form of optimism, however, we must investigate and evaluate Schopenhauer’s own pessimistic view. As we shall see in the next chapter, following Nietzsche’s critique of Schopenhauer, there are reasons to think that Schopenhauer’s positive view fails, and that its failure consists in the fact that it inconsistently reverts to an optimistic approach. Interestingly, Nietzsche’s own attempt at rejecting both optimism and pessimism also arguably reverts to a form of optimism unbeknownst to him, as we shall see in Chapter 3, following Camus’s reading of Nietzsche. By that point in the discussion, and for these reasons, then, we would be in a position to appreciate the need to take seriously a consistently optimistic theory as an alternative.

2 Self-​Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism Schopenhauer

Schopenhauer straightforwardly rejects optimism, whether in its monotheistic or its pantheistic variety, for assigning value to the world and to one’s own existence where none is to be found. At Reisebuch 33, pp. 30–​1 (Payne, 13–​14), he provides a full and explicit formulation of his view of the valuelessness of the world and everything in it: . . . by virtue of time we have the passing away, the loss, the death, the empty and perishable nature of all things; by virtue of space the constant frustration, thwarting and mutual prevention of all the will’s phenomena and their efforts and tendencies [ . . . ]. We see that the fundamental framework for revealing the will’s essential nature was found at once to manifest immediately the inner contradiction and variance, the vanity and wretchedness (Nichtigkeit und Unseligkeit) that cling to that essential nature and accompany the whole of its phenomenal appearance. (my emphasis)

Schopenhauer elaborates on the relation between time and the valuelessness of the world in WWR. He speaks, that is, of the “vanity (Nichtigkeit) of all objects of the will” and argues that “in the end time proclaims the judgement of nature on the worth of all beings that appear in it, since it destroys them” (II.XLVI: 574; my emphasis). Similarly, in the context of discussing the superiority The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0003

44  The Value of the World and of Oneself of the insight of Christian tragedies compared to those of the Greeks, Schopenhauer argues that Christian tragedy exhibits a “cheerful abandonment of the world in the consciousness of its valuelessness and vanity (Werthlosigkeit und Nichtigkeit)” (WWR II.XXXVII: 434). At Brieftasche 9, pp. 17–​18 (Payne, 160–​1), finally, Schopenhauer says that the “deep conviction of the worthlessness of all things” (my emphasis) is “happier” than the “condition of desire” that “attaches a value to phantoms and illusions,” because “the former [is] a state of knowledge.” Viewing all things in existence as valueless and vain, as Schopenhauer does, leaves no room for regarding human existence as preferable over its alternative. As we saw in the previous chapter, he invokes the classical problem of evil in order to point out that optimism cannot explain away the plentiful imperfections witnessed in the world. When we honestly examine the human condition, and the observable world in general, we are forced to conclude that it is invariably dominated by unavoidable suffering and misfortunes. Schopenhauer is thus a committed pessimist. As we shall see in this chapter, however, he also offers a solution to the misery inherent in the human condition, by promoting resignation, or the “denial of the will-​to-​live,” as an ideal. As we shall also see, this solution generates problems of its own. In particular, it involves a substantial internal inconsistency, and it reverts to the optimistic approach Schopenhauer means to reject.

2.1.  Schopenhauer’s Aternative to Optimism: Phenomena, Will, and the Recourse to Resignation As we saw in the previous chapter, Schopenhauer shares with Spinoza the basic assumption that the world exists “by its own inner power and through itself ” (WWR II.L). For Schopenhauer, as for Spinoza, nothing in or about the world should be explained

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  45 by appeal to an external cause, such as a transcendent God. Human beings, of course, are a part of the world. And so, according to both Schopenhauer and Spinoza, we should not appeal to a cause outside the world to account either for our own existence or for any facts concerning ourselves. If, for example, we wish to understand why our lives seem meaningless, why it is that we suffer deeply and continuously, or what possible solutions to these problems, if any, are available to us, we should not do so by invoking some divine plan in store for us. Rather, we should strive to understand the world of which we are a part. Schopenhauer’s reason for thinking that understanding what the world essentially is would yield insight into our own essence and condition is one that he thinks he shares with Spinoza, as well as with a whole host of previous thinkers. It is the assumption that “the inner essence in all things is absolutely one and the same” (WWR II. L: 642). One of the things Schopenhauer finds so disappointing in pantheism (both in Spinoza’s version of it and in general) is that this view, as Schopenhauer sees it, leaves the basic question concerning the essence of the world unanswered. As such an essence pantheism posits its God, which for Schopenhauer is entirely devoid of content—​it is “an x, an unknown quantity” (WWR II.L: 643). But, Schopenhauer complains, “what is unknown must everywhere be explained from what is better known, not vice versa” (WWR II.L: 643). What is best known and most readily available to us, Schopenhauer notes, is our “self-​consciousness” (WWR II.L: 643). And so, we should rely on that datum in attempting to understand the world and our place in it. There are many things about oneself of which one is conscious, of course. One may be conscious of one’s attitudes toward and expectations from one’s environment, one’s personal traits, one’s various strengths and shortcomings compared to others, etc. However, when we focus on what all such aspects of ourselves have in common, Schopenhauer insists, we would find one feature at the basis of all of them, and indeed of any other observable

46  The Value of the World and of Oneself phenomenon. This fundamental feature is the “will,” and it is in fact the thing most directly known to and experienced by us (WWR I, §21: 109–​10). It is the true nature underlying the entirety of one’s dispositions and behavior. “Upon reflection,” furthermore, one recognizes that the “will” in fact underlies the workings of all other human beings, nonhuman animals, and even inanimate nature (WWR I, §21: 109–​10). In short, the “will” is the true nature of all phenomena. As such, it is itself distinct from all phenomena. In Schopenhauer’s words: “it is not representation at all, but toto genere different therefrom. It is that of which all representation, all object, is the phenomenon, the visibility, the objectivity. It is the innermost essence, the kernel, of every particular thing and also of the whole” (WWR I, §21: 109–​10). Coming to learn of one’s true self as “will” entails that one must reject all of one’s phenomenal characteristics as nonessential. This realization may be difficult to cope with, initially, as it implies the identity in essence between us and, not only all other people, but all other phenomena as well, including non-​ rational animals and inanimate objects. There is, however, also an apparently major (but, as we shall see, questionable) advantage on offer. Viewing ourselves as consisting essentially of “will” could—​and according to Schopenhauer, should—​relieve us of our fear of death. For Schopenhauer, sense perception is epistemically prior to other forms of cognition, such as rational thought using abstraction: “perception is throughout the source of all knowledge,” whereas abstractions are of an “ensnaring and insidious nature” (I, §4: 41). However, it is only through abstraction that we access past or future events. Unlike the objects with which one is confronted at present, entertaining past or future occurrences requires active imagination or reason abstracting from immediate sense data, and hence advancing beyond those data to create “concepts” (II.XLV: 572). The past and future contain only “concepts and

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  47 phantasms” (I, §54: 279), then, and are “as empty as any dream” (I, §3: 7). The phenomenon of the will must, therefore, exist at the present. And since the phenomenon of the will just is life,1 there is no fear that life would ever come to an end. Individuals, of course, inevitably perish. Schopenhauer’s claim is not that, say, the individual person Arthur Schopenhauer, born in 1788, will live on forever. Rather, the point is that what that individual, like any other, essentially is, namely will, has life as its eternal phenomenal counterpart (I, §54: 275). It may occur to us that the continuation of life cannot be comforting unless it also entails the continued existence of our individual selves. Thus, for instance, Bernard Williams claims that if I manage to survive “by means of an indefinite series of lives,” then it is no longer I who does the surviving.2 But Schopenhauer thinks that such reasoning is based on a misunderstanding. Because we associate life at present with our individual selves, we overlook the fact that, if anything is worthwhile in life, it is the continuation of the will manifesting itself phenomenally at the present, and that indeed remains (I, §54: 280). That is, however, a big “if.” And as Schopenhauer is quick to note, there are quite convincing reasons for us not to find the continuation of life comforting, but rather depressing. Life is inherently disagreeable. It “swings like a pendulum to and fro between suffering and boredom” (I, §57: 312). Individual living things of all species are inevitably engaged in “a constant struggle” (I, §61: 331), with no possible resolution or acquiescence, as long as life persists. Such struggle and the suffering resulting from it in all living things, Schopenhauer thinks, are inevitable precisely because all living 1 I, §54: 275: “[W]‌hat the will wills is always life, just because this is nothing but the presentation of that willing for the representation.” 2 B. Williams, “The Makropoulos Case: Reflections on the Tedium of Immortality,” in his Problems of the Self (Cambridge, 1973), 82–​100, at 92; cited and discussed in Benatar (2017), 154.

48  The Value of the World and of Oneself things are representations of the same underlying essence, viz., the will-​to-​live. It has thus been argued, correctly, that of all the points that Schopenhauer presents in favor of pessimism, like the empirical evidence for the preponderance of suffering and the (questionable) anti-​Leibnizian argument for this world being the worst one possible (cf. WWR II.XLI), his chief argument for pessimism is the metaphysical argument that as representations of the will-​to-​live we are doomed to an existence dominated by suffering, with any happiness attained being merely negative, i.e., only a temporary respite from suffering.3 Indeed, since, as Schopenhauer thinks, life persists eternally in the way we have outlined, there is no point in attempting to escape it by means of suicide, either (I, §54: 281). The only way out of life with its constant suffering, for Schopenhauer, is through what he calls the “denial of the will-​to-​live” (I, §68: 397). Knowing and acknowledging that no form of life can be free from suffering, and that attempting to alleviate one’s suffering from within the framework of one’s life is done in vain, one gradually grows frustrated with living as such, and ceases to will it. As long as this is not done by choosing suicide (which, to repeat, is futile as far Schopenhauer is concerned), but rather by “resignation” or stifling of the will, such a process yields “true salvation” (I, §68: 397). Schopenhauer’s goal of salvation requires the denial of the “will-​ to-​live” present in all aspects of our lives: our inclinations, feelings, thoughts, behavior, etc. Thus, this goal presupposes that there is something to salvage in ourselves over and above those individual characteristics. For Schopenhauer, that additional feature is the will—​the fundamental and essential nature of all phenomena.

3 C. Janaway, “Schopenhauer’s Pessimism,” in C. Janaway (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Schopenhauer (Cambridge, 1999), 318–​43. Cf. Beiser (2016, 46–​51), focusing on WWR I, §57–9 in discussing Schopenhauer’s argument for pessimism based on the nature of suffering. On the rootedness of Schopenhauer’s pessimism in his metaphysics, and on his arguments for pessimism, see also G. Simmel, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, trans. D. Weinstein and M. Weinstein (Urbana/​Chicago, 1991), c­ hapter 4.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  49

2.2.  Schopenhauer’s Paradox It is not entirely clear that a view that takes self-​abnegation to be preferable over any individual life can even be consistent. Thomas Nagel brings up an important relevant concern in his discussion of the “self-​etiolation” propounded by “certain Oriental religions”:4 . . . insofar as . . . self-​etiolation is the result of effort, will-​power, asceticism, and so forth, it requires that one take oneself seriously as an individual—​that one be willing to take considerable trouble to avoid being creaturely and absurd. Thus one may undermine the aim of unworldliness by pursuing it too vigorously.

Elsewhere, Nagel speaks of an individual observing their own life internally, and hence taking it “seriously,” as adopting the “subjective perspective,” and of the stance through which one observes one’s life externally, as it were, and comes to see it as accidental and insignificant, as the “objective perspective.”5 Nagel’s point in the preceding quote, put in terms of these two perspectives, is that attempting to do away with the subjective perspective, and to cling solely to the objective one, is self-​defeating, since the attempt itself is necessarily conjured up through the subjective perspective. Schopenhauer, whom Nagel does not mention explicitly, is vulnerable to a similar critique; he commends asceticism as a method for denying the will-​to-​live, and with it all the aspirations and aims adopted in one’s life, but he cannot do so consistently, since the choice of doing so in itself constitutes adopting just such a goal. One is tethered to the subjective perspective and cannot act or make decisions based on a purely objective stance. There are correlations between Nagel’s “objective” and “subjective” perspectives and similar dichotomies alluded to by 4 T. Nagel, Mortal Questions (Cambridge, 1979), 21–​2. 5 T. Nagel, The View from Nowhere (Oxford, 1986), 208–​31.

50  The Value of the World and of Oneself Schopenhauer. For example, Janaway sees Nagel’s “objective” and “subjective” perspectives as prefigured by Schopenhauer’s characterizations, respectively, of materialistic explanations versus conscious experience, determinism versus free will and, finally, actions as events versus actions as “what we as self-​conscious objects do.”6 However, the distinction between the perspective of an individual human being viewing their life and the state Schopenhauer expects to be achieved by denying the will-​to-​live is also importantly different from Nagel’s two perspectives. And, interestingly, the differences are such as to make Nagel’s critique even more pressing when applied to Schopenhauer’s view. First, then, Nagel introduces both the “objective” and the “subjective” perspectives as points of view through which an individual may (indeed, must) view her own life. For Schopenhauer, on the other hand, by denying the “will-​to-​live” we can and should attain a stance so removed from individual human life that such a life is no longer assessed either positively or negatively—​it is no longer evaluated (or otherwise engaged with) at all.7 When Nagel criticizes views recommending self-​etiolation, he is concerned with views advocating the rejection of what he calls the “subjective perspective,” but which still retain an objective perspective in viewing one’s life. Whereas Schopenhauer advocates distancing oneself from one’s various valuations and projects, he more radically recommends eliminating any concern with one’s individual life—​in fact, with any individual phenomenon whatsoever—​altogether. But if, as Nagel argues, it is inconsistent of a theory to recommend detachment from one’s life as a life project, it seems even more problematic to recommend a life project of withdrawing from life completely. 6 C. Janaway, Self and World in Schopenhauer’s Philosophy (Oxford, 1989), 292–​4. 7 Janaway (1989, 315) argues that this solution, according to Schopenhauer, provides the only way of fully gaining objectivity à la Nagel. Janaway does recognize, however, that, if we accept Schopenhauer’s solution, “then we must ask to what extent Nagel’s problem is a genuine one.”

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  51 Second, although the state Schopenhauer expects to be achieved by denying one’s will-​to-​live differs from both of Nagel’s perspectives insofar as it does not offer a view on one’s individual life at all, it also shares important similarities with both of Nagel’s perspectives. Like Nagel’s objective perspective, and unlike the subjective one, upon denying the “will-​to-​live,” along with individual life and its various values and aspirations, one is no longer invested in such a life or such values and aspirations. But, like Nagel’s subjective perspective, and unlike the objective one, having denied the “will-​to-​live” one does not end up viewing oneself “as a small, contingent, and exceedingly temporary organic bubble.”8 Or rather, one views one’s phenomenal existence—​one’s life as an individual human being—​ in those terms, while also recognizing that, essentially, one is something altogether different, and not remotely ephemeral (toward the end of the chapter, we shall return to Schopenhauer’s positive characterization of that inner nature we all share, and the value he ultimately places on it). Nagel’s charge against “quietist” positions has been that one cannot consistently pursue exclusive objectivity, because subjective interest is built into the enterprise. And this problem again intensifies for Schopenhauer’s particular position, because for him, quite clearly, subjective interest is involved in (and, as we shall see, ultimate value is placed on) the state that he thinks would be produced through total resignation. According to Nagel’s criticism, to repeat, renouncing one’s individual life would involve turning one’s back on one’s aims, desires, and choices, which themselves are constitutive parts of one’s individual life (as well as, for Schopenhauer, breaking with one’s individual life in its entirety). However, as Nagel points out, it seems that if one is to renounce one’s individual life, one must accept that course of action as one’s aim, and hence desire and choose it. Aiming not to aim is still an aim, and a desire not to desire is still a desire. This objection is equally applicable to Schopenhauer’s view. As Janaway 8 Nagel (1988), 210.

52  The Value of the World and of Oneself notes, “since denial [i.e., the denial of the will-​ to-​ live, which Schopenhauer recommends] is an act, and in this case, it would seem, an act directed towards a certain end, it is surely as much an exercise of the individual will as anything else is.”9 If so, then the self-​etiolation Schopenhauer recommends is self-​defeating, and cannot constitute a proper solution to the inevitable problems associated with willing as it is manifested in phenomena and their behavior. Nagel does mention one way in which one might achieve self-​ etiolation, namely if one “simply [allowed] his individual, animal nature to drift and respond to impulse, without making the pursuit of its needs a central conscious aim.”10 He subsequently remarks that such an attitude would only be achieved “at considerable dissociative cost” and would certainly not result in a “meaningful life.”11 This may be taken to imply that, if one were to give in to one’s natural impulses in that way, then that would be a way of genuinely escaping one’s individual life with its various projects, aims, etc. Similarly, focusing on Schopenhauer’s case, Janaway notes that escaping the will is problematic for the reasons mentioned earlier “unless the inception and continuance of this totally passive state were itself something that merely happened to me, as opposed to something I tried to bring about” [ . . . ] “I should simply witness its [sc. ‘the will’] withering away without attaching any value to that process.”12 The trouble, as Janaway sees it, is that Schopenhauer does not in fact view his solution as resulting from such a passive process: “Schopenhauer does not seem to have this in mind, speaking instead of ‘severing’ the bonds of willing that tie us to the world, and of voluntary renunciation.”13

9 Janaway (1989), 284. See also Simmel (1991, 148) on the negation of the will as being itself an exercise of power. 10 Nagel (1979), 22. 11 Ibid. 12 Janaway (1989), 284. 13 Ibid., 284–​5.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  53 Schopenhauer indeed speaks of the denial of the will-​to-​live as something that is achieved actively. He says, furthermore, that even once this denial is achieved, “it must always be achieved afresh by constant struggle” (WWR I, §68: 391). However, these descriptions apply only to one of two ways of achieving the denial of the will-​to-​ live that he proposes. Whereas the first, and admittedly primary, way of achieving denial of the will-​to-​live is “through the mere knowledge of the suffering of a whole world which one acquires voluntarily,” “the second path” is “through the excessive pain felt in one’s own person” (WWR I, §68: 393). Schopenhauer describes the events relevant to this alternative way of achieving resignation as follows: In real life we see those unfortunate persons who have to drink to the dregs the greatest measure of suffering, face a shameful, violent, and often painful death on the scaffold with complete mental vigour, after they are deprived of all hope; and very often we see them converted in this way. (WWR I, §68: 393)

Certain painful occurrences, then, are powerful enough to bring about the denial of the will-​to-​live of their own accord, as it were, without active participation on the part of the individual undergoing the transformation. And if we accept the Nagel-​ Janaway criticism of the idea of self-​etiolation, then this second, passive way of achieving the denial of the will-​to-​live would be the only one Schopenhauer could endorse consistently. Now, it would have been bad enough for Schopenhauer’s purposes had it been the case that self-​etiolation could only result from passive suffering and could not be initiated voluntarily. But his theory faces an even graver problem. First, there is a reason why Schopenhauer regards the active way of denying the will-​to-​live as primary, other than the rarity of the extreme suffering leading to the second, passive way. In fact, speaking of active denial of the will-​to-​live as it is exemplified, e.g., in the life of St. Francis of Assisi

54  The Value of the World and of Oneself and Madame de Guyon, Schopenhauer makes it clear that that process would be extremely rare as well. In this regard, he quotes the following statement by Spinoza approvingly: “all excellent things are as difficult as they are rare” (nam omnia praeclara tam difficilia quam rara sunt: WWR I, §68: 384–​5; cf. E5p42s). The main reason why active denial of the will-​to-​live is presented as primary, rather, seems to be the idea that reaching even a most favorable state passively and involuntarily is not normally thought of as a marked achievement. Second, it is not clear that Schopenhauer’s view of self-​etiolation would be saved from inconsistency even if it narrowed down the path toward self-​etiolation exclusively to the passive experience of pain or misfortune. The original inconsistency we have identified in that view was that for individuals to reach self-​etiolation they would also need to be acting for a purpose, which cannot be done by a self-​etiolated individual. But, even if we assume that one can be “thrown into” a state of self-​etiolation by some external cause, there is no prima facie reason why entering that state, and especially remaining in it, would not count as acting for a purpose. And, if one does act for a purpose even in such cases, then one is still engaged in an activity that should not be available in a state of total self-​etiolation. We may suppose that, in cases of extreme and transformative suffering such as those Schopenhauer describes, the changes in character and behavior do not occur voluntarily or willingly. However, as long as we choose to speak of the new character and behavior of the people thus affected as being their own (and, as we shall presently see, Schopenhauer certainly chooses to do so, speaking, e.g., of their newly acquired “purity of disposition” and tendency to “forgive their enemies”; WWR I, §68: 393), we should accept the characterization of the goal-​directedness of their actions, too, as apt descriptions of whatever it is that they themselves do. Whatever we might say about the circumstances affecting those people’s decisions or behavior, they act consciously to achieve a purpose, and so cannot be consistently said to have reached

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  55 genuine self-​abnegation, which is supposedly characterized by the absence of such actions. Of course, we may envisage a possibility of individuals being forced into a purely disinterested state, in which no action is ever carried out for any purpose. But Schopenhauer’s own view, as we have just seen, does not admit of such cases. That is revealing. Schopenhauer, we might think, should have welcomed such scenarios, as they would seem to rescue his view from the inconsistency we have been discussing. The strength of the passive way of achieving self-​etiolation over the active path, for Schopenhauer’s argumentative purposes, lies in the freedom of passivity from any conscious personal aims or self-​interests, including the aim of, or interest in, achieving self-​etiolation. But it is also quite clear that Schopenhauer could not have accepted the consequences of a total freedom of this kind. Consider the mode of existence that is likely to result from such freedom and such disinterestedness. For Nagel, as we have seen, such a mode of existence would have “considerable dissociative costs” and would not result in a “meaningful life.”14 This seems correct. Quite trivially, there can be no meaningful accomplishment for those who do not set out to accomplish anything (to borrow a metaphor from Aristotle, it is only those who compete at the Olympic games that stand a chance of winning; cf. NE I.8, 1099a3–​5). Furthermore, as Nagel implies in linking (genuine) self-​etiolation to dissociation, it is doubtful that those for whom all intentional action has been discontinued could maintain a sense of identity, or even function in the world as individual human beings at all. Certainly, it is hard to imagine that such people would be in a position to behave in the ways Schopenhauer ascribes to those who have reached self-​etiolation passively: They now show actual goodness and purity of disposition, true abhorrence of committing any deed in the least degree wicked

14 Nagel (1979), 22.

56  The Value of the World and of Oneself or uncharitable. They forgive their enemies, even those through whom they innocently suffered; and not merely in words and from a kind of hypocritical fear of the judges of the nether world, but in reality and with inward earnestness, and with no wish for revenge. Indeed, their suffering and dying in the end become agreeable to them, for the denial of the will-​to-​live has made its appearance. They often decline the deliverance offered them, and die willingly, peacefully, and blissfully. (WWR I, §68: 393–​4)

It is far from clear how a person with no intentional actions, goals, or aims can be morally good, choose forgiveness, or abhor wickedness. These are all examples of goal-​directed dispositions and actions, and should therefore not be available to those who have reached genuine self-​abnegation. It is also clear, however, why Schopenhauer feels obligated to fill the lives of such people with what can only be described as purposeful actions. The lethargy that would have been offered by a life of total self-​abnegation, in which no purpose is achieved or even sought, hardly seems admirable. Unfortunately, it seems that it is only such a life that would be fully consistent with Schopenhauer’s notion of the denial of the will-​to-​live. Indeed, since Schopenhauer’s idea of the denial of the will-​to-​live has been shown to be inconsistent with the pursuit of any purpose or goal, it is questionable whether he can even remain consistent in ascribing to the people he describes as having reached self-​etiolation passively the ability to “die willingly, peacefully, and blissfully” (WWR I, §68: 394).15 One may think that Schopenhauer’s notion of the denial of the will-​to-​live has no bearing on one’s attitude toward

15 Janaway points out that the welcoming of death by such people is in fact a form of suicide (and hence, clearly involves intention), as Schopenhauer himself recognizes (cf. WWR I, §69: 401), and which he approves of, despite his general criticism of suicide; see C. Janaway, “What’s So Good about Negation of the Will?: Schopenhauer and the Problem of the Summum Bonum,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 54 (2016), 649–​69 at 667–​8.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  57 dying or death. However, the attitudes one has toward one’s death are, of course, adopted within the framework of one’s life. And, in this sense, adopting death as one’s goal or as a desired outcome is equivalent to any other goal-​directed behavior witnessed in one’s life, and is therefore incompatible with self-​etiolation, or the denial of the will-​to-​live, as Schopenhauer calls it, since that state is characterized by the elimination in the individual of any purposeful action. That Schopenhauer himself must accept that result is clear from his description of his own term—​the “will-​to-​live”—​as a pleonasm. He says: [ . . . ] and as what the will wills is always life, just because this is nothing but the presentation of that willing for the representation, it is immaterial and a mere pleonasm if, instead of simply saying “the will,” we say “the will-​to-​live.” (WWR I, §54: 275)

Here Schopenhauer says that the only possible object of willing is life (presumably, along with everything in it). Since he also says, as we have seen, that some people (namely, those who have attained self-​etiolation passively through suffering) will death, he must be committed to the conclusion that death is, quite literally, a part of life. And he indeed expresses that conclusion himself, when he says: “[ . . . ] death exists as something already included in and belonging to life” (WWR I, §60: 330). But, if so, then, for Schopenhauer’s view to be consistent, the self-​etiolated cannot accept their death willingly any more than they can pursue any other goal. Since in fully denying one’s will-​ to-​ live one must refrain from willing any goal falling within the scope of one’s life (including even one’s own death), perhaps, in order to show that pursuing the denial of the will-​to-​live is nevertheless possible, Schopenhauer could as a last resort argue that willing such a denial is not a function of the will-​to-​live? Recently, Janaway has argued that Schopenhauer implicitly adheres to a distinction

58  The Value of the World and of Oneself between two types of will—​the will-​to-​live and the will to will-​ lessness—​with the latter alone being directed toward a final good (i.e., will-​lessness itself) and remaining active after the will-​to-​ live has been denied.16 One might think that such a distinction would allow Schopenhauer to escape the charge of inconsistently recommending the denial of all goals as a goal, since such a denial would extend only to the goals of the will-​to-​live, and would not affect the goal of the will to will-​lessness. However, as Janaway emphasizes, such a distinction between two types of will is not explicit anywhere in Schopenhauer,17 and it indeed poses a considerable problem for his theory.18 For Schopenhauer equates the essence of the individual specifically with the will-​to-​live, leaving the source of the will to deny the will-​to-​live entirely unaccounted for.19 To this we might add the following considerations. First, bifurcating the will into two distinct types would seem to undermine the idea, central to Schopenhauer’s metaphysics, that individuation only applies to phenomena, and that “the inner essence in all things is absolutely one and the same” (WWR II.L: 642). Second, such a distinction into two types of will would challenge Schopenhauer’s pessimism, which rests precisely on the idea that the will-​to-​live alone explains the behavior of all individuals, and the strife and misery dominating their existence. Positing an additional type of will, such as a will to will-​lessness, as a factor 16 Janaway (2016), 663–​4; C. Janaway, “Schopenhauer on the Aimlessness of the Will,” British Journal for the History of Philosophy 26 (2018), 331–​47 at 344–​5. 17 Janaway (2016), 663; Janaway (2018), 344–​5. 18 Janaway (2016), 665–​7. 19 According to Janaway (2016, 665) and Beiser (2016, 52–​3; 80; 237), such objections have been pointed out already during Schopenhauer’s lifetime, and first, directly to him, by Julius Frauenstädt. Simmel (1991, 134) argues that Schopenhauer’s employment of pessimism to account for ascetic resignation (of whose value Schopenhauer was “profoundly aware”) as the overturning of suffering is inadequate, since given Schopenhauer’s own metaphysics of the will “there is no identifiable incentive for the will to turn against itself.” Elsewhere, Janaway (2017c, 365–​8) instructively argues, citing Nietzsche’s criticism in GS 131, that Schopenhauer illegitimately relies on the Christian notion of “grace” in order to establish the will’s denial of itself, which he cannot satisfactorily explain otherwise.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  59 determining individuals’ actions and their outcomes leaves room for thinking that the suffering Schopenhauer ascribes to the workings of the will-​to-​live might be counteracted or even defeated. Indeed, as we shall see in what follows, the very idea that will-​lessness is a viable and recommended goal—​whether or not it is the goal of a separate type of will—​leaves Schopenhauer’s view vulnerable to the charge of reverting to optimism.20

2.3.  Nietzsche’s Critique and Schopenhauer’s Latent Optimism This line of objection to Schopenhauer’s view is in fact already presented by Nietzsche in the Genealogy of Morals: We can no longer conceal from ourselves what is expressed by all that willing which has taken its direction from the ascetic ideal: this hatred of the human, and even more of the animal, and more still of the material, this horror of the senses, of reason itself, this fear of happiness and beauty, this longing to get away from all appearance, change, becoming, death, wishing, from longing itself—​all this means—​let us dare to grasp it—​a will to nothingness, an aversion to life, a rebellion against the most fundamental presuppositions of life, but it is and remains a will! . . . And, to repeat in conclusion what I said at the beginning: man would rather will nothingness than not will. (GM III.28)21

20 Beiser (2016, 52; 81) discusses the objection that the very possibility of denying the will distances Schopenhauer’s view from pessimism, and says that it, too, has been pointed out already by Frauenstädt. Relatedly, Simmel (1991, 98–​9) argues that Schopenhauer’s aesthetic theory, on which art provides “absolute peace and happiness,” leads him to “extravagant optimism,” as do in fact his identifications of happiness with the cessation of pain and with peace. Simmel (1991, 135) also ascribes to Schopenhauer the view that in negating the will-​to-​live “life . . . finds perfection in itself.” 21 Translations of GM are taken from Kaufmann and Hollingdale, unless otherwise noted.

60  The Value of the World and of Oneself Though Nietzsche does not mention Schopenhauer by name here, it is quite clear that he has him in mind in criticizing the ascetic ideal.22 Earlier, in GM III.5, Nietzsche says that Schopenhauer’s philosophy enabled Wagner to adopt the ascetic ideal, and that Schopenhauer “honors” or “reveres” (huldigt) that ideal.23 In GM III.6–​7, largely dedicated to a discussion of Schopenhauer, this “honoring” of the ascetic ideal is taken up and explained. Nietzsche discusses Schopenhauer’s focus on aesthetic contemplation as a means of quieting the will, and says that it is specifically meant to bypass “sexual ‘interestedness’ ” (geschlechtlichen “Interessiertheit”) (III.6), and that Schopenhauer viewed sexuality “as a personal enemy” (als persönlichen Feind) (III.7). By this emphasis on Schopenhauer’s hostility toward sensuality, Nietzsche evidently means to associate him with the ascetic ideal. He goes on to argue that a disapproval of “sensuality” (die Sinnlichkeit), coupled with approval of “the whole ascetic ideal,” are the mark of all true philosophers down the ages, with Schopenhauer as their most eloquent proponent (III.7). As Nietzsche shrewdly notices, Schopenhauer’s commitment to opposing certain features of life (for Nietzsche, specifically “sexuality” and “sensuality”) generates a renewed purpose and a reason to cling to life. In Nietzsche’s words, the objects that Schopenhauer posits as his “enemies” in fact “seduced him ever again to existence” (verführten ihn immer wieder zum Dasein). By promoting “pity, self-​abnegation, [and] self-​sacrifice” as a “value-​in-​itself,” Nietzsche claims, Schopenhauer “said No to life and to himself ” (GM Pref. 5).24 This characterization of Schopenhauer’s philosophy as life-​and self-​negating, though 22 See C. Janaway, “Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator,” in C. Janaway (ed.), Willing and Nothingness: Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator (Oxford, 1998), 13–​36, esp. 28–​ 36; J. Constâncio, “Nietzshce on Schopenhauer: On Nihilism and the Ascetic ‘Will to Power,’” in S. Shapshay (ed.), The Palgrave Schopenhauer Handbook (Cham, 2017), 425–​ 46, esp. 430–​3 and 442. 23 Kaufmann and Hollingdale translate as “pays homage to.” 24 See D. E. Cartwright, “Nietzsche’s Use and Abuse of Schopenhauer’s Moral Philosophy of Life,” in C. Janaway (ed.), Willing and Nothingness: Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator (Oxford, 1998), 116–​50 at 140.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  61 intended to be critical, is one with which Schopenhauer would agree. After all, he himself describes the aim he promotes as the denial of the “will-​to-​live.” However, Nietzsche’s point, similarly to Nagel’s, is that this aim is untenable. Undertaking the project of resisting life and its aspirations is still the undertaking of a project. Schopenhauer may promote the denial of the “will-​to-​live,” but this very promotion, paradoxically, is a willful act, a phenomenal manifestation of willing, just as those aims, desires, and choices he (Schopenhauer) has set out to eliminate.25 On a more nuanced reading, Nietzsche’s criticism of Schopenhauer and the ascetic ideal in GM III.28 is twofold. On the one hand, he rejects the specific aim that Schopenhauer promotes, i.e., the denial of the “will-​to-​live,” because it is designed to reject features and goals that Nietzsche considers worthwhile and distinctly human: sense experience, reason, happiness, beauty, etc. Again, Schopenhauer would seem to “bite the bullet” on this point. In successfully denying the “will-​to-​live,” as he sees it, one would indeed transcend one’s humanity so as to identify completely with the fundamental nature of all of reality, i.e., the will. But Nietzsche’s second point should trouble Schopenhauer. For, according to Nietzsche, this very rejection of one’s humanity necessarily fails, since it is itself a distinctly human act. Nietzsche says: That the ascetic ideal has meant so many things [so viel; alt.: so much] to man, however, is an expression of the basic fact of the human will, its horror vacui: it needs a goal—​and it will rather will nothingness than not will. (GM III.1)

For Nietzsche, the real problem with Schopenhauer’s approach is not that it finds individual human behavior objectionable (problematic though that is), but rather that it fails to recognize that the attempt to reject such a behavior only exemplifies it. Schopenhauer

25 See Cartwright (1998), 137–​8.

62  The Value of the World and of Oneself recognized the inability to escape one’s individual human life by means of suicide, but thought that an escape was still achievable by means of resignation. Nietzsche, by exposing the self-​interest underlying even the most radical forms of self-​abnegation, eliminates the only escape route Schopenhauer had left. Nietzsche’s criticism of the ascetic ideal in GM III.1 and 28 thus reveals an inconsistency in Schopenhauer’s promotion of asceticism as a goal, similarly to the objections leveled against the project of renouncing the “subjective perspective” by Nagel. Importantly for our purposes, Nietzsche also relates his critique to a failure on Schopenhauer’s part to uphold pessimism consistently. In GM III.7, Nietzsche makes the point that, without those envisaged “enemies” of Schopenhauer’s—​“deprived of Hegel, of woman, of sensuality and the whole will to existence, to persistence”—​Schopenhauer would not have been able to avoid pessimism. As it happens, since Schopenhauer did react to such foes, and reacted to them severely and passionately, “he was not [a pessimist], however much he desired it.” Nietzsche suggests that this part of his analysis of Schopenhauer targets him personally. One is reminded of Nietzsche’s questioning of Schopenhauer’s pessimism in BGE 186 given the fact that he used to play the flute daily after supper. But, in fact, the brunt of the criticism there of Schopenhauer’s pessimism is Schopenhauer’s theoretical commitment to positive morality. And the discussion in GM III.7, too, far from being an ad hominem attack, reveals a fundamental flaw in Schopenhauer’s theory. For Nietzsche, Schopenhauer not only fails to uphold his ideal of resignation consistently (since doing so is in itself a goal), but, as a result, he also fails to maintain his pessimistic theory. Pessimism not only requires acknowledging that both the world and one’s life are suboptimal in their current state; it requires, in addition, forgoing the aspiration to remedy that situation, realizing that the valuelessness in the world and in oneself necessarily renders the endeavor futile. But Schopenhauer, as Nietzsche reads him, commits himself to the possibility of

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  63 reaching just such a desirable state, by opposing sexuality and by adhering to the ascetic ideal. In line with this criticism, Nietzsche in his correspondence says twice that Schopenhauer “spoils” pessimism.26 More pertinently, he comments as follows (NF 1878, 30[97]):27 Schopenhauer [is an] Optimist when he writes (PP II): “There are two histories, one of politics and the other of literature and art. The former is the history of the will, the latter that of the intellect. The former is, therefore, generally alarming and even terrifying—​the latter, on the other hand, is everywhere delightful and serene.” Oho! Ho! Schopenhauer Optimist, wenn er sagt (Parerga, II. P. 598) “Es giebt 2 Geschichten: die politische die der Literatur und Kunst. Jene ist die des Willens, diese die des Intellekts. Daher ist jene durchweg beängstigend, ja schrecklich—​die andre dagegen ist überall erfreulich und heiter.” Oho! Ho!

Nietzsche does not feel the need to specify why the text that he quotes here, from a chapter in Schopenhauer’s PP II titled “On Reading and Books” (§296a), strikes him as advancing optimism. His reasons, however, are not difficult to decipher. The driving force behind Schopenhauer’s pessimism is his view of the relation between the will and individual phenomena. According to this view (WWR I, §61: 331–​2), the will is single and unified, but it is also the inner nature of all phenomena. Being thus present in each phenomenon, the will “perceives around it the innumerably repeated image of its own inner being; but this inner nature itself, and hence what is actually real, it finds immediately only in its inner self ” (§61: 332). As a result, each phenomenon leans toward selfish possession and 26 BVN 1884, 495 (an Heinrich Köselitz); BVN 1884, 498 (an Malwida von Meysenbug). 27 Translation of Nietzsche’s text is mine. Translation of the quote from Schopenhauer is from Payne, retaining, however, Nietzsche’s use of emphasis in his quotation.

64  The Value of the World and of Oneself control over all things, and opposes other phenomena presenting obstacles for such possession and control (WWR I, §61: 332). Inevitably, conflict persists between the various phenomena, each having the will as their inner nature (§27: 146–​7; cf. §61: 332). In the case of humans, particularly, this results in a permanent state describable as “homo homini lupus” (§27: 146–​7; cf. section 2.1 in this chapter), and manifested in the war, suffering, and tension characterizing political history (WWR II.XXVIII: 357), the same history that Schopenhauer in the PP II passage quoted by Nietzsche refers to as “the history of the will.” This grim appraisal of human life and endeavor would have called for a pessimistic evaluation of such existence, had it been exhaustive. The point of Nietzsche’s critique, however, is that Schopenhauer also reserves room in his theory for a second type of history—​the history “of literature and art”—​which he sees as gratifying and cheerful, and as divorced from, and apparently unaffected by, the wretched effects of the will upon its phenomena. Not all human affairs, then, necessarily lead to the egoism, cruelty, and suffering generally characterizing the interactions between phenomena insofar as each has the will as its essential nature. Literature and art, with their favorable features, offer a counterbalance. By literature, Schopenhauer means primarily philosophy, whose history he describes as “the main branch” of the history of literature in a part of section §296a of “On Reading and Books” that Nietzsche does not include in his quotation (section §297 then goes on to elaborate on the history of philosophical literature). In the rest of §296a (Payne, 560), Schopenhauer argues that philosophy in fact has effects that are registered “also in the other kind of history” (namely, in the political history “of the will”), and that it constitutes “the most powerful material force” (die gewaltigste materielle Macht). The reason why Schopenhauer thinks that philosophy is such a powerful force, and why he is even willing to attribute to it certain effects on the “history of the will,” is that for him

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  65 philosophy—​which fundamentally differs in method from science (which “never aims at the inmost nature of the world”; WWR I, §7: 28; cf. §15: 81–​2), and which “acquaints us with the inner nature of the world” (§53: 274)—​can and should lead one toward the denial of the will-​to-​live, potentially altering one’s role in the history of the will from one among many constantly conflicting and competing individuated phenomena to a “nonparticipant.”28 Art, which for Schopenhauer is capable of generating a similar effect, albeit temporarily, is understandably listed alongside philosophy in this context, though on a smaller scale (it is specifically philosophy that is described in “On Reading and Books,” §296a: 560, as “the most powerful material force”; my emphasis). As Schopenhauer puts it, “[n]‌ot merely philosophy but also the fine arts work at bottom towards the solution of the problem of existence” (WWR II.XXXIV: 406). But, Nietzsche seems to claim, if a solution of this kind is tenable—​if through philosophy and art “delight and serenity” are achievable by renouncing the “alarm and terror” of political affairs—​then there is a feasible condition to which one should aspire and upon reaching which one’s life would no longer count as valueless. Indeed, as we have seen, Nietzsche explicitly states that Schopenhauer has turned self-​ abnegation into a “value-​ in-​ itself ” (GM Pref. 5). Understood thus, Schopenhauer’s view ends up resembling the optimism that he criticizes Judaism and Spinoza for promoting (see Chapter 1). At the end of GM III.7, Nietzsche says the following:29 What, then, is the meaning of the ascetic ideal in the case of a philosopher? My answer is—​you will have guessed it long 28 However, in Schopenhauer’s view, philosophy on its own, being “always theoretical” and yielding “negative knowledge,” can only bring us so far; for true “transformation of character,” or “salvation,” one needs in addition to possess virtue (which is untaught) and to make use of or accept “mysticism” (see WWR I, §53: 271; II.XLVIII: 611–​13). 29 Translation modified from Kaufmann and Hollingdale.

66  The Value of the World and of Oneself ago: the philosopher sees in it an optimum of conditions for the highest and boldest spirituality and smiles—​he does not deny “existence,” he rather affirms his existence and only his existence, and this perhaps to the point at which he is not far from harboring the impious wish: perat mundus, fiat philosophia, fiat philosophus, fiam!

Commitment to the ascetic ideal appears, at first sight, to be a commitment to denying human existence, and with it all aspirations and projects. However, Nietzsche claims here, that is only a pretense. This commitment in fact amounts to a clinging to one’s existence, and the very specific and concentrated effort of cleansing it of certain allegedly obtrusive features. Endowed with such purpose, existence cannot consistently be viewed pessimistically. Schopenhauer, in particular, rejects sensuality and sexuality, and this very rejection, for him, injects existence with meaning and purpose. It constitutes “an optimum of conditions” (Optimum der Bedingungen) for affirming and recommending a contrasting state of affairs, assessed, counter-​pessimistically, as inherently valuable and desirable. One obvious remaining question is what this preferable mode of existence might consist of, for Schopenhauer, since it cannot consist of anything like the life of an individual human being. Let us turn to that question. Nietzsche’s discussion presents serious criticisms of Schopenhauer’s position, challenging its internal consistency and its success in providing an alternative to earlier views. Indeed, the theoretical basis for Schopenhauer’s recommendation of resignation brings his position even closer to the optimistic views that he detests. Schopenhauer believes that the denial of the will-​to-​live would bring about the most desirable state one could aspire to precisely because in that state one ceases, for all intents and purposes, to exist as an individual human being or phenomenon. But that presupposes that there is something beyond phenomena for humans to exist as. For Schopenhauer, that is the “will”—​ the “thing-​ in-​ itself ”—​ constituting the true

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  67 reality underlying all phenomena. As he writes, the “inner nature” or “thing-​in-​itself ” . . . is really the same identical thing in all individuals, whether they exist side by side or one after another. Now this is the will-​ to-​live, and hence precisely that which has so pressing and urgent a desire for life and continuance. Accordingly, this remains immune from, and unaffected by, death. But there is also the fact that it cannot attain to a better state or condition than its present one; consequently, with life, the constant suffering and dying of individuals are certain to it. To free it from this is reserved for the denial of the will-​to-​live; through this denial, the individual will tears itself away from the stem of the species, and gives up that existence in it. We lack concepts for what the will now is; indeed, we lack all data for such concepts. We can only describe it as that which is free to be or not to be the will-​to-​live. (WWR II.XLIV: 559–​60)

Upon denying the will-​to-​live, all that survives is the will, understood then as being “uprooted” from any phenomenal features, and so much so that its mode of existence at that point defies positive description. Schopenhauer assimilates what remains after the “abolished will” with “nothingness” (Nichts) (I, §71: 411). It has been argued that Nietzsche, in speaking of “willing nothingness” (das Nichts wollen)30 in GM III.28, intentionally couples two terms that for Schopenhauer are supposed to be “mutually exclusive,” in order to make the point that for Schopenhauer nothingness, though itself “a state of will-​lessness,” is also the object of direct willing by the person aiming at it.31 To be sure, Schopenhauer’s state of “nothingness” is supposed to be contrasted with the active pursuit of goals by individuals, and this does generate a problem for

30 Translation modified from Kaufmann and Hollingdale. 31 Janaway (1998), 31.

68  The Value of the World and of Oneself Schopenhauer insofar as it is just this nothingness that constitutes the ultimate goal of human aspiration, for him. But, at the same time, for Schopenhauer this state of nothingness is not purely a negative state. Indeed, he seems to refer to it as “nothingness” simply because it cannot be known or characterized by us: This question [sc. what is the will “in itself ”?] can never be answered, because, as I have said, being-​ known of itself contradicts being-​in-​itself, and everything that is known is as such only phenomenon. But the possibility of this question shows that the thing-​in-​itself, which we know most immediately in the will, may have, entirely outside all possible phenomenon, determinations, qualities, and modes of existence which for us are absolutely unknowable and incomprehensible, and which then remain as the inner nature of the thing-​in-​itself, when this, as explained in the fourth book, has freely abolished itself as will, has thus stepped out of the phenomenon entirely, and as regards our knowledge, that is to say as regards the world of phenomena, has passed over into empty nothingness (Nichts). If the will were positively and absolutely the thing-​in-​itself, then this nothing (Nichts) would be absolute, instead of which it expressly appears to us there only as a relative nothing. (II.XVIII: 198)

As Schopenhauer says here, we are acquainted with the thing-​in-​ itself only as will and are completely oblivious of any properties that it has entirely separately from phenomenal manifestations, i.e., those properties that belong to it upon the successful ascetic project of the denial of the will-​to-​live. Since the will is not the thing-​in-​itself absolutely, the characterization of its completely independent state as “nothingness” should be understood, not as absolute nothingness, but rather as “relative” nothingness, i.e., as nothingness as far as we are concerned and are capable of grasping. As he puts it in WWR I, §71: 411–​12, what persists upon the “abolition of the will” is “for all who are still full of the will, assuredly nothing

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  69 (Nichts).”32 Nothingness is only appropriate as a characterization of the independent state of the thing-​in-​itself from the standpoint of individuals, who only have access to the will and its phenomenal manifestations (and as Schopenhauer notes, to those who have denied the will already the “real world of ours with all its suns and galaxies” would be nothing as well; WWR I, §71: 412). Despite committing himself to the unknowability of the independent, non-​phenomenal state (or “relative nothingness”) of the thing-​in-​itself, Schopenhauer is quite willing to leave room for the possibility of positively characterizing that state through mysticism (II.XLVIII: 612). His repeated references to the “salvation” from willing through resignation certainly suggest, albeit negatively, that he expects the condition following the denial of the will-​to-​live to be valuable.33 Toward the end of the second volume of WWR, Schopenhauer goes farther, and offers a brief positive characterization of that state. By contrast to the condition of “appearing as a world in which suffering and death reign,” Schopenhauer states, we may think of the non-​phenomenal mode of existence of the thing-​in-​itself as “the infinitely preferable peace of blessed nothingness” (L: 640). As we would expect, and as Schopenhauer makes perfectly clear in this discussion, the thing-​in-​itself whose pure independent state constitutes such “blessed nothingness” is that from which the “will has sprung” (L: 640), along with its phenomenal manifestations, including individual humans, who therefore have this thing-​in-​itself as their true essence. If what we most truly are is a non-​phenomenal metaphysical substratum, 32 Emphasis mine. Again, in II.XLVIII: 612: “if something is no one of all the things that we know, then certainly it is for us in general nothing. Yet it still does not follow from this that it is nothing absolutely, namely that it must be nothing from every possible point of view and in every possible sense, but only that we are restricted to a wholly negative knowledge of it; and this may very well lie in the limitation of our point of view.” And in PP II, XIV, §161: 312: “And so for us who are the phenomenon of willing, this denial is a passing over into nothing.” 33 By contrast, Janaway (2017c, 364) argues that for Schopenhauer there is “nothing good” either in the world as will or in the “ultimate reality beyond will,” and that he “struggles even to” argue for the goodness of “the subjective state of will-​less consciousness.”

70  The Value of the World and of Oneself however, then whatever phenomenal attributes we have, including all the imperfections and suffering Schopenhauer locates in the human condition, do not truly belong to us. At bottom, we lack any such flaw, as does the entire world. As it turns out, the very commendation of world and self that Schopenhauer abhors in what he calls Jewish and pantheistic optimism can be attributed to Schopenhauer’s own view of the world and of the self, understood as what they essentially and truly are.34 Indeed, Schopenhauer goes as far as attributing value to life itself, insofar as it is capable of leading one to reach the pure, non-​phenomenal state of the will. In PP II, XIV, §172: 321, depicting a brief dialogue between “man” and “world-​spirit,” the latter contemplates telling man that “the value of life (der Werth des Lebens) consists precisely in its teaching him not to will it,” as “[f]‌or this supreme dedication life itself must first prepare him.”35 In an essay titled “Transcendent Speculation on the Apparent Deliberateness in the Fate of an Individual” (PP I), Schopenhauer speaks of the “occult power that guides even external influences” as having “its root only in our own mysterious inner being,” which he describes as the kernel of truth underlying notions such as divine providence (pp. 212–​13). But, whereas all events, including the entire lives of individual humans, are determined in this fashion, the “ultimate aim” of “such guidance” cannot be “our transient welfare for the time being,” which is “insignificant, imperfect, futile and fleeting” (p. 222). Hence, “we have to look for this ultimate aim in our eternal existence that goes beyond the life of the individual” (p. 222). The “ultimate aim of temporal existence” is, then, “the will’s turning away from life,” and “everyone is gradually led to this in a manner

34 Rappaport (1899, 52–​3) argues that though Schopenhauer is right that Spinoza’s pantheism is optimistic, that is so because it is monistic, which should equally apply to Schopenhauer’s own view (cf. Rappaport 1899, 58). 35 Contrast with WWR II.XLI: 465, where Schopenhauer says that the objective value of life is very “precarious” (misslich; Payne translates: “uncertain”). My thanks to Anna Schriefl for a helpful discussion concerning this sentence.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  71 that is quite individually suited to him and hence often in a long and roundabout way” (p. 223). Admittedly, Schopenhauer concedes that the views expressed in this essay “might perhaps be termed a mere metaphysical fantasy” (p. 201). However, it is certainly no coincidence that that fantasy accords with the sentiment of Schopenhauer’s overall view. The upshot of the essay is that the true essence of an individual dictates the trajectory of their life, aiming at overturning the will-​to-​live, which (as we know from WWR) is the topmost goal to be achieved by human beings. Of course, Schopenhauer thinks that only a slight minority of people achieve that goal. And so, he goes on to speak of death, which of course does await all humans, as the “real result, and, to this extent, the purpose of life,” because at that time “palingenesis is prepared together with the weal and woe that are included therein” (PP I: 223). For the most part, death merely trades one individual phenomenon manifesting the will-​to-​live for another. But, to those who die after successfully denying their will-​to-​live appropriately, death counts as a “deliverance,” since upon it “the world has at the same time ended” (WWR I, §68: 382). The inner nature of such people, at least, guides them toward the state that Schopenhauer considers most valuable. Dienstag has argued that on Schopenhauer’s view, one may only achieve valuable states temporarily: the denial of the will-​to-​live “must always be achieved afresh by constant struggle” (cf. WWR I, §68: 391), and happiness or joy “is scattered here and there, like the gold in Australia, by the whim of pure chance according to no rule or law” (PP I: 419).36 Dienstag concludes that Schopenhauer’s view, which allows for the possibility of happiness but nevertheless does not guarantee it, “is pessimism enough.”37 However, when Schopenhauer speaks, in the very same chapter Dienstag alludes to (WWR I, §68), of the death of certain individuals as a deliverance, as we have seen, he

36 Dienstag (2006), 111–​12. 37 Ibid.

72  The Value of the World and of Oneself clearly has a permanent solution in mind. Indeed, he goes on later in the chapter to speak of the stages one undergoes in preparation for the “self-​denial” of the will as advancing from “personal suffering,” through a stage at which one “retires into himself,” knowledge of oneself and the world, a transformation and rising above suffering, followed by bliss and the renunciation of desires, upon which one would “gladly welcome death” (WWR I, §68: 392–​3). At the very end of the chapter, Schopenhauer speaks of the “complete denial of the will,” “final denial,” and “perfect sanctification and salvation,” culminating in “the highest joy and delight in death” (WWR I, §68: 397–​8). Schopenhauer’s view, then, is that it is quite possible, if rare, for the solution he advocates to be instantiated permanently, and this stance can quite appropriately be viewed as optimistic.38

2.4.  Conclusion For Schopenhauer, the essence of all phenomena is the will. Individual human beings, as such phenomena, also have will for their essence, and their various other characteristics and properties are, by implication, nonessential. Since all phenomena exist at present, and since life is such a phenomenon (in fact, life just is the phenomenon of the will), life is necessarily unending. Though that fact might prima facie be taken to be comforting, the prospect of living eternally begins to weigh on us once we realize the ubiquitous nature and inescapability of life’s negative features, in particular suffering and boredom. The only way out of this quite frightening prospect, Schopenhauer claims, is by denying one’s “will-​to-​live,” thereby departing from one’s individual life and identifying entirely 38 Dienstag (2006, 116–​17; cf. ibid., 114), in the context of attributing to both Schopenhauer and Freud a similar “technique of self-​inhibition,” does acknowledge that Schopenhauer at least “holds out a greater prospect for the success of this project than does Freud.”

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  73 with one’s essence as will. However, ultimately, Schopenhauer cannot advocate that solution consistently. First, actively pursuing self-​etiolation defies the purpose of such an enterprise, which crucially includes the annulment of all goals and motivations. Second, even if self-​etiolation is gained passively, for instance by suffering excessive pain—​a possibility which Schopenhauer allows for—​the difficulties do not dissipate. One might ask, for instance, whether such an occurrence would count as a genuine achievement. Furthermore, the fact that a given self-​denying behavior is passively induced need not mean that it is not purposive. And Schopenhauer’s own characterization of those who have reached such a state allows for much more purposive and motivated behavior than it should. Finally, Schopenhauer’s ideal of self-​denial (whether achieved actively or passively) is also inconsistent with his pessimism. It assumes that there is some way of solving totally the misery and misfortune inherent to the human condition, and that hence, at least in principle, we need not content ourselves with an imperfect world or with a less than fully desirable state of our own existence.39 Indeed, Schopenhauer views the will in a pure state devoid of any phenomenal manifestation, to which he says we should aspire to assimilate ourselves as much as possible through resignation, as ultimately valuable. And since, though in principle ineffable, that will in that state (and with such value) is the best we can appeal to in order to adequately describe the world as it truly and essentially is, Schopenhauer’s view turns out to share an important element in common with the Jewish and pantheistic optimistic views he sets out to reject.

39 Janaway (1999, 34) notes that the idea that the only thing that “could give value to our existence, and to that of the whole world” is dissolving one’s individuality and defeating the will-​to-​live “is surely Schopenhauer’s most pessimistic thought.” We might add to this assessment that the reasons for Schopenhauer’s thinking so, and the state that he hopes to achieve through such accomplishments, ultimately make his theory lean toward optimism.

74  The Value of the World and of Oneself Schopenhauer is of course avowedly committed to the fundamental propositions we have associated at the outset with pessimism, namely, that the world is horribly constituted and is valueless (P1), and that our existence within this world is worse than nonexistence (P2) (see the Introduction). Nevertheless, his view ultimately (and inconsistently) leans toward the opposing pair of propositions with which we have identified philosophical optimism. First, Schopenhauer thinks that the world as it actually is, namely qua will, is ultimately valuable; and one could reasonably even attribute to him the view that even the phenomenal world, for all the suffering and strife that it produces, is itself perfectly structured, insofar as (1) it is set up for salvation through the denial of the will-​to-​live, and (2) “the whole of nature is the phenomenon, and also the fulfilment, of the will-​to-​live” (which, as we have noted, Schopenhauer regards as ultimately valuable) (WWR I, §54: 276) (O1).40 As for human existence, we have already seen that Schopenhauer not only sketches the possibility for a path in human life leading to an extraordinarily and enduringly valuable and choice-​worthy state, but also directly attributes value to human life (section 2.3; cf. PP II, XIV, §172: 321) (O2). In GS 370, Nietzsche discusses his gradual divergence from nineteenth-​ century pessimism, spearheaded by Schopenhauer, which he identifies with “romanticism,” characterized by suffering from the “impoverishment of life,” leading one to seek41 . . . mainly mildness, peacefulness, goodness in thought and in deed—​if possible, also a god who truly would be a god for the 40 In fact, in the context of arguing against optimism and teleology, Schopenhauer acknowledges both that natural phenomena “are certainly beautiful to behold” and that the world is “durably constructed,” and goes on to focus on the suffering that living things nevertheless undergo in order to make his case (WWR II.XLVI: 581). Cf. Chapter 7. On Schopenhauer’s view that the harmony in nature is due to the will-​to-​live being the unifying essence of all things, see Simmel (1991), 42. 41 Here and in the following, translations from GS are taken from Nauckhoff, and translations of Nietzsche contra Wagner are taken from Norman, unless otherwise noted.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  75 sick, a ‘saviour’; as well as logic, the conceptual comprehensibility of existence—​for logic soothes, gives confidence—​in short, a certain warm, fear repelling narrowness and confinement to optimistic horizons.

Like the criticism evinced in GM III, which we have discussed earlier, what bothers Nietzsche about romantic pessimism in this aphorism is that it ultimately reverts to optimism.42 The salvation43 Schopenhauer offers in light of his grim evaluation of human life—​grounded, as Nietzsche says here, in the philosophical knowledge he presumes to outline in his writing—​is essentially optimistic. It glorifies a valuable state allegedly achievable by human beings. Nietzsche goes on to contrast Schopenhauerian pessimism with a future phase, which he refers to as “Dionysian pessimism.” The term is somewhat unfortunate, as it has led some to conclude that Nietzsche in GS 370 is advocating a type of “[u]‌nadulterated pessimism,” and that he is criticizing Schopenhauer because he thinks that “he is not pessimistic enough.”44 Earlier in the aphorism, Nietzsche speaks of the romantic and the Dionysian as “two types of sufferers,” and he goes on to characterize the “Dionysian” person as one who is capable of withstanding terrible “sights” and “deeds,” finding them “permissible, as it were” (gleichsam erlaubt).45 The Dionysian person seems to be referred to as a pessimist, then, in the attenuated sense that she confronts the same ghastly phenomena 42 For further discussion of the criticism of Schopenhauer in GS 370, see Dienstag (2006), 179–​80, and D. Berman, “Schopenhauer and Nietzsche: Honest Atheism, Dishonest Pessimism,” in C. Janaway (ed.), Willing and Nothingness: Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator (Oxford, 1998), 178–​95, at 190–​2. 43 Nietzsche’s identification of Schopenhauer’s ideal of the denial of the will-​to-​live with the Christian idea of salvation is quite faithful to Schopenhauer, who argues that “[t]‌he doctrine of original sin (affirmation of the will) and of salvation (denial of the will) is really the great truth which constitutes the kernel of Christianity . . .” (WWR I, §70: 405; cf. §48: 233). 44 Dienstag (2006), 180. 45 I translate gleichsam erlabut as “permissible, as it were,” instead of “perhaps acceptable,” which seems less committal than Nietzsche intends.

76  The Value of the World and of Oneself that led Schopenhauer to a pessimistic evaluation of the world. But the Dionysian attitude toward those same phenomena is anything but pessimistic in the proper designation of that word, as such a person tolerates them and even finds them “permissible.” It ought not to surprise us, therefore, that Nietzsche later republishes GS 370 in a paraphrased form, in which he replaces “Dionysian pessimist” with “Dionysian Greek,” and omits altogether the parenthetical remark sealing GS 370 concerning the “pessimism of the future” to be known as “Dionysian pessimism” (cf. NCW, “We Antipodes”). In the final analysis, Nietzsche presents a consistent and uncompromising rejection of pessimism in general, and of Schopenhauer’s pessimism in particular.46 But although Nietzsche himself does not aim to correct Schopenhauer’s reversion to optimism by introducing a radical form of “[u]‌nadulterated pessimism,”47 one at this point might nevertheless urge that such a revision of pessimism might still be tenable, and could, once formulated, withstand the criticisms of Schopenhauer’s pessimistic theory that we have surveyed in this chapter. Historically, Schopenhauer’s theory has been taken to be radically pessimistic, and understandably so, as it concludes that the only appropriate response to an adequate assessment of the world and human life is total resignation—​a conclusion that both Schopenhauer himself and his later readers recognize as a form of “quietism.”48 Based on the criticisms we have seen in this chapter, Schopenhauer cannot even espouse the quietist renunciation of all goals, since that in itself amounts to adopting a goal. But what of an even more radical, or “purer,” version of pessimism, that would 46 Berman (1998, 194–​5), discussing GS 370, argues that whereas Nietzsche retains much of Schopenhauer’s pessimism, he ends up offering, in the form of his ideal of the Übermensch, a “modest optimism,” on which the “nihilistic trend” of his day would ultimately yield a new value. As we shall see in the next chapter, Nietzsche, while nominally rejecting both pessimism and optimism, is more convincingly interpreted as reverting to the introduction of a full-​fledged optimistic set of ideals. 47 Dienstag (2006), 180. 48 WWR II.XLVIII: 613; Beiser (2016), 43–​4, et passim.

Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism  77 (unlike Schopenhauer’s) truly forgo all values, and with them all goals, including the goal of forgoing all goals? As we have defined it previously, pessimism maintains that no aspect or part of our woeful world is valuable (P1), and that human nonexistence is preferable to our existence (P2). P2 already commits one to valuing one conceivable state of affairs (human nonexistence) over another (our existence). Valuing such a state as a goal to be achieved either actively or passively (as Schopenhauer does) contradicts P1, which precludes the pessimist from declaring anything valuable. But not valuing that state deviates from P2. Indeed, P1 is arguably already internally inconsistent, since from the disvalue inherent in the world (due to inevitable suffering, e.g.) and the nonexistence of anything valuable, it should follow that a state of affairs in which the world as a whole does not exist is valuable.49 In order to remain consistent, it would seem that a pessimist must maintain that whereas the nonexistence of the world and of humans would have been valuable had it been attainable, it is impossible in principle. Even if we assume that denying the existence of anything valuable outright is theoretically possible, it yields unwelcome results, however. As we shall see in the next chapter, following Camus’s reading, Nietzsche, attempting to move beyond both optimism and pessimism, begins by denying allegedly objective values and disvalues, but quickly supplants these with an ultimate value and ideal of his own, seeing that some such feature is necessary for justifying any judgment, decision, preference, or action.

49 Schopenhauer, for his part, characterizes pessimism precisely as the view that the world “ought not to be” (WWR II.XVII: 170).

3 Nihilism and Self-​Deification Camus’s Critical Analysis of Nietzsche in The Rebel

Nietzsche, as we saw in the previous chapter, rejects Schopenhauerian pessimism, according to which the world and human life are valueless and doleful, for its internal inconsistency. Nietzsche does not opt for optimistic views that take the world and oneself to be ultimately valuable, but rather takes issue with them as well.1 In EH IV.4, he describes his Zarathustra as recognizing that “the optimist is just as decadent as the pessimist, and perhaps more harmful.”2 In HH I 28, Nietzsche elaborates on his opposition to both optimism and pessimism:3 Words in bad odour.—​Away with those overused words optimism and pessimism! We have had enough of them. Occasion for using them is growing less day by day; it is only idle chatterers who still have such an indispensable need of them. For why in the world should anyone want to be an optimist if he does not have to defend a God who has to have created the best of worlds if he himself is goodness and perfection—​but what thinker still has need of the hypothesis of a God?—​But any occasion for a pessimistic creed is likewise lacking, unless one has an interest in provoking 1 On this point, see also C. Janaway, “On the Very Idea of ‘Justifying Suffering,’ ” Journal of Nietzsche Studies 48 (2017b), 152–​70, 158–​62. 2 Translations of Nietzsche, except those embedded in Camus’s text, are taken from Kaufmann, unless stated otherwise. 3 Translations of HH are from Hollingdale, with some modification. The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0004

Nihilism and Self-Deification  79 the advocates of God [ . . . ] [I]‌t is quite obvious that the world is neither good nor evil, let alone the best of all or the worst of all worlds, and that these concepts ‘good’ [gut] and ‘evil’ [böse] possess meaning only when applied to men, and perhaps even here are, as they are usually employed, unjustified: in any event, we must cast off both that conception of the world that inveighs against it and that which glorifies it.

Though Nietzsche in this aphorism initially objects to the use of the terms “optimism” and “pessimism,” he then goes on to clarify that what he takes issue with, most basically, are the very conceptions that these two words are meant to convey. His view is that we ought not to think of the world as either good (as optimism does) or evil (as pessimism does), because these designations are, at most, applicable only to persons. The reason why the debate between optimism and pessimism is appropriate in the context of theology, Nietzsche signals, is that the personal, monotheistic God and his creation are both traditionally conceived of as perfectly good. Accepting the existence of such a deity amounts to adopting an optimistic worldview. Alternatively, one may reject such optimism in favor of pessimism, as Schopenhauer does when he criticizes Jewish monotheism and Spinoza’s pantheism (see Chapter 1). In referring to optimism and pessimism in this aphorism, Nietzsche clearly ultimately addresses these views as we have defined them at the outset, and especially the primary proposition of each, namely, the optimistic proposition that the world is optimally arranged and valuable (O1) and the primary pessimistic proposition that the world is woeful and worthless (P1). Equally clearly, when Nietzsche refers to pessimism here, he has Schopenhauer’s pessimism specifically in mind.4 In HH II, preface 4 According to Schacht, in HH Nietzsche distanced himself from his earlier influences by Schopenhauer and Wagner; see F. Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, introduction by R. Schacht (Cambridge, 1996), x. However, Schacht (1996, xiv) also seems to maintain that Nietzsche was opposed to pessimism in his

80  The Value of the World and of Oneself 1, he reports that, while working on the Untimely Meditations (between 1873 and 1876), he was “already deep . . . in the critique of and likewise the further elaboration on pessimism as understood hitherto, and already ‘believed in nothing anymore,’ as the people put it, not even in Schopenhauer.”5 And, in the sections leading up to HH I 28, he says that “the whole medieval Christian conception of the world and of the nature of man could in Schopenhauer’s teaching celebrate a resurrection” (I 26), and that the needs first satisfied by religion and then intended to be satisfied by philosophy “can be weakened and exterminated,” as he clearly thinks they should be (I 27). Thus, for Nietzsche, whereas Schopenhauer’s rejection of optimism is to be commended, his pessimistic alternative is to be similarly rejected. This is so because, once one has recognized that there are no absolute values (or disvalues), as Nietzsche already hints at in HH I 28,6 both optimism and pessimism are rendered obsolete, and the debate between them becomes irrelevant. Nietzsche also presents an alternative. In later works, he recommends creating novel values through affirming the world and oneself. Nietzsche envisages his alternative as overcoming the problems of both pessimism and optimism. But it, too, has been criticized, similarly to Nietzsche’s own criticism of Schopenhauer, for reverting to a form of optimism. In this chapter, I shall focus on one such criticism, advanced by Camus in The Rebel. According to Camus, Nietzsche proposes his ideal of creating value and affirming the world and oneself as a solution earlier published writings as well. See also Cartwright (1998, 134 n. 86) on the extent of the criticism of Schopenhauer in HH. 5 The word that I translate here as “elaboration,” Vertiefung, is rendered by Hollingdale as “intensifying,” which risks giving the reader the impression that Nietzsche takes himself to have either embraced pessimism or endowed it with meaning. See also Cartwright (1998, 135, 138 n. 110, 145). Closer to the intended meaning, Cohn translates Vertiefung in this text as “study”; see F. Nietzsche, Human All Too Human, trans. P. V. Cohn (New York, 1911), ad loc. I am thankful to Anna Schriefl for a helpful discussion of this text. 6 As Schacht (1996, vii) notes, HH in general “presaged the . . . crisis” that Nietzsche “subsequently came to call ‘the death of God.’ ”

Nihilism and Self-Deification  81 to a problematic consequence of his project of dismantling objective values, namely, that having no such values (or corresponding disvalues) makes genuine choice and value judgments impossible. I argue that Camus’s critique of that solution provides a viable response to (i) Nietzsche’s very introduction of a new value, (ii) the specific content of the value Nietzsche introduces, and (iii) the consequences of Nietzsche’s proposal. First, Nietzsche doubts the legitimacy of any presumed “immediate certainty,” such as the one that Descartes’s methodic doubt concerning traditional sources of knowledge is supposed to uncover (BGE 16). But, Camus insinuates, Nietzsche fails to realize that his own methodic demolition of traditional values (and disvalues) should similarly lead him to doubt our ability to establish any substantive value. Second, Camus thinks that Nietzsche’s recommendation of “creation” implies considering the world and oneself divine, after and despite the “death of God.” This highlights a tension in Nietzsche’s view. Nietzsche privileges the world as singularly valuable and its affirmers as singularly correct. However, he criticizes monotheism for privileging God and believers in God in just this way (GS 143). Third, Camus argues that Nietzsche’s idea of creation leads one to affirm violence and suffering. Nietzsche concedes that some suffering is necessary for the process of creation (BGE 225, 270). But, Camus argues, since Nietzsche’s view purports to have normative import, while valuing affirmation exclusively, it indirectly promotes valuing violent acts and systems as such. Though Camus’s responses to Nietzsche are compelling, his own view remains unsatisfactory. His recommendations of “rebellion” and “moderation” (roughly, accepting the insoluble tension, for all, inherent in the inability either to make meaningful value judgments and decisions or to avoid making value judgments and deciding) contain contradictions—​the very ones that he argues Nietzsche’s view is meant to resolve—​w hich cannot cohere with a viable theory concerning value.

82  The Value of the World and of Oneself

3.1.  Nietzsche’s Insight Concerning the Constraints of Total Freedom Nietzsche’s philosophical project, as Camus understands it in The Rebel, is divided into two steps. Nietzsche first observes the collapse of objective value systems in the cultural and intellectual environment of his day, pointing out certain distressing consequences that he thinks would follow. He then offers a remedy, in the form of the creation of a new value system of his own. Camus believes that this characterization applies broadly to much of Nietzsche’s mature writing. Though he describes his discussion of Nietzsche in The Rebel (in the section titled “Nietzsche and Nihilism”) as “a commentary on Der Wille zur Macht,” he also says that he is concerned there with Nietzsche’s “final philosophic position, between 1880 and his collapse” (R, 66).7 That statement seems appropriate, since Camus would commend Nietzsche’s position in Human, All Too Human (published in 1878), presented at the beginning of this chapter, renouncing (or at least doubting) the existence of objective values (and disvalues) and pronouncing the debate between pessimism and optimism futile, without yet offering the alternative position forthcoming in his later works (cf. HH I 28). Camus’s critical discussion of Nietzsche’s later, two-​tiered theory is filled with references to Nietzsche’s published works from 1881 onward, including The Gay Science, Twilight of the Idols, Zarathustra, Beyond Good and Evil, and the Genealogy of Morals. Camus assumes that these works present a unified theory—​corresponding to the two steps we have introduced—​and he goes on to evaluate them critically as such. The analysis, as we shall see, yields an ambivalent attitude toward Nietzsche. Camus approves of Nietzsche’s observation of the dismantling of values (and disvalues), which he thinks 7 Translations of and page numbers for The Rebel are taken from A. Camus, The Rebel, trans. A. Bower (New York, 1956).

Nihilism and Self-Deification  83 is correct and important. However, he objects to, and presents an elaborate and forceful critique of, Nietzsche’s positive proposal. First, the observation: Camus sees the core of Nietzsche’s diagnosis of the cultural climate of his day in his pronouncement of the death of God. Instead of the loci classici of this idea in GS 125 and in Zarathustra, Camus first cites Twilight of the Idols VI.8, in which Nietzsche states that it is by denying God and the responsibility of God (or, rather, as Kaufmann translates it, the responsibility in God: die Verantwortlichkeit in Gott) that “we will deliver the world” (R, 65). This formulation emphasizes both the broader implications of the idea of the death of God for the status of all moral values and ideals, and the potential eventual transition from that occurrence to a new, promising state of affairs. The death of God triggers much more than just atheism. It either itself automatically initiates, or at the very least calls for, a comprehensive and methodical re-​examination, and ultimately the annulment, of all values (and disvalues). Moral valuations, à la Socrates and Christianity, as well as socialism and all forms of humanitarianism, all fail to survive the scrutiny of such an investigation, and are discarded as remnants or shadows of God (R, 67–​70). For Camus, it is after the quieting of all such remaining idols, and in large part on the basis of the successful completion of such a move, that Nietzsche arrives at what is at once both an important insight and a disillusioning and potentially unbearable prospect. The problem is encapsulated in Camus’s notion of the “absurd.” Camus characterizes absurdity as he is concerned with it in The Rebel as referring to the same concept dealt with in the Myth of Sisyphus, only applied specifically to the case of “murder” rather than the problem of “suicide” (R, 5). The main idea is that believing in nothing and acknowledging neither any meaning nor any value (or their opposites) implies that “everything is possible” and that any act, including murder, “is neither right nor wrong” (R, 5). As Camus puts it, by systematically dismantling all supposed objective criteria for valuation, beginning with God and ending with

84  The Value of the World and of Oneself any ideology supplanting Him, Nietzsche precludes any “basis of morality” and meets the concept of absurdity “face to face” (R, 62). However, as we shall now see in detail, the absurdity resulting from the absence of all morality and all value systems generates a serious problem, one which Nietzsche would ultimately set out to solve (though, for Camus, his proposed solution would be no less problematic). One might expect the nihilistic jettisoning of all moral and ideological baggage to be a relief. However, as Camus argues on Nietzsche’s behalf, the “total freedom” from “God” and the “moral idols” in fact generates, at least initially, “a new form of anguish” (R, 70). In the absence of familiar value systems, Camus’s reading continues, one is faced with a daunting task: It is he, and he alone, who must discover law and order. Then the time of exile begins, the endless search for justification, the aimless nostalgia, “the most painful, the most heartbreaking question, that of the heart which asks itself: where can I feel at home?” (R, 70)

Nietzsche himself brings up this last point perhaps most clearly in a text not cited in Camus’s discussion. Immediately before presenting the “madman” who proclaims the death of God in Gay Science 125, Nietzsche writes: “We have left the land and have embarked. We have burned our bridges behind us” (GS 124). This statement clearly anticipates the words of the “madman,” according to whom it is “We” who have killed God, viz. destroyed the basis for objective valuation, though we may not yet be able to fully appreciate this deed or its consequences (GS 125). Nietzsche goes on to describe humanity, once it has rejected objective valuation, or at any rate rendered it obsolete, using the following analogy: Oh, the poor bird that felt free and now strikes the walls of this cage! Woe, when you feel homesick for the land as if it had offered more freedom—​and there is no longer any “land.”

Nihilism and Self-Deification  85 As Camus has argued, then, Nietzsche thinks that, inevitably, post-​ nihilists are initially at a loss. Robbed of their “home,” i.e., the security and familiarity of their old value systems now rejected, they seek to either return to that home or replace it. Unless and until they have done so—​and this is the point that Camus emphasizes—​they are necessarily caged. Freedom from all valuation in fact amounts to no freedom at all, but rather brings about a form of servitude. Camus elaborates: . . . if the eternal law is not freedom, the absence of law is still less so. If nothing is true, if the world is without order, then nothing is forbidden; to prohibit an action, there must, in fact, be a standard of values and an aim. But, at the same time, nothing is authorized; there must also be values and aims in order to choose another course of action. Absolute domination by the law does not represent liberty, but no more does absolute anarchy. The sum total of every possibility does not amount to liberty, but to attempt the impossible amounts to slavery. Chaos is also a form of servitude. Freedom exists only in a world where what is possible is defined at the same time as what is not possible. Without law there is no freedom. If fate is not guided by superior values, if chance is king, then there is nothing but the step in the dark and the appalling freedom of the blind. (R, 71)

Precisely what type of freedom is it that is lost, according to Camus’s reading of Nietzsche, upon the disappearance of objective values? Though he speaks of the absence of such freedom as the inability to “choose another course of action,” he evidently does not mean to say that lacking values robs one of freedom of the will or of voluntary action. It is implausible that the absence of moral or ideological principles and standards would prohibit one from acting freely, if that were otherwise possible for them. Indeed, it is rather the coexistence of Nietzsche’s (apparent) commitment to both determinism and the value found in one specific kind of personal project, i.e.,

86  The Value of the World and of Oneself self-​creation, that has generated a scholarly controversy among his interpreters.8 The problem Camus identifies, by contrast, concerns normative standards. It is the problem of absurdity we have already mentioned. In saying that “values and aims” are necessary “in order to choose another course of action” (R, 71), Camus means that such values and aims are required, not for being the free agents of our actions, but rather for having any grounds for meaningful choice (here, his argument applies not only to nihilism, but also to the “radical pessimism” sketched at the end of Chapter 2, intended to consistently reject the existence of anything valuable out of hand). And without any grounds for such choice, his argument runs, the notion of choice becomes vacuous, not because we are forced to act in a specific way by a deterministic world order, but rather because anything we do of our own accord should be just as amenable to us (and to anybody else) as any other thing we might do. Though I take myself to be free to put on my right sock in the morning first, and am fully aware of that possibility, there is a real sense in which I am reluctant to speak of putting on my left sock first as a “choice.” I would have considered my day, in all its details, virtually unaltered had the right sock been put on first. Choice seems to come in when acting differently makes somewhat of a meaningful difference, be it even the most minute. Nietzsche’s insight, according to Camus, is that, upon the death of God and the idols, responding to a minor annoyance by either ignoring the person responsible or extreme violence amounts to no more of a choice than putting on either the right sock or the left one first. As Camus interprets him, Nietzsche’s observation constitutes a remarkable achievement, as it embodies and epitomizes what 8 See, for example, D. E. Cooper, “Self and Morality in Schopenhauer and Nietzsche,” in C. Janaway (ed.), Willing and Nothingness: Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator (Oxford, 1998), 196–​216; B. Leiter, “The Paradox of Fatalism and Self-​Creation in Nietzsche,” in C. Janaway (ed.), Willing and Nothingness: Schopenhauer as Nietzsche’s Educator (Oxford, 1998), 217–​57.

Nihilism and Self-Deification  87 Camus calls “rebellion.” “Rebellion,” for Camus, involves the transition from experiencing absurdity as an individual condition to seeing it as a “mass plague” (R, 22). It stems from the recognition that without religious or other absolute values it is doubtful that any “rule of conduct” may be established (R, 21), or reliably followed, by either individuals or the communities to which they belong. Complete freedom from values entails the lack of freedom to act from genuine or meaningful choice based on value judgment. This conflict at the basis of “rebellious thought” explains why Camus describes it as “a perpetual state of tension” (R, 22). Troubles begin to occur, however, when “the rebel forgets his original purpose, tires of the tremendous tension created by refusing to give a positive or negative answer, and finally abandons himself to complete negation or total submission” (R, 25). In that case, there occurs an attempt to compensate for the “fall of God” by introducing new values, and specifically by initiating a “desperate effort to create . . . the dominion of man” (R, 25). The attempt to combat optimism by questioning existing values, in other words, gives rise to a new brand of optimistic theory upholding values that are no less questionable. This is precisely what Camus believes happened in Nietzsche’s case, as we shall presently see.

3.2.  Nietzsche’s Solution Camus interprets Nietzsche’s recommendation of “accepting oneself as if fated, not wishing oneself ‘different’ ” (EH I.6; trans. Kaufmann) as responding to the concern revealed and expressed by “rebellious thought.” Since the world “pursues no end” and “accepts no judgment,” i.e., since the world in and of itself is devoid of values and consequently of genuine choice, Nietzsche suggests we should “replace all judgements based on values by absolute assent, and by a complete and exalted allegiance to this world” (R, 72). We should,

88  The Value of the World and of Oneself in other words, not only accept, but welcome, every detail of the world’s history, including every detail of our personal history. And doing so would amount to a genuine choice, indeed the only genuine choice we could possibly make, since, in the absence of any criteria by which we could determine the value of anything in the world, the only value judgment remaining concerns whether this state of affairs, i.e., this entire world as is, with its total lack of value, is something we approve or disapprove of. Disapproval would leave us where we left off upon recognizing the illegitimacy of all objective values. Approval would generate what is perhaps the only value imaginable following that recognition (upon recognizing the lack of value in the world at large, one would be hard pressed to find a justification for valuing one part or aspect of the world over another). Further, the choice enabled by this value need not be a singular occurrence. It could, and presumably for Nietzsche preferably would, be renewed regularly, as one expands one’s knowledge and experience of oneself and of the world as one encounters new details concerning both. This is what Camus means when he says that Nietzsche’s idea of absolute assent offers “unbounded freedom,” and that “[t]‌otal acceptance of total necessity is his paradoxical definition of freedom” (R, 72). Camus proposes to examine closely the implications following from the content of this value. According to it, the role once played by God, as sole source and arbiter of values, is now given to the necessity of all phenomena. Camus accordingly labels this transition the “deification of fate” (R, 72; more on this in section 3.4). Unlike a moral God, however, the deified world or fate is venerated precisely for its lack of moral concern, for being “implacable,” for offering “no redemption” and for being “inconsequential” (R, 72–​3). It is also in this sense that Camus thinks Nietzsche views fate as “innocent” (a feature Camus repeatedly emphasizes), again not in the sense of having pure intentions, but rather in the sense of having no intentions whatsoever. The term comes from the exposition of the three metamorphoses of the spirit in Zarathustra. Camus quotes the following part of Zarathustra’s characterization of the final

Nihilism and Self-Deification  89 metamorphosis into a child (R, 73): “The child is innocence and forgetting, a new beginning, a game, a self-​propelled wheel, a first movement, a sacred ‘Yes’ ” (Z 1, “On the Three Metamorphoses,” trans. Kaufmann). Camus’s choice of this text for establishing his interpretation of Nietzsche’s idea of assent is appropriate, for at least two reasons. First, the “innocence” (Unschuld) Zarathustra attributes to the spirit in its final mutation as a “child” is one of a non-​ reflective (or, pre-​ reflective), unconcerned nature, associated with forgetfulness. That is just the type of innocence Camus attributes to fate and the world on Nietzsche’s behalf. Second, the metaphor of the “child,” representing the last and (paradoxically) most evolved stage of the spirit, links the recommendation of assenting to fate to the idea of the affirmation of oneself (or, as Camus would put it, it links the “deification” of both). In the very next line in Nietzsche’s text, which Camus does not quote, Zarathustra goes on to say: “For the game of creation, my brothers, a sacred ‘Yes’ is needed: the spirit now wills his own will, and he who had been lost to the world now conquers his own world” (Z 1, “On the Three Metamorphoses”). The objects to be created in this last step by the spirit, and to be consequently owned by it, are the individual’s will as well as the entire world. Zarathustra goes on in “On the Blessed Isles” to elaborate on this idea of creating (schaffen) one’s own will and one’s own world in terms of turning the “world” into one’s “will” (as well as one’s “reason,” “image,” and “love”). What is supposed to be achieved by the “Yes-​saying” (Ja-​sagen) of the child, then, is the alignment of the world, and one’s experience of the world, with one’s will. This is the “game of creation” Zarathustra speaks of. As Camus puts it, “[t]‌o say yes to the world, to reproduce it, is simultaneously to re-​create the world and oneself, to become the great artist, the creator” (R, 74). The idea is encapsulated in Z 4, “On Old and New Tablets,” section 3: To redeem what is past in man and to re-​create all “it was” until the will says, “Thus I willed it! Thus I shall will it”—​this I called redemption and this alone I taught them to call redemption.

90  The Value of the World and of Oneself A perfect correspondence between all the details of the world’s history and one’s wishes makes the world valuable to us, in at least one obvious sense. Indeed, if the world (as it is) is exactly what we want and all that we could ever want, then we do not simply find value in it, but we identify it with value completely and exclusively. This ultimate value of the world, however, also confers value on us, in two ways. First, if the world is desirable in all its details, then our lives in all their details must be desirable as parts of the history of that world. Second, if the world is valuable to the extreme, then the recognition of that fact is valuable for its accuracy (as well as for being itself a part of the history of that world).

3.3.  The Reintroduction of Values Camus characterizes the “absurdist position” itself as “the equivalent, in existence, of Descartes’s methodical doubt” (R, 8). He speaks, as well, of the role of “rebellion” in our lives as the same as that of Descartes’s cogito “in the realm of thought,” both functioning as a “first piece of evidence” (R, 22). He sees rebellion as one’s recognition of the universality of the absurdity one once associated only with one’s own life and experience, a recognition arrived at based on a repeated experience of the conflict between the impossibility of value judgments and the apparently inescapable expression of just such judgments by any action one might perform (“To breathe is to judge”) (R, 8). Camus takes that recognition to be analogous to Descartes’s recognition of his own existence as a “thinking thing” (res cogitans), a recognition arrived at based on the repeated experience of sources of information once accepted as reliable indicators of truth being revealed as unreliable. Camus claims that the recognition of the rebel, expressed by the formula “I rebel—​therefore we exist,” yields a “value” (R, 22). Such a value, however, must be of a very specific kind, insofar as it is based on the universalization of a sense of absurdity which, until

Nihilism and Self-Deification  91 universalized, “does not provide us with values” at all (R, 9). Indeed, it seems that what really motivates Camus to speak of any value being generated by rebellion is simply his view of rebellious thought as essentially consisting (much like absurdity) of tensions or contradictory notions. The meaning of anything must be “obtain[ed] from meaninglessness”; “[t]he world . . . is both movement and stability”; and, most importantly for our present purposes, “[t]‌he moral value brought to light by rebellion . . . assumes no reality in history until man gives his life for it or dedicates himself entirely to it” (R, 296). Not speaking of there being value in rebellion would not be true to the essential feature of that phenomenon—​the “tremendous tension created by refusing to give a positive or negative answer” (R, 25). But the only kind of value rebellion might engender, precisely because that value is only to be understood as contrasting with lack of value, so as to provide the tension built into the notion of rebellion, has no positive content of its own. Such a value—​let us, for the sake of the present discussion, refer to it as “qualified value,” to distinguish it from other values, which Camus takes issue with—​ is “obtained from” valuelessness, not simply in the sense of having lack of value as its origin, but because it is nothing but the negation of the lack of value. By contrast, any unqualified value one might think of introducing, for Camus, would go against the rebel’s “original purpose” (R, 25). Nietzsche, as Camus interprets him, proposes just such an unqualified value. The details of Nietzsche’s proposal will become an object of extensive criticism by Camus, as we shall see. However, Camus’s criticism of Nietzsche begins with the very transition from observing the vacuous nature of all (unqualified) values to introducing a new unqualified value, of whatever specification. In this context, Camus again alludes to Descartes, this time comparing him to Nietzsche. Just as Descartes embarks on a “methodical doubt” concerning all sources of information, such as one’s senses and mathematical reasoning, Nietzsche practices the “methodical negation” of values (R, 66). And, similarly, Descartes’s

92  The Value of the World and of Oneself arrival at a presumed certainty (i.e., the “cogito”) is akin to Nietzsche’s arrival at a new unqualified value (i.e., “total affirmation” or “self-​creation”). Camus alludes to this further comparison between the conclusions of the two by stating, in this context, that “according to Nietzsche, he who wants to be a creator of good or of evil must first of all destroy all values” (R, 66).9 Nietzsche, be it noted, has his own criticism of Cartesian philosophy, which, as Camus’s discussion reveals, is in fact applicable to Nietzsche’s own philosophy. Nietzsche, criticizing the general notion of “immediate certainties” in BGE 16, addresses Descartes’s cogito explicitly. After laying out reasons for thinking that Descartes’s presumed certainty is unfounded, such as the shaky nature of the assumptions that an “I” exists to begin with, or that the meaning of the term “thinking” is immediately accessible or understandable, Nietzsche goes on to address a representative of such Cartesian reasoning as follows: “ ‘Sir,’ the philosopher will perhaps give him to understand, ‘it is improbable that you are not mistaken; but why insist on the truth?’ ” It would not be surprising, and at any rate would have been fitting, for Camus to have compared Nietzsche’s procedure to Descartes’s with the intention of applying Nietzsche’s criticism of Descartes to Nietzsche’s own reasoning. Nietzsche’s point against Cartesian immediate certainty is that a process of methodical doubt concerning sources of certainty should lead one to anticipate our inability to arrive at any certainty. What Nietzsche fails to realize is that, similarly, his methodical demolition of unqualified values should lead him to anticipate our inability to arrive at any such value. The best we can hope to achieve, for Camus, is the perpetual tension between our recognition of the total lack of value in our lives and the qualified value in appreciating the applicability 9 In this respect Camus cites, quite appropriately, GM III.24, in which Nietzsche says that “[i]‌f a temple is to be erected a temple must be destroyed” (trans. Kaufmann and Hollingdale), and Z 2.12 (“On Self-​Overcoming”): “Thus the highest evil belongs to the highest goodness: but this is creative” (trans. Kaufmann).

Nihilism and Self-Deification  93 of that total lack of value to everyone. Camus, then, might have addressed Nietzsche, or anyone else attempting to reintroduce an unqualified value on the basis of the rejection of all such values, similarly to the way Nietzsche addresses the Cartesian, with the following modification: “ ‘Sir’ . . . it is improbable that you are not mistaken; but why insist on an unqualified value?’ ”

3.4.  The Content of Nietzsche’s Proposed Value: Deification of Fate and Self-​Deification As we have seen, Camus commends Nietzsche for observing the fall of objective values, and for enunciating the inevitable problem in reconciling that fact with the aspiration to make genuine choices. He thinks of these ideas as the epitome of what he calls “rebellious thought.” But Nietzsche goes wrong, Camus thinks, as soon as he attempts to solve the problem at hand. As we saw in section 3.3, he thinks Nietzsche cannot consistently introduce any new substantive value to solve that problem. But, as we shall now see, Camus finds the specific value Nietzsche chooses to introduce particularly problematic. In fact, he directs the brunt of his criticism of Nietzsche toward the content of that specific value, i.e., the value one finds in what Nietzsche calls the “creation” (Schaffen) of oneself and of the world, by which he has in mind the alignment, as far as it can be achieved, of one’s will with the world as one experiences it (see section 3.2). For Camus, this goal is the farthest one imaginable from that of “rebellious thought.” As we have already mentioned, Camus thinks it is precisely when the rebel “forgets his original purpose” that they begin their “desperate effort to create . . . the dominion of man” (R, 25). And this happens, as he says, once “the throne of God is overturned” (R, 25). The choice of the verb “create” to describe the activity marking the rebel’s transgression against the purpose

94  The Value of the World and of Oneself of rebellion is not arbitrary. Nor is the description of this activity as taking place after God’s dethroning or fall coincidental. Camus clearly has Nietzsche in mind here. In Nietzsche’s specific case, as Camus puts it later on (and his reading is supported by materials from Zarathustra and elsewhere; see section 3.2), “creation” means to “accept everything,” or “to say yes to the world” (R, 74). And this is counter-​rebellious, because in affirming the world in this way, one replaces God with the world. The world is now “the only divinity” (R, 74). What Camus must mean by speaking of Nietzsche’s elevation of the world to the status of the deity, or by speaking of his “deification of fate” (R, 72), is that Nietzsche places an ultimate value on the world comparable to the one God had enjoyed before His “death,” as Nietzsche would put it. Even though valuing the world in that way does not bring back “[a]‌moral God, [acting from] pity, and [offering] love” (R, 73), it does purport to alleviate the tension rebellious thought has at its core. Genuine choice is no longer impossible, supposedly, because, although standard morality and traditional values are overthrown, one now can (and, according to the new value system Nietzsche instills, one should) make the genuine choice of accepting the world, both in general and in its various details and events as they occur. Nevertheless, Camus means to imply, the problem rebellion addresses cannot be successfully solved by deifying the world, just as it could not be solved by believing in God, and for the same reason. While valuing God or the world of course constitutes a value judgment, it does not necessarily enable any further value judgment. For example, Camus thinks, it does not guarantee value judgments concerning moral, interpersonal, and social matters. One could believe in and value God and all His deeds, and that stance could both alter one’s attitude concerning one’s life and be continuously renewed and applied to specific cases and situations. However, at any point one may in principle wake up to the realization that, regardless of one’s beliefs, “[t]‌he world continues on its course at random, and there is nothing

Nihilism and Self-Deification  95 final about it” (R, 66–​7).10 And on that realization, it is impossible to make up one’s mind as to how one should, e.g., treat one’s neighbor. For that purpose, and for valuing anything other than God Himself, Camus says, God is rendered “useless, since He wants nothing in particular” (R, 67). Now, since this realization in fact focuses on the inability to find value in the world, we might think that valuing the world in the way Nietzsche proposes would escape the difficulty and provide us with a satisfactory system of values, capable of grounding, e.g., moral judgments. But that is not so. Again, the world in all its details may be valued, and one may shape one’s life and attitude accordingly. But, if the world is also taken to have “nothing final about it,” merely valuing it would not enable, say, moral discriminations between this or that decision or action occurring within it. If the only criterion for valuing anything is its being (a part of) the world, then we are left with no criterion for preferring certain things occurring in the world over others. Such judgments are, as Camus puts it, “based on what is, with reference to what should be—​the kingdom of heaven, eternal concepts, or moral imperatives” (R, 67). World affirmation allows us to value our actions and decisions for “what they are,” but it does not enable us to value them for what they “should be”—​a necessary condition, as Camus (understandably) contends, for morally relevant judgments to occur. This problem is illustrated, and aggravated, by the valuation based on general world affirmation of one specific feature of the world, namely oneself. Camus thinks that, on Nietzsche’s proposal, it is not only the world that is being elevated to the status of a deity. The person doing the affirmation also “participates in the divinity of the world,” and she does so precisely by affirming it (R, 73–​4). Camus has already made the point that the (potential)

10 Presumably, to remain consistent, one would at that point be required to forgo belief in God as endowing the world and phenomena within it with a purpose, if one held such a belief to begin with.

96  The Value of the World and of Oneself rebel (alluding, as we have seen, specifically to Nietzsche) goes wrong in beginning to contemplate replacing God by “creating . . . the dominion of man” (R, 25). This act of creation begins with valuing or deifying the world, whereby one assumes the role of God. Camus addresses Nietzsche’s choice of the word “creation” and alludes to the “ambiguous meaning it has assumed” (R, 74). The idea is that the act of affirming the world is equivalent to the creation of the world by the God of the Bible. In both cases, it is that very act that is supposed to ground the value to be found in the world. But, for Camus, as we have seen, both valuations are insufficient for establishing a comprehensive value system, capable of generating, e.g., criteria for morally acceptable behavior. For such a purpose “man,” just like God before him, is “useless” (cf. R, 67). Nietzsche’s proposal, as Camus understands it, was certainly meant to supplant the belief in God, and to overcome the absurdity generated by transcending that belief. But Nietzsche’s solution to the problem of absurdity amounts to reverting to a conception of God, this time in the form of the world, and consequently also of oneself (as a part of that world). “Nietzsche’s message,” as Camus interprets it, “is that the rebel can only become God by renouncing every form of rebellion” (R, 73). But, as he thinks, this move would constitute a regression, rather than progress, and rebellion is therefore preferable. Apart from being unable to generate a comprehensive value system, there is a further potential problem with Nietzsche’s proposed valuation of the world and of oneself. And, though Camus does not discuss it explicitly, that further issue follows directly from his comparison between Nietzsche’s view of the belief in God and his (Nietzsche’s) idea of affirmation or creation. At GS 134, titled “The greatest advantage of polytheism,” Nietzsche argues that monotheism “was perhaps the greatest danger that has yet confronted humanity.” The reason is that positing the existence of one and only true deity (“one normal god”) allows for only one true way of life (“one normal human type”), presumably the life dictated by that deity or by one’s attitude toward it. Having only one acceptable way

Nihilism and Self-Deification  97 of life, for Nietzsche, paves the way toward “premature stagnation,” a state which he seems to characterize by the internalization of the “morality of mores” (Sittlichkeit der Sitte), such that it is no longer capable of being transcended. Nietzsche is not suggesting that belief in God carries with it the risk of morality, e.g., in its Judeo-​Christian variety, becoming ingrained in future generations. What he argues may become internalized in this way, i.e., Sittlichkeit, should be rather understood in this context as a set of pre-​moral customs or norms shaping one’s way of life.11 Nietzsche argues that such customs lead to the belief in the immutability of “all of man’s inner life” (GS 46), and he associates them with the high value standardly given to an unshakable character, whose “views, aspirations, and even faults” are not prone to change (GS 296). It is primarily such a belief in the impossibility and undesirability of changing oneself and one’s view that monotheism poses as a threat, according to Nietzsche. Monotheism brings about this adherence to a single mode of behavior and belief as being exclusively desirable and correct by allowing for only one deity, according to Nietzsche. And so, if Camus’s comparison between Nietzsche’s valuation of the world and the belief in (one) God is apt, it directs Nietzsche’s criticism of monotheism against his own proposed view. Just as monotheistic belief grants God a special status as the object of the highest value, and thereby also privileges believers in God as behaving and reasoning in a singularly appropriate way, Nietzsche’s view, Camus would argue, grants the world a special status as the object of the highest value, and thereby privileges those who affirm it as behaving and reasoning in a singularly appropriate way. And so, just like monotheism, the idea of world affirmation leads to “stagnation” by fixing an ideal and regarding any deviation from it as a fault (cf. GS 134). Camus himself criticizes that aspect of Nietzsche’s

11 On this point, see S. Robertson, “The Scope Problem: Nietzsche, the Moral, Ethical and Quasi-​Aesthetic,” in C. Janaway and S. Robertson (eds.), Nietzsche, Naturalism and Normativity (Oxford, 2012), 81–​110, at 83 and n. 3.

98  The Value of the World and of Oneself view directly, for instance when he speaks of that view as “making [rebellion] jump from the negation of the ideal to the secularization of the ideal” (R, 77). Whether one venerates God or the world, it is an error, and one that Nietzsche himself recognizes in a different context, to expect such veneration to be singularly correct or to expect its object to be singularly valuable. It may be retorted that Nietzsche’s view in fact does allow for, indeed anticipates, a change in human beings.12 Nietzsche speaks of the “overman” as transcending humanity in its current form, and so his idea of creation, it may be argued, should not in fact result in the fixed or “stagnated” conception of humanity with which Nietzsche charges monotheism (cf. GS 134). Importantly, however, Camus’s criticism does not disregard that feature of Nietzsche’s view. Indeed, for Camus, Nietzsche’s “overman” just is an appellation for human beings once they have fully affirmed, “created,” or, as Camus would put it, “deified,” the world and themselves. It is through affirmation, as Camus puts it, that “a superior type of humanity” is supposed to be achieved (R, 77–​8). He goes on to put on a par Nietzsche’s contention that “[t]‌he [human] species must be deified” with “his ideal of the superman” which “must be adopted so as to assure salvation for all” (R, 107). Surely, adopting world affirmation as a goal would require some effort and change, just as the spread of monotheism initially did. Camus’s point, though, is that, in the case of both, the ideal, once achieved, is similarly problematic in being resistant to change. Camus’s criticism does not leave out Nietzsche’s idea of the eternal recurrence, either. Camus links this idea to his description of Nietzsche’s view as deifying humanity. He says that for Nietzsche: . . . he who consents to his own return and to the return of all things, who becomes an echo and an exalted echo, participates in the divinity of the world. . . . By this subterfuge, the divinity of man is finally introduced. (R, 73)

12 See D. Sherman, Camus (Chichester, 2009), 153.

Nihilism and Self-Deification  99 According to Camus here, it is the affirmation of the world, specifically by affirming the eternal return of all things and events in the world, that constitutes the goal whose achievement results in the human being that Nietzsche considers ideal. This interpretation is based on Camus’s understanding of Nietzsche’s ideas of affirmation as a goal, and of the human being fulfilling that goal—​ the “overman,” according to Camus—​as ideal. In the passage just quoted, Camus adds the idea that affirmation is achieved through accepting the doctrine of eternal recurrence, as Nietzsche himself conveys, for instance when he speaks of the eternal recurrence as “this topmost formula of affirmation (Bejahung)” (EH: Z, 1). But the “divinity of man” that Camus speaks of in the quoted passage (cf. R, 73), as we have seen, is based on his understanding of Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation as deifying the world, and neither of these requires an appeal to the doctrine of eternal recurrence in order to work as a criticism of Nietzsche. It is thus ultimately irrelevant whether Camus takes Nietzsche to be advancing the eternal recurrence as a cosmological thesis. It occasionally appears that he does, e.g., when he characterizes it as the idea that “the world reproduces itself in the course of its eternal gyrations” (R, 73). And, since the cosmological interpretation of Nietzsche’s idea of the eternal return has been largely criticized in contemporary scholarship, this fact has been used to dismiss not only Camus’s specific discussion of the eternal recurrence, but also his criticism of Nietzsche’s view as “divinizing the world.”13 However, as we have so far seen, Camus’s criticism of Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation for “deifying” the world and oneself is based on the valuation of these objects, and the consequences of that valuation. And so, that criticism seems to stand, regardless of whether or not Nietzsche also takes the world to resemble God in being eternal. Indeed, it is not even clear that Camus thinks 13 See W. E. Duvall, “Camus Reading Nietzsche: Rebellion, Memory and Art,” History of European Ideas 25 (1999), 39–​52, at 51 and n. 17. As a criticism of interpreting Nietzsche’s idea of the eternal recurrence as a cosmological doctrine, Duvall cites A. Nehamas, Nietzsche: Life as Literature (Cambridge, MA, 1985). Cf. Sherman (2009), 153.

100  The Value of the World and of Oneself Nietzsche advances the eternal recurrence as a cosmological thesis. Specifically with regard to human beings affirming themselves, Camus explicitly denies them immortality on Nietzsche’s behalf, saying that, for Nietzsche, “[d]‌ivinity without immortality defines the extent of the creator’s freedom” (R, 73).14 In the aphorism that we began with from HH (I 28), Nietzsche rebukes both optimism and pessimism, arguing that they are only viable in a theological debate concerning a deity presented as perfectly good and purported to be responsible for the existence of a perfect world. According to Camus’s criticism, Nietzsche’s own view does not succeed in escaping the framework of such a debate. Indeed, that criticism suggests that Nietzsche’s valuation of the world and of oneself amounts to a deification of both, with the result that Nietzsche not only re-​enters the debate between optimism and pessimism, but also chooses sides, namely, he supports an optimistic view, taking the world and individual existence to be ultimately valuable.15

14 As has been helpfully pointed out to me by Maciej Kałuża, Camus’s critique of Nietzsche is prefigured by, and quite possibly influenced by, Karl Jaspers. In his work on Nietzsche, originally published in 1936, Jaspers argues that “. . . in spite of Nietzsche’s attempt to avoid transcendence by rejecting belief in God and substituting pure this-​worldliness, he remains strongly inclined to transcend”; K. Jaspers, Nietzsche, trans. C. F. Wallraff and F. J. Schmitz (Chicago, 1965), 434. For Jaspers, this tendency manifests itself in Nietzsche’s ideas of the eternal recurrence, which “has taken the place of belief in God” (ibid., 430), and of the Übermensch, which “is to be created to take the place of transcendence” (ibid., 432) (however, unlike Camus, Jaspers [ibid.] thinks that the idea of the Übermensch, initially appearing as intended to function as a surrogate for transcendence and as a goal, “in the end becomes increasingly indefinite and disappears into a void”). Jaspers, like Camus after him, thinks of Nietzsche’s positive view as betraying “an unbeliever’s will to believe” (ibid., 435), and a dogmatic last resort after his nihilistic project (ibid., 442). Another interesting criticism that Jaspers presents in this vein is that Nietzsche also clings to tradition, glorifying the past, and in particular pre-​S ocratic philosophy (ibid., 443). 15 Simmel (1991, 136–​9 et passim) ascribes to Nietzsche an optimistic view on which life, and the features in which life affirms itself, have “absolute value” (while a final goal of “the cosmic process” is rejected), and human evolution answers the “need for redemption.” Simmel (1991, 140–​3) also assimilates Nietzsche’s view of the value of individuals within the transcendent goal of evolution (and the “redemption” gained thereby) both to Christianity and to Schopenhauer’s view in answering a desire for immortality or union

Nihilism and Self-Deification  101 Nietzsche’s view thus turns out to be consonant with the two propositions we have associated with optimism at the outset, namely, that the world is optimally arranged and valuable (O1) and that human life is preferable to our nonexistence (O2) (indeed, as we have just seen, Nietzsche in fact goes beyond O2, as he thinks that human life is not merely valuable enough to be preferable but is indeed perfectly valuable as such). That is a particularly grave charge, as far as Nietzsche is concerned, because Nietzsche, while rejecting both optimism and pessimism, is particularly critical toward optimists, whose view he considers especially pernicious (as we saw at the beginning of this chapter; cf. EH IV.4). It is interesting, in this respect, that Camus in fact also offers, besides the theoretical critique of Nietzsche’s recommendation of the affirmation of the world and of oneself, an account of the practical dangers of that recommendation, to which we shall now turn.

3.5.  The Implications of Nietzsche’s Proposed Value: Suffering and Violence Camus finds Nietzsche’s recommendation of the affirmation or creation (Schaffen) of both the world and oneself problematic for its consequences as well. For Camus, the world affirmation Nietzsche with “the absolute.” Simmel (1991, 164–​5) wonders what the objective status of allegedly valuable individual qualities in human life and its evolution in Nietzsche’s view might be grounded in, if not in some “prior ranking”: “Only an optimistic and enthusiastic belief in life [ . . . ] can regard values constituted by other sources as forming the nerve center of life and of its actual development.”   See also Cartwright (1998, 141–​2), who argues that Nietzsche’s rejection of both pessimism and optimism in HH I 28 is “an odd remark for the later advocate of eternal recurrence and amor fati.” Cartwright (1998, 145–​7) also points out an affinity between Schopenhauer’s saints and Nietzsche’s Übermenschen, both being “telic” and “salvific” ideals, rather than merely “prescriptive.” He concludes (1998, 150 n. 60) that Nietzsche’s ideals of the Übermensch and the eternal recurrence are “ultimate optimism,” which goes against Nietzsche’s description of himself as “giving Schopenhaurian pessimism greater depth.” But, as I have already argued (cf. n. 5 in this chapter), at least the statement to that effect at HH II, preface 1, should be understood quite differently.

102  The Value of the World and of Oneself advocates amounts to the “unreserved affirmation of human imperfection and suffering, of evil and murder, of all that is problematic and strange in our existence” (R, 72). And, since affirming the world entails affirming one’s own life, Nietzsche is also faced with the consequence that “accepting this earth” means “to accept his own suffering” (R, 74). As far as suffering is concerned, Nietzsche would seem to be willing to “bite the bullet.” Though Zarathustra speaks of creation as “the great redemption from suffering,” he goes on to say that suffering is required for creating (“Upon the Blessed Isles”; cf. BGE 225). He also assents to the claim that life is merely suffering (“On the Preachers of Death”), proclaims himself “the advocate of suffering” (“The Convalescent,” 1), and, toward the end of the book, famously says that his suffering and pity do not matter, since it is not happiness that he seeks, but rather only his work (“The Sign”). In BGE 270, similarly, Nietzsche states that “[p]‌rofound suffering makes noble.”16 Nietzsche does not simply acknowledge the need to affirm suffering, including one’s own, as part of affirming the world in all its details. He positively welcomes this result, thinking that suffering is part and parcel of the project of recreating oneself and the world.17 However, it is not the acceptance of suffering per se that Camus objects to. “After all,” as he puts it, “pain, exile or confinement are sometimes accepted when dictated by good sense or by the doctor” (R, 101). Rather, Camus criticizes Nietzsche for affirming suffering without a satisfactory basis or reason for doing so. As we have seen, he sees Nietzsche as initially facing the problem of accounting for the possibility of genuine choice in the absence of objective values. The impossibility of genuine choice implies, as one specific case, the impossibility of deciding between violent action, leading to suffering, and nonviolence. Thus, there is no reason not to inflict 16 Cartwright (1998, 137, 148) argues that the role of suffering in Nietzsche’s conception of self-​overcoming is comparable to its role in Schopenhauer’s ideal of resignation. 17 For a recent discussion of Nietzsche’s views on suffering, see C. Janaway, “Attitudes to Suffering: Parfit and Nietzsche,” Inquiry 60 (2017a), 66–​95 and Janaway (2017b).

Nihilism and Self-Deification  103 suffering and, by the same token, when suffering is inflicted, there is no reason behind it. This is the problem Camus says any “rebel” faces. It is the problem of being unable to justify suffering, or to have “some principle by which [it] can [even] be explained” (R, 101). The honest and courageous way to handle this problem, and hence the way in which Camus’s “rebel” would handle it (if she does not forget her purpose), is by acknowledging it and resigning oneself to it. By contrast, whoever begins as a “rebel” but, like Nietzsche, is overwhelmed by the consequences of the tensions that rebellion implies, seeks to supplant old and obsolete values with new ones. He seeks “a moral philosophy or a religion” (R, 101). In Nietzsche’s case, Camus thinks, the new value is the ultimate value placed on the world in all its details, and the new religion is the one deifying the world and oneself. As we saw in section 3.4, however, Camus argues that Nietzsche’s proposal fails to support a value system grounding any value judgment or justifying (or denouncing) any action or decision. A fortiori, that proposal is incapable of justifying either the infliction or the undergoing of pain or suffering as such. These can only be justified insofar as suffering might be useful or even necessary for bringing about the change in one’s character that enables one to affirm the world and oneself. But, once affirmation has been reached (say, by all human beings in existence), Camus points out, Nietzsche’s view cannot consistently yield any further criterion by applying which we would have reasons to prefer either to inflict or to undergo suffering rather than its opposite, in any given case.18 18 Nehamas (1985, 135–​6) argues that, for Nietzsche, the value of suffering depends on whether one can affirm it as an essential part of one’s life, whose projected value as a whole is based on the “organization” of its parts and the “greatness” it exemplifies. Neiman (2015, 225–​6) interestingly argues that for Nietzsche life has no “meaning” (viz. “intelligibility” or “sense”) but, since she takes his notion of affirmation to be meant to justify life, including the suffering within it, “aesthetically,” I take it that on her view, too, Nietzschean affirmation is nested in (aesthetic) value. Janaway (2017b, 162–​5), who also argues that suffering for Nietzsche has no fixed normative value, maintains that it is good if and when it contributes to “growth” or “wellbeing.” The brunt of Camus’s criticism of Nietzsche’s view is that it cannot take up any such criterion for valuation consistently.

104  The Value of the World and of Oneself Now, insofar as it is purported to be able to yield such a criterion, Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation “destroys,” as Camus puts it, and it “ends in murder and loses the right to be called rebellion” (R, 101). Unlike rebellion, which gives up on justification and the stable basis for any normative judgment, Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation leads one to believe that normative justifications and values are available. And if, lacking any genuine criteria for normative valuation, one is nevertheless committed to the existence or potential existence of normative values and justifications, one should not be surprised if any behavior whatsoever ends up being perceived as justified or valuable, including the infliction of suffering or “murder.” This is what Camus has in mind when he points out that valuing the affirmation of the “totality of human experience” clears the path for those who “would gather strength from lies and murder” (R, 77). And, when he goes on to state that Nietzsche’s “involuntary responsibility goes farther” (R, 77), he means to say that Nietzsche’s proposal not only allows for the sporadic justification or valuation of violence, but also enables their systematization. As Camus sees it, by deifying that individual who succeeds in achieving the Nietzschean ideal of creation, Nietzsche introduces the expectation for such an achievement to “eventually lead to a superior type of humanity” (R, 78). A system resulting from such an expectation would be one in which “crime could no longer serve as an argument and in which the only value reside[s]‌in the divinity of man” (R, 79). Frequently recurring horrendous acts or dispositions can, due to their prevalence, make their way into the conception of humanity to be affirmed, resulting in the idealization or deification of humans capable of, indeed priding themselves in, unthinkable horrors.19 19 Nehamas (1985, 167): “I think [Nietzsche] realizes that his framework [i.e., ‘his ideal life, the life of the Übermensch’] is compatible with more types of life than he would himself be willing to praise. This is a risk inherent in his ‘immoralism,’ and it is a risk he is willing to take.” See also Neiman (2015), 221. Simmel (1991, 159–​60) argues against understanding Nietzsche’s “immoralism” as “a negation of morals.” Simmel (1991, 168–​9), however, does recognize that Nietzsche is willing to endorse

Nihilism and Self-Deification  105 The first example that comes to our mind, as to Camus’s, is National Socialism (R, 79). It is sometimes argued against Camus’s criticism of Nietzsche that Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation does not in fact amount to total affirmation. Specifically, Nietzsche’s proposal leaves room for negating nihilism, a negation which is indeed deemed necessary, if affirmation is to be established as genuinely valuable.20 Camus recognizes, of course, that the value Nietzsche proposes, with its problematic implications, appears after nihilism, and indeed as a response to the void created by the nihilistic rejection of previous values: We also remark that it is not in the Nietzschean refusal to worship idols that murder finds its justification, but in the passionate approbation that distinguishes Nietzsche’s work. To say yes to everything supposes that one says yes to murder. (R, 76)

For Camus, though Nietzsche responds to nihilism, he certainly does not reject it. There is, to begin with, the obvious point that affirming world history must include the affirmation of nihilism as a momentous part of cultural development. More to the point, Nietzsche’s idea of affirmation, as Camus understands it, depends on there being no objective values—​indeed, affirmation is, essentially, the acceptance of that nihilistic state of affairs. Nihilism, then, is not rejected after all. The trouble, as Camus sees it, is that Nietzsche fails to fully appreciate the significance of accepting the fact that no objective values exist

“selfishness,” “recklessness,” “harshness,” and even “cruelty” in the service of “permanent values” and “strength.” 20 A. Woodward, “Camus and Nihilism,” Sophia 50.4 (2011), 543–​59 at 547–​8, citing Deleuze; Sherman (2009), 153.

106  The Value of the World and of Oneself and expects normative justifications to be attainable despite that fact. As a result, he suggests affirmation as a value by which one might nevertheless shape one’s conduct. But, without recourse to objective values (precisely because nihilism is still accepted and operative), that suggestion fails to provide any criterion for moral judgment. It thus, as Camus puts it, indirectly entails saying “yes to murder” (R, 76). Finally, it is true that Camus, in criticizing Nietzsche for the practical consequences of his view, seems to draw a necessary causal connection between Nietzsche’s works and the rise of twentieth-​century atrocities. He states that the “desperate effort to create . . . the dominion of man” (his description of Nietzsche’s project, as we have seen) “will not come about without terrible consequences” (R, 25), and that absolute assent, like absolute negation, “ends in murder” (R, 101). He also says, citing Dostoevsky, that in giving human beings “the opportunity for dishonesty . . . one could always be sure of seeing them rushing to seize it” (R, 77).21 Nevertheless, this criticism primarily targets the open-​ ended nature of Nietzsche’s position. The point is that, because affirming the world provides us with no comprehensive value system, any value system can be constructed and supported consistently on the basis of such affirmation. Conceivably, then, instead of systematic murder, Nietzschean affirmation could have been consistently adapted into a system of charity and goodwill, both options being available due to the same theoretical weakness inherent in Nietzsche’s idea. Camus may think that human nature would inevitably tip the scale toward the less promising side, but his criticism of Nietzsche does not hang on that fact.

21 Sherman (2009, 153–​4) accepts Camus’s attribution to Nietzsche of “responsibility for what was made of him,” partly because Nietzsche “not only speaks of truths that his contemporaries are not ready to hear but does so in a way that can appear to support their own worst proclivities.” But see the following footnote.

Nihilism and Self-Deification  107

3.6.  Camus’s Alternative and Its Limitations As Camus sees it, Nietzsche runs into theoretical difficulties by attempting to solve the problem he recognizes, correctly, in the postulation of any normative value. Camus thinks that such a solution is doomed to fail, and that the details of Nietzsche’s specific attempt at a solution are particularly unsatisfactory. Camus’s own proposal, in keeping with this line of reasoning, is to give in completely to the recognition of the original problem. Through “rebellious thought” we come to discover that the most extreme form of freedom, viz. freedom from all values, leaves us with no freedom of perhaps the most desirable kind, viz. it leaves us with no freedom to plan our lives, or to act, based on genuine choices. Precisely what went wrong with previous potential rebels, such as Nietzsche, is that they forgot the “original purpose” of rebellion, and “tire[d] of the tremendous tension created by refusing to give a positive or negative answer” (R, 25). Camus suggests we should recognize that this tension is insurmountable, and live accordingly. He views it as our task to preserve moderation (R, 301), which he understands as the acceptance of the coexistence of contraries (meaning and meaninglessness; stability and movement; innocence and culpability; etc.) (R, 296–​7).22 That task, though admittedly difficult, ultimately bears fruit. Camus says that moderation “shines brightly at the climax of an interminable effort” (R, 301). Confronted with the problem posed by rebellious thought, it is highly challenging to fight the urge to introduce new idols or novel values by which to live. But that is precisely what 22 It is interesting to note that Sherman (2009, 153) takes “the nub of truth in Camus’s position” to be that Nietzsche “walk[s]‌a perilously thin tightrope” between absolute negation and absolute affirmation, and “occasionally falls to one of these sides or the other” (it is also partly based on this idea that Sherman accepts Camus’s attribution to Nietzsche of responsibility for atrocities done in his name; see the previous footnote). However, if that were Camus’s perception of Nietzsche’s view, then, based on our analysis in this chapter, he would not have criticized Nietzsche for it, but rather would have commended him for adhering to a form of “moderation,” or at least for attempting to do so.

108  The Value of the World and of Oneself is expected of the true rebel, who would realize the illegitimacy of all such values and idols. In The Rebel, Camus emphasizes the severity of that very problem, which Nietzsche, who formulated it so adequately and influentially himself, nevertheless futilely proceeded to attempt to solve. However, Camus’s positive proposal seems to face a serious challenge. His notions of “the absurd,” “rebellion,” and “moderation,” to repeat, represent the recognition and acceptance of irresoluble conflict and contradiction. Camus’s is a radical proposition, according to which one in principle cannot expect to determine whether or not there are values. Thus, the rebel, in Camus’s view, recognizes that total freedom from values goes hand in hand with the absence of freedom to make meaningful decisions (R, 71). The true rebel refuses to acknowledge either value or valuelessness, and declares nothing either meaningful or meaningless (R, 25, 296). They are not committed to the existence of any substantive value, and indeed allow for talk of value (“qualified value,” as we have called it) only insofar as they are also unwilling to conclusively assert the nonexistence of values.23 Recognizing this inability to “give a positive or negative answer” (R, 25), Camus says, is the best we can aspire to. Toward the end of The Rebel, he argues that, though we may not wish to expect

23 It has been argued, by contrast, that Camus’s notion of rebellion represents a “love of existence” paralleling Nietzsche’s “amor fati,” and that the rebel for him adopts “individual ‘dignity’ or ‘integrity’ ” as “a supreme good” or “universal value”; see M. Ure, “Camus and Nietzsche: On the Slave Revolt in Morality,” in M. Sharpe, M. Kaluza, and P. Francev (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Camus (Leiden/​Boston, 2020), 137–​57 at 144, 151–​4. (For Ure [2020, 155–​6], though, Camus’s rebels ultimately fail by succumbing to a comparison between themselves and others, and hence to ressentiment.) But while Camus characterizes rebellion as involving “the sublimation of the individual in a henceforth universal good,” which he unpacks in terms of the rebel being “willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of a common good” (R, 15), he also quickly adds that the values in whose name the rebel acts thus “are still indeterminate” (R, 16). More importantly, Camus later clarifies that rebellion’s “universe is the universe of relative values” and that “it only repeats that all is possible and that [ . . . ] it is worth making the supreme sacrifice for the sake of the possible” (R, 290).

Nihilism and Self-Deification  109 rebellion to “to solve everything” (R, 305), “[n]‌o possible form of wisdom today can claim to give more” than it does (R, 303). The mistake of failed rebels, like Nietzsche, we are given to infer, lies in their desire to seek more than is attainable, in particular to establish stable and consistent meaning and value (or, indeed, meaninglessness and valuelessness) where none can be found. A true rebel, by contrast, must be satisfied with less, and must resign herself to being unable, in principle, to make any definite determinations concerning value. Given this prospect, it is understandable that Nietzsche, e.g., would not remain a consistent “rebel,” as Camus thinks he once was (prior to 1880, as is exemplified in HH I 28, which we discussed earlier). It has been argued that Camus, despite disassociating himself from pessimism in certain contexts, nevertheless himself holds a pessimistic view, raising “issues” such as “the burden of temporality, the dearth of happiness, the futility of striving, boredom, and many others.”24 But rebels, as Camus understands and glorifies them, can affirm neither value or meaning nor their contraries, and hence ultimately can take no position on the debate between optimism and pessimism.25 A value theory based on the principles of rebellion in fact seems impossible, since the ideal upon which it would have been based (namely, “moderation”) is essentially devoid of any content. This is a problem that Camus himself recognizes, and he consequently ultimately refrains from letting rebellion stand as is. In the very last sentence of The Rebel, he announces that “[a]‌t the moment of supreme tension, there will leap into flight an unswerving arrow, a shaft that is inflexible and free” (R, 306). This statement seems to promise a resolution to the tension inherent 24 Dienstag (2006), 118–​22. 25 Neiman (2015, 296–​8) stresses the tensions in Camus’s thought between the “depth of metaphysical evil” and “the bleakness of the cosmos,” on the one hand, and an “oddly hopeful picture of the human,” on the other hand, and between an affirmative and a disapproving attitude toward “Creation” (in the face of hatred toward “the Creator”).

110  The Value of the World and of Oneself in moderation and, what is more, genuine freedom.26 And such a promise certainly does not sit comfortably with Camus’s insistence on the contradiction between freedom and unfreedom inherent in the human condition. Arguably, Camus’s notion of “moderation” and its limitations are meant to be exemplified in The Fall—​the last novel published during Camus’s lifetime. Throughout the work, Camus goes out of his way to imbue his protagonist, Jean-​Baptiste Clamence, with the tensions and contradictions characterizing “rebellion” and “moderation” in The Rebel. According to Clamence’s report about his past, he used to love to help blind people cross the street (F, 20),27 but also witnessed a woman jump to her death from a bridge without helping her or even reporting the incident (F, 70). He transitioned from “chastity” to “debauchery” (F, 102). He speaks of the double nature of humanity, of his profession and of himself (F, 10), and states that as humans “we lack the energy of evil as well as the energy of good,” like the “neutral angels” in Dante’s Limbo (F, 83–​4). It is no surprise, then, that interpretations of The Fall are often as mutually contradictory as Clamence’s own actions and sentiments. Some see in the novel a caricature of Nietzsche’s glorification of fate, with Clamence understood as a paragon of self-​affirmation (and thus, we might say, of optimism).28 Others read it as endorsing non-​Nietzschean values (or rather, we might say, as endorsing the pessimistic assessment of human nonexistence as preferable to its opposite), with Clamence as self-​denying.29 26 Indeed, Camus makes a similar point already in the Myth of Sisyphus. As Dienstag (2006, 132) notes: “Confronting the absurd anew, Camus believes, ‘restores and magnifies . . . my freedom of action. That privation of hope and future mean an increase in man’s availability’ (MS 56–​57).” Dienstag is quoting from A. Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays, trans. J. O’Brien (New York, 1991). 27 Translations of and page numbers for The Fall are taken from J. O’Brien (1956). 28 W. E. Duvall, “Camus’s ‘Fall’: From Nietzsche,” Historical Reflections /​Réflexions Historiques 21.3 (1995), 537–​52. 29 See Sherman (2009, 99), for whom Clamence “makes use of a subjective reason that is life-​denying rather than life-​affirming” [ . . . ] “the values that Clamence brings about are diametrically opposed to Nietzsche’s own objectives.”

Nihilism and Self-Deification  111 The most plausible interpretation of Clamence in The Fall, however, is as a consistent rebel, whose tragic end brings to the fore the flaws inherent in the worldview and ideal portrayed and recommended in The Rebel. As Aronson puts it, commenting on the novel:30 The most seemingly straightforward features of life are in fact ambiguous and even contradictory. Camus recommends that we avoid trying to resolve them. We need to face the fact that we can never successfully purge ourselves of the impulses that threaten to wreak havoc with our lives. Camus’s philosophy, if it has a single message, is that we should learn to tolerate, indeed embrace the frustration and ambivalence that humans cannot escape.

I would add to this interpretation that, as mentioned earlier, Camus by The Fall shows signs of disillusionment with the prospects of adopting that solution of reconciliation with, and embracing of, the tensions inherent in the human condition (in short, with “moderation”). Clamence, having once glorified the “freedom” that moderation was meant to afford by embracing absurdity and contradiction (just as Camus himself does in the last sentence of The Rebel), ultimately grows seriously skeptical about it: Once upon a time, I was always talking of freedom. At breakfast I used to spread it on my toast, I used to chew it all day long, and in company my breath was delightfully redolent of freedom. [ . . . ] I must be forgiven such rash acts; I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne. [ . . . ] Oh, no! It’s a chore, on the contrary, and a long-​distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting. [ . . . ] At the end of all freedom is a court sentence; that’s 30 R. Aronson, “Albert Camus” (SEP 2011, rev. 2017), https://​plato.stanf​ord.edu/​entr​ies/​ camus/​.

112  The Value of the World and of Oneself why freedom is too heavy to bear [ . . . ]. Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful. (F, 132–​3) In short, you see, the essential is to cease being free and to obey, in repentance, a greater rogue than oneself. (F, 136)

The audience of Clamence’s preaching, by his own reckoning, exhibits “the melancholy of the common condition and the despair of not being able to escape it” (F, 143). Finally, when Clamence talks of his own happiness, he refers to the words “I am happy” as “evil words,” and proceeds to describe the memory of youth as one that “drives one to despair” (F, 144). Clamence’s life is a (fictional) case study in following rebellion as a guide. After a period of fully embracing contradiction and living accordingly, Clamence is on a downward spiral, ending in his renunciation of his former expectation to benefit from “moderation” by gaining freedom. By presenting Clamence in this fashion, Camus signals that his own ideal of “moderation” cannot bring about the positive outcome originally envisaged for it. Rather, establishing moderation as one’s ideal inevitably involves the adoption of a non-​ theory and the inability to make meaningful decisions.

4 Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism So far, we have focused on Schopenhauer as a representative of pessimism, and indeed of the opposition to philosophical optimism. The other criticisms discussed (Nietzsche’s critique of Schopenhauer and Camus’s critique of Nietzsche) identify latent optimism within a purportedly non-​optimistic view, thereby showing the view in question to be internally inconsistent. But those critiques do not attack the optimism inherent in such views as such (what is more, both Nietzsche’s and Camus’s views ultimately run into theoretical problems of their own, as we have seen). In the remaining discussion, we shall examine an optimistic view advanced by Aristotle and developed by Maimonides. As we shall see, the view propounded by these authors not only succeeds in avoiding inconsistency by embracing optimism wholeheartedly, but also manages to escape the basic critiques of optimism mounted by Schopenhauer. To be sure, these thinkers work in entirely different periods and philosophical traditions, and any comparison between them should be careful to avoid anachronism as far as possible. To see why Aristotelian optimism can nevertheless pose an alternative to Schopenhauer’s pessimism, it would be useful to look at Schopenhauer once again, and to isolate those features in his views that appeared on the scene (as Schopenhauer himself recognizes) already in ancient Greece, and that Aristotle therefore could respond to in his writings, as he indeed does. In this chapter, we shall focus on a fragment from Aristotle’s Eudemus, which relates a story about Silenus who, The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0005

114  The Value of the World and of Oneself upon being captured by King Midas, states a version of philosophical pessimism reminiscent of Schopenhauer’s negative assessment of humanity and human life (as well as of P2, the second proposition we have associated with pessimism, viz., that human nonexistence would have been preferable to our existence). We shall see that Aristotle ultimately opposes such pessimism, and that his response to it can be applicable to Schopenhauer’s position without egregious anachronism.

4.1.  Aristotle on Ancient Pessimism In Consolatio ad Apollonium 115b–​e (Eudemus fragment 6, Ross), Plutarch discusses the “many and wise men” who, both now and in the distant past, have assessed human existence negatively, thinking that life is a penalty (τιμωρίαν) and that being born is the biggest misfortune (συμφορὰν τὴν μεγίστην). He reports that “Aristotle says that Silenus, too, has declared this, upon being captured by Midas,” and proceeds to quote a passage from Aristotle’s lost dialogue Eudemus, or On the Soul. Elsewhere, Plutarch tells us that the Eudemus was meant to commemorate Eudemus of Cyprus after his death (Plut. Dion 22.3 =​Eudemus fragment 1a, Ross) and, as both the alternative title and the surviving fragments of the work suggest, the discussion in it focused on issues concerning the nature of the human soul, death, and immortality. Plutarch quotes from the dialogue as follows: “For this reason, O greatest of all and most blessed, besides believing that the dead are blessed and happy, and that it is not pious to say something false concerning them and to slander [them], just as [it is not pious to say something false] concerning people who have presently become better and greater—​ and these things [are] so old and ancient in our midst that no one at all knows the starting time, nor the person who has laid [them]

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  115 down first, but they continue to be believed through unlimited eternity—​besides these things, indeed, you see that [idea] which, being repeated, is circulated for many years by people through word of mouth.” “What is this?” he said. And that person, responding, said: “that not to come into being is best of all, and that dying is better than living. And it has been attested thus to many people by the daemonic. And I suppose they say that when that Midas, after the chase at which he captured Silenus, asked and inquired what on earth is best for human beings and what is the most choice-​worthy of all, first [Silenus] wanted to say nothing but to keep inexpressibly silent. But, after using just about every device, he induced him to utter something to him, being compelled, he said: ‘ephemeral seed of a painful daemon and severe luck, why do you force me to say those things that are better for you not to know? For, the most painless life is [the one lived] with ignorance of the evils proper to oneself. But for human beings, it is impossible for the best thing of all to come into being, nor [is it possible for them] to partake of the nature of the best (for, best for all men and women is not to come into being); indeed, after this and primary among the things practicable for a human being, second, is, having come into being, to die as soon as possible.’ It is clear, therefore, that he spoke thus to the effect that what is carried out in death (τῆς ἐν τῷ τεθνάναι διαγωγῆς) is better than that in life.”

The view attributed to Silenus in this text—​that the best thing for humans is “not to come into being” (μὴ γενέσθαι), and that second best is for them “to die as soon as possible” (ἀποθανεῖν ὡς τάχιστα)—​is endorsed neither by the speaker in this part of the dialogue nor by Aristotle himself as author. Nor does Plutarch claim that Silenus’s statement reflects Aristotle’s own view, stating carefully that it is what Aristotle says Silenus has declared (115b5–​ 6). Rather, Aristotle commits himself in the text only to the propositions that (a) “the dead are blessed and happy” and that, as

116  The Value of the World and of Oneself Silenus should have stated, (b) “what is carried out in death is better than that in life.” Both of these propositions, as we shall see, are in line with Aristotle’s views in the extant corpus. In Nicomachean Ethics I.10–​ 11, Aristotle asks whether happiness can be attributed to the dead. His discussion there, together with his discussion of friendship in Nicomachean Ethics IX.9, yields the conclusion that the happiness of dead virtuous agents may persist in case a friend sharing relevantly similar characteristics with them continues to act virtuously on their behalf, supporting proposition (a). And, in the Metaphysics and De anima, Aristotle is committed to the persistence of the human intellect after death, supporting proposition (b). Furthermore, the particular formulation of these propositions in the Eudemus fragment helps to further our understanding of Aristotle’s views in the corpus of the status and value of human death and of the relation of that status to the type of immortality available to humans. Aristotle repeats his claim that death is an evil in several parts of the corpus but does not offer an explanation for it. In the Eudemus fragment, he provides such an explanation. By linking the rejection of Silenus’s commendation of human nonexistence to Aristotle’s own views on the happiness of the dead and the immortality of the human intellect, Aristotle indicates that commitment to propositions (a) and (b) is insufficient to make death count as a good thing. Because there is no personal immortality, but rather only either a temporary continuance of one’s happiness by one’s friends or the eternal persistence of an impersonal intellect, no individual human would enjoy any good posthumously, and so death cannot be positively valuable for them. Nor, I shall argue, can death be considered good from the standpoint of either the human species or the universe at large, given Aristotle’s overall theory. This reading of the Eudemus fragment strongly suggests that, in the dialogue, Aristotle not only did not straightforwardly adhere to either conventional wisdom or Plato’s view, but vehemently criticized both. Silenus’s dictum in the fragment, which Aristotle

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  117 rejects, reflects both dominant voices in earlier Greek literature and popular opinion. Silenus endorses what Werner Jaeger has called the “naive pessimism” of “popular wisdom,” according to which life is simply too burdensome to be worth the trouble (regardless of what might or might not happen posthumously),1 and it has been noted that Silenus’s words, taken at face value, echo many occurrences of pessimism in Ancient Greek literature expressing a similar sentiment.2 They have been instructively compared, for instance, to the similar statement by Sophocles to the effect that “not to be born” (μὴ φῦναι) is best and that second best is to return to where one came from “as soon as possible” (ὡς τάχιστα) (OC, 1224–​7).3 Indeed, it has been noted that Aristotle himself does not regard Silenus’s words as containing anything “very novel.”4 For, he prefaces his introduction of the story by saying that the dictum that “not coming into being is best of all and that to die is better than living” “endures in repetition by human beings through word of mouth for many years” (Plut. Cons. ad Apoll. 115c7–​d2). Aristotle, to repeat, alters that opinion directly and substantively, so that he is at most willing to regard only an appropriately revised version of it (namely, the two propositions he endorses in the fragment, as we have outlined them) as true. Apart from suggesting that Silenus’s dictum reflects popular wisdom, Jaeger also reads Platonism into the specific wording Aristotle chooses for Silenus, who opposes “becoming” (γενέσθαι) in favor of, as Jaeger maintains, the soul’s eternal contemplation of Forms in an afterlife.5 Jaeger’s influential conclusion is that in the 1 See W. Jaeger, Aristotle: Fundamentals of the History of His Philosophy, trans. R. Robinson (Oxford, 1948), 48. 2 See M. Davies, “Aristotle Fr. 44 Rose: Midas and Silenus,” Mnemosyne 57 (2004), 682–​97 at 682 n. 2; M. Hubbard, “The Capture of Silenus,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 21 (1975), 53–​62, at 59. 3 See W. Nestle, “Der Pessimismus und seine Überwindung bei den Griechen,” Neue Jahrbücher für das klassische Altertum 47 (1921), 81–​97, at 86, who also notes that this dictum goes back to Thgn. Elegiae, I. 425–​8. 4 Hubbard (1975), 59. 5 Jaeger (1948), 48; Hubbard (1975), 49. Hubbard leaves it open “whether at the date of the Eudemus Aristotle was still intellectually committed to this essentially Platonic

118  The Value of the World and of Oneself Eudemus Aristotle “is completely on Platonic ground.”6 Indeed, Plato in the Phaedo commends death in a way reminiscent of earlier Greek literature, and both are echoed by Silenus’s words in Aristotle’s Eudemus. Again, on the reading I will be offering, Aristotle rejects Silenus’s position, in particular the proposition that never coming into being is best and that dying as soon as possible is second best, along with the occurrences of that pessimistic position in both popular opinion and Plato’s philosophy, especially in the Phaedo.7 We shall first see, based on a close reading of the fragment of the Eudemus, that Aristotle in this text rejects Silenus’s statement, and retains the propositions mentioned earlier, namely, that happiness is applicable to the dead and that the activity in death is better than the one in life. I will argue that these two propositions are supported, respectively, by Aristotle’s discussions of the happiness of the dead in the Ethics and of the immortality of the intellect in the Metaphysics and De anima (as well as other fragments of the Eudemus). We will then turn to the issue of the evaluation of death and see that the Eudemus fragment sheds position or whether he was merely using it for consolatory purposes.” One problem with Jaeger’s interpretation of Silenus’s words as deviating from popular opinion toward Platonic metaphysics is the fact that Aristotle already uses the supposedly Platonic terminology of “becoming” in laying out the apparently universal opinion that it is best of all “not to come into being” (μὴ γενέσθαι), at Plut. Cons. ad Apoll. 115c7–​d2. Thus, it is hard to imagine why, as Hubbard (1975, 49) suggests, “[i]‌t seems reasonable to suppose that Midas did not torment Silenus so savagely just to find out what everybody knew already, but that the form of the revelation in Silenus’s mouth had some extra relevance to the purposes of the Eudemus.” 6 Jaeger (1948), 48. 7 Bos suggests that our Eudemus fragment deviates from Plato’s Phaedo, though, interestingly, not by rejecting the view of earthly existence as punishment, but rather by intensifying it, extending it beyond humans (such as Midas) to all beings sharing a body (such as Silenus), and indeed to the “entire cosmos,” with the one exception being “pure, free nous”; see A. P. Bos, Cosmic and Meta-​Cosmic Theology in Aristotle’s Lost Dialogues (Leiden, 1989), 104–​5. But whereas Silenus is indeed “introduced as the prisoner of greedy king Midas,” that imprisonment does not extend to Silenus’s view in the fragment that it is better, specifically for human beings (ἀνθρώποις: 115e2; ἀνθρώπῳ [Babbitt 1962] or ἀνθρώποις [Ross]: 115e6), not to be born or to die as soon as possible, and in this sense, as Bos says himself, “Silenus is presented as the one who is much more free” (1989, 104).

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  119 considerable light on Aristotle’s view on that matter. Finally, we shall see that Aristotle’s rejection of ancient pessimism applies also to Schopenhauer’s version of the theory. As Schopenhauer himself rightly notes, his own pessimism is grounded in, and is largely akin to, views traceable back to ancient thought and literature. It is true that Schopenhauer does not subscribe to Plato’s view of human immortality, and it is quite possible that he elects not to cite Silenus’s dictum in Aristotle’s Eudemus as support for his own view because he wishes to dissociate himself from the Platonic view of immortality that this fragment seems to echo. Nevertheless, the pessimism with regard to human existence expressed by Silenus’s dictum is fully congruent with Schopenhauer’s view, and Aristotle’s response to it is therefore directly applicable to Schopenhauer. Indeed, Aristotle’s reaction to pessimism and his proposed alternative view could not be easily dismissed by Schopenhauer. Although Schopenhauer criticizes Aristotle’s endorsement of human immortality, Aristotle’s rejection of pessimism is quite independent of that commitment, and his optimistic theory is in fact in line with Schopenhauer’s rejection of personal immortality as one finds it in Plato. This paves the way toward viewing Aristotle’s theory as potentially overcoming Schopenhauer’s challenge to optimism (discussed in Chapter 1).

4.2.  The Propositions Committed to in Eudemus Fragment 6, Ross Right at the outset, the fragment introduces a certain belief as worthy of being endorsed, with the anticipation of a second such belief to follow: διόπερ, ὦ κράτιστε πάντων καὶ μακαριστότατε, πρὸς τῷ μακαρίους καὶ εὐδαίμονας εἶναι τοὺς τετελευτηκότας νομίζειν καὶ τὸ ψεύσασθαί τι κατ᾽αὐτῶν καὶ τὸ βλασφημεῖν οὐχ

120  The Value of the World and of Oneself ὅσιον ὡς κατὰ βελτιόνων [ἡγούμεθα] καὶ κρειττόνων ἤδη γεγονότων. . . . (115b9–​c3)8 For this reason, O greatest of all and most blessed, besides believing that the dead are blessed and happy, and that it is not pious to say something false concerning them and to slander [them], just as [it is not pious to say something false] concerning people who have presently become better and greater. . . .

The description of what is stated in this passage as old and ancient “in our midst” (παρ’ ἡμῖν) at 115c4 suggests that it is “we”—​the speaker, the addressee, and presumably people generally speaking, indeed throughout the ages—​who take it to be true. The content of the statement is that the dead are happy, and that it is impious to lie about them. Contrary to the tendency in the translations of this text,9 this part of the text need not say that upon death people become “better and greater.” At this point, all we can attribute to Aristotle (or, more accurately, to the speaker in the dialogue) is the idea that lying about the dead and lying about our superiors are both unholy. And that is just as well, because, as we shall see, the idea that something in death is superior to life—​specifically, that the activity carried out in death is better than the ones carried out in a human life—​is indeed stated later in the text as the additional belief anticipated here (i.e., by πρὸς at 115b10). The additional belief anticipated previously is discussed beginning at 115c7 (πρὸς δὲ δὴ τούτοις). The discussion is convoluted. Aristotle first brings up the ancient dictum that not to come into existence is “best of all” and that “to die is better than living” (115c8–​d1). He then recounts the celebrated story of Midas and 8 The text follows F. C. Babbitt, Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. 2 (Cambridge, MA, 1962), unless otherwise noted. I omit ἡγούμεθα, following D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle, Volume XII: Selected Fragments (Oxford, 1952), 18 n. 4, citing Bernays. 9 ὡς . . . γεγονότων at 115c2–​3 is translated as follows: Babbitt (1962): “from our feeling that it is directed against those who have already become our betters and superiors”; Ross (1952): “since they have already become better and greater.”

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  121 Silenus, which expresses a similar sentiment. According to that story (115d2–​e7), King Midas, upon capturing Silenus, exhorts him to reveal “what on earth is the best thing for human beings and what is the most choice-​worthy of all?” Upon being forced to answer, Silenus replies, reluctantly, that the life of ignorance of one’s proper evils is the most painless. He adds that it is impossible either for the best thing to come about for human beings or for them to share in the best nature, since the best thing for everyone is not to come into existence, and that, after this, the second-​best thing, and the first of the things practically achievable by humans, is, upon having come into existence, to die as soon as possible (ἀποθανεῖν ὡς τάχιστα). Now, it may seem that this statement by Silenus formulates the belief anticipated at 115b10 and endorsed by the speaker in the Eudemus (or by “us,” as that speaker puts it). On that interpretation, what “we” believe, in addition to the happiness of the dead and the unholiness of slandering them, is that it is best for humans not to come into existence, and second best to die soon. However, we should note that Aristotle goes on, in Plutarch’s quoted passage, to write the following, at 115e7–​9: δῆλον οὖν [ὅτι] ὡς οὔσης κρείττονος τῆς ἐν τῷ τεθνάναι διαγωγῆς ἢ τῆς ἐν τῷ ζῆν, οὕτως ἀπεφήνατο.10 It is clear that he has declared thus to the effect that what is carried out (τῆς . . . διαγωγῆς) in death is greater than that in life.

We may think that this line is no longer Aristotle’s, but rather reflects Plutarch’s assessment of Aristotle’s text. But that is unlikely.11 The line echoes the language used by Plutarch in his initial paraphrase of Aristotle’s text. At 115b1–​4, Plutarch cites Crantor as having suggested that many wise men, both now and in the past, 10 ὅτι after δῆλον οὖν is inserted by Ross (1952), following Reiske. 11 Ross (1952) and Babbitt (1962) include this line, plausibly, as part of Plutarch’s direct quotation from Aristotle.

122  The Value of the World and of Oneself have lamented “human affairs” (τἀνθρώπινα), thinking that life is a penalty and that, to begin with, a human coming into existence is the greatest misfortune. Then, Plutarch adds, before proceeding to quote the lines of the Eudemus, with which we began: τοῦτο δέ φησιν Ἀριστοτέλης καὶ τὸν Σειληνὸν συλληφθέντα τῷ Μίδᾳ ἀποφήνασθαι. βέλτιον δ’ αὐτὰς τὰς τοῦ φιλοσόφου λέξεις παραθέσθαι. φησὶ δὴ ἐν τῷ Εὐδήμῳ ἐπιγραφομένῳ ἢ Περὶ ψυχῆς ταυτί. (115b5–​8) And Aristotle says that Silenus, while seized, also declared (ἀποφήνασθαι) this to Midas. But it is better to provide the words of the philosopher themselves. Indeed, he says, in the work titled the Eudemus or On the Soul, as follows.

Silenus’s declaration, which Aristotle communicates in the Eudemus, is described here using the same verb (ἀποφήνασθαι) used in 115e7–​9 (there, ἀπεφήνατο), which suggests that there, too, the subject of the verb is Silenus, rather than Aristotle. Most likely, 115e7–​9 is Aristotle’s assessment of Silenus’s words, appearing in the Eudemus after the description of the myth. It is still possible, in principle, that Plutarch at 115e7–​9 is himself assessing Silenus’s declaration—​possible, but implausible. As we have just seen, the theses Plutarch has initially set out to support by quoting from Aristotle’s Eudemus were that (i) coming into existence is the greatest misfortune for human beings and that (ii) life is a penalty. And these points are straightforwardly supported by Silenus’s statements in Aristotle’s quoted text, that (i) the best thing for humans is not to be brought into existence and (ii) the best practicable thing for humans is to die soon (115e4–​7). The suggestion at 115e7–​9 that the take-​home lesson from Silenus’s declaration is that “what is carried out in death is greater than that in life” in fact seems to distance what is to be retained from Silenus’s words from these two theses. This remark suggests that, for all of Silenus’s prattling about human birth as a tragedy and death

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  123 as salvation, there is one thing that we may learn from him, and that is the superiority of “what is carried out” (διαγωγή) in death. This is reason enough, I submit, for us to think of 115e7–​9 as the final part of the passage Plutarch quotes directly from Aristotle’s Eudemus (a further question, and one to which we shall turn later, is why Plutarch chooses to quote this entire passage of the Eudemus). One might raise questions concerning Aristotle’s estimation of the status of Silenus’s statement. If the statement is taken to be authoritative, then on what basis does Aristotle take himself to be justified in revising it? On the other hand, if he does not take the statement to be authoritative, what motivates him to discover some truth underlying it in the first place? Since Aristotle (or, the speaker in this part of the Eudemus) introduces Silenus’s words after stating that the idea they convey “has been attested to many people by the divine (παρὰ τοῦ δαιμονίου)” (115d1–​2), it may seem that he appeals to Silenus as such a “divine” source, i.e., as a divine authority to be trusted rather than criticized.12 It is not clear whether Aristotle’s original readers would by default assume that Silenus is to be trusted in this way, since, apart from being depicted as a wise prophet, he is also depicted as a drunkard.13 But, even assuming Silenus as he appears in the fragment should be understood to be a wise or prophetic figure, the examination of Silenus’s words is not based on a direct utterance by Silenus, but rather (as Aristotle noncommittally puts it, and perhaps deliberately so) on what “people perhaps say” (λέγουσι δήπου) about him (115d3).14 12 I am thankful to an anonymous referee for this suggestion. 13 On the contrast between these two depictions of Silenus, see W. Smith, A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology, vol. 3 (London, 1867), 822–​3. 14 Aristotle may be motivated to retain truth from Silenus’s statements, properly modified, by his general methodology. Famously, in Top. I.1–​2 he discusses endoxa—​opinions held “by all, or by the majority, or by the wise” (100b21–​2)—​and their use “for training, for conversation, [and] for philosophical knowledge” (101a27–​8). Silenus’s words may well count as an endoxon held either by the many (because it has been propagated among people for many years; cf. Plut., Cons. ad Apoll. 115c8–​9), or by the wise (because it “has been attested . . . by the divine”; cf. 115d1–​2). There is, though, scholarly debate, which I cannot enter into here, on the extent to which Aristotle relies on this methodology in his various works. See, e.g., G. E. L. Owen, Logic, Science and Dialectic (Ithaca, NY, 1986),

124  The Value of the World and of Oneself Second, even if the speaker in the dialogue took himself to be engaging with Silenus’s actual words (or with the words attributed to him by an authoritative theological source, say), the speaker could be assuming that these words, like the cryptic words of the Pythia at Delphi, should not be taken at face value, but rather must be placed under rigorous scrutiny so as to decipher their true, underlying meaning. Indeed, that seems to be indicated by the remark concluding the fragment—​that “it is clear, therefore, that he [sc. Silenus] spoke thus to the effect that what is carried out in death is better than that in life” (115e7–​9). The task of the speaker in this part of the dialogue, in that case, would be to criticize and rule out the surface meaning of Silenus’s words, exposing them for the falsehoods that they are.15 Now, it is this conclusion at 115e7–​9—​that, as Silenus’s words ought to be interpreted, “what is carried out in death is greater than that in life”—​that finally fulfills the promise made at 115b11 (πρὸς . . .), and which Aristotle begins to work toward at 115c7 (πρὸς δὲ δὴ τούτοις), of providing an additional belief to be endorsed “by us.” This conclusion vehemently need not, and as we shall see for Aristotle does not, entail either Silenus’s claim that life is a punishment or his contention that dying as soon as possible is best. Nor, as we shall also see, are these ideas entailed by the happiness that Aristotle ascribes to the dead, both earlier in the fragment and elsewhere in the extant corpus. Finally, it may seem that the context in which the fragment is quoted by Plutarch’s Letter to Apollonius suggests that Silenus’s dictum represents Aristotle’s own view. Plutarch’s text is intended to offer “consolatory words” (τῶν παραμυθητικῶν . . . λόγων) (102b) to a friend after the death of his son. The quotation is preceded by quotations from Hesiod and an unknown lyric poet affirming the 239–​51; D. Frede, “The Endoxon Mystique: What Endoxa Are and What They Are Not,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 43 (2012), 185–​215. 15 For a discussion of similar interpretations by Aristotle of certain myths as having underlying truths, see Segev (2017b), 126–​8.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  125 abundance of evils (κακά) in human life (115a), as well as by a reference to Crantor’s report that “human things” have been bewailed by many wise men in whose view human life is a punishment and birth the greatest misfortune (115b). It is followed by the conclusion that we must not assume that a young person misses out on goods by dying (115f). And this might lead one to suspect that Plutarch is quoting Aristotle as an authority on the idea that he (Aristotle) both attributes to Silenus in the Eudemus and himself accepts in full.16 However, Plutarch arguably quotes philosophers out of context throughout the Moralia for his own argumentative purposes.17 And there is also a further, more charitable reason for thinking that the Letter to Apollonius, in particular, might misrepresent Aristotle’s view. For it has been argued that the text, as we have it, is “the original rough draft of the letter which was to be sent to Apollonius,” and that “[i]‌n selecting some of the quotations Plutarch had put down enough of the context, so that later the lines he might finally choose to insert could be smoothly interwoven with the text, and the text itself was no doubt to be subjected to further polish.”18 Finally, Plutarch’s point in quoting the passage may be to allude to the common, traditional opinion that Aristotle raises there, without either acknowledging, addressing, or evaluating Aristotle’s own attitude toward it. For all these reasons, the context of the quoted passage may well misrepresent its original intent, and it ought not to disqualify an interpretation according to which Aristotle presents Silenus’s words in order to criticize them. The conclusion to draw is that Aristotle in Eudemus fragment 6, Ross presents Silenus’s dictum in order to criticize it, and 16 I am thankful to an anonymous referee for this suggestion. 17 R. W. Sharples, “Nemesius of Emesa and Some Theories of Divine Providence,” Vigiliae christianae 37 (1983), 141–​56 at 149–​50 and fn. 53–​4, citing Babut, says that, in De Stoicorum repugnantiis 37 1051c, “Plutarch may be quoting Chrysippus out of context” on the issue of divine providence. Brenk argues that in De Is. et Os. 374c–​e and elsewhere “Plutarch distorts or radically twists Plato’s meaning” (here, specifically referring to Plato’s Symposium); see F. E. Brenk, With Unperfumed Voices (Stuttgart, 2007), 340. 18 Babbitt (1962), 106.

126  The Value of the World and of Oneself that he ultimately retains two related but substantially modified propositions, namely, that the dead can be happy and that the activity in death is better than the one in life. In the next section, we shall take up each of these propositions in turn and show that each is supported by relevant discussions in Aristotle’s extant corpus.

4.3.  The Happiness of the Dead and the Immortality of the Intellect Aristotle is committed both to the idea that the dead can be happy and to the claim that the activity carried out in death is superior to the one carried out in a human life. Whereas these theoretical commitments may seem to lean toward pessimism with regard to human existence, or at least toward endorsing Silenus’s suggestion that death is preferable over a human life, Aristotle reaches an altogether different conclusion. In order to see how he arrives at that solution, and what his resulting optimistic view consists of, we must examine what his commitment to the two points just mentioned amounts to.19 Let us turn to the first proposition endorsed in the fragment, viz., that the dead are “blessed and happy.” Famously, Aristotle raises and discusses this very issue in Nicomachean Ethics I.10–​11. There, Aristotle considers the supposition that a human being can only be considered happy after having died. At first, he asks whether this view should be rejected as “totally absurd,” in light of the fact that, as has already been established back in the “function” argument of I.7, happiness is an activity, and hence should only be found among the living (1100a10–​14). He then considers an argument in favor of that apparently absurd position. Certain good and bad things, like honor and dishonor or the fortune or misfortune of relatives, 19 I deal with these issues more fully in my paper on “Death, Immortality, and the Value of Human Existence in Aristotle’s Eudemus Fr. 6, Ross,” Classical Philology (forthcoming b).

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  127 are attributed to the living even when they are unaware of them, and therefore attributing such things to the dead cannot plausibly be rejected based on their lack of awareness (1100a18–​21). Indeed, it would be absurd, Aristotle says, to think that the dead would not be affected by posthumous occurrences (though it would also be absurd to think of them as wavering between happiness and unhappiness based on posthumous events) (1100a21–​30). Ultimately, Aristotle resolves to refute the view that, because it cannot be determined in advance how much fortune or misfortune would befall individuals during their lifetime, happiness can only be attributed to the dead. The reason for entertaining that possibility, Aristotle argues, is the mistaken assumption that “luck events” (αἱ τύχαι) determine happiness, whereas in fact happiness consists of virtuous activity emanating from an unshakable character (1100a31–​1101a6; cf. NE II.4, 1105a32–​3). And though great misfortunes may indeed detract from one’s happiness, a human being who persists in virtuous behavior would generally count as happy (1101a6–​21), and misfortunes occurring after one’s death are even less capable of affecting happiness, since if anything good or bad reaches the dead, it would only be “something feeble and minute” (ἀφαυρόν τι καὶ μικρὸν) (I.11, 1101b1–​9). This conclusion excludes the possibility of happy living people being rendered happy or miserable as a result of moderate misfortune, but it still leaves room for the dead to be either miserable or happy. Indeed, though there is disagreement in the literature as to which positive theses we might derive from Nicomachean Ethics I.10–​11 concerning the dead and the ways in which they may partake of happiness, largely revolving around the issue of whether the dead might exhibit some form of consciousness,20 there is a reason 20 For K. Pritzl (“Aristotle and Happiness after Death: Nicomachean Ethics 1. 10–​11,” Classical Philology 78.2 [1983], 101–​11), when Aristotle brings up in these chapters the idea of posthumous circumstances as affecting the happiness or unhappiness of dead people, he is echoing a traditional view according to which the dead, though inactive, are to some degree conscious of goings on among the living. Without actively endorsing these beliefs himself, Pritzl argues, Aristotle shows that they harmonize with his own

128  The Value of the World and of Oneself external to those chapters for thinking that Aristotle considers the dead capable of happiness. The reason is rooted in Aristotle’s theory of friendship. Since Aristotle thinks that two individuals sharing a close friendship based on virtue function as each other’s “second self,” a person who goes on living and performing characteristically virtuous activities after her friend has died can in principle prolong the happiness of her deceased friend. Thus, Dominic Scott draws on Nicomachean Ethics IX in arguing that NE I.10–​11 may accommodate the idea that the dead can to some extent have a continued existence, and that posthumous actions or fortunes may affect their existence, even if we straightforwardly deny them any awareness of such events.21 The dead, that is, may either (1) have posthumous success (or failure) based on the results achieved by their surviving products, or (2) survive, more literally, in the form of their friend, whom Aristotle famously regards as “another self,” or their product (e.g., a student), which Aristotle regards as the same as the producer “in actuality” (IX.7, 1168a7). However, Scott also makes it clear that, in his interpretation of Aristotle, neither mode of posthumous existence is sufficient to grant the dead happiness, since they cannot be the subjects of action (praxis).22 On that view, Aristotle would be willing to speak of the continuation of a dead person’s existence by their living friend only in an attenuated sense. In this regard, Scott argues against view of the happiness of the living, which is determined by activity but influenced by external factors and interpersonal relationships. For P. W. Gooch (“Aristotle and the Happy Dead,” Classical Philology 78.2 [1983], 112–​16), Aristotle does not endorse beliefs of the dead as conscious even passively, and implicitly thinks of them as irrelevant, since, even if the dead had awareness, it would be too dim or remote to either contribute to or detract from their happiness (cf. I.11, 1101b1–​9). See also G. B. Matthews, “Death in Socrates, Plato and Aristotle,” in B. Bradley (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Death (Oxford, 2012), 186–​9 at 198–​9, who argues that when Aristotle speaks of the impact of posthumous occurrences on the happiness of the dead he does not mean that “this may happen by backward causation,” but rather only that being virtuous or lacking virtue “has natural consequences, including natural consequences for one’s children and one’s reputation.” 21 D. Scott, “Aristotle on Posthumous Fortune,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 18 (2000), 211–​29. 22 Scott (2000), 227–​8.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  129 Crisp, who argues that Aristotle should attribute posthumous activities, and therefore eudaimonia, to the dead, since he thinks that “the activities of friends of mine can be counted as my activities ([NE] 9. 9, 1170a2–​4).”23 In the text that Crisp appeals to (NE IX.9, 1170a2–​4), Aristotle says that the blessed person will need friends in order to contemplate actions that are “fitting” (ἐπιεικεῖς) and proper (οἰκείας) to oneself, which Scott suspects is not “enough to show that one person’s praxis can be another’s.”24 Nevertheless, a close analysis of the text reveals that it does in fact support the attribution to Aristotle of the idea that a dead person’s happiness can be quite literally prolonged via their characteristic activities continuing to be performed by their living friend. Aristotle’s statement should be assessed in the context in which it appears. Aristotle says the following (NE IX.9, 1169b33–​1170a4): That which is one’s own (τὸ οἰκεῖον) is among the pleasant things, and we are capable of contemplating our neighbors more than ourselves, and their actions [more] than our own (τὰς οἰκείας), and the actions of the excellent, being friends, are pleasant for the good (for they have both of the things pleasant by nature). Indeed, the blessedly happy person will need friends of this sort, if he indeed chooses to contemplate actions [that are] fitting and [are his] own (οἰκείας), and those of the friend who is good are of such a kind.

It is true that oikeion could mean that which is appropriate for or characteristic of a person, rather than what in fact belongs to that person. But, in the text just quoted, Aristotle distinguishes between the actions of one’s neighbors and those actions that are oikeiai, saying that the former are easier for us to contemplate than the latter. His point, then, could be either (a) that one more easily 23 Scott (2000), 228–​9, n. 26; R. Crisp, “Aristotle’s Inclusivism,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 12 (1994), 111–​36, at 134–​6. 24 Scott (2000), 229, n. 26.

130  The Value of the World and of Oneself contemplates the actions of one’s friends than actions characteristic of oneself, or (b) that one more easily contemplates the actions of one’s friends than one’s very own actions. Consider option (a). The actions of one’s neighbors may well be characteristic of oneself (if one happens to be similar in character to one’s neighbors). And, indeed, Aristotle’s point in what follows in the passage is that it is easier to contemplate specifically those actions of one’s neighbors that are characteristic of oneself (focusing on the case of friends having an excellent character). But, if Aristotle focuses on those actions of one’s friends that are characteristic of oneself, then there would not be the relevant contrast between them and the actions than which they are said to be easier to contemplate, on option (a). Option (b), then, according to which the actions described in this passage as oikeiai are those that actually are one’s own, seems to be the correct one. If so, then the view Aristotle goes on to enunciate in the subsequent part of the text is that a good person A is pleased by the actions of a good person B who is A’s friend, because B’s actions are both good and are A’s own, in the sense of actually belonging to A (as well as to B).25 This discussion is prefigured by VIII.3, 1156b14–​17, where, discussing perfect friendship holding between good people, Aristotle says that the good are pleasant to each other without qualification because “for each [person], his or her own actions or those of such a kind (αἱ οἰκεῖαι πράξεις καὶ αἱ τοιαῦται) are according to pleasure, and [the actions] of the good are either the same or similar (αἱ αὐταὶ ἢ ὅμοιαι).” The pleasant actions described as oikeiai here again should refer to actions belonging to oneself, as they seem to be distinguished from actions that are of “such a kind” (τοιαῦται) as to be one’s own.26 25 See the reconstruction of the argument in T. Irwin (trans. and comm.), Aristotle: Nicomachean Ethics (Indianapolis, 1999), 149 and 297–​8. 26 A similar usage occurs at Div. 463a22–​3, where Aristotle says that certain dreams function as causes “of each [person’s] own actions” (τῶν οἰκείων ἑκάστῳ πράξεων), presumably referring to future actions to be actually performed by the dreamer.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  131 Aristotle’s statement at Nicomachean Ethics IX.9, 1170a2–​4, then, does commit him to the view that the actions of a person (i.e., the excellent person) can be the same as another’s (a person sharing a friendship with that person based on their common virtuous character as well as, as we shall see later, their intimate acquaintance). The rest of the chapter provides additional support for attributing this view to him. He goes on to argue, based on the thesis that the friend functions as “another self ” (established previously; cf. IX.4, 1166a29–​32), that the being of the friend of the excellent person (ὁ σπουδαῖος) is just (or almost) as choice-​worthy for that person as “his own being” (τὸ αὐτὸν εἶναι) (1170b5–​8). I submit that the reason why the friend’s being is as choice-​worthy as one’s own, for Aristotle, is that the being of each is to an important extent identical to that of the other. A person of the same character as me who dedicates her life to engaging in exactly the same (say, contemplative) activity as me would, when I die, quite literally continue my activity once I am gone. Indeed, it seems that Aristotle utilizes this idea of the friend as another self when he argues, in Nicomachean Ethics IX.8, 1169a18–​29, that sacrificing one’s life for one’s friends is “a great fine thing.”27 If we take this idea seriously, then Aristotle’s theory in the Nicomachean Ethics begins to align with the text with which we began (Eudemus fragment 6, Ross). It aligns, that is, with the first proposition put forth in that fragment, according to which “the dead are blessed and happy” and therefore should not be slandered. In the Nicomachean Ethics, too, we now see, Aristotle thinks of the dead as capable of happiness, albeit by proxy (i.e., by their living friend performing virtuous activity on their behalf) and, as we shall see, only temporarily (i.e., as long as their friends are still alive and perform such activities on their behalf).

27 Arguably, it is an equivalent relationship potentially obtaining between individual citizens and their city that Aristotle implicitly uses in NE IX.8 to justify self-​sacrifice, not just for the sake of one’s friends, but also for one’s city.

132  The Value of the World and of Oneself Nevertheless, the question remains as to why, as the second proposition put forth in the Eudemus fragment maintains, “what is carried out in death is greater than that in life” (Plut. Cons. ad Apoll. 115e7–​9). It might appear, prima facie, to mean that the dead are not only well off but are in fact better off than the living. Perhaps, one might think, since the dead are, by assumption, less affected by external events and circumstances (I.11, 1101b1–​9), they would be less susceptible to suffering the results of an unforeseen tragedy or excessive misfortune, which generally make it impossible for a (living) person to count as happy (I. 5, 1095b31–​1096a2). Indeed, this was the intuition which, as Aristotle says in the opening remark to I.10, has led Solon to speak of the dead alone as being happy (1100a14–​18). The dwelling on misfortune is not accidental. It is of course true that the conclusion reached at 1101b1–​9 implies that the dead are also less affected than the living by the occurrences of positive events or good fortune. But that fact is less relevant to assessing their overall happiness by comparison to the living, since, in any event, great fortune would not render a living person significantly happier. Happiness, for Aristotle, generally only requires a modicum of “thriving conditions” (εὐημερία), a point on which Solon is again, unsurprisingly, cited (X.8, 1178b33–​1179a17). However, there is a problem with this suggestion. For, if we attribute happiness to the dead by making them the agents of virtuous activity vicariously, by having their friends, or “other-​selves,” perform such activities, then the happiness of the dead would only be as secure as the activity of their living friends is. Great misfortune may not affect the dead directly, but, by directly affecting their friends, we should expect its results to be as grave as halting the activity in which their happiness consists. If so, then the happiness of the dead would hardly be more secure than that of the living, and one might then rightly ask in what way, if any, their happiness could be superior, as the Eudemus fragment, on the proposal we have introduced, suggests that it is. Alternatively, it may be that by saying that the activity carried out in death is better than the one

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  133 carried out in life Aristotle does not in fact have in mind the activity of a living friend acting as their dead friend’s second self. Though he thinks such an activity is available, and does guarantee happiness for the dead, he might also think that a further type of posthumous activity is superior both to it and to any activity carried out by living people. It is worth noting here that, for Aristotle, the happiness afforded to the dead through the activities of their living friends does not seem to extend beyond the natural life of their living friend, let alone to all eternity. One might think that, if the happiness of a dead person A can be continued by their living friend B, then it should also be continued, after the death of B, through the activity of person B’s friend C—​whom A has never met. But this does not seem to be Aristotle’s view, since he suggests that close character friendship requires “intimate acquaintance (τῆς συνηθείας)” whereby friends come to love each other’s characters (τὰ ἤθη) and become “similar in character (ὁμοήθεις)” (NE VIII.4, 1157a10–​ 12).28 A and B must associate in order to gain enough in common (presumably including, apart from their characteristic activity, also other personal traits and properties) for them to count as each other’s other self, and the same would hold true for B and C. B having established such a relationship with both A and C, though, does not entail that A and C would have enough in common with each other for such a relationship to hold between them.29 But the activity “carried out in death” mentioned in the second proposition of Aristotle’s fragment, which is described as superior to any activity carried out in life, may well be eternal. The end of Nicomachean Ethics I.10 (1101a19–​21) might allude to that possibility. There, after surveying potential difficulties with attributing happiness to the living, Aristotle concludes that we may safely do

28 Cf. Irwin (1999), 233. 29 I am thankful to Christopher Hauser for a useful discussion on issues concerning transitivity arising from Aristotle’s view of the happiness of the dead.

134  The Value of the World and of Oneself so; in particular: “we say that those of the living who procure the things mentioned above [sc. virtuous activity and sufficient external goods present in a complete life; cf. 1101a14–​16] are blessed, but blessed as human beings” (δ’ ὡς ἀνθρώπους).30 This reference to the blessedness of human beings as human beings seems to be unexpected at this point in the text. Throughout the chapter, Aristotle has been concerned solely with human happiness, and the extent to which the happy human life is determined by a certain type of activity though it is also somewhat affected by external circumstances. And the view emerging from this chapter and the next one, as we have seen, is that whenever a dead person’s happiness continues posthumously thanks to a living friend, that is so because the living friend herself leads a happy human life. What, then, is the purpose of reminding the reader that the blessed living are blessed as humans? One possibility is that these human forms of blessedness are to be contrasted with ones that are, as it were, super-​human. The happiness of the living (and of the living acting on behalf of the dead) makes for a blessedness of only a human level because it is confined to the time frame of a human life and is conditioned on the availability of adequate resources and on the avoidance of unforeseen tragic misfortune before the end of life (1101a14–​19). We might also add the necessarily temporary and imperfect way in which living people engage in virtuous activity of the highest kind, if they find themselves capable of engaging in it at all (Metaph. Λ.7, 1072b14–​16). We might thus expect the activity affording nonhuman blessedness that is mentioned in Nicomachean Ethics I.10, if it can indeed be shown to be superior to that of the living, to consist in virtuous activity unhindered by 30 Inserting ὡς at 1101a21 with the Paris 1497 translation and following Aspasius (see OCT). Aspasius in his commentary reads this text either as including or as meaning “ὡς ἀνθρώπους,” explaining that Aristotle adds this qualification because he believes that the happiness of god differs from that of humans (pp. 30, 33–​5, Heylbut). Note that the same point I am making here could be made with ὡς being omitted. In that case, Aristotle would be claiming that happy living people are, specifically, “happy human beings,” as opposed to happy nonhumans.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  135 such human circumstances and constraints. This could refer to the blessedness of nonhuman entities, such as gods, whom Aristotle of course describes, along with their life and activity, as blessed (see NE X.8, 1178b8–​28). But, since Nicomachean Ethics I.10 deals in its entirety with happiness as it pertains to human beings in life and after death, the reference is more likely to some activity more closely pertaining to human beings, which is nevertheless nonhuman and especially blessed. As we shall see presently, Aristotle does think that such an activity exists. It is, specifically, the activity of the disembodied human intellect, which continues eternally after the death of the individual human being. Let us focus, then, on that type of immortality that Aristotle might be willing to attribute to human beings, not insofar as their activities are continued by their friends, but insofar as their very own soul, or a part of it, persists and is active posthumously. It has often been remarked that, in the extant corpus, Aristotle generally only commits himself to the persistence of the activity of the human intellect, with all traces of soul affections or memory being erased,31 whereas in the Eudemus he is “endorsing a personal immortality for the soul.”32 More recently, Lloyd Gerson has argued, convincingly, that in fact the Eudemus is not at odds with Aristotle’s overall theory, and that its view of human beings, like the view in the treatises, allows for the immortality of the human intellect, but not of any other parts or affections of the human soul.33 The evidence for Aristotle’s view on immortality in the extant treatises is mostly shaky. Primarily, De anima III.5, which is sometimes taken to directly affirm the immortality of the human intellect because of its reference to a kind of νοῦς (the so-​called νοῦς ποιητικός) that is “immortal and eternal” (430a22–​3),34 has famously been interpreted in radically different ways. Alexander of Aphrodisias,

31 Gooch (1983), n. 3. 32 Pritzl (1983), n. 20.

33 L. P. Gerson, Aristotle and Other Platonists (Ithaca, NY, 2005), 51–​9. 34 See Gerson (2005), 53.

136  The Value of the World and of Oneself and many following him,35 take the chapter to affirm only the immortality of a nonhuman, divine (active) intellect and not of the human (passive) intellect, which is mortal. In Metaphysics Λ.3, 1070a24–​6, Aristotle seems to entertain the possibility that the intellect “remains” (ὑπομένει), while dismissing the immortality of the entire soul out of hand. De anima I.4, 408b18–​29 states, qualifiedly, that the human intellect “seems not to be destructed” (ἔοικεν . . . οὐ φθείρεσθαι), and that it is “perhaps something more divine and unaffected” (ἴσως θειότερόν τι καὶ ἀπαθές).36 However, in that last text, Aristotle does commit himself directly to the claim that “thinking and contemplating, too, wane when some other thing on the inside is destructed, but [it] itself is impassible” (408b24–​5: καὶ τὸ νοεῖν δὴ καὶ τὸ θεωρεῖν μαραίνεται ἄλλου τινὸς ἔσω φθειρομένου, αὐτὸ δὲ ἀπαθές ἐστιν). The internal decay Aristotle has in mind is of a physiological kind, such as enfeeblement due to aging, disease, and drunkenness, as mentioned in the immediately preceding lines. Since αὐτὸ at 408b25 should refer to the human intellect, Aristotle here says that our intellect is not susceptible to being affected. This is to be contrasted with either “waning” (attributed to “thinking and contemplating,” i.e., intellectual activities actually carried out by human beings, which involve, not only the intellect, but also at least phantasia; cf. DA III.7, 431a16–​17)37 or “being destructed” (attributed to the human body). On either option, the result is that the intellect cannot perish.38 Now, ancient testimony directly relates this passage to Aristotle’s view in the dialogues (Eudemus frag. 3, Ross =​Elias, in Aristotelis Categorias Commentarium 114.25), suggesting that Aristotle in the Eudemus is interested in establishing the immortality, not of the

35 See, for instance, V. Caston, “Aristotle’s Two Intellects: A Modest Proposal,” Phronesis 44.3 (1999), 199–​227; M. F. Burnyeat, Aristotle’s Divine Intellect (Milwaukee, 2008). 36 Gerson (2005), 52–​3 and n. 19. 37 See also C. H. Kahn, “Aristotle on Thinking,” in M. C. Nussbaum and A. O. Rorty (eds.), Essays on Aristotle’s De anima (Oxford, 1992), 359–​79, at 366–​7. 38 See also Kahn (1992), 361 and 366–​7.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  137 whole human soul, but rather only of the intellect.39 According to this report by Elias, the view in Aristotle’s dialogues, including the Eudemus, must have been congruent with his views in the extant treatises, including De anima, specifically on the issue of the immortality of the soul or a part of it. And this provides additional support for the conclusion, emerging regardless from an independent study of these different works, that these works exhibit consistency, at the very least on this issue.40 Aristotle, both in the Eudemus and in the extant corpus, then, seems to countenance the immortality of the human intellect, not of the entire human soul. A disembodied intellect, Aristotle must think, would enjoy uninterrupted intellectual activity, being at that point free from the demands and weakening of the body, which impede intellectual activity in the case of living human beings. It has been argued that the persistence of the intellect does not compromise personal immortality, since Aristotle urges us to identify ourselves with our intellect.41 Indeed, Aristotle does tell us that we should “immortalize ourselves as much as possible” (NE X.7, 1177b33), and moreover goes on to say that we should do so, i.e., choose a life dominated by theoretical activity, because a human 39 Gerson (2005), 52–​5, contra Jaeger (1948), 50. For Gerson, this does not mark a deviation from Plato, since Plato only subscribes to the immortality of the intellect as well. Bos (1989, 105) seems to think that Aristotle’s view of nous as capable of separate existence, which he finds in the Eudemus, does mark a deviation from Plato’s view. M. Hubbard (1975, 56–​60) argues for some connection (though, emphatically, not necessarily an equivalence) between Aristotle’s views on the intellect in the Eudemus and De anima. Hubbard bases this on the presence in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, which contains a paraphrase of the story of Silenus as it appears in the Eudemus (I.114), of an appeal to the puzzles in De anima III arising from attributing a self-​reflective activity to the intellect and the fact that human intellection does not persist eternally (I.73). 40 Two fragments from the Eudemus (i.e., Eudemus Fr. 1, Ross =​Cicero, Div. I.53 and Eudemus Fr. 5, Ross =​Proclus, in Remp. 2.349.13–​26, Kroll) may initially seem to support the immortality of more than just the intellect, and perhaps of the entire human soul. However, a close reading shows that this reading is not necessary. For further discussion, see Segev (forthcoming b). Cf. Gerson (2005), 56–​9; Most (1994), n. 36. 41 Gerson (2005), 56–​7, citing Protr. frag. 10c, Ross =​Iambl. Protr. 48, 9–​21, Pistelli. Gerson argues against views such as Jaeger’s. The Protrepticus fragment (10c, Ross) also supports the immortality of the intellect, stating (ll. 11–​13) that “only this [sc. νοῦς/​ φρόνησις] seems to be, of the things that are ours, immortal (ἀθάνατον), and only [it is] divine”; see Gerson, ibid.

138  The Value of the World and of Oneself being “primarily” consists of intellect (1178a2–​7). Nevertheless, though human beings may consist of intellect “primarily,” they do not consist of intellect exclusively, and it is the life of the hylomorphic compound, the one that incorporates not only theoretical activity but also actions reflecting character traits and involving feelings, that Aristotle in the very next chapter describes as “human” (X.8, 1178a9–​21).42 There is truth, therefore, in the claim that only the immortality of the entire soul is “the historically accurate way of describing what moderns often anachronistically call individual immortality.”43 We tend to think of the immortality of the individual person as at least involving the continuation after death of the person’s memories (of perceptual experiences, bodily affections, etc.) and character traits, and not as the mere continuance of pure intellectual activity set over a predetermined set of intelligible objects and qualitatively indistinguishable from the activity of any other intellect, human or otherwise, which is all that Aristotle’s view seems to allow. It also seems true that myths of posthumous reward or damnation, such as those presented by Plato, “inevitably involve the survival of ‘the whole soul,’ ” and that they “lose all sense if applied to Aristotle’s Nus [sic].”44 One might say that, on Aristotle’s considered view, there is nothing but eternal reward, and no room for damnation. For the theoretical activity that he seems to think invariably succeeds human life is, for him, the best and most pleasant type 42 See also J. Whiting, “Human Nature and Intellectualism,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 68 (1986), 70–​95. Kahn (1992, 375) argues that, for Aristotle, “personal self-​ awareness is conceived as a function of the aisthētikon.” If true, that would constitute a further reason to deny personal immortality on Aristotle’s behalf. Indeed, on Kahn’s interpretation, Aristotle’s conception of the immortality of the intellect is anything but personal. Kahn (1992, 361, 376), discussing the description of nous in DA II.2 as “a different kind of soul” which “alone can be separated, as the eternal from the perishable,” argues that nous for Aristotle falls outside of the hylomorphic account of a human being and is rather a principle whose “essential work” is “the whole domain of human culture.” A thorough discussion of Aristotle’s various remarks on the nature of the intellect and its immortality is beyond the scope of this chapter. 43 Jaeger (1948), 49. 44 Jaeger (1948), 50, contra Gerson (2005), 55.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  139 of activity in existence (Metaph. Λ. 7, 1072b14–​19). But even this statement would need to be qualified since, as we shall see presently, it is misleading to interpret Aristotle as thinking that it is the individual person herself who will be enjoying the reward in question posthumously. Nor would it do to appeal to the happiness of the dead afforded them by their living friends, as discussed in the previous section, in order to attribute to Aristotle a belief in personal immortality. It may be that the intimate acquaintance required for that type of continued happiness secures the persistence, not only of the deceased person’s characteristic activity, but also of (some of) their character traits, dispositions, and memories. And the continuation of all of these features may well have amounted to personal immortality (standardly conceived), had it continued ad infinitum. But, as we have seen earlier in this section, the preservation of the departed friend’s happiness by a living friend seems to be limited in time to the length of the natural life of the latter. To return to the fragment with which we began (i.e., Eudemus fragment 6, Ross), we can by now see that its thesis concerning the superiority of the activity carried out in death is supported by Aristotle’s view in the extant corpus. But, for Aristotle, this thesis does not entail that the person continues on eternally; rather, it requires only that we acknowledge that being a disembodied intellect is better than being a person. The wording of the conclusion of the Eudemus fragment is instructive in this respect. It speaks of “what is carried out in death” (τῆς ἐν τῷ τεθνάναι διαγωγῆς) as superior to the διαγωγή in life. The same word, διαγωγή, is used to describe the mode of existence of the eternal unmoved movers of the heavens, which are of course themselves pure intellectual activities, and on that account considered living things (Metaph. Λ. 7, 1072b14–​30). Aristotle goes out of his way to dissociate the posthumous existence of the intellect from the existence of the human being prior to death. By contrast, consider, for example, Socrates’s statement in Plato’s Phaedo that one has a good reason to

140  The Value of the World and of Oneself hope that “after one dies one will incur the greatest goods” (64a). Such statements, Aristotle seems to signal, either misguidedly or carelessly imply that the human being herself continues to exist after death.45 In addition, as we have noted in section 4.2, Aristotle is careful to dissociate himself from Silenus’s idea that human life in general is a sham and that early death is a blessing. After having attributed to Silenus the view that dying as soon as possible is the best practicable choice for human beings, he refrains from following in Silenus’s footsteps in formulating his own conclusion. Here, too, he dissociates himself, not only from Silenus, but also, quite obviously, from Plato. Famously, Socrates, in the Phaedo, while rejecting suicide as an escape from life (61c–​62c), rejects it based on the idea that the gods are our prison-​guards, and alone have the right to release us. The implication is that dying, if and when we are afforded it, is a blessing and a release, and Socrates indeed proceeds to argue for that position in the rest of the dialogue. One could have expected Aristotle to accept Plato’s view on this point, since he, too, thinks that the activity occurring after death is vastly superior.46 But Aristotle must consider the death of individual humans an evil for them, because he thinks individuals cease to exist when they die and are not in any way the subjects of the lingering posthumous activity of their intellect. As we shall presently see, Aristotle indeed characterizes death, consciously and consistently, as such an evil. Finally, one might think that 45 However, as we have also seen earlier in this section, there are also reasons to think that the virtuous activity of an individual human being, and thus their eudaimonia, persists, or may persist, by being carried out by their living human friends. Allowing for this possibility in fact strengthens Aristotle’s claim that the activity carried out in death is better than those carried out in life, since it allows posthumous activity to persist in two distinct, but apparently not mutually exclusive, ways. 46 Georg Luck, who sees Aristotle’s dialogues as “early” and committed to “Plato’s doctrine,” draws a connection between our Eudemus fragment and the Orphic mysteries, which are meant to “help people bear the burden of life” until death’s salvation; see G. Luck, Ancient Pathways and Hidden Pursuits (Ann Arbor, 2000), 12. For Luck (2000, 13), Midas in the fragment is supposed to represent excessive attachment to “earthly goods.”

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  141 Aristotle’s evaluation of death or human nonexistence could align with Silenus’s and Plato’s by taking into consideration, not what is either good or bad for an individual human being to incur, but rather what is valuable for either the human species as a whole or the universe at large. However, I shall conclude, Aristotle thinks of the death or nonexistence of humans as an evil from those perspectives as well.

4.4.  Death as an Evil Aristotle’s view of death as an evil to be avoided rather than a good to be welcomed can again be helpfully compared to Plato’s view in the Phaedo. There, Socrates maintains that, unlike the philosopher, all other people (πάντες οἱ ἄλλοι) regard death as a great evil, and so, when they face death, they do so out of fear of a greater evil, which makes them, paradoxically, “courageous by fearing and alarm” (68d). Aristotle agrees with that assessment. In Eudemian Ethics III.1, he says that a person who “endures . . . death” (ὑπομένει . . . τὸν θάνατον) because of either pleasure or the avoidance of greater pains cannot be justly called brave (1229b32–​ 1230a4). In Nicomachean Ethics III.7, similarly, he argues that it is cowardly to die “fleeing poverty, or erotic love, or something painful” (τι λυπηρὸν), because fleeing “painful things” (τὰ ἐπίπονα) is “soft,” and a person facing death in such a way does not do so because it is fine, but rather acts thus “escaping an evil” (φεύγων κακόν) (1116a12–​15). However, there is also a significant point of divergence between Aristotle and the Socrates of the Phaedo. Socrates contrasts those who prefer death over a burdensome life to the philosopher, who believes that “he will encounter wisdom (φρονήσει) clearly nowhere else but there [sc. in Hades],” and hence would not be fearful of death (68b). Philosophers, then, are primarily courageous (68c), and Socrates, following suit, claims to be “neither

142  The Value of the World and of Oneself angered nor vexed” by the prospect of leaving life, believing that he “will encounter there, no less than here, both good leaders and good companions” (69d–​e). For Socrates, those who prefer death fearing a burdensome life are not wrong for preferring death. They are wrong for preferring death for the wrong reasons. The philosopher, who still prefers death, would face it courageously because of recognizing it as a good. Indeed, philosophers “desire death” (θανατῶσι) (64b8), expecting it to afford them the “greatest goods” (μέγιστα . . . ἀγαθὰ) (63e8–​64a2). If it is not directly in response to Phaedo 63e–​64a that Aristotle says, in Nicomachean Ethics III.9, 1117b9–​15, that the courageous person would be overly pained by death, since that person assesses living as “most of all valuable” (μάλιστα . . . ἄξιον), and that death would deprive the virtuous and happy person of “the greatest goods” (μεγίστων ἀγαθῶν), it may as well have been. In saying so, Aristotle reverses Socrates’s position. He argues that the virtuous and happy person—​and hence necessarily also the philosopher, who for Aristotle is the most virtuous and perfectly happy person (cf. Nicomachean Ethics X.7)—​has most to gain by staying alive and should not welcome death.47 This is what we would expect him to think, in light of our discussion so far. Because for Aristotle, as we have seen, though the human intellect persists eternally and operates posthumously in a purer and superior way to any instance of thinking occurring during a human life, the immortality of the intellect does not afford personal immortality. And, since the person herself ceases to exist at death, she ought not to regard the posthumous activity of her intellect, good though it might be, as hers.48 47 Again, Aristotle mentions cases in which the virtuous person ought to sacrifice their life for the sake of a friend or their city (see NE IX.8; cf. section 4.3). But, in those cases, it is not death that is being preferred as such, but rather “the fine” (τὸ καλόν) inherent to the accomplishment of having secured one’s city or saved one’s friend. Matthews (2012, 197–​8) argues that, for Aristotle, brave self-​sacrifice contributes to one’s happiness because it results from the virtuous character developed by an agent through habituation. 48 Matthews draws a contrast between Plato, for whom suicide is an act of impiety, and Aristotle, for whom such an act is mere cowardice (2012, 196), and between

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  143 It is hardly surprising, then, to find Aristotle explicitly describing death in negative terms. He lists it among “the bad things” (τὰ κακά) alongside ill repute, poverty, sickness, and lack of friendship (NE III.6, 1115a10–​11; cf. III.1, 1110a26–​7), and among bad things that are “painful and destructive” (ὀδυνηρὰ μὲν καὶ φθαρτικὰ), alongside bodily torment and distress, old age, illnesses, and lack of nourishment (Rh. II.8, 1386a7–​9). Under special circumstances, for example ones which would require of the virtuous person to give up their own life in battle (NE III.9, 1117b9–​15), the virtuous person would prefer to cut their life short and would genuinely count as courageous for doing so. However, all things being equal, such a person sees nothing courageous in preferring death as such. And that is because she thinks that life, when lived properly, i.e., when it features and is dominated by virtue and virtuous activity, is worth living, and is in fact among the “greatest goods” obtainable. Nor can we confine the preferability of life as it is described in Nicomachean Ethics III.9 to the person having courage or the other character virtues, leaving room for the possibility that Aristotle thinks philosophers should take an alternative, welcoming approach toward death, à la Plato’s Phaedo, based on the posthumous persistence of purely intellectual activity. First, when Aristotle speaks, in III.9, 1117b9–​15, of the virtuous and happy person as

Plato’s view of immortality and Aristotle’s attempt “to help us face up to our mortality in a way that will enhance our chances of living worthy lives” (2012, 199). I am generally sympathetic to this account, as long as one takes “mortality” in this context to contrast specifically with personal immortality. Matthews (2012, 194–​5), while acknowledging the references to the immortality of the intellect in DA I.4 and to the eternal active intellect of DA III.5, nevertheless appeals to NE III.6 1115a26–​8 to argue that “Aristotle rules out there being an afterlife of any sort . . .” (Matthews [2012, 91–​4] also argues that Plato in the Phaedo does not sufficiently support his own view of the afterlife and the comfort it is meant to afford, and that he fails to show how that view squares with his particular conception of immortality as the persistence of a separated soul akin to the Forms). But 1115a26–​7 only states that there “seems” to be nothing either good or evil for the deceased (δοκεῖ: 1115a27). Furthermore, Aristotle can in fact be committed to there being nothing either good or bad for the deceased—​ because there is no personal immortality—​and still endorse the immortality of the human intellect.

144  The Value of the World and of Oneself being pained by death as a result of assessing their life as valuable, and as being deprived of the greatest goods, he insists that these statements hold truer the more the person in question is virtuous and happy, which for him means that they would apply most of all to the philosopher, who has obtained the highest virtue of theoretical wisdom (NE X.7–​8). Further, the descriptions of death as an evil that we have mentioned earlier (from the Nicomachean Ethics and Rhetoric), far from being restricted to death in the case of people of virtuous character, actually seem to apply to death in the case of human beings in general, certainly including fully virtuous people.49 Seeing that Aristotle is committed to the idea that philosophers, too, shun death as an evil fits in with the interpretation we have offered, according to which Aristotle thinks that the persistence of the human intellect does not afford personal immortality. If an individual, say a philosopher, herself ceases to exist at death, then it is understandable that she would view her death as an evil. Aristotle, then, seems to oppose straightforwardly Silenus’s view that dying soon is the best practicable good for human beings, throughout the corpus.50

49 As has been helpfully pointed out to me by an anonymous referee, in NE IX.9, 1170a19–​24, Aristotle says that, though living is good in itself (καθ’ αὑτὸ), that is so because (or, rather, when) it is “determinate” (ὡρισμένον), and so, “one need not take up in discussion” a life that is indeterminate (ἀόριστος), i.e., a life that is wretched and corrupted, or led in pain. Aristotle’s view may be, then, that life is a good, and death an evil, in the case of virtuous people, but that death is good in the case of the (excessively) vicious, who will be spared a wretched life by it. Indeed, as we shall see in the following footnote, in EE I.5 Aristotle makes the point that certain types of life (e.g., the life of a child, a life devoid of pleasure, etc.) are not worth leading (1215b22–​1216a9). On the other hand, in GC II.10, 336b27–​9, he makes the point that, in all (ἐν ἅπασιν), nature always desires what is better, and being is better than non-​being (see later discussion in this section). Depending on the force of ἅπασιν, Aristotle may mean here that being is better than non-​being in all possible cases, so that living any human life, e.g., would be better than death. Clarifying this issue comprehensively is beyond the scope of the current project. What is important for us to note is that, even if Aristotle did not regard death as an evil for certain vicious individuals, his view would still be sharply contrasted with Plato’s with regard to the value of death in the case of the virtuous and happy agent, above all the philosopher. 50 At first sight, Aristotle’s discussion in EE I.5 may seem to (exceptionally) support Silenus’s position. There, Aristotle says that many things (e.g., diseases, excessive

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  145 Nevertheless, one might at this point ask the following concerning Aristotle’s views of life as valuable and generally preferable over death. In describing death as an evil, Aristotle compares it to such things as “ill repute” and “poverty.” But, while poverty is certainly unfortunate for the poor, Aristotle seems to think that it is nevertheless not only inevitable (Pol. IV.11, 1295b1–​3), but also crucially beneficial for the functioning of political communities. For he lists as a necessary part of the polis the sector of hired workers (τὸ θητικόν) (IV.4, 1291a6), who are poor (III.5, 1278a21–​3). Perhaps there is room, then, for interpreting Aristotle as suggesting that, similarly to poverty, death, while unfortunate for those individuals who are about to encounter it, is nevertheless beneficial, all in all, for human communities or for humanity in general? Along similar lines, R. A. H. King argues that, for Aristotle, “[c]‌yclic coming to be and passing away enables material things to exist—​that is, to exist as nearly permanently as they can as material things.”51 Death, on such a view, may be considered beneficial to the species as a whole because it enables its members to partake of eternity. The first thing to note is that whatever good death is expected to procure by enabling the cycle of life, for Aristotle, is ultimately due to rescuing human beings from the very nonexistence that death brings forth. Death, in other words, remains an evil—​a problem

pains, and winter storms) induce one to give up on life, “so that it is clear that if one gave [us] the choice, it would have been choice-​worthy from the beginning not to come into being, at any rate due to these things” (1215b20–​2). But, in fact, Aristotle is not even treating here the same issue discussed in our Eudemus fragment (contra White [1992], 57). His point must rather be that it would have been choice-​worthy not to come into being in the first place had one known for a fact that diseases, excessive pains, and winter storms would await one upon coming into existence. Neither this discussion, nor the subsequent discussion of specific types of life that it would be choice-​worthy not to lead (1215b22–​1216a9), implies, as Silenus’s dictum does, that human life as such is not choice-​worthy. It is therefore not surprising that Aristotle goes on in the rest of the chapter to discuss the opinions of those who think that life is choice-​worthy with a certain goal in view (1216a11–​16, b3–​8). I am thankful to Giulio Di Basilio for a helpful discussion on this text.

51 R. A. H. King, Aristotle on Life and Death (London, 2001), 16.

146  The Value of the World and of Oneself that the cycle of life is intended to resolve, or at least to ameliorate. In On Generation and Corruption II.10, 336b25–​34, Aristotle speaks of reproduction as employed by “God” as “the remaining device” (τῷ λειπομένῳ τρόπῳ), i.e., as a last resort, to enable those living things that must come into being and perish to approximate being—​ presumably, the being of those entities that exist without ever going into or out of existence, like the heavenly bodies and their unmoved movers. Thus, though reproduction makes up for death, to an extent, Aristotle can consistently maintain that death itself is an evil, since, for any living thing and for any living species, non-​being is worse than being (336b28–​9).52 This view amounts to “an overturning” (Umkehrung) of Silenus’s “wise saying,” to quote Nietzsche (BT 3; trans. mine). Not only is it not the case, as Silenus would have it, that death, by ending existence, is a good only surpassed by never coming into existence, but, rather, death is only viewed somewhat positively, if at all, because, although it directly ends the existence of any individual human being, it indirectly also permits the continued existence of the species.53 Put differently, death is and remains an evil because, if it had been pursued consistently as a goal, it would have brought about the end of humanity—​a result that Silenus would seem to welcome, but that Aristotle vehemently opposes. It remains possible, in principle, that Aristotle regards death as an evil only when viewed from the standpoint of individual humans 52 See D. Henry, “Aristotle on the Cosmological Significance of Biological Generation,” in D. Ebrey (ed.), Theory and Practice in Aristotle’s Natural Science (Cambridge, 2015), 100–​18. Henry argues that in GC II.10 Aristotle suggests that biological generation occurs because of its contribution to the good of the universe as a whole, as opposed to the good of the living things engaged in reproduction. For a criticism of this reading, see M. Segev, “Review of David. Ebrey (ed.), Theory and Practice in Aristotle’s Natural Science (Cambridge, 2015),” in Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews https://​ndpr.nd.edu/​revi​ews/​ the​ory-​and-​pract​ice-​in-​aristo​tle-​s-​natu​ral-​scie​nce/​ (2015). 53 Indeed, in giving a general characterization of death as an evil, Aristotle seems to think that it remains an evil even once reproduction is no longer possible or recommended, and after one is no longer performing a viable service to one’s community. But, if the continuation of the species were the sole or main criterion for assessing the value of death, we would have expected Aristotle, and the fully virtuous person as he conceives of her, to think that death would be welcome at least when that purpose is no longer being served.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  147 or the human species, and not, so to speak, sub specie aeternitatis.54 In other words, one possibly should welcome death, or one’s own nonexistence, not because it is good either for oneself or for one’s species, but rather because it is preferable overall, for the world at large. But that suggestion, too, ultimately fails. As we have seen, for Aristotle, the fully virtuous person, too, is expected to renounce death as an evil. But that person, qua fully virtuous, must exhibit theoretical wisdom, and must therefore be in a position to recognize the (objectively) best possible state of affairs and to prefer and pursue it. Since even that person shuns death, she presumably does so on the basis of knowledge of the relevant facts, in this case, that the existence of human beings is, overall, preferable to their nonexistence (as argued in this section, death may be viewed semi-​favorably insofar as it facilitates the continued existence of humanity by enabling the cycle of life; but death would still be valued negatively overall, insofar as individual human beings pursuing it consistently would lead to the eradication of humanity).55 We might ask, at this point, what are the presumed facts that would lead Aristotle’s fully virtuous person to conclude that the existence of humanity is, overall, better than its nonexistence. In Metaphysics Λ.10, famously, Aristotle compares “the nature of the universe” (ἡ τοῦ ὅλου φύσις) to an army, in that “the good and the best” pertains to it both “as something separate” (corresponding to an army general) and “with respect to the order” (τὴν τάξιν) (corresponding to the well-​ordered soldiers of a proper army) 54 In a recent work, David Benatar (2017) helpfully distinguishes between the “terrestrial meaning” of life, i.e., the meaning of life as viewed from the perspective of the individual, the community, or humanity at large, and “the cosmic meaning” of life, i.e., the meaning of life as viewed “sub specie aeternitatis.” 55 This argument can also explain, mutatis mutandis, why it is that Aristotle, who considers death an evil for the individual, would not consider it a good thing for the individual’s intellect either, though that intellect would, upon death, enjoy eternal intellectual activity in a disembodied state (I am thankful to Andrew Payne for bringing this issue to my attention). A pure intellect, like (but presumably even more fully than) the living philosopher, should recognize the evil in the death of individual humans, based on objective facts.

148  The Value of the World and of Oneself (1075a11–​15). By “the good and the best” found in the order of the universe, Aristotle has in mind the fact that “everything [in the universe] is put in order together toward a single end” (πρὸς . . . ἓν ἅπαντα συντέτακται) (1075a16–​19). Finally, Aristotle mentions, as a further analogy for the order in the universe, the household, in which “the free,” slaves, and beasts all share in tasks contributing, to varying degrees, “to the whole” (εἰς τὸ ὅλον) (1075a19–​25). With the household in this analogy obviously corresponding to the universe, David Sedley convincingly interprets “the free” as corresponding to the heavenly bodies, and the slaves and beasts as standing for the sublunary world and the species within it, the point being that “[n]‌atural species are less regular in their behaviour than the stars, but they still, in their own modest way, contribute to the common good.”56 Aristotle likens the good state of the cosmos to that of god (e.g., Pol. VII.3, 1325b28–​9), and he is even reported to have stated that “the world itself is [a]‌god” (mundum ipsum deum . . . esse) (De philosophia, fragment 26, Ross =​Cic. Nat. D. I.13.33). Presumably, by saying such things he subscribes to the perfection of the ordered universe (paralleling O1: the first proposition we have associated with optimism), in which even the least significant parts contribute to the good of the whole, and are indispensable, since dispensing of them would detract from the perfect world being as it is. Such a view is consistent, and indeed may well have led Aristotle to conclude, against Silenus’s dictum, that human life is to be cherished as such an indispensable part of the universe, and that it would not have been better for humans either to die or never to have been born (paralleling O2: the second proposition we have associated with optimism). As we have seen in the previous sections, based on the evidence from both the Eudemus and the extant corpus, what Aristotle 56 D. Sedley, “Is Aristotle’s Teleology Anthropocentric?,” Phronesis 36 (1991), 179–​96, at 193.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  149 wishes to retain from Silenus’s dictum is that the dead are happy, and that the activity in death is superior to the activities carried out in life. Aristotle accepts these points because he thinks that the dead are capable of happiness (by a living friend continuing to perform their characteristic virtuous activities on their behalf), and that disembodied intellects posthumously enjoy the highest and most pleasurable activity of all, i.e., continuous theoretical contemplation. We are now in a position to appreciate Aristotle’s reasons for rejecting the rest of Silenus’s statements, particularly the idea that humans are better off either dying or, preferably, never having been born. Silenus’s idea amounts to a radical rejection of the worth or value of human existence. Things would have been better off, Silenus suggests, had humans never existed. Aristotle vehemently disagrees. Even a scenario in which the only thinking beings in existence are disembodied intellects, exercising perfect intellection eternally, would have been worse than the world as we know it. Though living human beings are inferior to pure intellects, and though one can expect one’s intellect to be engaged in pure intellectual activity eternally after one’s death, humans contribute, in their own way, to the perfection of the world, and their contribution, though limited, is indispensable. Wishing for them to cease to exist or to never have existed, as it turns out, is to wish for the world to be imperfect—​a state of affairs which cannot be desirable either as such or, a fortiori, for the fully virtuous person capable of properly evaluating the cosmos and the things within it.

4.5.  Aristotle, Plato, and Schopenhauer Aristotle rejects Silenus’s dictum, as he presents it in the Eudemus, according to which humans are better off either not existing or dying quickly. He does so by arguing that, though the dead can be happy, and the human intellect persists after death in a superior state, death nevertheless remains an evil. This is so, for Aristotle,

150  The Value of the World and of Oneself for at least three reasons. First, the individual human being necessarily ceases to exist at death, so that no good can be enjoyed by the deceased. Second, death prevents human beings from partaking of immortality directly, and leaves them with merely the approximation of eternal existence through reproduction. Third, human beings and their lives are an indispensable part of the world and are necessary for its perfection. As we have seen, Aristotle’s negative assessment of human death or nonexistence goes not only against Silenus’s statement, but also against Plato’s view in the Phaedo, according to which death ought to be welcomed (though not self-​ induced). As we shall see presently, Aristotle’s response applies equally to the pessimistic approach of Schopenhauer, who himself aligns his view consciously and explicitly with Greek pessimism and with parts of Plato’s theory. In WWR II.XLVI, a chapter titled “On the Vanity and Suffering of Life,” Schopenhauer dedicates a discussion to the history of opposition to optimism. He says that if one were to “record the sayings of great minds of all ages” on this point, “there would be no end to the citations” (585). In this context, Schopenhauer mentions the Greeks, who were “deeply affected by the wretchedness of existence.” He quotes, in this respect, apart from Homer and Euripides, Theognis’s Elegiae I.425–​8 and Sophocles’s OC 1224–​5, both of which make the point that it is best for human beings not to be born (μὴ φῦναι), and that the next best thing for them is to die as soon as possible. These texts are of course strikingly similar to Silenus’s statement as described by Aristotle in the Eudemus (in Fr. 6, Ross, taken from Plutarch’s Moralia).57 Though Schopenhauer himself does not cite this text in that discussion, he does cite, apart from the closely related texts by Theognis and Sophocles, another relevantly similar part of Plutarch’s Moralia, discussing the traditional practice of lamenting birth and

57 On the connection between these texts, see Nestle (1921), 86.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  151 celebrating death (WWR II.XLVI: 585–​6; cf. Plut., De audiend. poet. 36f1–​ 3). The general sentiment expressed by Silenus’s dictum certainly seems to be one that Schopenhauer himself would subscribe to. It is therefore unsurprising that scholars have found Nietzsche’s allusion in BT 3 to Silenus’s statement as it is presented in Plutarch’s quotation of Aristotle’s Eudemus to be a reference to Schopenhauer’s pessimism.58 There, Nietzsche says that Silenus’s dictum expresses, in his words, the “horror and dreadfulness of being” (die Schrecken und Ensetzlichkeiten des Daseins).59 Nietzsche sees “the dreadfulness or absurdity of being” (das Entsetzliche oder Absurde des Seins) in question as a fact, of which one can have “true knowledge” (wahre Erkenntniss), and whose “horrific truth” (grauenhafte Wahrheit) was grasped not only by the Greeks, but also by Shakespeare (in Hamlet), and is still accessible by us today (BT 7). Nietzsche is here quite clearly influenced by Schopenhauer, who also invokes Hamlet in support of the idea that “complete non-​existence would be decidedly preferable to” human existence (WWR I.59: 324).60 Furthermore, when Nietzsche in BT 7 describes the inaction of the Dionysian man, who has gained “the true knowledge and the glimpse into the ghastly truth,” he says that for such a person “existence . . . is denied” (das Dasein wird . . . verneint), upon recognizing the extent of the dreadfulness and absurdity of existence, an idea that he again associates with Silenus’s “wise saying.” This wording is clearly reminiscent of Schopenhauer’s recurring notion of, and recommendation for, the

58 See, most recently, Beiser (2016), 45, and T. Stern, “Nietzsche’s Ethics of Affirmation,” in T. Stern (ed.), The New Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche (Cambridge, 2019), 351–​73, at 357–​8. Indeed, Stern (2019, 358, 372 n. 17) asserts that Schopenhauer identifies “the wisdom of Silenus” [ . . . ] “as evidence that life’s misery was known long ago,” citing only WWR II. XLVI: 585. 59 Translations of the BT are mine. 60 Shakespeare’s King Henry IV is also used as support for this idea in WWR II.XLVI: 587, discussed in the previous paragraph.

152  The Value of the World and of Oneself “denial of the will-​to-​live” (Verneinung des Willens zum Leben).61 Indeed, in WWR I, §70: 405, Schopenhauer says, even more reminiscently of Nietzsche’s wording, that the “will-​to-​live . . . must be denied if salvation is to be attained from an existence like ours” (Wille zum Leben, welcher verneint werden muß, wenn Erlösung aus einem Daseyn, wie das unserige ist, erlangt werden soll). Granted, in the far later preface to the BT (1886), Nietzsche accuses his earlier self of “having dimmed and corrupted, with Schopenhauerian formulations, Dionysian apprehensions,” and is being especially critical of Schopenhauer’s “theory of resignation” (Resignationismus) (“Attempt at Self-​Criticism” 6). However, in originally writing the BT, Nietzsche certainly seems to have associated Schopenhauer with Silenus’s “wise saying,” and such an association seems quite understandable.62 There is, however, also a possible reason why Schopenhauer would not (and should not) have adhered to the specific formulation attributed to Silenus in Aristotle’s Eudemus. As we have seen, Aristotle in the Eudemus has been taken to attribute to Silenus, perhaps in addition to the general or “popular” pessimistic attitude toward human life characterizing Sophocles’s and Theognis’s remarks, the specifically Platonic idea regarding the subordination of the perceptible realm of “becoming,” including human beings and their existence, to the realm of “being,” featuring immaterial, intelligible, eternal, and immutable Forms.63 In the Phaedo (78b–​ 80b), Plato famously argues for the immortality of the human soul based on (inter alia) its affinity to the Forms. The view that emerges is one of an immaterial soul which, upon the death of the individual, would continue on to contemplate the Forms eternally. Now, Schopenhauer directly criticizes Plato’s conception of the soul as immaterial and immortal, though he also thinks that this 61 As we saw in section 2.4, Nietzsche later dissociates his notion of the Dionysian person from pessimism; see p. 76. 62 See Beiser (2016), 45: “Schopenhauer is indeed our modern Silenus.” 63 See section 4.1; cf. Jaeger (1948), 48.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  153 view should be amended, rather than jettisoned entirely. In FHP §4: 43–​6, Schopenhauer attributes to Plato “a deceptive doctrine of the toughest vitality,” which he says is expounded most fully in the Phaedo, and which he summarizes as follows: What knows in us is an immaterial substance, fundamentally different from the body and called soul; the body, on the other hand, is an obstacle to knowledge. Hence all knowledge brought about through the senses is deceptive; the only true, accurate, and sure knowledge, on the other hand, is that which is free and removed from all sensibility (thus from all intuitive perception), consequently pure thought, i.e. an operation exclusively with abstract concepts.

As Schopenhauer goes on to say (FHP §4: 46), although he thinks that this doctrine of Plato’s is “purposeless, mistaken, and even impossible,” he also regards his own view as “its corrected analogue.” According to that correction, “only the intuitive knowledge, that is kept clear of all connection with the will, reaches the highest objectivity and hence perfection” (FHP §4: 46). Schopenhauer refers his readers at that point to the third book of WWR I, where he discusses aesthetic experience as enabling one to temporarily cognize the essences of objects (which Schopenhauer in fact refers to as “Platonic Ideas”), not as an individual, but as “pure, will-​less subject of knowledge” (§38: 179). Plato in the Phaedo, Schopenhauer claims, “deplore[s]‌the soul’s connexion with the body,” and “wish[es] to be liberated from this connexion.” But the “true meaning of that complaint,” for Schopenhauer, is a wish for liberation from individual existence and the denial of the will (II.XLVIII: 608–​9). Arguably, then, Schopenhauer cannot accept the particular formulation of Silenus’s dictum presented in Aristotle’s Eudemus as is, because it endorses a view of the soul and its incorporeality and immortality that he himself rejects. However, he stands behind both the general sentiment behind that dictum—​that humans are

154  The Value of the World and of Oneself better off dead or, even better, not having been born in the first place—​and a revised version of Plato’s pessimism with regard to bodily existence, i.e., pessimism with regard to existence as a phenomenon dominated by the will-​to-​live. Indeed, Schopenhauer, while objecting to suicide, similarly to Plato in the Phaedo (WWR I, §69), comes close to Plato’s positive assessment of death, and even cites Plato’s Apology as support for his view on this issue (WWR II.XLI: 465):64 Now the boundless attachment to life which appears here [sc. in the prevalent fear of death] cannot have sprung from knowledge and reflection. To these, on the contrary, it appears foolish, for the objective value of life is very uncertain, and it remains at least doubtful whether existence is to be preferred to non-​existence; in fact, if experience and reflection have their say, non-​existence must certainly win. If we knocked on the graves and asked the dead whether they would like to rise again, they would shake their heads. In Plato’s Apology this is also the opinion of Socrates. . . .

Schopenhauer, then, shares with Silenus (as he is represented in Aristotle’s Eudemus) a basic common pessimistic outlook concerning human life. According to both, humans are better off never having come into existence. Furthermore, Plato, as Schopenhauer himself recognizes, shares with both the idea that death is preferable over a human life. Thus, when Aristotle presents Silenus’s dictum in the Eudemus, and responds directly to those points in it, his criticism can be legitimately directed at Plato (whom Aristotle arguably had in mind himself in developing his critique) and Schopenhauer as well.

64 In WWR II.XLVI: 586, Schopenhauer also cites as further evidence of ancient support for his pessimism Socrates’s description in Plato’s Apology of long sleep as preferable to any day in the life of the happiest living person. On Socrates’s assessment of death in the Apology, and its difference from the Phaedo, see Matthews (2012), 186–​90.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  155 It may be suggested that Schopenhauer, for one, would not be bothered by Aristotle’s response to pessimism, since, along with that response, Aristotle endorses a doctrine of the immortality of the intellect, which Schopenhauer rejects out of hand. Indeed, not only does Schopenhauer object to Plato’s view of the soul’s immortality in the Phaedo, as we have seen, but he also criticizes Aristotle directly on this point. In his marginal notes on his copy of Bekker’s edition of Aristotle’s corpus, commenting on DA 413b23–​7, in which Aristotle says that the intellect “alone seems to be separable, just as the eternal [is separable] from the perishable,” and cross-​referencing it with 408b18–​31, in which Aristotle says that the intellect “seems . . . not to perish,” Schopenhauer comments as follows:65 Ecce! (cf: p. 408.) Fons erroris qui manavit in saecula: confer supra ad [412b28–​413a6] ubi contrarium enuntiatur. Here! (cf. p. 408.) The source of the error which has spread through the ages: compare to [412b28–​413a6] above, where the contrary is expressed.

In the passage that Schopenhauer alludes to as containing the correct view that contradicts what Aristotle says in 408b18–​31 and 413b23–​7, i.e., 413a4–​5, Aristotle argues that “the soul is not separate from the body.” If Aristotle’s critique of pessimism in the Eudemus presupposes the immortality of the intellect, then, Schopenhauer may well dismiss it for that reason (and indeed, we as readers may do well to ask, similarly, what merit there might be in Aristotle’s critique in that case, assuming we do not happen to otherwise adopt his views on the immortality of the human intellect). 65 The transcription and translation of Schopenhauer’s note is my own. Schopenhauer’s copy of Bekker is located in, and has been digitized by, the Schopenhauer-​Archiv, Goethe-​Universität, Frankfurt am Main.

156  The Value of the World and of Oneself However, it in fact seems that Aristotle’s critique of pessimism does not depend upon his ideas concerning immortality. Whereas the immortality of the soul plays a major role in motivating Plato’s view that death is a blessing, for Aristotle, as we have seen, death is an evil precisely because the immortality that it furnishes is insufficient for establishing either a promise of a personal afterlife or any other consolation in the face of death. Indeed, Aristotle’s alternative to pessimism is not only independent of a commitment to personal immortality. It arguably requires his rejection of that notion in order to be internally consistent, and for a reason that Schopenhauer himself points out. As we have seen in Chapter 1, Schopenhauer commends the optimism of the Hebrew Bible and Spinoza for its internal consistency partly because that version of optimism rejects anything like a notion of personal immortality, which would have been in tension with its conception of the world as perfect (cf. WWR II.L: 644). Similarly, Aristotle’s view leaves no room for viewing the world as something one should aspire to escape, through either death (as in Plato’s Phaedo) or the quieting of all aims and goals in one’s life (as Schopenhauer recommends). For Aristotle, the world is perfect as is and, on that assumption, there can be nothing external to the world or subsequent to one’s existence in it that one should aspire to attain.66 Now, as we have seen, Schopenhauer also thinks that monotheistic and pantheistic optimism is flawed, primarily because it ultimately fails to resolve the “problem of evil,” i.e., to reconcile the supposed perfection of the world with the many imperfections readily observable within it. Although Aristotle does not address

66 It is true that one could well imagine a consistently optimistic view which, in addition to the value inherent in the world and in human life, also posits a valuable afterlife available to human beings (I owe this observation to Ursula Coope). Schopenhauer’s point, however, is presumably more specifically that optimism cannot consistently posit an afterworld or afterlife as a solution to the valuelessness or disvalue of the world or of human existence. By rejecting personal immortality, Aristotle’s view escapes that charge.

Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism  157 this problem as such, his theory has resources for dealing with it. Aristotle’s optimistic valuation of the world, as we have seen, is not committed to the view that each and every part of the world is perfectly valuable. Rather, for him, the perfection of the world incorporates an axiological hierarchy, with human beings ranking below certain beings (like the heavenly bodies) and above others (like non-​rational animals and plants). As argued earlier in this chapter, Aristotle could appeal to that hierarchical structure to respond to the pessimistic sentiment, expressed by Silenus in the Eudemus, that it would be best for humanity not to exist (paralleling P2, the second basic proposition we have associated with pessimism). For, in Aristotle’s view, the perfection of the world necessarily requires all of its parts to exist within it. But that hierarchy of value could also be used to combat Schopenhauer’s challenge (and thus to defend the two basic propositions of philosophical optimism that we have outlined, i.e., O1 and O2). For, if the world’s perfection does not entail that each of its parts must be perfectly valuable, then the world could potentially be perfectly valuable while still containing suffering and evil pertaining to the lower ranking among its parts.67 As we shall see, Maimonides, in developing his own version of Aristotelian optimism, capitalizes on this hierarchy in value, and uses it to deal explicitly with the classical problem of evil. Before we see how he goes about doing so, however, we must expound on Aristotle’s positive optimistic theory, and the attitude he expects the type of person cognizant of it to exhibit.

67 It is true that Silenus’s dictum in the Eudemus only gives Aristotle occasion to criticize pessimism about human existence. But the Aristotelian response to such pessimism appealing to cosmic perfection may be extended to apply to Schopenhauer’s pessimistic assessment of all of life. Aristotle would reject such pessimism out of hand because he thinks that the world is perfect as is, even if its parts are not all equally valuable.

5 Optimism and Self-​Devaluation #1 Aristotle

In the previous chapter, we saw that Aristotle responds to views concerning the value of the world and of human existence that can appropriately be called pessimistic. He rejects the Platonic understanding of death as a deliverance, and the idea, familiar from ancient Greek literature, that it would have been best for humans not to have come into existence in the first place. For Aristotle, by contrast to such views, death is to be shunned as an evil, primarily because human beings are an indispensable part of a perfect world order. This already commits Aristotle to a form of optimism, adhering to the perfection of the world and the value of human existence. In this chapter, we shall expound the details of Aristotle’s optimistic theory, and the psychological characteristics and behavior that he thinks should appropriately be cultivated given that theory. This in turn would require examining Aristotle’s view of the proper attitude toward the divine. Human beings, in his view, are more valuable than other mortal species and inanimate matter, but they are far less valuable than certain beings that he regards as divine, like the heavenly bodies and their unmoved movers. Aristotle does not explicitly state how it is that one should ideally relate to such beings. He does, however, speak of an unreciprocated relationship of friendship (φιλία) between humans and such gods. I argue that Aristotle’s conception of the magnanimous person sheds light on that relationship. The magnanimous person, who is a philosopher, devalues humanity and devotes her life and efforts to the divine. The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0006

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  159 And by doing so, Aristotle thinks, the person in question both engages in the highest intellectual pursuit humanly achievable and becomes practically virtuous, thereby overturning egoism and acting generously and justly toward others. Aristotle’s recommendation of total devotion to the divine may seem to go against the natural tendency of organisms to further their own lives and species. Nevertheless, I argue that this recommendation is consistent with his teleological view of nature. As scholars have recognized, Aristotle maintains that a living thing of any species is naturally directed toward two distinct ends, namely, performing its characteristic activities (goal (a)) and serving beings superior to it in rank and value (goal (b)). The latter end culminates, and most directly and noticeably so in the case of humans, in the dedication of one’s efforts to the divine and ultimate cause of the entire cosmos, i.e., the first unmoved mover. Since that divine principle serves as the cause of the entire cosmos, whose condition it continuously maintains, by dedicating oneself to that principle one ipso facto also dedicates one’s efforts to the maintenance of the world and its condition. Indeed, since humans are themselves a part of the world, dedicating oneself to the divine principle (goal (b)) necessitates pursuing one’s characteristic activity as a member of the human species as well (goal (a)), as that activity is part and parcel of the world as caused and maintained by the divine. For Aristotle, then, the world of course depends on the divine prime mover for its existence. But, as it turns out, he also thinks that the prime mover in turn depends for its own existence on the world being the kind of thing that it is, i.e., an eternal, divine, and perfectly ordered cosmos exhausting all of time, space, and being. This perfection essentially involves having exactly as many kinds of thing, including living species, as are currently found in the world, each contributing its own peculiar qualities and functions to the whole. This view amounts to optimism, as we have defined it, for it implies both that the world is perfectly good and that our existence within it, like the existence of any other thing within it, is

160  The Value of the World and of Oneself worthwhile, insofar as the contribution of all such things is necessary to secure that perfection. Among such contributors, the human species uniquely both is capable of, and regularly (but periodically) succeeds in, achieving full philosophical knowledge. And this fact, too, is indicative of Aristotle’s philosophical optimism. Not only is the full philosophical knowledge obtainable by human beings proof of the world’s comprehensibility and hence of its perfect and rational order, but the activity of contemplating that knowledge (which for Aristotle also constitutes the most perfect type of happiness) provides humans with a goal that renders their life, as long as it is properly oriented toward that goal, superior to their nonexistence.

5.1. Superiority-​Friendship with the Divine The only gods whose existence Aristotle accepts are the unmoved movers of the heavenly bodies and spheres, possibly in addition to the heavenly bodies themselves, and these beings are incapable of any humanlike intentional action, let alone of looking after, or answering the prayers of, individual human beings.1 Aristotle also thinks that traditional religious content and practices are politically necessary, and should be included and indeed mandated in any correctly organized political community.2 Since this content and these practices refer to anthropomorphic gods, which do not exist, Aristotle cannot think that by worshipping such gods one is relating in any direct way to the true gods of his metaphysics. Prayer, sacrifices, and other traditional religious rituals, in other words, while important, have nothing at all to do with existing deities, in his view. These two facts leave one obvious issue unresolved. How is 1 See, e.g., G. R. Lear, Happy Lives and the Highest Good: An Essay on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Princeton, NJ, 2004), 195; Segev (2017b), ch. 1. 2 On this point see Segev (2017b), ch. 2; and M. Segev, “Traditional Religion and Its Natural Function in Aristotle,” Classical World 111.3 (2018), 295–​320.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  161 it that Aristotle thinks human beings should relate to those deities that he thinks do exist? What, more precisely, is the status of human beings in relation to such gods, and what is the appropriate attitude to develop toward them on its basis? Answering these questions will help us to appreciate Aristotle’s form of optimism, on which the hierarchy in value in the world demands that we devalue humanity by comparison to the divine, while revering the divine and dedicating our life to it. Aristotle thinks of human beings as both very similar to and radically different from the ultimate causes of being, i.e., the unmoved movers of the heavenly bodies and spheres, which he calls gods. The activity constituting the eternal nature of these beings, i.e., theoretical contemplation of their own nature, is identical in kind to the best activity achievable by human beings, which Aristotle in fact sees as a part of, and sometimes completely assimilates to, human nature (NE X.7 1178a2–​8). But, whereas the gods of Aristotle’s metaphysics consist in an eternal and perfect instance of that activity, humans, being subject to the various constraints of sublunary mortal hylomorphic living things, can only perform that activity (when they can perform it at all) in a limited way and at limited times (Metaph. Λ.7, 1072b14–​26). Both this similarity and this difference are relevant to understanding the attitude Aristotle thinks human beings could, and ideally should, adopt toward those divine beings.3 They help us to understand what Aristotle means when he says that, though the gods cannot love us (EE VII. 3, 1238b18–​30), we may nevertheless have φιλία (love, friendship) toward them, and that our φιλιά toward them, similarly to the one we have toward our parents, would be φιλία toward the “good and excellent” (NE VIII. 12, 1162a4–​7). Although Aristotle generally considers φιλία a relation between two equals (VIII.5), he also discusses a special form of friendship holding between the unequal. In this type of “superiority 3 The discussion in the rest of this paragraph is based on Segev (2017b), 22–​5.

162  The Value of the World and of Oneself friendship,” equality is in a way achieved by the inferior party loving the superior party more than it is being loved by it, and the more so the farther the two parties are apart in worth (VIII.7, 1158b11–​28). Aristotle explicitly gives our relation to the gods as an example of superiority friendship (1158b33–​1159a3), and the most extreme kind of it, since the disparity in this case is so great that our love toward gods remains totally one-​sided. Aristotle distinguishes between three forms of friendship, based on pleasure, utility, or the good (VIII.2–​3), and says that superiority friendship can be found in all three (NE VIII.13, 1162a34–​ b4). Since, as was mentioned earlier, humans have the capacity to engage in the best activity possible, the activity in which the nature of Aristotle’s gods consists, we may (admittedly very rarely) have superiority φιλία toward the gods based on that shared good property. It may be asked what might be gained by engaging in such a one-​sided relationship. Anticipating this question (with regard to superiority friendship in general) (VIII.14, 1163a34–​35), Aristotle states that the inferior friend, honoring and loving his superior, does incur a “gain” (κέρδος), namely, an “aid fulfilling the lack” (τῆς δ᾽ ἐνδείας ἐπικουρία) (1163b1–​5). He makes it clear that such “gains” would include the virtue the inferior party would attain (1163b12–​14), i.e., as a result of engaging in a superiority friendship based on goodness. It is also quite clear that Aristotle thinks the inferior party in a superiority friendship is able to gain much more from the superior party than would have been possible in a friendship with an equal. As Aristotle puts it, a son—​the inferior party in the relationship of superiority friendship obtaining between him and his father—​is incapable of doing anything “comparable in value” (ἄξιον) to the things that were done for him (1163b18–​21). In fact, the second example Aristotle gives in this discussion of a superior party one could never honor enough is “the gods” (1163b15–​18: τοὺς θεοὺς). Assuming he has in mind here the true gods of his metaphysics (and the point could be made on his behalf even if he does not), his point must be that, in entering into a

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  163 superiority-​philia with them, we could never expect to honor them enough: not only would it be impossible to benefit them in any way by honoring or loving them, given that they are entirely indifferent to us, but we would also never be able to match the increase in virtue that we would gain by entering a relationship of superiority friendship with them. Clearly, then, Aristotle thinks that one should love and honor the true gods, and that doing so, while having no effect on those gods, would be to one’s own advantage. We are left wondering, though, exactly what loving or honoring the gods entails. Aristotle does not unpack the attitudes humans are expected to have toward the gods upon embracing a relation of φιλία toward them. There is, however, ample evidence for his views on relevant issues, e.g., in his discussions of magnanimity and natural teleology. Based on that evidence, we may address this issue on Aristotle’s behalf, and I shall attempt to do so in what follows.

5.2.  Magnanimity and the Divine In NE IV.3, Aristotle discusses the character virtue of magnanimity (μεγαλοψυχία). He characterizes the magnanimous person, who holds an intermediate position between the “small-​souled” (μικρόψυχος) and the vain, as being appropriately concerned with “honors and dishonors,” knowing when to accept honors, when to reject them, and how to take the appropriate amount of pleasure in them (when they are deserved). Interestingly, the reason the magnanimous are appropriately concerned with honors, in Aristotle’s view, is that they are hardly concerned with them at all. They are not disposed toward honor “as the greatest good,” honor being for a person of their kind a rather “minute” thing (1124a16–​19). The magnanimous person favors truth over opinion (δόξα), i.e., over the reputation that would be gained by speaking frankly about one’s acquaintances (1124b26–​28). That person is also not prone to

164  The Value of the World and of Oneself wonder (οὐδὲ θαυμαστικός), since “nothing is great for him,” and is neither hasty nor impetuous, being “zealous about few things” and deeming “nothing great” (1124b26–​1125a15; cf. EE III.5, 1232b4–​6). There is controversy concerning the kind of truth Aristotle expects the magnanimous person to be concerned with, and the type of honors he expects that person to pursue.4 It is important to note, in this respect, that Aristotle insists that the magnanimous are worthy of the greatest things (NE IV.3, 1123b15–​17, 26–​28). In line with this requirement, it is stated in MM I.25 that the magnanimous person “will be about, not every honor, but the best (περὶ τὴν βελτίστην), and the honorable good having the status of a principle (τὸ τίμιον ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἀρχῆς τάξιν ἔχον).” Now, Aristotle explicitly says of the objects with which philosophers are concerned, and the science pertaining to them, i.e., metaphysics, that they are the “most honorable” (NE VI.7, 1141a18–​20; Metaph. A.2, 983a5; cf. NE X.8, 1178b28–​31). It is these honors, then, that interest, or should interest, the magnanimous person most of all.5 Philosophers, then, 4 The view according to which Aristotle intends for his magnanimous person to be the philosopher devoted to contemplative activity, a version of which I argue for in the following, goes back to Aspasius, and is defended, e.g., by R. A. Gauthier, Magnanimité: L’idéal de la grandeur dans la philosophie païenne et dans la théologie chrétienne (Paris, 1951); and Frederick A. Seddon, Jr., “Megalopsychia: A Suggestion,” The Personalist 56.1 (1975), 31–​7. The alternative position, according to which the magnanimous person is concerned with other types of (non-​philosophical, and presumably moral) action and honor is defended, e.g., by R. Crisp, “Aristotle on Greatness of Soul,” in R. Kraut (ed.), The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (Malden, MA, 2006), 158–​78, at 175–​6. According to E. Schütrumpf, “Magnanimity, Μεγαλοψυχία, and the System of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 71.1 (1989), 10–​22, at 20, Aristotle’s magnanimous person, “like the Platonic philosopher, cannot value anything very much and this includes honour”; hence, such a person exhibits a lack of “worldly attachment.” However, Schütrumpf insists (1989, 16), Aristotle’s notion of magnanimity “replaces philosophy . . . with honour.” Richardson Lear (2004, 169–​74) presents a mixed alternative, according to which both types of action and honor are relevant to Aristotle’s conception of magnanimity. M. Pakaluk, “The Meaning of Aristotelian Magnanimity,” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 26 (2004), 241–​75, at 267–​8, argues that magnanimity, for Aristotle, “leads someone to seek . . . the preconditions, or circumstances, for the exercise of philosophical wisdom,” but does not specify whether the magnanimous person would necessarily succeed in that endeavor. 5 If so, then the kind of honor pursued by the magnanimous person will not, contra Crisp (2006, 174), “make him dependent on others,” i.e., on people honoring that person.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  165 are the most fitting candidates for being magnanimous agents, in his view. The “few things” about which such people would be “zealous” are the eternal objects of metaphysics and the study of them. This goes well with Aristotle’s remark in MM I.25 about the honorable thing that the magnanimous would pursue as being a “principle,” as he describes happiness or flourishing (εὐδαιμονία) as an “honorable and divine” principle and “cause of goods” (NE I.12, 1101b35–​1102a4).6 The most honorable activity attributed to the magnanimous would be happiness, understood specifically as theoretical activity. All other things, including character virtue and the activities pertaining to it, would not arouse their “wonder,” since, though they too are honorable, the magnanimous person, as Aristotle says, “will not be about” them, or about anything but the “best honor” (MM I.25). Aspasius, in his commentary on the NE, interprets Aristotle’s conception of the magnanimous person similarly. Appealing to Aristotle’s points that the magnanimous person would be neither “prone to wonder” (θαυμαστικός) (NE IV.3, 1125a2) (in Aspasius’s reading, wonder about such things as “great ornaments or bodies or sums of money or music contests”), nor “prone to discussing human beings” (ἀνθρωπολόγος) (1125a5),7 he goes on to associate a person having such features with a philosopher, as described, for

6 The connection between these two texts is pointed out by Armstrong in the Loeb edition of the Magna Moralia: G. C. Armstrong and H. Tredennick (trans.), Aristotle: Metaphysics Books 10–​14. Oeconomica. Magna Moralia (London/​Cambridge, MA, 1935), 524. 7 J. Howland, “Aristotle’s Great-​Souled Man,” The Review of Politics 64.1 (2002), 27–​56, at 45, argues that, given Aristotle’s comment in Metaph. A.2 that philosophy begins in wonder, the description in NE IV.3, 1125a2–​3 of the magnanimous person as lacking wonder entails that such a person lacks “the defining mark of the philosophical soul.” But, on Aspasius’s reading, the magnanimous person only lacks wonder with regard to certain (specifically, mundane) things. This reading is preferable, because it does justice to the fact that Aristotle’s remark in NE IV.3 is made in the context of describing the magnanimous person as distinct from “the fawners” (οἱ κόλακες) and from “a person prone to discussing human beings” (ἀνθρωπολόγος) (1125a1–​5).

166  The Value of the World and of Oneself instance, in Plato’s Theaetetus (114. 18–​24, Heylbut).8 Aspasius then says: But nor does he speak about himself. What, then, are the exchanges and conversations of the magnanimous person, since he will have no speech concerning human beings? Or would someone not be in error in saying about him that he is entirely prone to speaking of divinity, and is knowledgeable concerning these things, and against “the many,” and about nature? But if he will [be knowledgeable] also concerning human things, it would be concerning some other virtue and the things active in accordance with it. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ περὶ αὑτοῦ λέγει. τίνες οὖν αἱ τοῦ μεγαλοψύχου ὁμιλίαι καὶ λόγοι, ἐπειδὴ ἀνθρώπων αὐτῷ λόγος οὐκ ἔστιν; ἢ οὐκ ἄν τις ἁμαρτάνοι εἰπὼν περὶ τούτου ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὅλον θεολόγος ἐστὶ καὶ περὶ τούτων καὶ πρὸς τοὺς πολλοὺς καὶ περὶ φύσεως ἐπιστημῶν; εἰ δ’ ἄρα καὶ περὶ ἀνθρωπίνων, περὶ ἄλλης τινὸς ἀρετῆς καὶ τῶν κατ’ αὐτὴν ἐνεργειῶν. (114. 24–​29, Heylbut)

Here, Aspasius spells out what seems to be an inevitable corollary to one of Aristotle’s discussions of the magnanimous. If, as Aristotle explicitly states, the magnanimous person would be concerned with no human beings and with no human affairs (not even affairs pertaining to that person’s own individual human life), then, if that person is to engage in any conversation or argumentation at all, those would have to be conversations or arguments concerning something extra-​human. The remaining available topics are the divine (corresponding to Aristotle’s science of metaphysics) and the natural world (corresponding to Aristotle’s physics, and hence 8 Gauthier (1951, 107) refers in this respect to Theaet. 173e and 174a. In the former, Socrates self-​referentially (and self-​mockingly) describes a philosopher behaving inappropriately in court, which fits in well with Gauthier’s interpretation of Aristotle’s magnanimous person as modeled on Socrates. However, note that the reference may well be to 174a, containing Plato’s famous anecdote concerning Thales as absent-​minded.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  167 presumably excluding considerations pertaining to humans qua anything other than natural substances). Aspasius’s argument, furthermore, parallels one of Aristotle’s own. In NE X.8, Aristotle argues that perfect happiness or flourishing (εὐδαιμονία) is a kind of contemplative activity, by considering the actions plausibly attributed to the gods, whom “we take to be the most blessedly happy and flourishing” (1178b8–​9). Having ruled out humanlike (and hence unworthy) actions such as generous donations, and having also eliminated complete inaction, Aristotle concludes that these gods must contemplate, leaving that activity as the most suitable candidate for constituting human flourishing as well (1178b7–​23). Complementing that conclusion, MM II.12 introduces an analogy between human and divine self-​ sufficiency. After concluding, similarly to NE X.8, that god would not reasonably be asleep, it is concluded that he must contemplate, and will contemplate himself, since there is simply no better object (1212b33–​1213a4). On Aspasius’s interpretation, Aristotle in NE IV.3 is implementing a similar argument based on a process of elimination. But, instead of identifying the best human activity by locating the activity of god first, in NE IV.3 the process is applied directly to the activity to be performed by the magnanimous themselves. Since the magnanimous person is “best” (ἄριστος) (NE IV.3, 1123b26–​7), it is reasonable to refer to his or her characteristic activity in order to discover the best human activity or pursuit, similarly to the appeal to the gods in X.8. And, again similarly to X.8, once we have eliminated all actions that would have been unworthy of such a person, we are left with only one option, namely theoretical contemplation of such things as the nature of the divine. Another important link between NE IV.3 and X.8 occurs at X.8, 1178b17.9 There, Aristotle states that “things having to do with actions” (τὰ περὶ τὰς πράξεις) are “minute” (μικρὰ). It is true that, 9 Gauthier (1951, 113) appeals to this text in arguing that full-​fledged magnanimity is a trait belonging to the philosopher.

168  The Value of the World and of Oneself read in context, this description is applied to practical matters only as they would have been regarded by the gods (in the very next line, Aristotle continues to describe practical matters as unworthy of the gods: ἀνάξια θεῶν), with the conclusion that the only activity attributable to the gods is theoretical activity (1178b20–​22). However, this fact does not at all make the remark irrelevant to human concerns. On the contrary, it is based precisely on the comparison with the divine that Aristotle goes on to identify the activity most constitutive of human flourishing, too, with theoretical activity (1178b22–​3). Indeed, as we have seen, Aspasius’s interpretation of NE IV.3 implies that Aristotle’s discussion there of the magnanimous person, who is also supposed to be a paragon of goodness (albeit admittedly an inferior one by comparison to the gods), mirrors that argument in X.8. Now, just as human beings are expected to imitate the gods by focusing their attention on the theoretical apprehension of eternal objects, they ought also, as Aristotle indicates here, to imitate their transcendence over all other activities, including practically virtuous behavior. Even the best of humans would only be capable of imitating divine activity to a minimal extent (1178b25–​7), and Aristotle makes it quite clear that the same restrictions would hold for their ability to transcend practical circumstances and considerations, since human nature is not self-​sufficient and demands attention to one’s “bodily health, nurture and other care” (1178b33–​35). Nevertheless, the philosophically oriented and (we might now add) magnanimous person ought, as much as possible, “to be immortal” (ἀθανατίζειν), by attending to the feature of oneself that is best (κράτιστον), and not “to mind” (φρονεῖν) human or mortal things (X.7, 1177b31–​34). It has been argued that, apart from philosophers, people of virtuous character, who are concerned with truths and honors related to practical matters, could also be magnanimous, in Aristotle’s view.10 Given what we have just seen, that would require the honors 10 Lear (2004, 169–​74) makes this point, arguing against Gauthier’s position. Crisp (2006, 175–​6), for his part, argues that “given the lack of any explicit reference by

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  169 to be pursued by such people to be included among the greatest. But Aristotle does not seem to think that they are. When he says, in NE IV.3, after stating that the magnanimous person is “worthy of the greatest things,” and is “best” and “good” (1123b26–​29), that greatness in each of the virtues would also seem to be the mark of such a person (1123b29–​30), he does not say, and need not imply, that every virtue should count as one of the greatest things of which that person is worthy.11 Rather, Aristotle seems to be saying in what follows (1123b31–​1124a1) that one would expect the magnanimous person to exhibit character virtue, presumably to the full extent,12 and that this fact is to be explained as follows. Refraining from base behavior would be an inevitable outcome of the magnanimous person’s disposition to deem “nothing great.” That person would simply not care enough about practical ends to make the effort to accomplish them maliciously. We might have expected the magnanimous to be invested in practically virtuous actions, and to center their life around those.13 But, according to what Aristotle is signaling here, the sober outlook of the magnanimous shows human life and activities in general to be relatively insignificant. The magnanimous person, nevertheless, still leads a human life, of course. And the reason why that life contains virtuous activities rather than vicious ones is that, as Aristotle goes on to say, it would be odd if such a person, who is worthy of the greatest honors, would not be worthy of lesser honors, including those awarded for practically virtuous actions. Being the type of person worthy of the greatest honors requires being worthy of basic honors, and that in turn requires being practically virtuous. The magnanimous person, however, need not care about practical virtue, except insofar as Aristotle to a link between philosophy and greatness of soul, the case for [interpreting Aristotle’s magnanimous person as the philosopher] is not strong.” See also Crisp (2006), 176. 11 Contra Richardson Lear (2004), n. 56. 12 But see Pakaluk (2004), 258–​9. 13 This point has been helpfully pointed out to me by an anonymous referee.

170  The Value of the World and of Oneself it is necessary for engaging in the only activity and with the only objects that such a person does care about. Indeed, the magnanimous would care about many other things only in that limited sense, including material goods, which of course would not thereby be included in the category of the most honorable goods. Thus, though magnanimity cannot come about without character virtues (1124a1–​3), that does not mean that these virtues are among the most honorable things of which the magnanimous are worthy or which they deem most honorable. There is a sense in which the person of character virtue does count as magnanimous, in Aristotle’s view. As he states in EE III.5, magnanimity “seems to follow all the virtues,” as it amounts to “discerning correctly the great and the small among the goods” and looking down on “the great things contrary to reason” (1232a31–​ b1).14 For instance, the courageous person would look down on dangers (and would presumably also be able to distinguish the greater and the lesser good in the relevant domain) (1232b1–​2). And, in that sense, courage would be “followed by” magnanimity. But Aristotle also goes on to distinguish that type of magnanimity from magnanimity understood as “a single” (μία) virtue (1232b25–​ 31), which he ascribes to those who deservedly possess and cherish things that are honorable, not simply by the consensus of a multitude or an esteemed few, but as a matter of objective fact (cf. 1232b17–​21). Here, philosophers seem to fit the bill. These people would pronounce the largest number of things worthless, or “minute,” and would not be roused to “wonder” by them, confining themselves rather to those activities and objects that truly are the most honorable and best of all. If Aristotle’s descriptions of the magnanimous person should apply to his conception of a philosopher, as we have seen should be the case, then we should be able to determine the attitude philosophers should take toward both the honorable things they

14 On this part of the EE see Crisp (2006), 164–​5.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  171 are concerned with and things inferior to those things by looking at the attitude the magnanimous take toward more and less honorable things, in Aristotle’s view. It is already clear that such people would be devoted to their objects of inquiry and would deem them especially “great” and worthy of wonder. But Aristotle elaborates further. The magnanimous, i.e., the philosophers, would in fact appear “disdainful” (ὑπερόπται) (NE IV.3, 1124a20). They would “seem” to be characterized by “the trait of being people who look down” (τὸ καταφρονητικὸν εἶναι), and, specifically, they would “look down” on those things that they deem “minute” (EE III.5, 1232a38–​b4)—​ in their case, all things except the objects of their inquiry. And that impression would not be misguided, because the most unique feature of the magnanimous is “belittlement” (τὸ ὀλίγωρον) toward those things that they do not regard as great (1232b9–​10). This feature would be retained, presumably, throughout their lives, and permeate their various projects and activities. For example, in acting generously, or indulging in bodily pleasures strictly to a moderate degree, as these people surely would, they would simultaneously regard such things, and humanity in general, as trifles by comparison to the unmoved movers of the heavens. They would long for those brief periods of time during which their limited human nature allows them to apprehend and imitate such beings in acts of theoretical contemplation. Indeed, this attitude of the magnanimous helps to explain why Aristotle thinks that they must also be particularly practically virtuous. Having full character virtue, such people would be prone to acting altruistically, when that is called for (e.g., they would sacrifice their life for the sake of a friend or the homeland; cf. NE IX.8, 1169a18–​29). And that is exactly what we would have expected them to be prone to doing, given their overall outlook. Shifting their attention away from themselves and humanity and toward the contemplation of superior beings, these people would be generally less prone to egoism. The foregoing discussion indicates that, for Aristotle, philosophers, qua magnanimous, would concern themselves

172  The Value of the World and of Oneself primarily with the most honorable things, attending to other things, not “zealously,” but only insofar as and because doing so would enable their preferred activity. This would also involve the recognition by the philosophers that, since they are human beings, they themselves are among the objects to be generally devalued and disregarded, as is humanity in general. We may say, then, that Aristotle’s magnanimous philosopher exhibits humility, though we must be quick to add a caveat. The vice of deficiency related to magnanimity, i.e., “small-​souled-​ness” (μικροψυχία), which is often translated as “humility,” is of course quite different from magnanimity as we have described it. The “small souled” person, for Aristotle, deems himself worthy of “lesser things than he is worthy of ” (NE IV. 3, 1123b9–​11). Such a person, in failing to pursue well-​ deserved goods, seems “to be ignorant of himself ” (1125a19–​23). Not so with the philosophers who, as far as one can be from ignorance, devalue themselves correctly.15 The correct self-​devaluation of the philosophers is based on a comparison with beings higher than humans, and it therefore extends, as we have seen, to the devaluation of humanity in general. Philosophers recognize that they are doing as well as human beings in general can ever do, and that they deserve to be honored for that reason more than other people (i.e., non-​philosophers) do, dubious an honor though that may be.16 Thus, they are neither “small-​souled,” since they assess themselves as the worthiest among human beings, nor vain, since their assessment is correct. “Small-​souled” people wrongly rank themselves below other individuals, for various reasons (1123b9–​11). They may, for instance, perform good deeds, and fail to interpret 15 Howland (2002, esp. 46 and 55–​6) thinks that Aristotle’s project in the NE, which is generally influenced by a Socratic ideal, calls for a magnanimity that would amount to a Socratic form of self-​deprecation resulting from the recognition of one’s worthlessness with regard to wisdom; but Howland in fact thinks that the magnanimous person as described in NE IV.3 falls short of this ideal. 16 Thus, the honor attached to such people hardly makes them “complacent,” contra Crisp (2006, 172). Pakaluk (2004, 245) argues that magnanimity as Aristotle conceives of it “is not an attitude of smug self-​satisfaction, because it is principally an attitude of aspiration.”

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  173 them as such. What is certain is that such people fail to combine, as they should, an appreciation for what is more honorable than any human being, with the recognition that carrying it out, through contemplation, is the most honorable human pursuit. This pursuit, together with this recognition, is the mark of the magnanimous, who are therefore, and only in this sense, humble.17 Aristotle states that the magnanimous person is incapable of living “with a view to another” (πρὸς ἄλλον), except a friend or a loved one (φίλον) (1124b31–​1125a1). The behavior and values characteristic of a magnanimous person are certainly in line with this statement, especially when we consider the “friends” in view of whom the magnanimous lead their lives as the gods of Aristotle’s metaphysics (see section 5.1). The magnanimous person, who recognizes the inferiority of the human species, would regard human life as having no absolute or overriding value (ὡς οὐκ ἄξιον ὂν πάντως ζῆν), and would consequently even be “prone to great dangers” (μεγαλοκίνδυνος) (NE IV.3, 1124b6–​9).18 Such a person dedicates his or her life fully to the divine, through repeated acts of theoretical contemplation, on the hypothetical assumption that such an enterprise would have rendered him or her “most god 17 Richardson Lear (2004, 174) notes that “[t]‌he vice opposed to greatness of soul [in Aristotle’s view] should not really be called humility . . . when that is conceived in terms of the Christian virtue. Someone who has Christian humility is not marked by a sense of inferiority to others. . . . His humility is primarily before God, not his fellow men.” Her distinction between the humility of the small-​souled and Christian humility is therefore similar to my distinction between the humility of the small-​souled and that of the magnanimous, respectively. The main difference is that, unlike Christian humility (as Lear understands it), the humility of Aristotle’s magnanimous person would not depend on “the grace of God” (ibid.), if that is taken to imply divine intentional action, which Aristotle rejects. In fact, as we shall see, the self-​devaluation that Aristotle thinks the magnanimous person should exhibit only requires the recognition of the superiority to oneself of beings which, though considered divine in Aristotle’s system, are quite different from anything like the monotheistic God or even Aristotle’s prime mover. 18 The point is not that human life is objectively valueless, but rather that its value pales in comparison to other things that the magnanimous person values. I am thankful to an anonymous referee for a helpful comment on this point, and for suggesting EE VII.2, 1237a16–​17 as a relevant text establishing the point that “the human being is one of the things excellent by nature” and that this in turn implies that human virtue is something “unqualifiedly good” (ἁπλῶς ἀγαθόν).

174  The Value of the World and of Oneself loved” (NE X.8, 1179a22–​32), had the gods been able to love or communicate.19

5.3.  Self-​Devaluation and Theocentric Teleology Aristotle regards humanity as significantly inferior to (i.e., less honorable and perfect than) certain higher entities, and above all the gods of his metaphysics. As a direct corollary, the people whom he considers wisest, i.e., those who have attained knowledge of what he calls “first philosophy,” and therefore have a full grasp of the truth concerning the ultimate causes of being, including their relation to human beings, to the extent that Aristotle himself does, would also be aware of the inferiority of humanity to these divine entities. It is only to be expected that such people would be expected to lead their lives in accordance with their knowledge of their own inferiority, and to nurture a commitment to the beings whose superiority they acknowledge, as much as is humanly possible. Yet, the conclusions we have reached so far concerning the priorities and conduct to be recommended based on Aristotle’s view may appear to be in tension with his overall theory. Specifically, focusing one’s attention and effort primarily (ideally, though presumably never in practice, exclusively) on the good that one finds in divinity seems to fly in the face of Aristotle’s natural teleology. For, according to that theory, members of a given species are naturally oriented toward securing, activating, maintaining, and propagating their own life functions and characteristic features. The first thing to note in this respect is that, by focusing one’s attention on the divine in the way Aristotle thinks one should, and as philosophers adhering to his standards do, one in a sense does enhance one’s own life and nature, and this for two reasons.

19 See section 5.1 and Segev (2017b), 87–​9.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  175 First, as we have seen, the relation at the basis of the philosopher’s devotion to the gods of Aristotle’s metaphysics is one of superiority friendship based on goodness. As such, this relation, like all friendships (φιλίαι) based on a shared good feature (as Aristotle thinks of them), enables philosophers to regard the divine entity in question as their “other self ” (NE IX.4, 1166a29–​32). Perhaps, then, dedicating one’s life to the divine would amount, in this sense, to caring for oneself. Second, for Aristotle, not only are humans capable of sharing a good feature with the gods and befriending them, but also, by doing so—​that is, by cultivating and exercising their intellect in the very same activity constituting the nature of these gods—​humans are in fact doing what most of all (μάλιστα) makes them human (cf. NE X.7, 1178a6–​7). Viewed thus, it seems difficult to distinguish between attending to one’s own intellect and attending to the gods. These suggestions, however, raise the following difficulties. First, unlike dedicating one’s life to such things as family life or public affairs, dedicating one’s life to divinity does not directly contribute to the preservation of the lives and proper functioning of members of one’s own species, which is, to repeat, what we would expect individual organisms to pursue given the principles of Aristotle’s natural theory. Second, it seems that a relevant distinction could indeed be made between care for one’s own intellect and devotion to divinity. Humans could revere the pure eternal intellects functioning as their ultimate causes, or they could attend to theoretical reason specifically insofar as they may exercise it, being the mortal rational animals that they are. Aristotle sees an intricate relation between these two attitudes, and he advocates both. But we may ask whether his natural teleology permits him to do so consistently. Caring for oneself, of course, is ubiquitous among individual members of biological species. Indeed, the devotion to other humans, such as one’s family, friends, and fellow citizens, which Aristotle condones, also has analogues in the animal kingdom, as he recognizes. Perhaps most memorable are the observations Aristotle relates of dolphins

176  The Value of the World and of Oneself cooperating, under what seems to be a genuine risk to their own lives, in support of other members of their species (HA IX.48). But is there any analogue, or relevant evidence, to support Aristotle’s recommendation (based on his understanding of human nature) of devoting oneself to nonhuman, eternal unmoved movers? In fact, there is, at least according to one prominent interpretation of his teleological worldview. In Politics I.8, Aristotle states explicitly that plants exist for the sake of non-​rational animals, which in turn generally exist for the sake of human beings (1256b10–​22). Based partly on this text, David Sedley concludes that Aristotle adheres to an “anthropocentric cosmic order,” due to which “[e]‌ach being serves both its own ends and—​to put it very crudely—​the next link in the food chain.”20 As Sedley recognizes, since the cosmic order in question posits Aristotle’s god as “the ultimate focus of all aspirations,” it is “[i]n one very strong sense . . . theo-​centric” as well.21 He also recognizes a parallel between “the combination of a lower with a higher goal” in the case of nonhuman species and the coexistence in Aristotle’s view of human beings of a “moral goal” and “the higher intellectual goal of transcending human nature by means of contemplation.”22 This comes close to explaining, in terms couched in Aristotle’s natural teleology, his recommendation to dedicate one’s life to the divine, and to prefer doing so over benefiting one’s own human life, one’s human friends, or humanity in general. In Aristotle’s theory, it is as appropriate and natural for human beings to live for the sake of the gods as it is for plants to exist for the sake of beasts and for beasts to exist for the sake of human beings. Though Sedley’s understanding of Aristotelian teleology as countenancing a double goal for mortal species, including humans, helps to explain Aristotle’s recommendation of dedicating oneself



20 Sedley (1991), 190–​1. 21 Sedley (1991), 196. 22 Sedley (1991), 191.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  177 to the divine, it also calls for a modification. A double goal for a non-​rational animal, for example, would consist of (a) the goal of (successfully or excellently) activating and preserving all its characteristic capacities (nourishing itself and reproducing; perceiving with its senses), and (b) its goal in relation to beings that are superior to it in value (being used for the purposes of human beings). For the human double goal to provide an adequate analogue, then, it would have to consist of (a) activating and preserving all human characteristic capacities excellently (which would include, not only moral action, but also theoretical contemplation), and (b) the goal of humans in relation to beings that are superior to them in value (dedicating one’s life to the divine). Much of goals (a) and (b), for humans, would be achieved by performing the same activity, i.e., by performing acts of theoretical contemplation. But that is neither surprising nor unique. It is the (excellent) exercise of the characteristic capacities of mature horses that makes them useful for us in battle, and it is partly a feature of the (successful) reproductive process in sheep, i.e., lactating, that makes them useful for human nutrition. The fact that goal (a), of activating and preserving our characteristic capacities, must include as one of those capacities our capacity for theoretical thinking, follows from Aristotle’s commitment to the idea that the theoretical intellect constitutes a significant part of human nature—​it is, for him, as was already mentioned, what a human being “most of all” is (μάλιστα: NE X.7, 1178a6–​7). This fact also helps to clear up a potential misconception of the interpretation advanced so far of Aristotle’s view of the most appropriate attitude toward divinity. It may appear, at first sight, that that interpretation sets out to establish human theoretical activity as the highest human goal, or as being alone good only for its own sake, similarly to exclusivist interpretations of Aristotelian happiness (εὐδαιμονία) (identifying happiness with excellent theoretical activity), and unlike inclusivist interpretations (taking happiness to include all intrinsic goods as parts). In fact, however, the upshot

178  The Value of the World and of Oneself of the interpretation advanced thus far is that Aristotle devalues human virtuous activity in toto. Whichever human activities happiness happens to consist of, these activities conjointly form a goal distinct from, and subordinate to, the goal of devoting oneself to beings whose value transcends all human endeavors. The relation between theoretical and practical virtue and activity, and the relation between these and human flourishing, are both within the purview of human nature and its overall goal (i.e., goal (a)). Those who have perfected their human nature and its characteristic functions to the utmost extent would necessarily come to the recognition that human life, even at its best, is vastly inferior to the divine, and that recognition would presumably shape their attitude and behavior (it would, that is, motivate them to also adopt goal (b)). And, since that recognition would be based on the estimation of the happiest human life, it should properly be taken to downplay the significance or value, not only of the political life or moral actions of human beings, but of their theoretical wisdom as well.

5.4.  Aristotle’s Optimism For Aristotle, as we have just seen, performing the activities characteristic of one’s species (goal (a)) is required for the successful dedication of oneself to higher beings, and ultimately to the first divine causes of all of being (goal (b)). This is most clearly visible in the case of humans (or, at least, humans capable of philosophical activity), in whose case goal (b) consists of dedicating their efforts and activities directly to the gods of Aristotle’s metaphysics. Since these are, for Aristotle, the fundamental causes of the world as a whole, appreciating them and contemplating their nature involves the appreciation and contemplation of the entire world qua their effect. That in turn necessarily involves recognizing oneself as a part of the world order caused by these beings. And as we shall see presently, Aristotle also regards this world order as perfect,

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  179 precisely as a result of featuring just as many parts as it does, including the various species of living things in existence, along with their characteristic activities and functions. By dedicating oneself to the divine causes of the world, then, one also acknowledges one’s own contribution to the perfection of the world as it is caused and maintained by these beings, which in turn renders one’s own existence worthwhile. We have already seen in Chapter 4 that Aristotle is committed to assessing the cosmos as perfect, since he thinks that the world, which either enjoys a state akin to that of god (Pol. VII.3, 1325b28–​ 9) or is itself a god (De phil. Fr. 26 =​Cicero, N.D. I.13.33), is constituted such that all of its parts are directed toward a single good end and toward “the whole” (Metaph. Λ.10, 1075a11–​29). This view is supported by specific features of Aristotle’s cosmological theory. In Cael. I.1, Aristotle asserts that, unlike bodies that are “perfect” in the sense of having all “dimensions” (διαστάσεις), the whole of which all of these bodies are parts—​the universe—​ is “entirely perfect” (τέλειον . . . πάντῃ), being neither in contact with nor limited by any other body, and hence forming a unity, unlike its parts, that is not simultaneously also a plurality (268b5–​ 10).23 Though what Aristotle has in mind here is most directly perfection or completeness in magnitude, it has been noted that the word teleion, which in Greek “undoubtedly has a normative aspect as well,” is defined by Aristotle as meaning both “something that includes all its parts . . . and something that with respect of the excellence proper of its kind cannot be surpassed” (Metaph. Δ.16, 1021b12–​1022a3), and that “both senses . . . play a role in De Caelo I.1.”24

23 There is some controversy about the identity of the “bodies” alluded to at 268b5. G. Betegh, F. Pedriali, and C. Pfeiffer, “The Perfection of Bodies: Aristotle’s De Caelo I.1,” Rhizomata 1 (2013), 30–​62, at 53–​4, have argued, against the common view that the referent should be individual substances, that the reference is instead to the material elements. 24 Betegh, Pedriali, and Pfeiffer (2013), 44; cf. ibid. 55.

180  The Value of the World and of Oneself It is only appropriate, then, that Aristotle goes on in De caelo I.9 to link that sense of perfection of the universe directly to the divine beings whose existence and activity this world order enables. He makes the point that “the whole world” (ὁ πᾶς κόσμος), which is made “of all proper matter [i.e., natural and perceptible body]” (ἐξ ἁπάσης . . . τῆς οἰκείας ὕλης), is unique and perfect (again, in the sense of not being limited by any external body), and that, besides the impossibility of there being a body outside of it, there is, for that reason, no place, void, or time outside of it either (279a6–​18). Now, Aristotle says that it is on account of (διόπερ) there being no body, place, void, or time outside of the world as it is that “the things there” (τἀκεῖ) remain placeless, ageless, and changeless, and thus lead “the best and most self-​sufficient life” (τὴν ἀρίστην . . . ζωὴν καὶ τὴν αὐταρκεστάτην) (279a18–​22). There is controversy over the identity of the beings that are said at 279a18 to exist “there,” i.e., outside of the world.25 The description of their best and self-​sufficient life, however, is unmistakably reminiscent of Aristotle’s description of the gods—​i.e., the unmoved movers of the heavens—​as having the “best life” (ζωὴ ἀρίστη: Metaph. Λ.7, 1072b28), and as being entirely self-​ sufficient (EE VII. 12, 1244b7–​10; MM II.15, 1212b33–​1213a10; cf. NE X.7, 1177a27–​8). 25 Guthrie argues that Aristotle is speaking there hypothetically about the features that would have been applicable to certain Platonic beings, had they existed; see W. K. C. Guthrie, “The Development of Aristotle’s Theology: I,” Classical Quarterly 27 (1933), 162–​71. O’Brien argues, convincingly, against that interpretation, and against those who claim that the reference is to ether; see D. O’Brien, “Life beyond the Stars: Aristotle, Plato and Empedocles,” in R. A. H. King (ed.), Common to Body and Soul: Philosophical Approaches to Explaining Life Behaviour in Greco-​Roman Antiquity (Berlin/​New York, 2006), 49–​102. Chroust, inter alios, identifies the beings in question as the unmoved movers of the heavens; see A. H. Chroust, “Some Comments on Aristotle, De Caelo 279a18–​ 35: A Fragment of Aristotle’s On Philosophy Proving the Existence and Perfection of God,” Divus Thomas 79.3 (1976), 255–​64. O’Brien (2006) suggests instead that the beings mentioned in the text are features of Aristotle’s early thought, subsequently supplanted with the unmoved movers of the heavens. Thein mentions the possibility that the “things there” of 279a18 could refer to the totality of things, but, as he also mentions, the plural (τἀκεῖ) counts against this reading; see K. Thein, “Some Conceptual Difficulties in Aristotle’s De caelo I.9,” Rhizomaa 1.1 (2013), 63–​84, at 71.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  181 It has been argued, against this suggestion, that Aristotle goes on to speak of the “beings there” as moving (279b1: κινεῖται).26 But, in fact, what is said at 279b1 to be moving seems rather to be the “entire universe” (ὁ πᾶς οὐρανός) mentioned at 279a25–​6. In 279a22–​8, Aristotle draws a comparison between the “beings there” of 279a18 and the entire universe, whose αἰών (the duration of its existence), derived from ἀεὶ εἶναι (always to be), is similarly properly named, since it is “immortal and divine” (the application of being and life to other, mortal beings is then said to depend on this primary meaning, and to be more or less accurate in particular cases, presumably depending on the extent to which the being in question shares in divinity). At 279a30–​5, Aristotle goes on to argue that “the entire primary and highest divine being”—​presumably, the “beings there” of 279a18—​is necessarily unchangeable (ἀμετάβλητον), because there is nothing more divine that will move (κινήσει) it and because it already contains “nothing base” and lacks none of “its own fine things.” Then comes 279b1–​3, stating that “indeed, it too (καὶ) is plausibly moved (κινεῖται) with an unceasing motion (κίνησις), for all moveable things (πάντα . . . κινούμενα) cease when they arrive at their proper place, but in the case of the body [moving] in a circle the place from which it has started and at which it ends is the same.” Paralleling the comparison at 279a22–​8, here Aristotle is again comparing the “highest,” incorporeal category of divinity (the unmoved movers) to a secondary, corporeal one (the world, including the heavenly bodies and spheres).27 The upshot of this 26 O’Brien (2006, 63). O’Brien (2006, 64) goes on to argue against a proposal by Cherniss to read 279a18–​35 as a parenthetical remark in order to read 279b1 as referring to the movement of ether, and against Simplicius’s emendation of κινεῖται to κινεῖ at 279b1. I agree with O’Brien’s rejection of these proposals, but argue that, even without them, one can read 279b1 as referring to the movement of something other than the otherworldly beings described at 279a18 (see the following discussion). 27 Thein (2013, 79) argues that ἀμετάβλητον at 279a32 is attributed to the universe, based on similar occurrences in pre-​Socratic philosophy (which Thein takes τοῖς ἐγκυκλίοις φιλοσοφήμασι at 279a31–​2 to refer to). But, even if Aristotle does rely on pre-​Socratic philosophy in advancing his argument about divinity here, he may well be reapplying those discussions to his own conception of divinity.

182  The Value of the World and of Oneself second comparison is that the unchangeability of the unmoved movers is applicable to the heavens as well. In particular, though the heavenly bodies and spheres are in movement, unlike their unmoved movers, the motion of the heavens is itself fixed and eternal, for a similar reason to the one explaining the complete, unqualified unchangeability and immobility of the unmoved movers.28 The beings transcending the cosmos that Aristotle appeals to in Cael. I.9, then, seem most plausibly to be the eternal intellects that he discusses elsewhere as the primary causes of reality. On the eternal intellectual activity constituting the superior life of these beings depend the cosmos as a whole and all life within it. However, as Aristotle indicates in Cael. I.9, though these intellects are themselves divine and “most self-​sufficient,” they nevertheless require for their very existence the cosmos being such as it is, in particular, exhausting the limits of corporeal spatiotemporal reality in a way that makes it possible for certain beings to exist outside of it.29 For Aristotle says that these beings are such as they are because there is no body, place, void, or time outside “the heaven” (279a16–​19). The most plausible meaning of “heaven” to apply to the occurrence in that sentence (and to οὐρανός throughout 279a), among the three possible meanings delineated at 278b18–​21, is the world at large, since that 28 Thein (2013, 73) also argues, against reading τἀκεῖ at 279a18 as referring to the prime mover, that (1) τἀκεῖ is plural, and (2) the prime mover is not alluded to elsewhere in De caelo. But (1) τἀκεῖ can refer to the plurality of unmoved movers of the heavens, and (2) apart from the fact that Aristotle does allude to an immaterial mover of the heavens also at Cael. II.6, 288b5–​6, as Thein (2013, 73 n. 18) mentions himself, one could well imagine a brief and single reference to the unmoved movers in this treatise. De caelo deals with cosmology, and hence unsurprisingly does not delve into the nature and functioning of metaphysical first causes. Similarly, on a prominent reading of DA III.5, this brief chapter alludes to the prime mover for the only time in the entire De anima; see Caston (1999, 216); cf. Chapter 4, pp. 135–6 and n. 35, in this volume. 29 Kosman, too, makes the point that “the eternal and unchanging being that Aristotle has just described [sc. in Cael I.9, 279a17–​22], although conceptually distinct from the outermost self-​moving sphere that it is said to be beyond, is at the same time not independent of it”; see A. Kosman, “Aristotle’s Prime Mover,” in M. L. Gill and J. G. Lennox (eds.), Self-​Motion: From Aristotle to Newton (Princeton, NJ, 1994), 135–​54, at 144. But to acknowledge that point, it seems to me, one need not follow Kosman in thinking, further, that the prime mover functions as the soul of the outermost heaven (see the following discussion).

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  183 is evidently the meaning of οὐρανός as it is used in the preceding discussion, where it stands for “the whole cosmos” (ὁ πᾶς κόσμος), which is said there to be one, unique, and perfect (279a6–​11). If so, then Aristotle thinks that the unmoved movers depend on the universe being the kind of perfect thing that it is (and vice versa), rather than just on the “outermost sphere,” as is sometimes assumed.30 There is controversy, depending in part on the interpretation of Cael. I.9, over whether Aristotle considers the prime unmoved mover the form, or even the soul, of the entire cosmos.31 But, whichever stance one takes on this issue, one still can and should ascribe to Aristotle the view that the world is ordered perfectly and in harmony, indeed mutual dependence, with the best and most honorable eternal activity.32 The universe being perfect in the sense we have outlined involves and requires, inter alia, the particular organization of the sublunary realm and the various phenomena within it. Famously, Aristotle thinks that the world contains a fixed number of eternal species of mortal living things (cf., e.g., GA II.1). Aristotle says that by making 30 See Kosman (1994), 143–​4. Kosman seems to take τοῦ οὐρανοῦ at 279a16 to refer exclusively to the “outermost sphere.” But, arguably, even on that reading, Aristotle’s view would be that the unmoved movers depend on the entire world being such as it is, since the relevant features of the outermost sphere making it possible for these beings to exist outside of it (i.e., having no body, place, void, or time outside of it) hold true for it only if we think of what is outside of it as what is outside of the entire cosmos of which it is the outer limit. 31 Kosman (1994) argues, largely based on his interpretation of Cael. I.9, that the prime mover is the soul, or “soul-​analogue,” of the outermost heaven. His view is criticized by L. Judson, “Heavenly Motion and the Unmoved Mover,” in M. L. Gill and J. G. Lennox (eds.), Self-​Motion: From Aristotle to Newton (Princeton, NJ, 1994), 155–​76; and F. Miller, “Aristotle’s Divine Cause,” in E. Feser (ed.), Aristotle on Method and Metaphysics (London, 2013), 277–​98. 32 For more on the support for the world’s perfection based on Aristotle’s cosmology, see P. Pellegrin, “The Argument for the Sphericity of the Universe in Arisottle’s De caelo: Astronomy and Physics,” in A. C. Bowen and C. Wildberg (eds.), New Perspectives on Aristotle’s De caelo (Leiden, 2009), 163–​85, at 170. In addition, with regard to the argument for the sphericity of the heavens in Cael. II.4, Pellegrin (2009, 171–​2) notes that “[t]‌he idea that the hierarchy of forms corresponds to the hierarchy of bodies is evidence of nature’s perfection.” And, discussing Aristotle’s account of heavenly motion, Pellegrin (2009, 183) associates Aristotle’s view that “each system of spheres receives the some [sic] motion from the preceding system and transmits it to the following one” with “a principle of economy—​a test of the perfection of the overall system.”

184  The Value of the World and of Oneself reproduction continuous (ἐνδελεχῆ)—​ thereby guaranteeing the eternity of the species—​ “God completed the universe” (συνεπλήρωσε τὸ ὅλον ὁ θεός) (GC II.10, 336b31–​2). Though Aristotle does not use the same verb (συμπληρόω) in a comparable context in the extant corpus, there is a relevant and strikingly similar occurrence of it in Plato. At the concluding remark to the Timaeus (92c), it is announced that the preceding account “concerning the universe” (περὶ τοῦ παντὸς) has come to an end, “for this world order (κόσμος) here, thus having received and been filled with (συνπληρωθεὶς) mortal and immortal living things, a visible living thing encompassing the visible things, a perceptible likeness of the intelligible god, greatest and best and both finest and most perfect, one world (οὐρανὸς) here has come to be, being unique in kind.” Earlier in the dialogue, it is announced that the Demiurge, in creating the world, has exhausted the number of elements, as well as their entire quantity and various properties, in order to guarantee that the world will be whole (ὅλον), complete (τέλεον), unique, and ageless (32c–​33a). It is also said that the Demiurge created the world as a sphere—​the shape containing within it all other shapes—​so that it would contain “all living things” (33b). Later, the Demiurge is said to have announced to the created Olympian gods that there are three types of mortal beings that they must bring into being in order for the world to be “sufficiently perfect” (τέλεος ἱκανῶς) and so that it “might really be the whole” (ὄντως ἅπαν ᾖ) (41c). Like Aristotle in De caelo, then, Plato in the Timaeus describes the perfect and complete world as one that exhausts the quantity and quality of all bodies and as being unique and spherical. The “filling” of this world with living species by the Demiurge is understood as a necessary step toward making it perfect in this way. The remark describing this action of the Demiurge follows the discussion of the last stage of creation, in which humankind, and subsequently other living things, came into being (90e–​ff ). According to the account that follows, various genera of animals came into being as transformations of various types of people. Here, of course,

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  185 Aristotle’s account breaks with the Timaeus sharply. Plausibly, his remark in GC II.10 about God having apparently intentionally filled the world with eternal species—​an uncharacteristic formulation33—​is a direct reaction to Plato’s idea of the Demiurge filling the world with species by transforming existing species into different ones. But, the question of the eternity of species aside, the perfection or completeness of the world that Aristotle envisages is similar to Plato’s, as is the view that among the necessary conditions for such a perfect world is the existence within it of the specific number of species currently observable (which, for Aristotle, in addition, inhere in it eternally). Thus, part of what makes the cosmos perfect and enables the existence of beings of the best type functioning as its basic causes, for Aristotle, is the specific constitution of the sublunary realm with its specific number and duration of species of living things. It has been suggested that the material elements in Aristotle’s cosmos themselves “exist for the sake of plants and animals,” and that the cyclical transformation of these elements discussed in GC II.10 and Metaph. Θ.8, “as the necessary prerequisite for a good overall cosmic state of affairs, is for the sake of that most excellent of results, the eternity of the species.”34 Whether Aristotle’s natural teleology extends that far, or rather begins at the level of natural phenomena constituted by the elements, it seems clear that the observable world, as Aristotle conceives of it, is at least ordered, down to the elemental level, as if

33 On the metaphorical nature of this statement, see Henry (2015), 108. 34 M. F. Burnyeat, “Introduction: Aristotle on the Foundations of Sublunary Physics,” in F. de Haas and J. Mansfeld (eds.), Aristotle’s On Generation and Corruption I (Oxford, 2004), 7–​24, at 24. Burnyeat confesses that he has “no clear text” to substantiate that interpretation, but he does bring up Metaph. Λ.10, 1075a11–​25, and its point that “everything in the cosmos is ordered towards the good of the whole” (ibid.). Scharle argues that the behavior of the sublunary elements is to be explained teleologically, not because they enable organic generation, but rather because they “indirectly imitate the prime mover by being part of a cycle that imitates the superlunary circular movements”; see M. Scharle, “‘And These Things Follow’: Teleology, Necessity, and Explanation in Aristotle’s Meteorologica,” in D. Ebrey (ed.), Theory and Practice in Aristotle’s Natural Science (Cambridge, 2015), 79–​99, at 88. See also n. 44 in this chapter.

186  The Value of the World and of Oneself it were designed optimally to support the eternal existence of both mortal and immortal species.35 Also relevant to Aristotle’s assessment of the world as perfect is his commitment to the eternal recurrence of full philosophical knowledge among human beings.36 Aristotle thinks that, as a result of an eternal pattern of cataclysms, human civilization is periodically eradicated and inevitably re-​emerges (see, e.g., Protrepticus Fr. 8b, Ross =​Iambl. Comm. Math. 83. 6–​22, Klein [post Fetsa]; De philosophia Fr. 8b, Ross =​Philoponus in Nicom. Isagogen I.1, 9–​49, Giardina). Thus, for Aristotle, knowledge of all things—​including productive, practical, and theoretical science—​has already been achieved infinitely many times in the past (and will presumably be fully achieved infinitely many times in the future) (Cael. I.3, 270b19–​20; Meteor. I.3, 339b27–​30; Metaph. Λ.8, 1074a38–​b14; Pol. II.5, 1264a3–​5; VII.10, 1329b25–​35).37 He envisages his own intellectual environment as advancing steadily toward just such an achievement, with Greek philosophers from Thales onward gradually refining their methods, concepts, and results, with the intention 35 Nor do we need to take a position on the teleological point for reproduction. It is sometimes argued that in GC II.10 Aristotle is committed to viewing reproduction as being for the sake of the cosmic good, but the text does not seem to necessarily support that view (see Chapter 4, n. 52; cf. Henry 2015). Reproduction may well be for the sake of the reproducing species itself (see T. K. Johansen, “The Two Kinds of End in Aristotle: The View from the de Anima,” in D. Ebrey [ed.], Theory and Practice in Aristotle’s Natural Science [Cambridge, 2015], 119–​36), and, in addition, be naturally directed toward higher species (like human beings, and, perhaps indirectly, by supporting the human activities dedicated to divinity, it would also be directed toward the divine) (cf. section 5.3). 36 For further discussion of the texts mentioned in this paragraph, see my “Aristotle on the Intellectual Achievements of Foreign Civilizations,” in B. Castelnerac, L. Gili, and L. Monteils-​Laeng (eds.), Foreign Influences: The Circulation of Knowledge in Antiquity (Turnhout, forthcoming a). 37 Aristotle’s description of the periodic cataclysms in Meteor. I.14 suggests that these would be local, rather than global, and so would not demolish all existing human societies simultaneously; see also A. H. Chroust, “The ‘Great Deluge’ in Aristotle’s On Philosophy,” L’antiquité Classique 42 (1973), 113–​22, at 114–​17. Nevertheless, Aristotle clearly thinks that these local disasters are enough to guarantee that periods of time would predictably occur during which (at least) full philosophical knowledge is not yet attained by any existing society, e.g., in Aristotle’s own day, prior to the intellectual achievements of his own school. See Chroust (1973), 117, 120.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  187 of reaching understanding of the ultimate principles and causes of reality (Metaph. A in its entirety is dedicated to sketching that historiographical account). Aristotle is apparently convinced that this intellectual task is being adequately undertaken in his own day and will finally be accomplished by his own school (Protrepticus Fr. 8a, Ross =​Cicero, Tusc. 3.28.69). The recurrence of civilization, thus envisaged, ensures the emergence of cultural and intellectual prosperity, but also guarantees that human history will inevitably be marred by periodic regression and indeed destruction. One may view this predicament of human civilization as Sisyphean, with the attainment of the ultimate goal of human progress necessarily being achieved only to ultimately slip away. And one might accordingly argue that Aristotle’s view does not allow for genuine progress and is therefore ultimately at odds with optimism. This point by itself would not count against Aristotle’s optimistic theory, since, as we have seen at the outset, a theory upholding the perfect order and value of the world and the preferability of human existence, and which would therefore count as optimistic, can deem progress unnecessary, or even impossible, given a currently perfect world order (see the Introduction). But Aristotle’s view does allow for, indeed guarantees, progress in the endeavors of human civilization, i.e., within each given cycle and prior to the next cataclysm.38 Furthermore, the very idea that human civilization reliably achieves full philosophical knowledge at all is in harmony with Aristotle’s optimistic worldview, despite the interruptions. It assumes, first, that the world is fully comprehensible through reason, which is in line with the view that 38 I take this specific type of progress to be what Chroust (1973, 122 n. 23) has in mind when he says that “Aristotle’s thesis of the ‘cyclic vicissitudes’ of philosophy . . . does not necessarily defeat his general doctrine of the ever-​progressing advance of philosophy.” Indeed, one might say, with W. J. Verdenius, “Traditional and Personal Elements in Aristotle’s Religion,” Phronesis 5 (1960), 56–​70, at 57, that for Aristotle “[t]‌here is no real progress in the history of thought at all,” when progress is understood to designate an intellectual advance across cycles—​an impossibility, since for Aristotle “everything” has already been discovered (see earlier discussion).

188  The Value of the World and of Oneself the world is optimally and rationally ordered. Second, it implies that there is a valuable and achievable goal for human beings to pursue—​understanding the ultimate truths about reality and its causes and contemplating them—​the striving toward (and, a fortiori, accomplishing) which renders human life preferable over nonexistence. Indeed, Aristotle regards that kind of contemplative activity, provided that it is carried out consistently throughout an individual’s life and is properly accompanied by external goods sufficient for sustenance and comfortable living, as the highest kind of “happiness” humans might achieve (NE X.7). At this point one might raise a question concerning those who would not be in a position to achieve the goal in question individually. Aristotle does not only think that civilization advances gradually, so that generations would pass before any individual would be capable of properly exercising full theoretical contemplation. He also thinks that in society generally, and hence presumably also by the time civilization advances far enough to allow certain individuals to reach and exercise full philosophical knowledge, most people dedicate their lives to other, non-​intellectual undertakings, such as the pursuit of bodily pleasures or political honor (NE I.5, 1095b14–​23).39 It may seem that, on such a view, it is only the life of a slight minority of people that is ultimately considered worthwhile.40 A different conclusion is reached, however, when one attends to Aristotle’s political theory, and the place of theoretical contemplation there. Though there has been controversy on the matter, there are good reasons to think that Aristotle regards theoretical contemplation as the ultimate goal of the ideal city that he envisages in Politics VII–​VIII, and hence as the most natural and correct goal for political organization in general.41 If 39 I discuss the rarity of theoretical contemplation in M. Segev, “Aristotle on Nature, Human Nature and Human Understanding,” Rhizomata 5.2 (2017a), 177–​209. 40 Indeed, the same point could be made about entire nations or poleis that are not appropriately set up so as to enable philosophical activity within them, and which nevertheless exist simultaneously with poleis in which philosophers can and do flourish. 41 On this point, see Segev (2017b), 171–​3.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  189 so, then as members of a political community who contribute to the exercise within their community of such a valuable activity by other members who are capable of directly performing it—​e.g., by providing necessary goods using crafts, protecting the city through warfare, etc.—​non-​philosophers would, precisely by virtue of their contribution, lead lives that are worthwhile in their own right.42 Analogously, Aristotle’s view may well be that generations leading up to the advent of full philosophical knowledge, and the thinkers inquiring into philosophical questions within those generations without yet achieving full answers to them, like Aristotle’s own predecessors, lead worthwhile lives by virtue of their contribution to the intellectual achievements of the future. Aristotle famously describes early philosophy as speaking inarticulately “concerning all things” (περὶ πάντων), since it is at that stage still “youthful” (νέα) (Metaph. A.10, 993a15–​17). He also speaks of philosophy (there, specifically philosophy concerned with “human affairs”: τὰ ἀνθρώπεια) as a project left unfinished by his predecessors and that one should do one’s best to further so that “it might be brought to completion” (τελειωθῇ) (ΝΕ Χ.8, 1181b12–​15). This conception of philosophy as an ongoing project developing in a way resembling the growth of a single human being and having a definable and achievable telos makes it appropriate to think of earlier stages in that development, and the efforts of people at those earlier stages, as being for the sake of that end. Relatedly, Aristotle clearly thinks of the development of the polis out of more basic communities as a teleological process (Pol. I.2), and he may think of the final telos of that process, which would require further historical stages (a transformation between several types of constitution) 42 For a good account of the mechanism by which Aristotle thinks citizens who cannot directly perform virtuous activity, like theoretical contemplation, would nevertheless share in a good life indirectly by participating in the good of the polis, see J. M. Cooper, “On Civic Friendship and Political Animals,” in G. Patzig (ed.), Aristoteles’ “Politik” (Göttingen, 1987), 221–​42, esp. 240, and J. M. Cooper, “Political Community and the Highest Good,” in J. G. Lennox and R. Bolton (eds.), Being, Nature and Life in Aristotle (Cambridge, 2010), 212–​64, esp. 263.

190  The Value of the World and of Oneself after the emergence of the polis from its more basic constituent parts, as being the emergence specifically of the best polis of Politics VII–​VIII.43 If non-​philosophers can partake of the achievements of philosophers by cohabiting a polis with them and contributing to its good in the ways available to them, then it would seem that both non-​philosophers and proto-​philosophers can similarly partake of future philosophical achievements by contributing to the good of the cultural and political enterprise whose end they thereby help to bring about. Aristotle thinks that even the most successful philosophers, reaching full understanding of the nature of the divine and eternally active intellects, would only ever be able to exercise their knowledge in a limited, imperfect, intermittent and temporary way (Metaph. Λ.7, 1072b14–​18). Nevertheless, as we saw in the preceding sections, the theoretically wise and magnanimous person, in Aristotle’s view, leads a life that is certainly worthwhile, based on their recognition of the superior value that they possess by comparison to other, less virtuous human beings, as well as their inferior value relative to divinity, to which they consequently decide to dedicate their lives. Early philosophers, in Aristotle’s view, may well arrive at a similar result, and would be correct in doing so. They might, and presumably should, that is, recognize the superior value that their lives and efforts have by comparison to non-​ virtuous members of their own society, while also recognizing the limitations both of their species and of their day, devaluing, as a result, themselves by comparison to the divine, as well as perhaps by comparison to future, full-​fledged philosophers. In addition, early philosophers, and non-​philosophers contemporaneous with them, may lead lives that are worthwhile by dedicating themselves to the divine through contributing to the pursuits of those who are, or

43 For a defense of this further idea, see J. Ober, “Nature, History and Aristotle’s Best Regime,” in T. Lockwood and T. Samaras (eds.), Aristotle’s Politics: A Critical Guide (Cambridge, 2015), 224–​43.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  191 will be, able to exercise their intellect in full acts of theoretical contemplation. And the benefits of such contributions would not be confined to the usefulness for oneself of directing one’s own efforts toward the noblest activity in existence. They would also be objectively crucially important for enabling philosophers to emerge and to act. Philosophy cannot emerge fully formed ex nihilo. And, as Aristotle emphasizes, although theoretical contemplation is the most self-​sufficient activity, philosophers, qua human beings, are certainly in need of external goods and interpersonal associations (NE X.8, 1178b3–​7). The cyclical recurrence of civilizations, and of the exercise of full philosophical knowledge within them, is thus congenial to Aristotle’s general optimistic worldview. Aristotle’s own comparison of philosophy as practiced in human civilization to a human being in Metaph. A.8, discussed earlier in this section, is apt. In his view, individual human beings, some of whom would procure in maturity philosophical wisdom, cannot exist eternally, though the eternal cycle of human life, perpetuating the human species and occasionally producing such accomplished individuals, is guaranteed (through reproduction). Similarly, an individual cycle of human civilization, which would at one point in its development reach full philosophical knowledge, cannot exist eternally, though the cyclical pattern of cataclysms eternally demolishing and giving rise to human civilization anew, which would feature cultures that in good time would develop fully, is guaranteed (due to the alteration of dryness and moistness in different parts of the earth; cf. Meteor. I.14).44 44 Scharle (2015, 88–​9), noticing Aristotle’s reference to this cyclical pattern of drought and inundation as “regular” (Meteor. I.14, 351a26; 352a31; 352b16) and “natural” (351b8–​14), argues that it is meant by Aristotle to be a teleological process aimed at imitating the activity of the prime mover, similarly to “the diurnal and annual cycle of evaporation and condensation” and indeed biological reproduction. Scharle (2015, 94), however, regards the imitation of divine activity by these elemental patterns of change as their only relevant teleological explanation, thinking that all the effects of these processes (including, presumably, the effects on civilizations and their destruction), unlike those of biological reproduction, are non-​purposive byproducts. Verdenius

192  The Value of the World and of Oneself Of course, mature specimens of a given species of animal exist while other ones are still developing, whereas Aristotle envisages a time at which society as a whole develops toward intellectual maturity. But that need not deter us from thinking of the two processes as relevantly equivalent. First, the relevant comparison (as Aristotle notices in Metaph. A.8) is between civilization and an individual person, rather than the human species. Aristotle’s view of the eternal existence of the world as a perfect entity “full of being” (see earlier discussion) is compatible with some of its parts progressing gradually toward the fulfillment of their natural end (as long as these beings occur regularly and indeed eternally), and that should extend both to individual organisms and to human civilization.45 Second, in the case of at least one species, namely humans, though there would perpetually be individual mature specimens around, it is not the case that there would always be individual members who have reached their full natural potentials. For a developing culture and individuals within that culture would, precisely during the same periods of time, either exhibit the full realization of human potential or fail to do so. Indeed, Aristotle may even think that there is a teleological reason for civilizations to be periodically destroyed. In Rhetoric II.15, he says: There is some regular succession (φορὰ) in the generations (γένεσιν) of men, just as in the things generated by the lands, and sometimes, should the generation (γένος) be good, extraordinary men are born during some time, and then again [things] retrograde. (1390b24–​27)

(1960, 57–​8) argues that the “force which causes the same ideas to appear again and again would probably have been called ‘nature’ by Aristotle,” and relates it to Aristotle’s principle that “Nature is always looking for what is best.” 45 Chroust (1973, 122) connects the eternity of the “cultural and intellectual history of mankind” in Aristotle’s view to Aristotle’s view of the world as uncreated and indestructible (and, we might add, perfect), since that history “is an essential part or aspect of this eternal and indestructible physical cosmos.”

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1  193 A civilization reaching the apex of intellectual progress could not possibly continue to flourish without a supply of suitably able human beings to maintain it. Lacking such people, Aristotle may think, a civilization is better off being demolished, to be supplanted by a further civilization with adequate members to initiate and sustain its development. Aristotle’s overall theory, all things considered, turns out to accommodate optimism, understood as the view that the world is perfectly ordered and valuable and that human life within it is to be preferred over human nonexistence (corresponding, respectively, to O1 and O2, the two propositions we have used to define optimism at the outset). Construed thus, his view to an extent already may be interpreted as an alternative to pessimism, both in its ancient form and in its modern variety formulated, e.g., by Schopenhauer. However, doing so, and especially seeing how Aristotelian optimism might respond to Schopenhauer’s criticisms of optimistic theories (surveyed in Chapter 1), would be further facilitated by considering Maimonides’s appropriation of Aristotelian optimism, which, unlike Aristotle’s version of the theory, is explicitly framed, for example, as a response to the classical problem of evil.

6 Optimism and Self-​Devaluation #2 Maimonides on Aristotle and the Hebrew Bible

Maimonides’s debt to Aristotle’s philosophy is clear and often explicitly acknowledged. Although Maimonides clearly offers an Aristotelian account of virtue, his ideal of the “righteous” person (hassid), characterized by radical self-​devaluation and humility, is sometimes taken to be opposed to Aristotle’s view and his “magnanimous” person, who is appropriately concerned with and receives honors. However, the two ideals share more in common than first meets the eye. As we saw in the previous chapter, Aristotle’s virtue of magnanimity in fact essentially involves recognizing the relatively low value of humanity as a whole, and consequently dedicating oneself and one’s effort to objects higher and more honorable than oneself and one’s species. And it is just this attitude, rather than the debasement of oneself as an individual or of the group with which one identifies, that Maimonides expects the hassid to exhibit. Indeed, for Maimonides, as for Aristotle, recognizing the relatively low value of humanity comes along with viewing the world at large as perfectly ordered and of human life as preferable to nonexistence, i.e., it comes along with philosophical optimism as we have defined it. In this chapter, we shall introduce Maimonides’s optimistic theory, as it emerges from his interpretation of Aristotle and the Hebrew Bible. Because Maimonides appropriates Aristotle’s view to discussions of issues that he, unlike Aristotle, is directly concerned with, such as the proper attitude toward divinity, and to debates occurring in full force in his day, such as the one concerning the classical problem of evil, his view is invaluable toward reconstructing the Aristotelian stance on these matters. And thus, as we shall see in the The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0007

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  195 next chapter, these developments by Maimonides of Aristotelian optimism are also useful with a view to answering modern challenges to optimistic theory, such as those mounted by Schopenhauer.

6.1.  Interpretations of Self-​Devaluation in the Hebrew Bible and the Maimonidean Responses to Them The text of the Hebrew Bible is rife with expressions of the relative insignificance of human beings. For example: Genesis 18:27: “And Abraham answered: Here have I agreed to talk to my Lord, and I am dust and ashes.”1 Exodus 16:8: “And Moses said [ . . . ] and what are we? Your complaints are not against us, but against God.”2 Psalms 22:7: “And I am a worm and not a man, a disgrace of a human, and contemptible to the nation.”3 Isiah 41:14: “Do not fear, worm of Jacob. . . .”4 Psalms 144:4: “A human being is akin to a vanity; his days are as a fleeting shadow.”5 Job 4:19 “The dwellers of houses of clay whose origin is in dust, they oppress them before the moth.”6 Job 25:6: “A human being is vermin, and the son of Adam is a worm.”7

1 .‫ויען אברהם ויאמר הנה נא הואלתי לדבר אל אדני ואנכי עפר ואפר‬ 2 .‫ונחנו מה לא עלינו תלונותיכם כי על ה׳‬

... ‫ויאמר משה‬

3 .‫ואנכי תולעת ולא איש חרפת אדם ובזוי עם‬ 4 . . . ‫אל תיראי תולעת יעקב‬

5 .‫אדם להבל דמה ימיו כצל עובר‬

6 .‫אף שכני בתי חמר אשר בעפר יסודם ידכאום לפני עש‬ 7 .‫אף כי אנוש רמה ובן אדם תולעה‬

196  The Value of the World and of Oneself Isaiah 40:15: “Yes, the nations are as a drop from a bucket, and are considered as the dust on a weighing scale. . . .”8

Throughout the long history of Jewish thought, interpreters grappled with these texts, which devalue human beings, emphasizing their lowly nature (especially by comparison to God), and tend to use remarkably similar imagery in doing so (recurring themes include the images of the “worm” and of “dust”). The texts at hand also differ in considerable respects. Perhaps most significantly for our purposes, they differ with respect to the individuals or groups of people whose devaluation they express. As we shall see, this fact affects major lines of interpretation given to these texts. Thus, Emmanuel Levinas, interpreting Genesis 18:27, Exodus 16:8, and Psalms 22:7, focuses on the self-​devaluation of an individual human being, and Rashi, interpreting Isaiah 41:14, focuses on the devaluation of a group. The resulting interpretations of these texts exhibit various difficulties, both when viewed independently and when considered by comparison to each other and to Psalms 144:4, Job 4:19, Job 25:6, and Isaiah 40:15. Maimonides’s interpretation of these last three texts, which focuses on the devaluation of humanity as a whole, and which seems to apply to all of the texts in question, largely avoids those difficulties. Of course, Maimonides could not have had all of the interpretations in question in mind (though he may well have deliberately and consciously responded to Rashi). Nevertheless, contrasting Maimonides’s reading of the Bible with these alternative interpretations would pave the way toward understanding, and appreciating the merits of, his own brand of optimistic philosophy. For, much like Aristotle’s theory on which it is largely based, Maimonides’s own approach toward the value of the world and of oneself is based on recognizing the relatively slight value humankind possesses by comparison to superior entities, and promotes as 8 . . . ‫הן גוים כמר מדלי וכשחק מאזנים נחשבו‬

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  197 an ideal the philosopher who reaches human perfection in the light of that recognition. Let us, first, examine the alternative interpretations of the preceding biblical texts, and some Maimonidean responses to them. Then, we shall delve into Maimonides’s general view of humility, based largely on his adoption of the Aristotelian ideal of the “magnanimous person” (megalopsuchos). We shall then be in a position to assess Maimonides’s own reading of the biblical recommendation of self-​devaluation, and his understanding of the proper worship, or “love of God,” corresponding to that reading. The recommendation of that particular version of self-​devaluation, as we shall see, allows Maimonides to respond to the problem of evil, while maintaining an optimistic view of the world as perfectly ordered and valuable and of the life of human beings as preferable to their nonexistence. Although I will argue that Maimonides’s interpretation of the self-​devaluation expressed in the biblical verses mentioned previously makes better sense of them, taken together, than several other prominent interpretations, it would go beyond the scope of the present project to establish his interpretation conclusively as the correct reading of these texts, let alone of the Hebrew Bible as a whole (assuming any project could realistically be expected to do so). Nor would this be required for my purpose in discussing Maimonides’s biblical exegesis, which is, first and foremost, to elucidate the way in which Maimonides avails himself of the text of the Hebrew Bible to argue for his own version of Aristotelian optimism.

6.1.1.  Individual Self-​Devaluation: A Contribution to Altruism? Emmanuel Levinas interprets Abraham’s proclamation in Genesis 18:27 that he is “dust and ashes” as an ultimate sign of altruism.9 9 Translations of Levinas are taken from E. Levinas, New Talmudic Readings, translated by R. A. Cohen (Pittsburgh, 2007).

198  The Value of the World and of Oneself “In self-​denying, in his dust and ashes,” says Levinas, “this thought that stays or already is as-​for-​oneself, abnegation, there is an elevation of the human creature to another condition, to another level of the human who, authentic under the incessant threat of his mortality, remains someone who thinks of the safekeeping of others.”10 Levinas also finds this idea in the discussion of this verse in the Babylonian Talmud. There (Chullin, 88b), Abraham’s words are said to have given rise to two mitzvoth, viz. purification after contact with the dead by means of sacrificing a red heifer (burning it to ashes) and the ceremonial investigation of a wife accused of adultery (in which the suspect drinks water mixed with ashes). For Levinas, the red heifer symbolizes the “purification” whose endpoint is “altruism.”11 And he similarly understands the resolution of the tension and ambiguity in a marriage by the second mitzvah as an act of purification, also related to the self-​ devaluation of Abraham, who “was able to say he is ‘ashes and dust’ without ceasing for all that, in his mortality, to think of the neighbor’s salvation.”12 Levinas also links Abraham’s statement, as does the next page of the Talmud (Chulin, 89a), to the self-​ devaluing statements by Moses and Aaron (Exodus 16:8) and by King David (Psalms 22:7) cited earlier. The idea that self-​devaluation is particularly conducive to altruism is one that Maimonides would take issue with, along with the interpretation of Genesis 18:27 as conveying such an idea. In GP III.49, Maimonides discusses Aristotle’s view, which he accepts, according to which friendship is indispensable to human beings (NE VIII.1). Elaborating on this point, Maimonides goes on to say that the most perfect form of friendship is found “in the relationship with one’s children” (‫ בבנים‬,‫ )פי אלאולאד‬and “in the relationship with one’s relatives” (‫ בקרובים‬,‫)פי אלאקארב‬



10 Ibid., 114. 11 Ibid., 117. 12 Ibid., 119.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  199 (441:28). He goes on to extend such relationships to the members of a “tribe” (442:1, ‫ המשפחה‬, ‫ )אלקבילה‬sharing a common ancestor.13 Here, too, Maimonides echoes Aristotle, who argues that full brothers who have been raised together share a similar character, much more so than other siblings and associates (VIII.12, 1162a9–​15: ὁμοηθέστεροι). The commitment between such brothers, over time, is “the greatest and most secure,” and this applies (proportionately) to relatives in general (1262a14–​ 15). Aristotle’s view, to which Maimonides subscribes, is that one comes to regard, care for, and help the other, not by valuing the other over oneself, but, on the contrary, by valuing in the other what the other shares with oneself.14 Since Maimonides thinks that the code Abraham abided by and propagated was one of proto-Aristotelian ethics (MT, Hilchot Deot, I.7), furthermore, he would have rejected Levinas’s interpretation of Abraham’s proclamation at Genesis 18:27. But whether or not we accept an Aristotelian theory of friendship, there are reasons to doubt Levinas’s assumption that one can honestly and consistently act altruistically based on self-​devaluation of the kind that Levinas is suggesting. If Abraham’s self-​devaluation presents an ideal to be followed, then one should view oneself as “dust and ashes” by comparison to any other. Clearly, the resulting views would be mutually inconsistent (any person X would necessarily view any person Y as more valuable than X, 13 Ibn-​Tibbon renders ‫ אלקבילה‬as ‫המשפחה‬, which could refer either to a tribe or to a family. 14 Indeed, viewing the friend as “another self,” the mark of successful character friendship for Aristotle, applies even to the relationship between children and parents. Even though Aristotle conceives of that relationship as one of superiority, holding between unequals, he also thinks parents love their children “as themselves,” and that this is so because their children in fact are their parents’ “other selves” (ἕτεροι αὐτοί) (1161b27–​9). Presumably, on this view, children, though expected to view their parents as superior, are not expected to thereby devalue themselves. Rather, they are to look up to their parents as potential future versions of themselves, which they would in turn value and indeed aspire to mature into. For a recent discussion favoring Aristotle’s view of loving oneself as a precondition for loving others over Levinas’s view, see H. Putnam, Jewish Philosophy as a Guide to Life (Bloomington, 2008), 96–​9.

200  The Value of the World and of Oneself contradicting Y’s simultaneously necessary assessment of X as more valuable than Y).15 In order to escape the inconsistency, while retaining self-​devaluation, we could suggest that one should devalue oneself along with everyone else. But, on that modified suggestion, Levinas’s reason for privileging the other over oneself would seem to lose its force—​there would be no reason, based on sheer value assessment, for Abraham to prefer to be selfless rather than selfish. As we shall see, Maimonides does think that the Torah supports the devaluation of humanity in general, and that this idea is indeed consistent with promoting altruism, though not of the Levinasean, self-​effacing variety.

6.1.2.  Tribal Self-​Devaluation: Mental Prowess over Physical Strength Ruth Calderon, in a recent work on the Babylonian Talmud, discusses the biblical term “worm of Jacob” (‫( )תולעת יעקב‬Isaiah 41:14) and the interpretation of it by Rashi, who claims that the term refers to “the family of Jacob, which was as weak as a worm, having no fortitude except in its mouth” (‫משפחת יעקב החלשה‬ ‫)כתולעת שאין לה גבורה אלא בפיה‬.16 Calderon argues that the concept of “the worm of Jacob,” thus interpreted, has generated a long-standing ideal of manhood among Jews, beginning with the Talmudic sages.17 That ideal, Calderon continues, developed in opposition both to the ideals of the Roman Empire and to the biblical warrior-​heroes, and is to be understood as follows:18

15 Relatedly, Putnam cites passages in which Levinas himself concedes that recognition of the fact that “I am a neighbour of my neighbour” sets limits on the “ ‘utopian’ . . . human responsibility” toward the other at the expense of the ego (ibid.). 16 R. Calderon, A Talmudic Alpha-​Beta (Tel-​Aviv, 2014), 236–​9. Translations from Calderon (and of the text she quotes from Rashi) are my own. 17 Ibid., 237. 18 Ibid.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  201 History has taught the Sages that the leaders of the revolt brought forward disaster and destruction in their attempt to strike Rome using its own tools. The Sages who came after the destruction [of the Temple], the people of Jabneh and their successors, the people of the Babylonian Talmudic academies, turn to a different direction: they rework the destruction and the military downfall of the Great Revolt and the Bar-​Kokhba revolt into a new conception of Jewish existence, and consequently, of manhood. They turn their back on the body, resent the evil war, and develop their spiritual capacities further and further—​language, study, Midrashic creation, philosophical discussion—​and the community which cares for its individuals by ways of grace.

The primacy of intellectual apprehension over physical strength is indeed undoubtedly dominant in Talmudic sources, as Calderon notes. Maimonides follows suit, and states expressly that “the perfection of the bodily constitution and shape” should not be viewed as an end, since it pertains to humans only insofar as they are animals (GP III.54; cf. III.18). However, viewing intellectual activity as the end of physical activity does not require renouncing or neglecting one’s body, as far as Maimonides is concerned. For him, bodily perfection, i.e., “being healthy and in the very best bodily state,” is in fact necessary in order to achieve “perfection of the soul” (GP III.27).19 Indeed, Maimonides takes issue with “the ignorant” who, contrary to “the learned,” view such activities as “ball games, wrestling, boxing, and suspension of breathing” as “frivolous” (GP III.25). Furthermore, it is doubtful that the biblical phrase “worm of Jacob” should indeed be understood as signifying merely physical weakness, especially if this is taken to commend the people thus described for their mental or intellectual prowess. Certainly, King 19 See Segev (2017b, ­chapter 5) for further discussion of these two kinds of perfection in Maimonides and their relation to Maimonides’s and Aristotle’s views of religion.

202  The Value of the World and of Oneself David’s description of himself as a “worm” in Psalms 22:7 is strictly pejorative (he goes on to say that he is disgraceful and nationally contemptible). Indeed, the use of a cognate word in Job 25:6,20 this time to describe human beings in general, has no redeeming quality either. As we shall presently see, Maimonides offers an interpretation of Job 25:6, as well as other texts, that is consistent with these facts.

6.2.  Maimonides’s Aristotelian Humility and Love of the Divine According to Maimonides, texts such as Psalms 144:4, Job 4:19, Job 25:6, and Isaiah 40:15, describing humans as “the dwellers of houses of clay,” “a vanity,” “vermin,” “a worm,” “a drop from a bucket,” and “the dust on a weighing scale,” should be understood as evaluations of oneself, neither by comparison to other people, nor as a member of a particular group of human beings, but rather as a part of the human species. Before we turn to Maimonides’s interpretation of these texts, offered in GP III.12, it would be useful to examine his general views on the proper attitude toward the divine, and the evaluation (and devaluation) of oneself based on that attitude. As is his wont, Maimonides relies heavily on his understanding of Aristotelian philosophy in constructing these views, which indeed closely resemble Aristotle’s ideas discussed in the previous chapter. In fact, Maimonides’s views are invaluable in furthering our understanding of Aristotle’s own view. For the fact remains that Aristotle never directly accounts for the appropriate attitude toward the divine, or for the identity of the people who are supposed to exhibit it most fully. Several discussions in Maimonides, I will argue, correctly and instructively utilize Aristotle’s philosophical principles to shed light on Aristotle’s view. In particular, they reveal reasons,

20 The word used in Isaiah and Psalms is ‫ ;תולעת‬in Job, ‫תולעה‬.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  203 grounded in Aristotle’s theory, for linking theoretical wisdom, magnanimity, human perfection, and love of the divine to self-​devaluation, thereby corroborating the interpretation of Aristotle offered in Chapter 5.

6.2.1.  Maimonidean Humility and Aristotelian Magnanimity In several places, and in contexts obviously echoing Aristotle’s discussions of character virtue as a mean, Maimonides recommends being “humble” (‫)עניו‬, which he attributes to the “wise” (‫)חכם‬, or even being “lowly of spirit” (‫)שפל רוח‬, which he attributes to the “righteous” (‫( )חסיד‬MT, Hilchot Deot I.5, II.3; Commentary on Pirkei Avot III.1, IV.4, IV.10, V.19).21 It is frequently argued that, in doing so, Maimonides deviates significantly from Aristotle’s ethical theory, which he otherwise adopts. The argument, as prominently advanced by Daniel Frank, runs as follows. Maimonides’s “wise” person, who is moderately humble, is intended to be identical to Aristotle’s magnanimous or “paradigmatically virtuous” person.22 But whereas Maimonides adopts the Aristotelian doctrine of the mean with regard to his “wise” person (in Hilchot Deot I.2–​5; II.2), his “righteous” person exhibits actions that “do not all lie in the mean,”23 but are nevertheless all regarded as moral (I.5; II.3);24 indeed, for Maimonides, the righteous person, “because of his extremism with regard to a particular virtue—​humility—​is 21 I am grateful to an anonymous referee for helpful comments on this issue, which have helped me to develop my thoughts in this section. 22 D. Frank, “Humility as a Virtue: A Maimonidean Critique of Aristotle’s Ethics,” in Eric L. Ormsby (ed.), Moses Maimonides and His Time (Washington DC, 1989), 89–​99, at 93–​4, 97. 23 Frank (1989), 94–​5. 24 See also T. Rudavsky, Maimonides (Chichester, 2010), at 168–​70. Note, though, that Rudavsky’s table (2010, 169) nevertheless appears to present, on Maimonides’s behalf, lowliness of spirit (‫ )שפלות רוח‬as the mean between two extreme vices, i.e., “haughtiness” (as vice of excess) and “total abasement” (as vice of deficiency).

204  The Value of the World and of Oneself promoted to a higher level of morality.”25 Frank goes as far as assimilating Maimonides’s “paragon of virtue”—​his “righteous” person (‫)חסיד‬, who is “lowly of spirit”—​to Aristotle’s vicious “small-​souled” person.26 For Frank, this feature of Maimonides’s thought “manifests nothing less than his anti-​Aristotelian theocentric morality.”27 It is tempting to attribute to Maimonides the strict separation between the morality of the “wise,” which adheres to the Aristotelian mean with regard to such things as humility and anger, and the morality of the “righteous,” which does not.28 However, this would still leave us with an apparent inconsistency in his view, for Maimonides, after recommending the mean with regard to anger and humility in Hilchot Deot II.2, immediately goes on to recommend an extreme in both of these cases, and he goes out of his way to make the recommendations universal, addressing what it is that a “human being” (‫)אדם‬, rather than either the wise or the righteous, should do.29 Furthermore, in GP I.54, Maimonides argues that a political leader who is a prophet must keep away from passions, like anger, “as far as a human being

25 Frank (1989), 96. As Frank (1989, 95–​6) notes, exceptions to the doctrine of the mean are present in Aristotle as well (though not with regard to humility). However, for Frank (1989, 96–​7), the very separation of two levels of morality that Maimonides is committed to in distinguishing the “wise” from the “righteous” is un-​Aristotelian. 26 Frank (1989), 94ff. 27 Ibid., 98. Similar ideas are to be found in D. Shatz, “Maimonides’ Moral Theory,” in K. Seeskin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Maimonides (Cambridge, 2005), 167–​92, at 175; and Rudavsky (2010), 168–​9. Rudavsky (2010, 169–​70) thinks that Maimonides’s “righteous” person is meant to be “contrasted to the ‘wise’ ” and “has no analogue in Aristotle’s examples.” 28 Frank extends his view of humility in Aristotle and Maimonides to the case of anger; see Frank (1989), 96, and D. Frank, “Anger as a Vice: A Maimonidean Critique of Aristotle’s Ethics,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 7.3 (1990), 269–​81. See also Rudavsky (2010), 167–​70; and Shatz (2005), 176–​7. 29 Hilchot Deot II.3: “for the good path is that a human being be not merely humble, but lowly of spirit, and that his spirit shall be exceedingly low” (‫שאין דרך הטובה שיהיה‬ ‫ ;)אדם עניו בלבד אלא שיהיה שפל רוח ותהיה רוחו נמוכה למאד‬Ibid.: “And anger, too, is an exceedingly bad character trait. And a human being must distance himself from it to the other extreme” (‫וכן הכעס מדה רעה היא עד למאד וראוי לאדם שיתרחק ממנה עד הקצה‬ ‫)האחר‬. See Frank (1990), 274; Rudavsky (2010), 168.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  205 is able” (86:5, ‫ כפי כח האדם‬, ‫טאקה אלאנסאן‬ ׁׂ ‫)חסב‬, but should nevertheless be “begrudging and vengeful and angry at some times and at some people, as they deserve, not in anger simply speaking” (‫ לא לענין הכעס לבד‬,‫( )לא במ ׄגרד אלגצׄ ב‬86:7–​8).30 If a prophet—​for Maimonides, a person who has attained human perfection—​is expected to feel anger when appropriate (let alone a prophet-ruler, calling to mind Moses), the same expectation must apply to the “righteous” people discussed in Hilchot Deot (and of whom, in Hilchot Deot II.3, Moses in fact figures as the paradigmatic example).31 How, then, can Maimonides nevertheless recommend the complete annihilation of anger, and to all people at that? Recognizing this tension within the Mishneh Torah (though not commenting on the Guide in this respect), the sixteenth-​century rabbi Abraham de Boton provides a promising answer: The Rabbi [sc. Maimonides] by saying this [sc. that in certain things, like humility and anger, the righteous person must tend to the extreme, and that in a given case one extreme can be better than the other] does not mean to say that the ultimate extreme is better than the mean, for certainly the mean is complete and certainly even the ultimate extreme in relation to humility, which is to wear rags, is bad, and the middle path is choice-​worthy and that is why the Rabbi wrote above “the straight path” etc. Indeed, the meaning is that the righteous (‫ )החסידים‬tend a bit toward the ultimate extreme, which is humility, so that they would never omit anything from the middle which is the choice-​worthy path, for had they been treading the middle path alone, it is possible

30 Frank (1990, 276) reads GP I.54 as indicating that “for Maimonides the ideal in the sphere of anger is to display anger when necessary, but never to feel it.” I return to this point in the following discussion. 31 As Rudavsky (2010, 168) notes, Maimonides’s moral requirement to be angered when appropriate has its source in Aristotle, e.g., in NE IV.5, 1126a3–​6. I am thankful also to an anonymous referee for a useful comment on this connection.

206  The Value of the World and of Oneself that they would occasionally be diverted a bit and would go out of the middle path and into the first extreme, which is pride.32

On de Boton’s interpretation, Maimonides does not view the moral demands of the “wise” as essentially different from those of the “righteous.” Both are required, as humans generally are, to reach the mean in matters pertaining to both humility and anger, inter alia. It is in the success in meeting these demands that the two types differ. The “righteous,” in particular, reach the mean more efficiently than the “wise,” and they manage to do so by “tend[ing] a bit toward the ultimate extreme.” Thus, when Maimonides suggests that humans in general should aim at “lowliness of spirit,” he is effectively recommending that they attempt to imitate the righteous. The same holds with regard to anger: And even though here he wrote, with regard to the virtue of righteousness (‫)מדת החסידות‬, “and he shall be exceedingly lowly of spirit,” he means to say that such a person [sc. the righteous] tilts himself toward the low-​spirited side so as to arrive at the middle path, as we have said. But the ultimate extreme is undoubtedly bad, and that is also the case with regard to the trait of anger: a human being who is always angry is the first extreme, and not to be angry at all and to be like a dead person is the ultimate extreme, and to be angry at a thing that is worthy of being angered at is the intermediate path to all the other traits, but here the middle path is not to be angered even at a thing that is worthy of being angered at except at a great thing that is worthy of being angered at, such as idolatry. And this is what the Rabbi means in   32  Lechem Mishneh ad Hilchot Deot I.4–​5 (my translation): ‫ואין כונת הרב בזה לומר שקצה האחרון יותר משובח מהאמצעית דודאי האמצעי שלם‬ ‫ובודאי אפילו קצה האחרון מהענוה שהוא ללבוש בלויי סחבות הוא רע ודרך המיצוע הוא‬ ‫ אמנם הכונה שהחסידים מטים מעט לצד קצה‬.‫מובחר וזהו שכתב הרב לעיל דרך הישרה וכו׳‬ ‫האחרון שהיא הענוה שלעולם לא יפילו דבר מהמיצוע שהוא הדרך המובחר שאם לא היו‬ ‫הולכים אלא בדרך המיצוע אפשר שלפעמים יטו מעט ויצאו מהדרך האמצעית אל הקצה‬ .‫הראשון שהוא הגאוה‬

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  207 what is called here “great” (‫(גדול‬33 and in the next chapter he did not write “great” but [that one should not be angered even] “at a thing that merits being angered at,” etc.34

As was the case with humility, the “righteous” person is not expected to go to an extreme with regard to anger either, on de Boton’s reading. It is true that Maimonides says that the righteous person should not be angered even “at a thing that merits being angered at,” but this does not imply that such a person either would or should be altogether devoid of anger. The most serious offenses, like idolatry, would anger even the righteous, and appropriately so. It is instructive to note in this respect that in GP I.54, immediately after stating that even the prophet should feel anger when appropriate, Maimonides adds that such a person should eventually order the burning of a man without being “angered or outraged or hateful toward him.” Read in isolation, the point of this statement may appear to be that the prophet should not get angry at all.35 However, in context, the statement must mean that even offenses that standardly call for anger—​such things, perhaps, as financial or interpersonal transgressions on the part of a community member—​should not stir up the passions of the prophet-​leader, leaving room for the possibility, emphasized by de Boton’s interpretation, that the prophet would and should be angered at other, more serious 33 Presumably referring to Hilchot Deot I.4: “How [sc. will one adhere to the ‘middle path’; cf. I.6][?]‌He shall be neither easily angered nor akin to a dead person, who does not feel; but rather [he shall be] intermediate: he shall not be angered except at a great thing that merits being angered at . . .” (‫כיצד[?] לא יהיה בעל חמה נוח לכעוס ולא כמת שאינו‬ . . .‫ לא יכעוס אלא על דבר גדול שראוי לכעוס עליו‬.‫ אלא בינוני‬.‫( )מרגיש‬my translation).   34  Lechem Mishneh ad Hilchot Deot I.4–​5 (my translation): ‫ואע״פ שכאן כתב במדת חסידות ויהיה שפל ביותר הכונה לומר שנוטה עצמו לצד שפל רוח‬ ‫כדי לבוא לדרך המיצוע כמו שאמרנו אבל קצה האחרון בלי ספק שהוא רע וכן במדת כעס‬ ‫אדם שהוא כועס תמיד הוא קצה ראשון ושלא לכעוס כלל ולהיות כמת הוא קצה האחרון‬ ‫ולכעוס על דבר שראוי לכעוס הוא דרך בינוני לשאר כל הדעות אבל כאן הדרך האמצעית‬ ‫היא שלא יכעוס אפילו על דבר שראוי לכעוס אלא על דבר גדול שראוי לכעוס עליו כגון חילול‬ ‫ וזה כיון הרב במ״ש כאן גדול ובפרק שלאחר זה לא כתב גדול אלא על דבר שראוי‬.‫שמים‬ .‫לכעוס וכו׳‬ 35 See Frank (1990), 276.

208  The Value of the World and of Oneself occurrences—​in de Boton’s view, primarily such things as idolatrous worship. De Boton’s interpretation has the merit of resolving an inconsistency internal to Maimonides’s view. If we adopt it, and I think we should, then Maimonides’s “righteous” person, by pursuing “lowliness of spirit,” ends up aiming at the same virtue as the “wise,” namely humility. In this respect, Maimonides’s “righteous” person would end up resembling, not only Maimonides’s “wise” person, but also Aristotle’s magnanimous person, more than is often assumed.36 Indeed, Maimonides’s description of the “righteous” person’s behavior as “exceeding expectations” (Hilchot Deot I.5: ‫ )לפנים משורת הדין‬makes him both superior to the “wise” and closer to Aristotle’s magnanimous person, who is described as “the best human being” (NE IV.3, 1123b26–8). And the temporary excursions the Maimonidean “righteous” person takes toward extreme humility, during which that person would contemplate the lowliness of humanity by comparison to the divine and thereby (as we shall see in detail in what follows) gain knowledge of God, would also resemble the temporary acts of contemplation of divinity Aristotle ascribes to 36 More recently, R. L. Weiss, Maimonides’ Ethics (Chicago/​London, 1991), presents a similar interpretation to de Boton’s. For Weiss (1991, 44–​5, 102–​15), Maimonides, in both the commentary on Pirkei Avot and the MT, recommends the extreme with regard to such things as anger and humility as a therapeutic measure intended to reach and preserve the mean (but see Weiss, Maimonides’ Ethics, 107 and 114, for cases in which Maimonides also recommends permanent elimination of anger and debasement). Thus, Weiss (1991, 115) concludes that “the difference between the standards of wisdom and piety [sc. hasidut]” ultimately “loses some of its force,” and that “philosophic ethics” and “religious morality” are on a par, since “both are a moral preparation for attaining knowledge of God.” Weiss (1991, 193–​4) states that “[w]‌hereas Aristotle largely postpones a discussion of the morality relevant to the wise man (sophos) until book 10 of the Nicomachean Ethics, the Maimonidean doctrine of the mean [sc. in EC and Hilchot Deot] takes its bearings specifically from man’s final end.” However, despite the difference between the two ethical systems, Weiss continues, “. . . there is a kind of greatness of soul that is in effect espoused by Maimonides, a conception of magnanimity that comports with humility and even with self-​abasement, properly understood. Humility can be combined with greatness of soul provided that humility is understood primarily as the absence of hauteur and that magnanimity is essentially thinking oneself capable of doing great things.”

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  209 his philosopher (who, as we have already seen, is just his magnanimous person). Now, it is true that, as Frank notes, Maimonides’s recommendation of “lowliness of spirit” is “theocentric,” in the sense that it advances from the recognition by human beings of their inferiority to superior beings, including God (inter alia, as we shall see). Maimonides cites, in support of his recommendation, biblical lines such as Deuteronomy 8:14: “and your heart shall become heightened, and you shall forget the Name your God” (Hilchot Deot II.3), and Isaiah 57:15: “For thus spoke the heightened and elevated one, who dwells eternally and His name is holy: I dwell on high and holy, next to those, and with the oppressed and lowly of spirit” (Commentary on Pirkei Avot IV.4).37 But, precisely because of its theocentrism, Maimonides’s conception of righteousness (‫ )חסידות‬or lowliness of spirit is opposed to Aristotle’s conception of “small-​ souled-​ness,” and is in line with Aristotle’s conception of magnanimity. For, as we have seen, magnanimity, as Aristotle conceives of it, involves the concentration on objects superior to oneself and the devaluation of oneself and of humanity at large by comparison to those objects. It is true that, although Aristotle explicitly argues that we are vastly inferior to superlunary beings, Maimonides goes beyond Aristotle’s text in explicitly describing humans as “lowly,” doubtlessly being influenced by biblical formulations. Ultimately, however, such descriptions seem to be a reasonable extension of Aristotle’s view. Admittedly, for Aristotle, humans are at the top of the natural hierarchy in the sublunary realm, as they are, indeed, for Maimonides. But, also for both, there is a fundamental divide between that realm and the superlunary one, and an immense disparity in value between us and the divine. On that   37  ”...‫ “ורם לבבך ושכחת את ה׳ אלהיך‬,‫יד‬:‫דברים ח‬ ”. . . ‫ “כי כה אמר רם ונשא שכן עד וקדוש שמו מרום וקדוש אשכון ואת דכא ושפל רוח‬,‫טו‬:‫יהושע נז‬

210  The Value of the World and of Oneself view, the relation between the heavens and the sublunary world, which includes us, is equivalent to the relation obtaining between humans and non-​rational living things. It is in this sense that I take Maimonides to be referring to humans as relatively insignificant or “lowly,” and such descriptions, understood thus, are directly applicable to Aristotle as well.

6.2.2.  Maimonides’s Aristotelian Interpretation of Biblical Self-​Devaluation The Aristotelian basis for Maimonides’s view is perhaps most visible in Guide of the Perplexed III.12. There, Maimonides sets out to refute the opinion, falsely held by the “multitude” and championed by thinkers such as al-​Razi, according to which evil surpasses good in the world. One might expect an attempted refutation of that claim to appeal to the prevalence of good in the world, or to downplay the presence of evil in it, as we find it, e.g., in Cleanthes’s response to Philo’s formulation of the problem of evil in the tenth part of David Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. Although Maimonides goes on to make a similar point later in the chapter, his initial strategy is altogether different. On the common opinion that there is more evil than good in the world, he first comments as follows: Every ignoramus imagines that all that exists exists with a view to his individual sake; it is as if there were nothing that exists except him. And if something happens to him that is contrary to what he wishes, he makes the trenchant judgment that all that exists is an evil.

Maimonides’s point here is that we may alleviate the problem of evil by appreciating how relatively insignificant human beings are and, by implication, how little human suffering matters to determining

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  211 the amount of good in the world. A human being cognizant of “that which exists” (‫ המציאות‬,‫ )אלוגׄוד‬and of “the smallness of his part in it” (318: 24–​5), Maimonides claims, will recognize that the world is indeed good, on balance. It is this recognition of the fact that humans, and indeed mortal living things in general, “are things of no value at all in comparison with the whole that exists and endures,”38 that Maimonides reads in such verses as Psalms 144:4, Job 4:19, Job 25:6, and Isaiah 40:15, where, as we saw earlier in this chapter, human beings are described as “the dwellers of houses of clay,” and are compared to “a vanity,” “vermin,” “a worm,” “a drop from a bucket,” and “the dust on a weighing scale.” Indeed, the devaluation of humanity emerging from the comparison between humans and super-​human entities could be read into all of the texts we have cited in section 6.1. Maimonides’s philosophical justification for this claim rests on the vast superiority of certain other beings—​the angels (separate intellects), spheres and the stars—​to all things, including all living things, composed of the four elements (earth, fire, air, and water). This idea is evidently Aristotelian. It clearly appears in NE VI.7, where Aristotle states that, though humans may be the best of all (mortal) animals, the heavenly bodies, or the things “out of which the cosmos is constituted,” are evidently “more divine” (1141a33–​ b2: θειότερα). Maimonides, echoing this statement, states in GP III.13 that human beings are merely “the most perfect and the most noble thing that has been generated from this [inferior] matter.” However, compared to the separate intellects, the spheres, and the stars, a human being is “very, very inferior” (328:18, ‫פחות מאד מאד‬ ,‫)חקירא גׄדא גׄדא‬.39 For Maimonides, then, the problem of evil is sufficiently solved by appealing to the irrelevance of human beings to determining the

  38  GP III.12, 319:5–​6: ‫ הוא‬,‫אפה ללוגׄוד כלה אלמסתמר‬ ׁׂ ׄ‫הו שי לא קדר לה בוגׄה באלאצ‬ ‫דבר שאין לו שיעור כלל בערך אל המציאות כולו הנמשך‬ 39 Translation is mine. Pines translates as “very, very contemptible.”

212  The Value of the World and of Oneself level of good or evil in the universe, given their inferiority to certain being that are supremely valuable, and that Aristotle even thinks of as divinities, i.e., the heavenly bodies and their movers.40 The idea is that the problem of evil would only have been generated in full force if these beings were lacking or harmed in any way, and, since they are not, there is no reason to account for God’s responsibility for such hypothetical occurrences. However, Maimonides also thinks that this Aristotelian devaluation of humanity leads us to know (the Maimonidean) God, to the extent that we may do so at all.41 Maimonides brings up Job 4:19 again in the Mishneh Torah, in his opening discussion explicating the fundamental tenets of the Torah: . . . all such and consequent things said in the Torah and in the words of the Prophets, all of them are parables and poetic devices. For instance, when it was said: “seated in the heavens, He laughs” [Psalms 2:4]; “they have angered me in their folly” [Deuteronomy 32:21] [ . . . ] On all this the Sages have said: “the Torah speaks in the language of human beings.” [ . . . ] And all these things are not found except in the dark and inferior bodies [i.e.] “the dwellers of houses of clay whose origin is in dust” [Job 4:19]. But He, may He be exalted, is exalted and surpasses all of that. (MT, Sefer Ha’maddah, Hilchot Yesodei Ha’Torah, I.12; translation mine)42 40 Maimonides, in keeping with Jewish Law, makes it clear that it is a fundamental error—​one that he attributes to people at the time of Enosh, who for him were in fact aware of God’s existence and wished to serve him—​to think that “these stars and these spheres” [ . . . ] “are worthy of being praised, and exalted, and respected,” by which he means, not simply recognizing their immense value, but deifying them: “to build the stars temples, to offer them sacrifices . . . and to kneel down in front of them” (MT, Hilchot Avodah Zara, I.1–​2). 41 E. Nagar, “Fear of God in Maimonides’ Teaching (Re-​Examination)” (in Hebrew), Daat 39 (1997), 89–​99, argues that, for Maimonides, self-​devaluation (which corrects the mistaken conception of God as imperfect) leads to “fear of God,” understood as the fear of the loss of intellectual perfection. That fear, in turn, prompts one to possess knowledge of God (via negative theology).   42  .‫כל הדברים הללו וכיוצא בהן שנאמרו בתורה ובדברי נביאים הכל משל ומליצה הן‬ ‫ על הכל‬. ‫ כאשר שש ה׳ וכיוצא בהן‬. ‫ כעסוני בהבליהם‬. ‫כמו שנאמר יושב בשמים ישחק‬ ‫ ] וכל הדברים האלו אינן מצויין אלא לגופים‬. . . [ .‫אמרו חכמים דברה תורה כלשון בני אדם‬ ‫האפלים השפלים שוכני בתי חומר אשר בעפר יסודם אבל הוא ברוך הוא יתברך ויתרומם‬ .‫על כל זה‬

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  213 Here, Maimonides alludes to his version of negative theology, explicated most clearly in GP I.51–​60, and according to which God cannot be assigned any positive attributes (save His actions), let alone ones attributable to human beings. This conclusion goes hand in hand with the devaluation of humankind insofar as the best we may aspire to by way of knowing God is to realize and imbibe our inability to know anything positive about Him.43 As “dwellers of houses of clay whose origin is in dust,” we can barely approximate or gain adequate knowledge of the spheres and the stars, and that is enough to give us an indication of our inferiority. But those heavenly objects themselves, like all other things in the universe, and the universe itself,44 depend on God, Who alone truly exists (Hilchot Yesodei Ha’Torah, I.1–​4). Recognizing our complete lack of positive knowledge concerning the only thing that truly exists is perhaps the most radical form of self-​devaluation. However, as it happens, it is also the highest achievement, fully arrived at, Maimonides says, by Moses alone (Hilchot Yesodei Ha’Torah, I.10; cf. GP I.54), whom Maimonides, unsurprisingly given what 43 Relatedly, M. Katzenellenbogen, Alpha Beta (Frankfurt am Main, 1855), at 18, connects the usefulness of self-​devaluation in coming to apprehend divine truth to Abraham’s self-​devaluation in Genesis 18:27 and the Talmudic discussion of it (BT, Sota 17a; Chullin 88b): “When one dedicates one’s body, soul and spirit to God in total abnegation (‫ [ )בביטול גמור‬. . . ] at that exact moment an infinitely recurring light comes to enlighten that person. And that person shall come to know the wonders of God in the matter they are occupied with” (my translation). 44 Like the various parts of the universe, the universe itself cannot count as a deity for Maimonides either (again, by contrast to Aristotle; cf. Chapter 4, p. 148, and Chapter 5, p. 179). In GP I.72, he argues that the universe, like a human being, is an individual consisting of parts and ruled by an overarching rational principle. However, unlike human beings, whose ruling principle is their own intellect, the principle governing the universe, namely God, is distinct from the world and its parts (133:26–​134:3). This fits in with GP I.69, in which Maimonides argues that God should be understood, not just as the efficient cause of the universe (i.e., that due to which the universe exists), but also as its (unenmattered) “ultimate form” (i.e., that due to which the universe is the kind of thing that it is). As already noted, Maimonides thinks that no part of the world, however noble, can count as a deity (see n. 40 in this chapter). If the reason for that is that the essence of any such part is relevantly inferior to and dependent on God, the reason why the universe at large cannot count as a deity seems to be that its essence or organizing principle, which is God, is external to it. Maimonides, of course, also presents independent arguments for the singularity of God (cf. GP I.75; II.1–​2).

214  The Value of the World and of Oneself we have seen so far, brings up as a paragon of “lowliness of spirit” (Commentary on Pirkei Avot IV.4; cf. Numbers 12:3; Exodus 16:7–​8).45 Maimonides, following Aristotle, then, takes human perfection, and the most complete form of human wisdom, to depend on sober self-​devaluation. Maimonides’s humble “righteous” person, like Aristotle’s magnanimous philosopher, is the person who has adopted such an attitude, and constructed a worldview consistent with it.46 This recommendation of self-​devaluation may seem incompatible with Aristotle’s theory of friendship, which, as we have seen earlier, commits both Aristotle and Maimonides (who adopts that theory) to the idea that genuine care for other people depends, not on self-​devaluation, but rather on valuing the other person as a “second self.”47 But the tension dissipates once we attend to the fact that one may, and for Aristotle and Maimonides one should, devalue oneself along with one’s human friend, and indeed with all of humanity, while still appreciating oneself (and one’s friend) for what one is (and what one’s friend is)—​a member of a relatively insignificant species, who nevertheless can (as in the case 45 Y. Leibowitz, Discourses on Maimonides’s Theory of Prophecy (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 1997), at 756, in the context of discussing GP II.35, takes the biblical description of Moses as “very humble, [more so] than every human being on earth” (Numbers 12:3), to mean that he could “recognize and understand in all its depth the meaning of the fact that man does not know God because God is not knowable by man, and that is the deepest humility, which only Moses could have arrived at” (my translation). Y. Leibowitz, Seven Years of Discourses on the Weekly Torah Reading (in Hebrew) (Jerusalem, 2003), at 661–​2, regards this interpretation as prevalent among Jewish thinkers (presumably, including Maimonides). Incidentally, Maimonides’s direct appeal to Moses’s proclamation “and what are we?” (‫ )ונחנו מה‬in Exodus 16:7–​8 to support his understanding of the ideal of “lowliness of spirit” reinforces the appropriateness of the objection we have raised on his behalf to the Levinasian interpretation of that same proclamation in 16:8 as recommending (along with Genesis 18:27) the devaluation of oneself below “the other”; see section 6.1.1. 46 Weiss (1991, 45) adduces an importantly relevant letter from Maimonides to Hisdai Halevi, in which philosophers are said to be exceedingly humble, as evidence for the view that “[e]‌xtreme humility, as interpreted by Maimonides, is consonant with a philosophic way of life.” 47 I am thankful to John Cottingham for suggesting this objection to me.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  215 of Aristotle’s magnanimous person and Maimonides’s righteous person) surpass other members by attaining virtue and acting accordingly.48

6.2.3.  Maimonides on True Worship or “Love of God” As we would expect, given the similarity already established between Maimonides’s and Aristotle’s views, Maimonides approaches Aristotle’s view on the issue of love toward the divine as well.49 For Maimonides, as for Aristotle, such love must to a large extent be based on proper self-​devaluation: And which is the way to loving Him and fearing Him? When a human being shall contemplate His actions and wonderful, great creations, and shall see of His wisdom that it has no equal and no end, he immediately loves and praises and exalts and develops a great desire to know the Great Name, as David has said: “my soul thirsts for a living God” [Psalms 42:3]. And as he considers these things themselves he is immediately taken aback and is afraid and knows that he is a small, lowly, gloomy creature. . . .50

48 It is true that, as we have also seen, Aristotle’s theory allows for genuine friendship based on virtue between parties of unequal virtue. But even in that type of friendship, the inferior party is not to annul or devalue itself entirely, but is rather expected to value itself at least for the very good that it shares with the superior party. In any case, the idea of virtue friendship obtaining at least in some (and for Aristotle, indeed in paradigmatic) cases between equals certainly goes against the Levinasian idea that altruism depends as such on self-​effacement and valuing the other exclusively (cf. section 6.1.1). 49 I am grateful to an anonymous referee for emphasizing the relevance of the two texts discussed in the following to my overall argument.   50  MT, Maddah, Yesodei Ha’Torah, II.2: ‫והיאך היא הדרך לאהבתו ויראתו [?]‌ בשעה שיתבונן האדם במעשיו וברואיו הנפלאים‬ ‫הגדולים ויראה מהן חכמתו שאין לה ערך ולא קץ מיד הוא אוהב ומשבח ומפאר ומתאוה‬ ‫ וכשמחשב‬. ‫ כמו שאמר דוד צמאה נפשי לאלהים לאל חי‬. ‫תאוה גדולה לידע השם הגדול‬ . . . ‫בדברים האלו עצמן מיד הוא נרתע לאחוריו ויפחד ויודע שהוא בריה קטנה שפלה אפלה‬

216  The Value of the World and of Oneself In GP III.51, Maimonides sets out to clarify, inter alia, the worship carried out by him who knows “the truths unique to Him,” which is the “purpose of a human being” )ׁ‫)אלגאיה אלאנסאני ׂה‬ ׁׂ (454:18–​21). Citing Deuteronomy 11:13, Maimonides identifies this worship with “love” (‫​ אהבה‬/ ‫)אלמחבה‬ ׁׂ toward God, which he says is commensurate with understanding (‫)אלאדראך‬, and which is then followed by the active thinking (ׁ‫)אלפכרה‬ ׂ of “the first intelligible” as much as one can (457). Later in the chapter, Maimonides mentions Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses as having attained the highest degree of that worship (459). These figures, in whose case “unification in God, that is to say the understanding and love of Him, has become clear” (459:19( )‫ התבאר‬,‫)תבין‬, were able to have their body be “with other people” while their intellect was with God (459:5–​10), and to rule and gather wealth and property while being totally absorbed in thinking about God (459:21–​460:2). These descriptions fit in particularly well with Aristotle’s view of the magnanimous person, as we have interpreted it. Aristotle’s magnanimous person and Maimonides’s prophet both possess character virtue, but neither of them holds that virtue, let alone the reputation for possessing it, in high esteem, caring rather exclusively about what is truly honorable—​the extent to which they partake of the divine. Indeed, both not only “belittle,” or “look down on” (to revisit Aristotle’s terminology), mundane affairs and the virtue and honors proper to them; they also devalue themselves. It is no coincidence that Maimonides chooses Moses as his paradigmatic case of a perfect worshipper; for Maimonides, as we have already seen, Moses is also the paradigmatic “righteous person” (‫)חסיד‬, being exceedingly lowly of spirit (see earlier discussion; cf. MT, Hilchot Deot, II.3).

6.3.  Maimonides’s Optimism Like the magnanimous in Aristotle’s view, the righteous, as Maimonides conceives of them, exhibit humility based on the

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  217 realization that humanity at large is insignificant by comparison to other parts of the universe, such as the heavenly bodies, the separate intellects, and, above all, God. This conclusion may at first sight seem to be at odds with optimism, as we have defined it. For, if the world contains inferior parts susceptible to suffering and various other shortcomings, then how can it be perfectly ordered or entirely valuable (O1)? And if human beings are themselves such inferior parts, then how can their life be preferable to their nonexistence (O2)? As we saw in the previous chapter, for Aristotle both questions are answered by reference to the necessary contribution that human beings, like all parts of the world, make to the perfection of the world. The totality of things, including indeed the very existence and functioning of the most perfect beings in existence, requires the existence of all of the world’s parts, including humans, and it is primarily this contribution that makes it worthwhile for those parts, including us, to exist. We have already seen, in Chapter 1, that Maimonides similarly thinks of the world as being positively valuable and rationally ordered.51 Thus, he takes the statement in Genesis 1:31 that “God saw all that He has created and, behold, [it was] very good (‫ ”)והנה טוב מאד‬to mean that Creation conforms to God’s intention, and perpetually so (GP III.13, 327:16–​21). The world is “very good,” then, because it is the successful result of the efforts of a Deity all of whose intentions and actions are themselves “absolutely good” (‫ טוב גמור‬, ׄ‫)כׄ יר מחץ‬ (III.10, 317:3–​7). In principle, a world ordered and valued in this fashion could still contain features that are either completely valueless or not valuable enough for their existence to be preferable over their nonexistence. Perhaps, certain parts of the world could be valueless byproducts of the good things whose existence God directly intends, neither adding to nor detracting from the overall good inherent in the world. Maimonides, however, rules out such a

51 See pp. 20–1.

218  The Value of the World and of Oneself possibility. In GP III.25, he proposes that “the parts of the natural works are all wisely-regulated, ordered, tie in with one another, and they are all causes and effects, and there is nothing of them that is vain, ridiculous or empty, but they are rather the works of great wisdom” (367:17–​19, translation mine). As biblical support for his view, he appeals again to Genesis 1:31, as well as to Deuteronomy 32:4, which states that “the work of the Rock is perfect” (‫( )הצור תמים פעלו‬368:10–​12). This understanding of the world’s perfection, as it emerges from the rest of the chapter, encompasses both sublunary natural objects and celestial phenomena (cf., e.g., GP I.66). In Maimonides’s view, the cosmos as a whole is taken to be a perfectly ordered system whose parts are all intricately connected and are indeed all apparently indispensable if the world is to remain as it is. Indeed, in GP II.28, Maimonides argues that nothing must be either added to or subtracted from the world, since any such change would only be warranted in case the thing being changed is lacking, “so that it might be perfected” (‫ שיושלם‬,‫)פיתמם‬, or else to eliminate a superfluous feature, whereas “the works of God are at the height of perfec­ tion” (. . . ‫ פעולות האלוה‬, ‫גאיה אלכמאל‬ ׁׂ ‫ פי‬ . . . ‫אפעאל אלאלאה‬ ‫( )בתכלית השלמות‬234:19–​235:5; translation mine). Knowledge of the world’s order and perfection, for Maimonides, is once again exemplified most readily by the case of Moses, who has been shown “all existing things—​of which it was said ‘and God saw what he Has done, and behold [it was] very good’ [Genesis 1:31]—​namely, he was shown them so that he might grasp their nature and their tying in with one another,” whereby “he grasped the being of [the] whole world with true and existing understanding” (I.54, 84:11–15).52 Nevertheless, and though “[God’s] deeds are at the height of perfection” (‫ מעשיו בתכלית‬,‫גאיהׁ אלכמאל‬ ׂ ‫צנוע אתה פי‬

52 Translations in this paragraph are my own.

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  219 ‫)השלמות‬, most people fail to grasp “the perfection of all that He has created” (‫ שלמות כל מעשיו‬,‫)כמאל כל מא צנע‬, attending instead only to some of the wonders exhibited by such things as animal physiology and celestial phenomena (III.49, 445:1–7). Maimonides consistently describes God’s “deeds” as perfect, and he explains that by doing so he means to convey that “all of His deeds (‫ פעולותיו‬,‫)אפעאלה‬, viz. His creations (,‫מכׄ לוקאתה‬ ‫) בריאותיו‬, are at the height of perfection” (II.28, 235:7–​11). The perfection attributed to all of God’s works might seem to conflict with Maimonides’s view of certain such beings (like the sublunary species) as inferior to others (like the heavens and separate intellects). But the conflict is only apparent. First, in II.28, the perfection of God’s works is introduced in the context of an argument for the eternity (a parte post) of the world and its perfection. God’s works are described there as perfect, specifically insofar as they constitute a world order lacking nothing and containing nothing superfluous. Second, by calling x perfect, Maimonides means that x lacks nothing and contains nothing superfluous for being the kind of thing that x is.53 And it is quite consistent for two unequally valuable things to be perfect in that specific sense. What is important for our purposes is that, since Maimonides conceives of the entire world as perfect in that sense, he must think of each of its parts as having an indispensable role to play in the world being the kind of perfect thing that it is. And since the world also happens to be supremely valuable, according to Maimonides (following Genesis 1:31), the role that all phenomena have in maintaining it makes their existence preferable to their nonexistence. This last conclusion is in line with Maimonides’s view of the proper evaluation of human life and death. On both points, as one might expect given what we have seen so far, he adopts an 53 Compare Aristotle’s definition of perfect (teleion) as that which cannot be surpassed with respect to the excellence proper to its kind in Metaph. Δ.16, discussed in section 5.4 of Chapter 5.

220  The Value of the World and of Oneself Aristotelian optimistic stance. Thus, in GP III.10, he remarks on Genesis 1:31 as follows (317:12–​15): So that the existence of this inferior matter, being such as it is and entailing a conjunction with privation that necessitates death and all the evils, all of this too is good for the persistence of being and the continuation of reality in succession. And that is why Rabbi Meir interpreted “and it [it was] very good” (‫ ) והנה טוב מאד‬as “death [was] good” (‫)טוב מות‬. (my translation)

It may seem that Maimonides means to argue here that even death should be regarded as a good thing overall, because it contributes to the permanence of being, presumably by enabling the cycle of life necessary for perpetuating the species.54 However, he explicitly says earlier in the chapter that the death of humans is tantamount to their nonexistence, and that it is an evil (‫ רע‬,‫ )שר‬for that reason (316:24–​5). And at 317:12–​15, too, he is in fact clear that in his view it is the existence of earthly creatures, like us, that should be considered good, despite the evils (‫ הרעות‬,‫)אלשרור‬, like death, that inevitably befall them. When Maimonides cites Rabbi Meir’s rendition of ‫והנה טוב מאד‬ in Genesis 1:31 as ‫ והנה טוב מות‬to support his own position, then, he cannot take it to mean merely that “death was good.” What he actually says, at 317:14–​16, is the following: “And for this reason Rabbi Meir interpreted ‘‫’והנה טוב מות’ –​ ‘והנה טוב מאד‬, because of the matter that we have remarked upon.”55 Rabbi Meir’s emendation 54 See, e.g., H. Goitein, Der Optimismus und Pessimismus in der jüdischen Religionsphilosophie (Berlin, 1890), 96–​7. 55 ‫ ולזה‬, . . .‫ולדׄ לךשרה ר׳ מאירוהנה טוב מאדוהנה טוב מותללמעני אלדׄי נבהנא עליה‬ . . . ‫לענין אשר העירונו עליו‬,‫פירש ׳ר מאיר והנה טוב מאד טוב מות‬ Friedländer translates: “Rabbi Meir therefore explains the words ‘and behold it was very good’ (tobh m’od); that even death was good in accordance with what we have observed in this chapter”; see M. Friedländer (trans. and comm.), The Guide of the Perplexed of Maimonides (London, 1885), vol. 3, 35. Pines (1963, 440) translates: “For this reason Rabbi Meir interpreted the words: And, behold, it was very [me’od] good-​and, behold, death [maveth] was good, according to the notion to which we have drawn attention.”

Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2  221 could be read as ‫– מות‬ ​ ‫והנה טוב‬, i.e., death is consequent upon the goods of Creation, rather than being good itself. And, given what we have seen earlier, this is most probably what Maimonides does take Rabbi Meir’s point to be. Indeed, in III.51, Maimonides makes the point that the description of Moses, Aaron, and Miriam as having died “by a kiss” means to convey that their intellect has been perfected to such an extent that its posthumous activity afforded them “serenity in the face of death in truth” (ֺ‫)אלסלאמה מן המות באלחקיקה‬ ׁׂ (463:7). The very fact that death is something that calls for “serenity in the face of,” or for “salvation” or “deliverance” from, to use alternative translations 56 suggests that death as such is an evil. of ‫אלסלאמה‬, ׁׂ This negative assessment of death is also in line with Maimonides’s explicitly positive evaluation of human life. In GP III.12, he makes the point that “[a human being’s] existence is a great good for him and a grace of God with regard to what He gave uniquely to him and how He perfected him” (319:14–15; trans. mine), and concludes by stating that “our being brought into existence is the great, absolute good” (323:18; trans. mine). It has been argued, understandably, that Maimonides’s view of the human species as relatively insignificant makes it difficult for him to justify the preferability of human life over our nonexistence.57 But, apart from stating so explicitly, Maimonides has 56 Ibn Tibbon translates ‫אלסלאמה מן המות‬ ׁׂ as ‫המלט מן המות‬, implying that such people are afforded an escape from death. Similarly, Pines renders the phrase as “salvation from death,” and Friedländer as “deliverance from death.” These translations are too strong and seem unjustifiably to saddle Maimonides with the view that the continuation of the intellect affords one something like personal immortality. Maimonides’s attitude toward human immortality is of course convoluted and controversial. See, e.g., Nadler (2001b), 67–​80. 57 Goitein (1890, 94–​5) maintains that, although Maimonides means to rebut pessimism on the basis of Aristotelian teleology (citing Pol. I.8), by arguing that human suffering is relatively insignificant, that view could only justify the existence of the world, and not the existence of human beings, which is why Maimonides supplements his argument with the further point that the suffering of humans is exaggerated and is in fact outweighed by the good incurred by them. Indeed, for Goitein (1890, 103), Maimonides ultimately lapses into a form of “ethical and practical pessimism,” since he attributes most evils to humans’ folly and wickedness, capable of being transcended, as it is indeed for Schopenhauer, by only a select few.

222  The Value of the World and of Oneself good reasons to think that the life of humans is preferable to their nonexistence, for, as we have seen, he views human beings, and all other parts of the world for that matter, as making an indispensable contribution to the world being the kind of perfect and valuable thing that it is. Maimonides thus not only follows Aristotle with regard to the merits of devaluing oneself, and humanity at large, and dedicating oneself to higher beings; he also adopts Aristotle’s optimistic assessments of the world as perfectly ordered and valuable, of human death as an evil, and of human life as preferable over human nonexistence (in line with the basic propositions of philosophical optimism which we have been referring to as O1 and O2). Indeed, Maimonides develops Aristotle’s optimism in ways that make it capable of dealing with certain objections to optimism. One of Schopenhauer’s central charges against optimism, as we have seen, was that it is allegedly incapable of resolving the classical problem of evil. Whereas Aristotle does not deal with the problem as such, Maimonides provides an Aristotelian response to it, as we saw earlier in this chapter. In the next chapter, we shall see to just what extent the Aristotelian-​Maimonidean version of optimistic theory is capable of answering Schopenhauer’s challenges to optimism.

7 An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer’s Challenge to Optimism Based on the definitions we have adopted at the outset, philosophical optimism holds that the world is optimally arranged and valuable (O1), and human existence, as a part of that world, is valuable enough to make it preferable over our nonexistence (O2). Philosophical pessimism, as we have defined it, maintains by contrast that the world is poorly constructed, pain-​ridden, and valueless (P1), and that human nonexistence would have been preferable (P2). In the preceding chapters, we examined Schopenhauer’s challenge to the optimism of the Hebrew Bible and Spinoza (Chapter 1), a critique of his pessimism going back to Nietzsche (Chapter 2), and a critique of Nietzsche’s attempt at rejecting both optimism and pessimism by Camus (Chapter 3). We then raised the question concerning the applicability of the debate between optimism and pessimism to ancient philosophy and concluded that Aristotle can be reasonably read as responding to and rejecting ancient occurrences of philosophical pessimism (Chapter 4). As an alternative, Aristotle presents his own brand of optimistic theory (Chapter 5), later developed by Maimonides (Chapter 6), which uniquely squares a view of the cosmos as perfectly ordered and valuable with the assessment of humans as relatively inferior beings. Having examined Aristotelian optimism in detail, it remains to be seen whether it provides a viable response to the challenge Schopenhauer mounts against (other) optimistic theories. In this concluding chapter, I will argue that The Value of the World and of Oneself. Mor Segev, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197634073.003.0008

224  The Value of the World and of Oneself Aristotle’s optimism, especially as developed by Maimonides, is in fact capable of responding to the main charges that Schopenhauer levels against optimism, i.e., its presumed inability to resolve the problem of evil, at least without appealing, inconsistently, to personal immortality, and its alleged self-​centeredness, leading to the promotion of cruelty toward human beings and especially toward nonhuman animals.1

7.1.  The Problem of Evil In Schopenhauer’s estimation, the presence and indeed prevalence of pain and misfortune in the world is enough to point out that optimism, understood as the view that the world is perfectly good as is, is flawed (FHP §13: 120–​1; WWR II.XLVII: 591) (see Chapter 1). Admittedly, the task of defending optimism in the face of the “the distress and death of all that lives, the multitude and colossal magnitude of evils, the variety and inevitably of sufferings,” etc., seems daunting (FHP §13: 120–​1). Nevertheless, Aristotelian theory arguably has the relevant resources for defending optimism in the face of this challenge.

1 When discussing optimism in his published works, Schopenhauer criticizes specific philosophical views that he takes to be optimistic, such as Spinoza’s pantheism, but chooses not to address Aristotle’s theory. He even uses Aristotle’s text to support pessimism, at least once (WWR II.XXVIII: 356). Nevertheless, there is evidence that Schopenhauer does regard Aristotle’s view as optimistic. In the Pandectae II (p. 293 [Payne, 252]), referring to the second book of Aristotle’s Magna Moralia, which he regards as authentic, Schopenhauer says that ­chapter 8 (in which Aristotle says that it is inappropriate to think about god either as a faulty judge or as unjust; cf. 1207a6–​11) is “an entirely monotheistic passage,” and that ­chapter 15 (in which Aristotle speaks of god as self-​sufficient, lacking nothing, and having all good things; cf. 1212b35–​9) “seems definitely to assume that monotheism is a well-​known and settled affair” (later, in Pandectae II, p. 331 [Payne, 262], he goes to on attribute “theism,” though not monotheism, to both Plato and Aristotle). Since Schopenhauer generally associates monotheism—​particularly its view of the world as the product of a perfectly good deity—​with optimism (WWR II.L: 644), and since he describes as monotheistic precisely those discussions in Aristotle that deal with god’s good nature and justice, it stands to reason that he would have regarded Aristotle’s overall theory as optimistic.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  225 Understanding the Aristotelian response is facilitated by considering Aristotle’s conception of the virtue that he calls magnanimity (see Chapter 5). The magnanimous person, for him, is the person most appropriately concerned with honors (NE IV.3), and indeed occupies herself with the greatest honors (MM II.5). Since the most honorable things in existence in Aristotle’s view are the objects of his metaphysics, in particular the unmoved movers of the heavens, which he identifies as gods (NE IV.7; Metaph. A.2), it is safe to assume, with some prominent ancient and modern commentators, that the magnanimous person for him is concerned with just such objects. Apart from those objects, and by comparison to them, the magnanimous person, who turns out to be a paradigmatic Aristotelian philosopher, deems nothing great, appears disdainful, and looks down on what she deems “small,” including herself and humanity at large (NE IV.3, EE III.5). This recommendation of self-​ devaluation—​the magnanimous person, after all, is an Aristotelian paragon of virtue, whose disposition and actions are therefore to be thought of as choice-​worthy—​suggests a response to the problem of evil based, not on the downplaying of the amount or intensity of suffering in the world, but rather on the downplaying of the importance of those beings in the world that are made to suffer. Aristotle himself, of course, addresses neither Schopenhauer’s critique of optimism nor the problem of evil as such. However, as we have seen (in Chapter 6), Moses Maimonides, whose own conception and recommendation of humility (and his corresponding ideal of the hassid) are in fact closely modeled on Aristotle’s notion of magnanimity (and his magnanimous person), does reply to the problem of evil along the same Aristotelian lines just alluded to. That response may be used to reply, on Aristotle’s and Maimonides’s behalf, to Schopenhauer’s challenge. For Schopenhauer, positing the existence of God, either through monotheism or through pantheism, necessarily leads to optimism (because the world, considered either as being divinely created or as being itself divine, allows for no imperfections),

226  The Value of the World and of Oneself which in turn generates the problem of evil (because, undeniably, imperfections abound). By contrast, Maimonides maintains that proper self-​devaluation—​understood as the devaluation, neither of oneself by contrast to other individuals, nor of one group of people by contrast to others, but rather of humanity at large by contrast to higher, nonhuman beings—​helps one to appreciate the goodness in the world, which predominantly stems from its most valuable components and the good state they necessarily are in, and which is not affected or jeopardized by the suffering of lowly parts such as ourselves. Indeed, for Maimonides, it is based on this understanding of the cosmos and the optimistic worldview yielded by it that we humans gradually progress toward knowledge of God, to the extent that it is available to us at all. And, since knowledge of God is thus predicated on self-​ devaluation, monotheism in its Maimonidean variety starkly contrasts with Schopenhauer’s portrayal of Jewish monotheism as advancing from the postulation of a perfect God toward viewing each part of the world as perfect in turn. In fact, it may be said, without too much anachronism, that Maimonides’s discussion in GP III.12 works not only as a response to Schopenhauer’s critique of optimism, but even as a direct criticism of points that Schopenhauer is himself theoretically committed to. Maimonides’s reply to those who find a preponderance of evil in the world bears repeating in this regard: Every ignoramus imagines that all that exists exists with a view to his individual sake; it is as if there were nothing that exists except him. And if something happens to him that is contrary to what he wishes, he makes the trenchant judgment that all that exists is an evil.

Schopenhauer’s WWR begins with the proclamation that “the world is my representation” (Die Welt ist meine Vortsellung),

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  227 which Schopenhauer proceeds to refer to as the most certain truth (WWR I, §1: 3), and which he says he plans to supplement with the additional truth “that man also can say and must say: ‘The world is my will.’ ” (WWR I, §1: 4). It is hard to imagine, therefore, that Schopenhauer would object to the judgment, which Maimonides in the passage just quoted attributes to “every ignoramus,” that “there is nothing that exists except oneself.” Nor, indeed, would Schopenhauer object to the corollary that Maimonides says the “ignoramus” draws from that judgment (upon experiencing an unwelcome occurrence), i.e., that “all that exists is an evil” (as we saw in Chapter 2, Schopenhauer likens all of human life to a pendulum wavering between suffering and boredom; cf. WWR I, §57: 312). Maimonides, for his part, vehemently rejects both the supposition and its corollary. Schopenhauer, it will be remembered, argues that viewing oneself as one individuated phenomenon among many, as optimistic views generally do, is the root of egoism (§61: 332). But, from an Aristotelian-​Maimonidean perspective, it is views such as Schopenhauer’s that are characterized by self-​centeredness, which leads them to attribute enough importance to human suffering and imperfections to make something like the problem of evil seem like a genuine concern. Such self-​centeredness is misguided, Maimonides charges, because, if one were to think of oneself in relation to the world in an impartial manner, one would not identify oneself with the essence of the world, as Schopenhauer does. Rather, one would come to view oneself as a part of the world, and a relatively insignificant part at that.2

2 Simmel (1991, 110–​ 11), discussing Schopenhauer’s ethics, argues that Schopenhauer’s theory is not egoistic, since the “I,” too, is dissolved in the absolute unity propounded by his metaphysics. But Maimonides, I argue, would have regarded Schopenhauer’s view as self-​centered for its focus on oneself, not qua individual person, but rather precisely qua will or, as Simmel (1991, 112) calls it, on Schopenhauer’s “ideal formulation that human beings should become what they are.”

228  The Value of the World and of Oneself

7.2.  No Recourse to Personal Immortality For Schopenhauer, the only conceivable solution to the problem of evil facing a monotheistic or pantheistic optimist would have been the postulation of some significant goods awaiting us in an afterworld and making up for the evils endured on earth as we know it. The trouble, as Schopenhauer sees it, is that even such a solution cannot be made consistent with monotheism or pantheism, precisely because they must take the world as is, i.e., as it is given to us through observation and experience, to be perfect in its own right (WWR II.XLI; FHP §13). As we have seen, Aristotle does not subscribe to personal immortality. Aristotle’s theory leaves room for the immortality of only the human intellect (DA I.4; DA III.5; Metaph. Λ.3), whereas personal immortality requires, in addition, the permanence of one’s character traits, memories, etc. (see Chapter 4). Hence, on Aristotle’s view, one in fact cannot expect to incur any posthumous goods (with the exception of the possible temporary continuation of one’s happiness through the virtuous activities performed by one’s living friends). Maimonides’s views on the subject of personal immortality are notoriously elusive. As we have seen (Chapter 6), in a key discussion in GP III.51, he commits himself to the immortality of the intellect in (some) humans, which would seem to align his view with Aristotle’s. Indeed, it has been suggested that, since Maimonides restricts human immortality to the persistence of the intellect, he cannot consistently endorse personal immortality, and in fact does not do so in the Guide, whereas in some halachic works he describes such immortality as including the persistence of memories of earthly life due to the intended audience of those particular works, which includes readers not versed in or prepared for philosophy.3 But whichever view Maimonides holds 3 See Nadler (2001b), 72–​80.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  229 with regard to immortality, the important thing to note for our present purposes is that the arguments we have mounted on his behalf against Schopenhauer’s challenge to optimism do not rely on personal immortality in any way. Rather, they rely on the devaluation of humanity and the compatibility of such devaluation with the perfection of the cosmos. Both Aristotle and Maimonides can consistently uphold an optimistic worldview without postulating personal immortality because they both think that human beings, qua the limited beings that they are, play a crucial role in the world’s perfection.

7.3.  Egoism and Cruelty Lastly, Aristotle’s and Maimonides’s aversion to self-​absorption, and their focus on combating self-​centeredness with a sober apprehension of one’s true value by comparison to greater beings, also help to answer a further challenge posed to optimistic theory by Schopenhauer. As we have seen, Schopenhauer charges optimism with leading its adherents to moral depravity, precisely because, as he thinks, optimists are bound to view themselves as perfectly valuable and, thus enchanted with themselves, they can be expected to disregard, if not directly harm, their fellow creatures. As we have seen earlier, Aristotle and Maimonides would take Schopenhauer’s theory to be essentially egoistic, since it advances from identifying oneself as the essence of the entire world, and on that basis sees a grave problem with one’s own suffering that purportedly can only be accounted for through a pessimistic evaluation of the world at large. By contrast, and as we well know by now, both Aristotle and Maimonides view the perfection of the world as compatible with a hierarchy of value among its parts, with human beings placed relatively low on the axiological ladder, so that their limitations and suffering would not undermine the estimation of the world as perfect. A human being aware of this hierarchy, on this

230  The Value of the World and of Oneself particular version of optimistic theory, would be led away from egoism, since they would recognize that they ought not to place themselves, or even humanity as a whole, as the focal point of either their actions or their intellectual efforts. And indeed, for Aristotle, the magnanimous person, who is in possession of the knowledge of such facts as well as a matching attitude of deeming nothing great (including herself), is also a paragon of character virtue (NE IV.3). Having full character virtue, the magnanimous person would act virtuously (generously, moderately, justly, etc.) toward her fellow humans, even to the point of sacrificing her life for her friends or homeland (NE IX.8). And they would presumably do so as a direct result of their knowledge of their insignificance by comparison to higher beings and their consequent self-​devaluing attitude. It may be objected at this point that, whereas Aristotle’s and Maimonides’s optimism may promote altruism with regard to other human beings, the hierarchy in value between mortal species that it posits privileges humanity and places it squarely above other life forms, with likely negative practical implications for animal welfare. Indeed, Schopenhauer charges Jewish and pantheistic optimism with leading to cruelty particularly toward nonhuman animals, as we have seen (section 1.4 of Chapter 1; cf. WWR II.L: 645; FHP §12: 73). As we have also seen, in Pol. I.8 Aristotle does commit himself to the view that non-​rational animals exist for the sake of human beings (1256b10–​22), and in NE IV.7 (1141a33–​b2) he says explicitly that humans are the best of all animals, with the latter text quite clearly influencing Maimonides’s similar view that humans exceed in nobility and perfection all other sublunary species (cf. GP III.13). Elsewhere, moreover, Aristotle canvasses further hierarchies within the animal kingdom, with some species, like worms and beetles, being described as having a “base nature” (φύσις φαύλη) typical “of dishonorable animals” (τῶν ἀτίμων ζῴων) (MM II.7).4 4 See also PA I.1, 645a15–​16; DA 404b3–​5; Poet. 4, 1448b10–​12. Cf. Bonitz, Index Aristotelicus, ad ἄτιμος.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  231 As we also saw in Chapters 4 and 5, however, Aristotle conceives of the world as a perfect structure, enabling the existence and functioning of the best beings in existence, but depending in doing so on its various constituent parts, including the fixed number and kinds of mortal species eternally inhabiting it. But if the world’s perfection depends on the proper functioning of its various parts, then jeopardizing any of those parts, down to the smallest and most insignificant of them, would presumably detract from that perfection. And if so, then acting fully rationally and virtuously, for Aristotle, requires actively refraining from cruelty toward humans as well as nonhuman animals. In PA I.1, 645a4–​26, Aristotle famously exhorts one to study, not only divine objects,5 but also the nature of animals, including those that are “more dishonorable” (τῶν ἀτιμoτέρων), since in every natural thing there is “something wonderful” (τι θαυμαστόν) and the inquiry into any animal species would yield something beautiful (τινὸς . . . καλοῦ). As he goes on to say, if one refuses to inquire into nonhuman animals, deeming such inquiry dishonorable, one should similarly refuse to inquire into oneself as well, since “it is impossible to look at those things from which the human genus is constituted—​e.g., blood, flesh, bones, veins and the parts of this sort—​without much disgust (πολλῆς δυσχερείας)” (645a28–​30). Aristotle’s axiological hierarchy and the practical lessons to be drawn from it are apparent here as well. The dishonor attached to certain animal species by comparison to humans is compatible with the wonder and beauty that nevertheless inhere in them and that demand our attention and respect. And we come to appreciate the compatibility of these two aspects by examining the case of the human species, which similarly integrates our body and mortal nature, making us subordinate to the gods, with certain honorable characteristics enabling us to approximate divinity.

5 Taking ἐκείνων at 645a4 to refer back to τὰ θεῖα at 645a4.

232  The Value of the World and of Oneself Maimonides, for his part, interprets key commandments mandated by the Torah (like the prohibition on eating a limb of a living animal and the regulations concerning slaughtering) as intended to avoid cruelty toward animals (GP III.48). When Maimonides explains the particular commandment prohibiting the slaughtering of an animal and its progeny on the same day,6 he says that this commandment is intended to spare the mother the suffering of witnessing the slaughtering of her offspring. That pain, Maimonides continues, is the same in nonhuman animals as it is in humans, since the love of a mother for her offspring depends on imagination rather than the intellect. That account, which evidently appeals to concepts borrowed from Aristotelian psychology, is also echoed more specifically in Aristotle, who argues that nature seems to wish to ensure “the caring awareness of offspring” (τὴν τῶν τέκνων αἴσθησιν ἐπιμελητικὴν) (GA III.2, 753a7–​9), which he goes on to attribute, to varying degrees, to humans, quadrupeds, and birds (753a9–​16).7 Also in GP III.48, Maimonides brings up the point, which he takes to be a medical fact, that plants and meat constitute the food natural for human beings (440:8–9: ‫ המזון הטבעי לבני אדם‬,‫)אלגׄדא אלטביעי ללאנסאן‬. Bracketing the issue of the truth value of this belief, the important point for our purposes is that, in Maimonides’s view, this presumed fact goes hand in hand with the moral obligation on humans to refrain from causing unnecessary harm, both physical and emotional, to animals. And there is reason to think that, in espousing that moral obligation, Maimonides faithfully represents Aristotle’s position, which also seems compatible with, and indeed seems to recommend, allowing the use of nonhuman

6 See also MT, Hilchot Shchita, 12:8; cf. Leviticus 22:28: ‫ אותו ואת בנו לא‬,‫״ושור או שה‬ ”.‫תשחטו ביום אחד‬ 7 See also T. Lockwood, “Aristotle on Inter-​and Intra-​Species Philia” (unpublished), who adduces, in addition to this text, further support from the Ethics and HA for parental care in nonhuman animals.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  233 animals only for (presumed) necessary purposes and refraining from causing them unnecessary suffering.8 In GP III.13, Maimonides cites Aristotle on the point that plants exist for the sake of both animals and human beings. This is sometimes taken to indicate that Maimonides rejects Aristotle’s view that non-​rational animals exist for the sake of humans.9 It may be thought, too, that doing so in turn allows Maimonides to support his case against cruelty toward non-​rational animals on the grounds that they should be “placed on the same level as human beings.”10 Thus, it has been concluded that according to the Guide 8 Henry argues that, in Pol. I.8, Aristotle’s position is that “we are justified in hunting animals and otherwise using them as we see fit . . . ,” and that Theophrastus’s position, according to which humans have a moral obligation not to harm animals, is meant to “argue against this position”; see D. Henry, “Aristotle on Animals,” in P. Adamson and G. F. Edwards (eds.), Animals: A History (Oxford, 2018), 9–​26, at 23–​4. But, as I have argued earlier, Pol. I.8 seems compatible with a moral obligation toward animals, and there are other, positive reasons to attribute to Aristotle the view that we do have such an obligation. Henry’s appeal to NE VIII.11, 1161a31–b3 to argue that Aristotle “denies that there can be either friendship or justice between humans and nonhuman animals because we share nothing in common with them” (ibid.) is misguided. The point that Aristotle makes in the immediately following discussion is that we cannot have friendship with a slave, qua slave, i.e., qua an “ensouled tool” (cf. Pol. I.13), although there can be friendship between a master and a slave insofar as they are both humans (1161b4–​8). Being unable to have friendship with a horse or a cow are given as illustrative examples during this discussion, with the implication that, insofar as these are tools, one cannot have friendship with them. This leaves room, just as in the case of slaves, for these living things to have enough in common with humans so as to justify, or even mandate, our consideration toward them insofar as they are, not merely tools, but also the living beings that they are.   M. Rowlands, “Friendship and Animals: A Reply to Fröding and Peterson,” Journal of Animal Ethics 1 (2011), 70–​9, at 71, offers a reading of NE VIII.11 that is similar to mine. Lockwood (unpublished), also arguing against B. Fröding and M. Peterson, “Animal Ethics Based on Friendship,” Journal of Animal Ethics 1 (2011), 58–​ 69, supports Rowlands’s reading, and adds that the passage in question may only rule out considerations of justice pertaining to nonhuman animals. Fröding and Peterson (2011), for their part, argue that even though Aristotle does not think that friendship can exist between humans and nonrational animals, it can, and so, following his theory of friendship, one has a moral obligation to further the well-​being of at least those animals that one has (utility) friendship with. 9 Pines (1963), lxxi, n. 29. 10 H. Kasher, “Animals as Moral Patients in Maimonides’ Teachings,” American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 76.1 (2002), 165–​ 80, at 168. Kasher argues that Maimonides changed his mind on the topic between the Commentary on the Mishnah and the Guide.

234  The Value of the World and of Oneself “animals and human beings are citizens of equal rights in the kingdom of ends.”11 However, Maimonides’s focus on Aristotle’s view on the status of plants in III.13 is unrelated to his estimation of Aristotle’s views on animals. Maimonides cites Aristotle in the context of arguing that if X is superior to Y (e.g., the heavenly bodies by comparison to humans, or humans by comparison to fish), then X cannot exist for the sake of Y. Plants and their relation to their superiors, i.e., animals, are brought up as an example for the proper relation of being-​for-​the-​sake-​of. Maimonides may well have chosen this particular example because of the specific texts he could adduce as support for his view. Having no access to Aristotle’s explicit remark in Pol. I.8 that both plants and animals exist for the sake of humans, he probably relies on the pseudo-​ Aristotelian On Plants 817b25–​6, in which that point is made specifically about plants.12 But there is every reason to think that Maimonides, like Aristotle in Pol. I.8, extends his view on the subordination relation between plants and animals to the relation between animals and humans. For Maimonides, plants exist for animals “because [animals] cannot do without food” (‫ אחר שאי אפשר‬,‫אדׄ לא בד לה מן אלאגחדׄ א‬ ‫( )להם מבלתי מזון‬GP III.13, 327: 27–​8).13 This reason should apply to the existence of animals, too, because Maimonides says similarly that meat is necessary food for humans (GP III.48). Indeed, in GP III.17, Maimonides accepts the view, which he attributes to Aristotle, that divine providence does not extend to individual plants or non-rational animals (341: 18–​19). He goes on to say that “because this is so (‫ ומפני זה‬,‫)ולדׄ לך‬, the slaughtering of [animals] is permitted and commanded, and it has been permitted to

11 Kasher (2002), 169. 12 See Pines (1963), 449 n. 4. Maimonides also mentions, as biblical support for this view, Genesis 1:29–​30, which also focuses on plants. 13 Kasher (2002, 176–​8) recognizes and discusses this view.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  235 use them for [our] benefit (‫ בתועלותינו‬,‫ )פי אלמנאפע‬as much as we please” (19–​20). Lastly, in GP I.13, Maimonides does argue, again following Aristotle, that, since the ultimate end of biological species is to perpetuate the cycle of life with a view to continued existence and the generation of beings as perfect as possible, and since humans are more perfect than all other sublunary beings, all nonhuman sublunary things exist, in this sense, for the sake of humans. Maimonides, then, thinks both that humans have an obligation to refrain from cruelty toward animals and that non-​rational animals exist for the sake of human beings and are naturally used for their purposes. Human perfection, for Maimonides, consists of knowing God as far as is humanly possible, and this crucially requires lowering one’s estimation of oneself, along with one’s estimation of the rest of humanity. By contrast, Schopenhauer’s view proposes introspection as the key for unraveling the true essence of the world, which turns out to be identical to the essence of oneself. And by recommending forgoing one’s phenomenal existence toward complete absorption in that true essence, Schopenhauer’s view arguably reverts to an exaltation of the world and of oneself—​ the very feature he criticizes optimistic theories for exhibiting (see Chapter 2). Similarly, Nietzsche’s view was criticized by Camus for promoting the deification of the world and of oneself (see Chapter 3). Aristotle’s view, which Maimonides adopts and develops, though it remains optimistic—​it refuses to compromise the value inherent in the world and proposes a solution to the problem of evil on which even immense human suffering does not substantially detract from that value—​is set up so as to fence off such criticisms. The very starting point of that position, and a sine qua non for its overall argument, is the rejection of the idea that one may legitimately either deify oneself or otherwise claim for oneself the value of anything other than the member of a relatively insignificant species.

236  The Value of the World and of Oneself

7.4.  Additional Objections: Schopenhauer and Beyond Schopenhauer, it is true, also presents further arguments against optimistic positions, and it would be useful to attend to those in case they might turn out to be more effective against optimism of the Aristotelian variety. Let us consider three further arguments that Schopenhauer proposes, i.e., that optimism is “nefarious” in its scorn for suffering, that optimism falsely promises happiness, and that cosmic harmony and teleology do not make us any less miserable.14 As we shall presently see, all three arguments are ultimately vulnerable to the same counterarguments that we have raised on behalf of Aristotelian optimism. But the third of these arguments nevertheless paves the way for an additional set of possible concerns that Aristotelian optimism must take into account. Consider, first, Schopenhauer’s point that optimism is “nefarious” (ruchlose) and submits human suffering to “bitter scorn” (bitterer Hohn) (WWR I.59: 326; translation mine). Presumably, Schopenhauer means to say here that optimism is nefarious because it scorns human suffering, leading not only to refrain from helping suffering individuals but also to actively putting such individuals down. This is reminiscent of Schopenhauer’s charge that optimism leads to egoism and thereby to cruelty, and the Aristotelian response to the charge, as we have sketched it, applies here as well. Aristotle’s optimism, resting on imbibing the radical difference in value between oneself and the divine, is envisaged as moving one away from egoistic concerns and toward a virtuous, other-​regarding attitude 14 Schopenhauer also famously argues, specifically against Leibniz’s optimism, that ours is the worst of all possible worlds (WWR II.XLVI: 583–​4). This case is less relevant for our present purposes, since Leibniz’s doctrine of “the best of all possible worlds” is different from optimism as I have been concerned with it in this book and is in fact compatible with pessimism as I have defined it (see the Introduction). For further (and critical) discussion of Schopenhauer’s argument against Leibniz, see Janaway (1999), 321–​2; Beiser (2016), 47; Migotti (2020), 286–​7.

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  237 (cf. section 7.3). Far from ridiculing suffering, such a view is meant to engender compassion and empathy toward sufferers. Second, Schopenhauer argues that optimism suffers from the error of supposing that the world is set up for human happiness, which he in turn defines as the satisfaction of willing (WWR II.XLIX: 634; MR, Adversaria 171, pp. 229–32 [Payne, 619–20]). This presumed error allegedly leads one to suppose that the world, which for Schopenhauer defies our expectation to be happy at every turn, is “full of contradictions,” which in turn generates “disappointment” (WWR II.XLIX: 634). And this error, Schopenhauer emphatically asserts, is furthermore “inborn” and inevitable insofar as we are, in essence, “will-​to-​live” (WWR II.XLIX: 634).15 Now, this last point concerning the origin of the alleged error of optimism ought not to challenge the truth of optimism. If Schopenhauer means to appeal to it to refute optimism, then he would be committing the genetic fallacy (our expectation to be happy should be either met or unmet regardless of whether we are bound to have it). Furthermore, the content of the alleged error itself does not apply to Aristotle’s theory. Aristotle thinks that various types of good, like physical strength and wealth, which do play a role in a happy life (and are sometimes equated with happiness, though not by him), are due to luck (Pol. IV.11, 1295b13–​15; NE I.8, 1099a31–​b8), and cannot be reliably expected to be achieved regularly. Indeed, the type of virtuous activity that he equates with happiness—​and especially theoretical activity, which for him is constitutive of the most complete form of happiness—​is only rarely achieved, even under the ideal political circumstances as he describes them in Politics VII–​VIII.16 The rarity of human happiness and the dependence of the satisfaction of one’s desires on fortune are consistent with Aristotelian optimism because, as we have seen, that brand of optimism in fact holds no expectation of human suffering being

15 Janaway (1999), 324–​5, 339.

16 Cf. p. 188 in this volume; cf. Segev (2017a).

238  The Value of the World and of Oneself negligible or eliminable.17 Similarly to Maimonides’s Aristotelian response to the problem of evil (cf. section 7.1), then, Aristotelian optimism is capable of responding to Schopenhauer’s charge of the naïve expectation of happiness by incorporating human suffering and failure into its account of the overall perfection of the world and the worth of our existence within it. The third additional argument that we have mentioned attacks arguments for optimism resting on the beauty in nature and on natural and cosmic teleology. Interestingly, Schopenhauer does not proceed by rejecting the suppositions of such arguments. Rather, he asks us to consider what it is that the majesty and order of the universe, or its “wise arrangement,” entail: . . . if we proceed to the results of the applauded work, if we consider the players who act on the stage so durably constructed, and then see how with sensibility pain makes its appearance, and increases in proportion as that sensibility develops into intelligence, and then how, keeping pace with this, desire and suffering come out ever more strongly, and increase, till at last human life affords no other material than that for tragedies and comedies, then whoever is not a hypocrite will hardly be disposed to break out into hallelujahs. (WWR II.XLVI: 581)

Schopenhauer’s argument here is that no degree of natural beauty or cosmic order should affect one’s evaluation of human life, which ought to be determined solely based on the suffering that is bound to dominate it. Aristotelian optimism is again capable of dealing with this objection, similarly to the way we have seen it might respond

17 Aristotle, of course, does think that happiness is nevertheless possible (though even then it is temporary and conditional, incapable of withstanding, for instance, misfortunes such as the ones confronted by King Priam toward the end of his life; cf. NE I.11). But Schopenhauer’s point against optimism could not be that happiness is altogether unachievable. In fact, Schopenhauer himself thinks that happiness is attainable as well; see Janaway (2018).

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  239 to Schopenhauer’s other arguments based on the preponderance of suffering in the world and in human lives. For the Aristotelian position just is that no amount of human suffering could determine the value of human existence, which derives its value from its place within (and contribution to) an overall valuable system. But, although Schopenhauer’s argument grants the “optimist” and the “teleologist” their basic assumptions concerning the purposiveness inherent in the universe, philosophers today might not be so inclined.18 Nagel in a recent book controversially argues for the possibility of reintroducing “teleology as part of the natural world order” to explain the existence of consciousness and reason in the universe.19 “Natural teleology,” as Nagel understands it, “would mean that the universe is rationally governed in more than one way—​not only through the universal quantitative laws of physics that underlie efficient causation but also through principles which imply that things happen because they are on a path that leads toward certain outcomes—​notably, the existence of living, and ultimately of conscious, organisms.”20 While entertaining this idea, however, Nagel consciously states that it “flies in the teeth of the authoritative form of explanation that has defined science since the revolution of the seventeenth century,” and cautiously concludes that he is “not confident that this Aristotelian idea of teleology without intention makes sense,” though he (Nagel) does “not at the moment see why it doesn’t” (in any event, even if one were to grant Aristotle the truth of some general teleological principles, many of the particular details of his natural teleology, espousing, e.g., the eternity of all animal species 18 In fact, Schopenhauer closes WWR II.XXVI, a chapter dedicated in its entirety to a discussion of teleology, by praising Aristotle for “set[ting] them [sc. final causes] up as the true principle of the investigation of nature. Indeed, every good and normal mind, when considering organic nature, must hit upon teleology” (ibid.: 341). 19 T. Nagel, Mind and Cosmos (Oxford, 2012), 92. While identifying such teleological principles with Aristotle’s view, Nagel (2012, 66 n. 19) also acknowledges that “of course Aristotle did not have our conception of the world’s historical evolution over time.” 20 Nagel (2012), 67.

240  The Value of the World and of Oneself and of the heavenly bodies and their movement and souls, would still have to be rejected; see the further discussion in this section).21 But it is not obvious that teleology is absolutely required for upholding the gist of Aristotelian optimism. That gist, following our interpretation (see Chapters 4, 5, and 6), is the idea that the world is perfectly ordered and valuable, and that our existence is valuable insofar as we are parts of that valuable whole, albeit relatively insignificant parts, whose suffering and imperfections therefore do not make a dent in the perfection of the world as a whole. Suppose one dismisses teleological explanations but endorses the view that the universe in all its details is exactly as it is with strict necessity and could not have been otherwise. Ronald Dworkin identifies this view of “inevitability,” which as he points out is stronger than standard determinism, in the aspiration of prominent physicists to arrive at a “final theory” integrating the comprehensibility of the universe with its objective beauty deriving from that very idea of inevitability—​the idea, that is, that “nothing could be different without there being nothing.”22 Now, it is not entirely clear that being inevitable is sufficient to grant the cosmos the grandeur and sublimity such a view expects it to have, as Dworkin, who devotes much of his book to searching for an adequate account of beauty as it pertains to the universe, is acutely aware.23 21 Nagel (2012), 93. For Nagel (2012, 67): “it is essential, if teleology is to form part of a revised natural order, that its laws should be genuinely universal and not just the description of a single goal-​seeking process. Since we are acquainted with only one instance of the appearance and evolution of life, we lack a basis for bringing it under universal teleological laws, unless teleological principles can be found operating consistently at much lower levels.” By contrast, Lennox, discussing Aristotle’s relevance to contemporary philosophy of biology, points out the “renewed interest among certain theoretical biologists and philosophers of biology in conceiving of the organism as an irreducible locus of explanation, and in concepts like ‘self-​organization’ and ‘self-​maintenance’, and a robustly teleological concept of biological function and development associated with these concepts”; see J. G. Lennox, “An Aristotelian Philosophy of Biology: Form, Function and Development,” Acta Philosophica 26 (2017), 33–​51, at 47. 22 R. Dworkin, Religion without God (Cambridge, MA/​London, 2013), 98 et passim. 23 Thus, Dworkin (2013, 99) is careful to argue that inevitability is “an aspect or dimension of real beauty.” Dworkin (2013, 88) compares the role of “inevitability” in physics to the appeal to a Creator God in theistic religions to explain the world being as it is, and he mentions as ways of grounding God as such an ultimate explanans Aristotle’s

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  241 But as long as one already maintains the “inevitability” view while also attributing supreme or perfect value to the world at large, on whatever (non-​teleological) basis, then one can contend, along with Aristotle and Maimonides, that our very status as indispensable (if lowly) parts of such a valuable whole supports optimism with regard to the value of our own existence as well. Another point that one might raise against the plausibility of Aristotelian optimism, and one which applies to optimistic views more broadly, is that it might be inappropriate to attribute any value, let alone ultimate value, to the world at large. In Chapter 3, we have confronted Nietzsche’s statement in HH I.28 that “the world is neither good nor evil” and that “the concepts ‘good’ and ‘evil’ possess meaning only when applied to men” (an assessment that, as we have also seen, Nietzsche ultimately arguably does not himself live up to). Suppose that we similarly resist attributing any value (or disvalue) to the world at large, and instead restrict all talk of value to human affairs. One view that one could hold under such constraints is that the realm of human endeavor as a whole contains a perfectly valuable system, say human society or culture, and that we ourselves are valuable insofar as we enable and contribute to the existence of such a system.24 This view would lean toward Aristotelian optimism, as we have unpacked it. It is true that the world would on such a view not be considered valuable, which we have indeed defined as the basic proposition held by philosophical optimists. But on the view in question the world as such is ex hypothesi devoid of notion of a first uncaused cause and Anselm’s idea of a conceptually necessary being. But (leaving aside the problematic association between Aristotle and creationism), perfect value and goodness are built into Aristotle’s specification of his primary cause, which in turn motivates his understanding of the world as a whole as being perfectly valuable as well (see Chapters 4 and 5). 24 One prominent interpretation of Aristotle’s psychology takes intellect (nous) to be equivalent to our notion of “culture”; see Kahn (1992), 377. Kahn (1992, n. 3) is concerned with nous specifically as it occurs in human beings. But the content of noetic awareness in both human and divine nous (the latter, for Aristotle, functions as the basic cause of all of reality) is for Aristotle of course identical; for Kahn (1992, 375) this content is specifically the “rational structure of the universe.”

242  The Value of the World and of Oneself axiological relevance. Since that view proposes that the only realm in which value could be had does indeed contain perfect value, it is at least, one might say, optimistic in spirit. Among the many particular features of Aristotle’s thought that any revised version of his theory would need to reconsider is his view that all heavenly bodies and all earthly mortal living species are eternal. One might think that it is unreasonable to uphold Aristotelian (or indeed any other kind of) optimism while simultaneously acknowledging our transitory nature. But value does not obviously depend on the continued, let alone the eternal, existence of its possessor. As we have seen, Aristotle has no qualms about regarding the existence of individual human beings as valuable while denying them personal immortality. And whereas it is true that he does so on the basis of the contributions of such individuals to the continued existence of an eternal species (as well as the world at large), there seems to be no conclusive reason for that assessment to depend in principle on the eternity of our species, of life, or indeed of the cosmos (after all, it is the very same science that alerts us to our temporariness that nevertheless also seeks, as we have seen Dworkin point out, to capture the supreme beauty and value of the universe in a final theory). Nagel, considering the argument for the absurdity of human life based on human mortality, asks rhetorically: “would not a life that is absurd if it lasts seventy years be infinitely absurd if it lasted through eternity?”25 By the same token, we might ask, on behalf of a modified version of Aristotelian optimism: “would not a species and a world that are valuable if they exist forever remain so if they lasted only up to a point?”26 25 Nagel (1979), 12. For a criticism of this argument, see Benatar (2017), 54–​5. 26 One could argue, in principle, that a temporally limited cosmos could not be perfectly valuable, as optimism maintains it must be, since a longer existence would have increased its value. But this implication does not clearly follow either. Consider Aristotle’s own position. For him, the separate intellects, responsible for the perfect value that Aristotle sees the cosmos as having (as we have seen), consist in a self-​contained and non-​composite intellectual activity that, unlike human intellection, does not require temporal stages (Metaph. Λ.9, 1075a5–​11). Arguably, the occurrence of such an activity

An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer  243 These last considerations are certainly not meant to conclusively establish Aristotelian optimism, or a modified version of it, as a viable theory usable in contemporary discussion. The cursory reference to representative recent positions will not have been sufficient toward that end.27 Ours has been a historical investigation, comparing views on optimism and pessimism from classical antiquity down to the twentieth century. What I do hope the analysis of these views has shown, however, is that philosophical optimism, which since Schopenhauer’s day has been frequently taken to be childish or naïve, merits careful consideration. In its Aristotelian variety, optimism retains a level of internal consistency lacking in major alternative theories and withstands serious objections traditionally raised by its detractors. For some readers, this view and our analysis of it would remain of purely historical interest. Others might, I hope, be inclined to regard Aristotelian optimism thus understood as relevant and useful as we wade our way toward understanding the value of the world and of our own existence within it.

would confer perfect value on the cosmos that enables it, for Aristotle, regardless of the length of its duration. 27 For a recent survey of and critical engagement with contemporary optimistic views, specifically concerning the human condition, see Benatar (2017), esp. ch. 3–​4.

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Index Aaron, 198, 221 Abel, 30 Abraham, 16, 195, 197–​200, 213n43, 216 afterlife. See immortality al-​Razi, Abu Bakr, 210 Alexander of Aphrodisias, 135–​6 altruism and egoism, 171, 175, 198–​200, 214, 215n48, 227, 229–​37. See also optimism anachronism, 5–​6, 113–14 animals, nonhuman, 19, 36–​40, 46–​8, 229–​35 anthropocentrism, 38, 40–​1, 176 Aristotle on active intellect, 135–​6, 143n48 on cataclysms, 186–​7, 191 on the cycle of life, 145–​7, 191, 235 on divinity, 15, 148, 158–​63, 167–​8, 173–​82, 184–​5, 190, 191n44, 202, 208–​9, 211–​12, 215, 224n1, 225, 231 on friendship (philia), 116, 128–​ 35, 139, 149, 158, 160–​3, 173–​5, 198–​9, 214, 215n48, 230, 233n8 on happiness, 116, 118–​21, 124, 126–​9, 131–​5, 139, 140n45, 142–​4, 149, 160, 165, 167–​8, 177–​8, 188, 228, 237–​8 on magnanimity, 8, 15–​16, 158, 163–​74, 190, 194, 197, 203, 208–​9, 214–​16, 225, 230 his optimism, 3, 7–​8, 14–​17, 42, 113, 126, 148, 157, 159–​61, 178–​94, 196, 217, 222–​5, 229–​30, 235–​43

on pessimism, 14–​15, 113–​19, 149–​50, 154–​8, 223 on reputable opinions (endoxa), 123–​4 on teleology, 15, 17, 159, 163, 173–​8, 185, 186n35, 189, 191–​2, 221n57, 236, 239–​40 on the unmoved mover(s), 139, 146, 158–​63, 171, 173n17, 175–​ 6, 180–​3, 190, 191n44, 212, 225, 240–​1n23, 242n26 See also Schopenhauer Aspasius, 134n30, 164n4, 165–​8 atheism, 19, 25, 83, 96 Bar Kokhba, Simon, 201 Beiser, Frederick C., 4n9, 58n19, 59n20 Benatar, David, 147n54, 242n25, 243n27 Berman, David, 39, 76n46 Betegh, Gabor, 179n23 Bos, Abraham P., 118n7 Boton, Abraham de, 205–​8 Brahmanism, 19 Brann, Henry Walter, 41n41 Bruno, Giordano, 23 Buddhism, 8, 19. See also pessimism Burnyeat, Myles F., 185n34   Calderon, Ruth, 200–​201 Camus, Albert on the absurd, 83–​4, 87, 90–​1, 96, 108, 111 on “eternal concepts,” 95 on moderation, 81, 107–​12

254 Index Camus, Albert (cont.) on murder/​violence, 101–​6, 107n22 on Nietzsche, 6, 8, 14, 16, 42, 77, 80–​110, 113, 223, 225 on nihilism, 84–​6, 100n14, 105–​6 and optimism/​pessimism, 109–​10 on rebellion, 81, 87, 90–​1, 93–​6, 103–​4, 107–​12 on suffering, 81, 101–​4 Cartwright, David E., 101n15, 102n16 Christianity, 8, 19, 25, 31, 32n21, 44, 58n19, 75n43, 80, 83, 100n15, 173n17. See also pessimism Chroust, Anton-​Hermann, 180n25, 187n38, 192n45 Clement of Alexandria, 20 Cogito. See Descartes, René Cooper, John M., 189n42 Crantor, 121, 125 Crisp, Roger, 129, 164n5, 168–​9n10 cycle of life. See Aristotle; Maimonides   Dante, 110 David (King), 16, 198, 201–​2, 215 death, 46–​7, 56–​7, 59, 67, 69, 71–​2, 114–​15, 118–​29, 131–​5, 139–​47, 149, 153, 156, 158, 219–​22 Descartes, René, 81, 90–​3 determinism, 50, 85–​6, 240 devil, 26–​7 Dienstag, Joshua Foa, 5, 71–​2, 75, 77, 109, 110n26 Dostoevsky, Fyodor, 106 dream, 47, 130n26 Duvall, William E., 99n13 Dworkin, Ronald, 240–​2   egoism. See altruism and egoism Elias, 136–​7

eternity, 31 of human intellect, 116, 133, 135, 137n39, 138–​9, 142, 143n48, 147n55, 149, 155 of knowledge, 33 of life, 47–​8, 70, 72 of species, 17, 145, 150, 183–​6, 191–​2, 231, 239, 242 of the world, 13, 159, 192, 219 See also Camus; God; Nietzsche Eudemus of Cyprus, 114 Euripides, 150 Francis of Assisi, 53 Frank, Daniel, 203–​4, 205n30, 209 Frauenstädt, Julius, 58n19, 59n20 freedom of will. See determinism Fröding, Barbro, 233n8   Gauthier, René Antoine, 166n8, 167n9 Gerson, Lloyd P., 135, 137n39 Gersonides, 33–​4 God benevolence/​goodness/​moral nature of, 9, 94, 100, 148, 224n1 as Creator, 11, 19–​22, 24–​7, 32, 38, 79, 96, 109n25, 217–​19, 224n1, 225, 240n23 eternity of, 25, 209 existence of, 8, 32n22, 225 Nietzsche’s idea of the death of, 13–​14, 80n6, 81, 83–​4, 86, 94 omnipotence of, 9 perfection of, 8, 11, 23–​4, 28–​9, 40, 78, 161, 212n41, 226 See also Maimonides; optimism Goitein, Hirsch, 221n57 Golomb, Jacob, 30n15 Gooch, Paul W., 128n20 Guthrie, W. K. C., 180n25 Guttmacher, Adolf, 21n4, 31n19, 32nn21–​22, 37n30 Guyon, Jeanne, 54

Index  255 Halevi, Hisdai, 214n46 happiness. See Aristotle; Schopenhauer Hartmann, Eduard von, 4n9 Hebrew Bible Chronicles, 31 Daniel, 31 Deuteronomy, 21n7, 31, 37, 209, 212, 216, 218 Ecclesiastes, 11, 21n7, 31–​2, 41n41 Elijah, 21n7 Exodus, 31, 195–​6, 198, 214 Genesis, 11, 19–​22, 32, 38–​9, 195–​9, 214n45, 217–​20, 234n12 Isaiah, 195–​6, 200, 202, 209, 211 Jeremiah, 21n7 Job, 16, 195–​6, 202, 211–​12 Leviticus, 37, 38n37 Numbers, 31, 214 and optimism, 6, 11, 15–​16, 18–​22, 32–​3, 40–​1, 156, 194–​7 Proverbs, 37 Psalms, 16, 38, 195–​6, 198, 202, 211–​12 and self-​devaluation, 16, 195–​202, 210–​16 Tobias, 31 See also Maimonides; Schopenhauer Hegel, G.W.F., 62 Hendel, Ronald, 21n5 Henry, Devin, 146n52, 233n8 Hesiod, 124 Homer, 150 Howland, Jacob, 165n7, 172n15 Hubbard, Margaret, 117–​18n5 Hume, David, 27, 210 humility, 172–​3, 194, 197, 202–​8, 214, 216   identity, personal, 33, 55 imagination, 46, 232 immortality, 18–​19, 30–​4, 40, 47, 100, 114, 116–​17, 119, 126, 134–​9,

142–​4, 147n55, 149–​50, 152–​3, 155–​6, 221n56, 228–​9, 242 Isaac, 216 Islam, 31   Jacob, 195, 200–​201, 216 Jaeger, Werner, 117, 118n5 Janaway, Christopher, 50–​3, 56n15, 57–​8, 69n33, 73n39, 103n18 Jaspers, Karl, 100n14 John Scotus Eriugena, 23, 28 Judaism, 12–​13, 18–​20, 23–​7, 30–​4, 37–​41, 65, 70, 73, 200–​201, 226, 230. See also Schopenhauer Justin Martyr, 30   Kabbalah, Lurianic, 31 Kahn, Charles H., 138n42, 241n24 Katzenellenbogen, Moses ben Nahum, 213n43 King, R.A.H., 145 Knopf, Carl S., 32–​3n23 Kosman, Aryeh, 182n29, 183nn30–​31   Lasine, Stuart, 21n7 Lear, Gabriel Richardson, 164n4, 168, 173n17 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 4, 48, 236n14 Leibowitz, Yeshayahu, 214n45 Levinas, Emmanuel, 196–​200, 214n45, 215n48 Lockwood, Thornton, 232n7, 233n8 Loemker, Leroy E., 4n9, 5n12 Luck, Georg, 140n46 Lucretius, 37   Maimonides, Moses on bodily health, 201 his conception of the hassid (righteous person), 8, 194, 203–​9, 214–​16, 225 on the cycle of life, 220, 235

256 Index Maimonides, Moses (cont.) on friendship, 198–​9, 214 and the hierarchy of values, 7, 157, 196–​7, 209–​12, 217, 219, 226, 229–​30, 235, 241 on human perfection, 201, 214, 235 his interpretation of the Hebrew Bible, 16, 20–​1, 194–​7, 200, 202, 209–​21, 234 on knowledge of God, 208, 212–​ 16, 226, 235 on love of God, 215–​16 and negative theology, 212n41, 213 his optimism, 7–​8, 14, 16–​17, 20–​1, 42, 113, 157, 193–​7, 216–​24, 226, 238, 241 and pessimism, 21n3, 221n57, 226–​7, 229 and the problem of evil, 157, 193, 197, 210–​12, 222, 225–​7, 238 on prophets, 16, 204–​5, 207, 212, 216 on teleology, 221n57 Matthews, Gareth B., 128n20, 142n47, 142–​3n48 meaning (of life), 45, 52, 55, 66, 103n18, 147n54 Meir, Rabbi, 220–​1 metempsychosis, 30–​1 Midas (King), 14, 114–​15, 118n5, 118n7, 120–​2, 140n46 Miriam, 221 monotheism, 7–​8, 14, 18–​26, 43, 79, 81, 96–​8, 156, 224n1, 225–​6, 228. See also optimism morality, 62, 84, 94, 97, 204, 208n36 immoralism (see Nietzsche) moral action, 164n4, 177–​8, 203 moral depravity and optimism, 11–​12, 17, 36–​42, 229 moral judgment, 95, 106 moral obligation, 206, 232–​3

moral philosophy, 103 moral principles, 85 “morality of mores” (see Nietzsche) See also God; value Moses, 16, 30, 195, 198, 205, 213, 214n45, 216, 218, 221 mysticism. See Schopenhauer Nadler, Steven, 28–​9, 33–​4 Nagar, Eliyahu, 212n41 Nagel, Thomas, 12, 49–​53, 55, 61–​2, 239–​40, 242 National Socialism, 105–6 Nehamas, Alexander, 99n13, 103n18, 104n19 Neiman, Susan, 103n18, 109n25 Nietzsche, Friedrich on affirmation, 13, 80–​1, 87–​106, 107n22, 110 on amor fati, 101n15, 108n23 on the “ascetic ideal,” 59–​63, 65–​6 on the “death of God” (see God) on eternal recurrence, 98–​100, 101n15 his immoralism, 104n19 on the “morality of mores,” 97 on nihilism, 76n46, 84–​6, 100n14, 105–​6 on nothingness, 59, 61, 67 and optimism, 6, 8, 13–​16, 42, 63, 65, 75–​80, 82, 87, 100–​101, 110, 113, 223, 235, 241 and pessimism, 6, 8, 12–​14, 42, 62–​6, 74–​80, 82, 100–​101, 110, 151–​2, 223, 241 on Schopenhauer, 6, 12–​13, 15, 42, 58n19, 59–​67, 74–​6, 78–​80, 113, 151–​2, 223 on suffering, 81, 101–​6 on the Übermensch, 8, 76n46, 98–​ 100, 101n15, 104n19 on violence, 81, 101–​6, 107n22 See also Camus

Index  257 nihilism, 3n7, 105–​6. See also Camus; Nietzsche nothing(ness). See Schopenhauer; Nietzsche   O’Brien, Denis, 180n25, 181n26 optimism and the balance of goods, 3–​5, 29, 210–​12, 221n57, 225 and the best possible world, 3 (see also Leibniz) definition of, 1, 41, 74, 79, 101, 157, 159–​60, 193–​4, 217, 222–​3, 241 and egoism, 12, 19, 35–​6, 42, 227, 229–​30, 236 and God/​divinity, 8–​9, 11, 19, 22–​ 5, 28–​9, 32–​3, 40–​1, 78–​9, 148, 197, 217, 224n1, 225–​6 history of the term, 5n12 and monotheism, 7–​8, 19, 24–​6, 43, 79, 156, 224n1, 225–​6, 228 and moral depravity (see optimism) as naïve/​childish, 6–​7, 238, 243 and pantheism, 8, 11, 16, 18–​19, 23, 25, 28–​9, 40–​1, 43, 70, 73, 79, 156, 224n1, 228 positions intermediate between it and pessimism, 9–​11 as progress, 3–​4, 187 See also Aristotle; Camus; Hebrew Bible; Maimonides; morality; Nietzsche; pessimism   Pakaluk, Michael, 164n4, 172n16 pantheism, 7–​9, 11–​12, 18–​19, 23, 25, 27–​9, 35, 36, 39–​41, 43, 45, 70, 73, 79, 156, 224n1, 225, 228, 230. See also God; optimism; Spinoza Parmenides, 23 Payne, E. F. J., 2n3

Pedriali, Francesca, 179n23 Pellegrin, Pierre, 183n32 perfection, 179, 219 of divinity (see God) of humans (see Maimonides) of the world, 178–​80, 183–​4, 217–​19, 225, 229, 231 pessimism and the balance of goods, 3–​5, 29 and Buddhism, 8 and Christianity, 8 definition of, 1, 77, 79, 157, 223, 236n14 in Greek literature, 117, 150, 158 history of the term, 5n12 positions intermediate between it and optimism, 9–​11 possibility of, 8 and self-​abnegation, 12 (see also Schopenhauer) and the worst possible world, 3–​4, 32n22, 48, 236n14 See also Aristotle; Maimonides; Nietzsche; optimism; Schopenhauer Peterson, Martin, 233n8 Pfeiffer, Christian, 179n23 Plato, 15, 117–​19, 137n39, 138–​43, 144n49, 150, 152–​6, 158, 166, 183–​5 Plutarch, 114–​15, 121–​5, 150–​1 politics, 63–​5, 145, 160, 178, 188–​90, 204, 237 polytheism, 25, 96 Prescott, Paul, 3n7, 4n8 Priam (King), 238n17 Pritzl, Kurt, 127–​8n20 problem of evil, 8–​9, 11, 16–​17, 19, 26–​9, 34, 40, 44, 156–​7, 193–​4, 210–​12, 222, 224–​8, 235, 238. See also Maimonides; Schopenhauer

258 Index Putnam, Hilary, 199n14, 200n15 Pythia at Delphi, 124 Rappaport, Samuel, 40n40, 70n34 Rashi, 196, 200 religion, 8–​9, 19–​20, 25–​6, 31–​4, 49, 80, 87, 103, 160 Rowlands, Mark, 233n8 Rudavsky, Tamar, 203n24, 204n27, 205n31   Schacht, Richard, 79–​80n4, 80n6 Scharle, Margaret, 185n34, 191n44 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, 33 Schopenhauer, Arthur his arguments for pessimism, 48 on Aristotle, 155, 224n1 on art, 59n20, 63–​5 his attitude toward Judaism, 18, 30, 37, 39–​40 on happiness, 37, 48, 59n20, 71, 237–​8 on mysticism, 65n28, 69 on nothingness, 67–​9 on self-​abnegation/​self-​denial/​ resignation, 12, 34, 43–​77, 152–​3 on Spinoza, 6, 11, 18–​19, 22–​4, 26, 28–​30, 32–​5, 37, 39–​41, 44–​5, 54, 65, 70n34, 79, 156, 223–​4 on suffering, 36, 44–​5, 47–​8, 53–​4, 58, 64, 69, 72, 74 on teleology, 74n40, 238–​9 on will as thing-​in-​itself and common essence, 13, 35–​6, 45–​6, 48, 51, 61, 63–​4, 66–​9, 72–​3, 74n40 See also Nietzsche Schütrumpf, Eckart, 164n4 science, modern, 239, 242 Scott, Dominic, 128–​9 Sedley, David, 148, 176, 215 self-​abnegation. See pessimism; Schopenhauer

Seth, 30 Shakespeare, William, 151 Sharples, Robert W., 125n17 Sherman, David, 106n21, 107n22, 110n29 Silenus, 14–​15, 113–​19, 121–​6, 137n39, 140–​1, 144–​54, 157 Simmel, Georg, 52n9, 58n19, 59n20, 100–​101n15, 104–​5n19, 227n2 Sneed, Mark, 32–​3n23 Socrates, 83, 139–​42, 154, 166n8, 172n15 Solon, 132 Sophocles, 3–​4, 117, 150, 152 Spinoza, Baruch, 6, 11, 18–​19, 22–​4, 26, 28–​30, 32–​35, 37, 39–​41, 44–​5, 54, 65, 70n34, 79, 156, 223–​4. See also Schopenhauer Stern, Thomas, 151n58 suffering. See Nietzsche; Schopenhauer suicide, 12, 48, 56n15, 62, 83, 140, 142n48, 154   Talmud, 16, 30–​1, 198, 200–​201, 213n43 teleology, 239–​40. See also Aristotle; Maimonides; Schopenhauer Tertullian, 30 Thales of Miletus, 166n8, 186 Thein, Karel, 180n25, 181n27, 182n28 theocentrism, 174–​8, 209 Theognis, 150, 152 theology, 8–​9, 20, 79, 100 negative (see Maimonides) tragedy, 44   Ure, Michael, 108n23   value absolute, 13, 80, 87, 100n15 moral, 83–​4, 91, 94 objective, 28–​9 See also Maimonides

Index  259 Verdenius, Willem Jacob, 187n38, 191–​2n44 virtue, 65n28, 128, 142–​4 , 147, 149, 159, 162–​6 , 168–​7 3, 178, 189n42, 190, 194, 203–​8 , 215–​1 6, 225, 230, 236–​7 Voltaire, 27

Wagner, Richard, 60, 79n4 Weiss, Raymond L., 208n36, 214n46 Wicks, Robert, 38n37 will. See Schopenhauer Williams, Bernard, 47