RUDOLF ARNHEIM

From Pleasure to Contemplation

In Book X of his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle draws a useful distinction between pleasure and happiness. By differentiating the two concepts and by defining and evaluating them, he succeeds in avoiding hedonism which, ever since the Cy- renaic School of Aristippus and later through the centuries to our own days, has remained the ruling theory of motivation. From the early days philosophers cautioned that the impulses of sen- suous pleasure must not be given free range but instead must be controlled by wisdom to avoid a self-defeating misuse of enjoyment. More re- cently, the criterion for the kind of satisfaction to be considered acceptable was broadened. It in- cluded the happiness of society as a whole rather than just that of the individual. None of this, however, transcended the fundamental belief that the desire for pleasure is the ultimate motive of human behavior as it is that of animals. This has been true in particular for a widespread theory of aesthetics. Since many aestheticians were at a loss to discover any other specifically aesthetic motive, they accepted the traditional view that art is being produced and received to generate pleasure.

The persistence of this doctrine is all the more puzzling as it contradicts what actually goes on in people's minds when they yearn and decide to do something. I am referring to what I believe J.C.B. Gosling meant when he spoke of the ad- verbial view of pleasure. ' To be sure, eating and drinking promise pleasure, as does the building of a boat, the exploring and solving of a scien- tific problem, or the painting of a picture. But when one looks at what is experienced as the foremost objective in any such undertaking, one finds that the person is intent on the target: the obtaining of nourishment, the completion of the object under construction, the solving of the

problem, or the creation or consumption of the work of art. Unless we are all badly mistaken about why we do things, it is the working at a task, the achieving of its completion or, more generally, the full awareness of a significant experience that determines our motive-not the sensation of pleasure. In fact, in some cases the pleasure premium is all but undetectable. (To be sure, there is such a thing as pure entertainment where feeling pleasure may be the only motive.)

The hedonistic theory leaves us without a satisfactory answer also when we ask why plea- ' sure is desirable. The question has an answer only in the physiologically-based drives of in- stincts. The instinct of self-preservation-the urges to eat and drink and to procreate-have been built by evolution into the nervous systems of humans and animals because otherwise there would be no impulse to survive. But no instinct urges us to write poetry or to explore the universe, and none of the practical tasks, such as the work of physi- cians, educators, or politicians are justified sim- ply by reference to those basic bodily needs. All this ought to be obvious to psychologists.

Instead, they gratefully took to hedonism as an easy standard by which to measure motives that otherwise had no ready explanation. Answers to questions such as "what do you like best" or "which do you prefer" were accepted as sub- stitutes for explanations of what determines such preferences. I have stated that "just as in perceptual psychophysics the varying intensity of, say, a sensation of light provided the means for measuring thresholds, so the pleasure or unpleasantness of responses yielded the condi- tion for a psychophysics of aesthetic^."^ In the meantime, the question of the purpose of human activities, such as the pursuit of the arts, re- mained unanswered.

The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 51:2 Spring 1993

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The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism

Aristotle describes pleasure as an immature means of controlling the conduct of life, suited only for the education of children, since children cannot be steered by anything but "the rudders of pleasure and pain." No one, though, "would choose to live with the intellect of a child through- out his life, however much he were to be pleased at the things that children are pleased at." Plea- sure will suit the mature mind only as long "as both the intelligible or sensible object and the discriminating or contemplative faculty are as they should be."3

By meeting this condition, pleasure satisfies the requirements of happiness. But what is hap- piness? According to Aristotle, happiness is "the end of human nature"; it involves the hu- man activity that is "in accordance with highest virtue." This virtue, he says, is contemplation. Contemplation is a divine element that humans have in common with the gods. The virtue of contemplation, then, is what Aristotle means by happiness, and it is this term that will serve me in the following.

Aristotle describes the conditions that make pleasure meet the requirements of the contem- plative life. Contemplation, he says, resembles the sense of sight in that it is a complete whole at any moment: "It does not lack anything which coming into being later will complete its form." This self-sufficient completeness of the con- templative experience, however, is attained only when it is activated by "the best-conditioned organ in relation to the finest of its objects." The optimal state is reached "when both the sense is at its best and it is active in reference to an object that corresponds." Highest quality, then, is the conditio sine qua non. "That is why when we enjoy anything very much, we do not throw ourselves into anything else, and do one thing only when we are not much pleased by another; for example, in the theater the people who eat sweets do so most when the actors are poor."

In sum, Aristotle states that complete happi- ness is achieved by "the activity of reason, which is contemplative, seems both to be superior in serious worth and to aim at no end beyond itself, and to have its pleasure proper to itself (and this augments the activity), and the self-sufficiency, leisureliness, and unweariedness (so far as this is possible for man), and all the other attributes ascribed to the supremely happy man are evi- dently those connected with this activity."

Although Aristotle refers to the arts only in passing, his descriptions and prescriptions for the contemplative life remind us of what is com- monly said about the aesthetic attitude. But when he speaks about the self-sufficiency of such activity, he also leads beyond a vexatious problem that has often troubled aesthetic dis- course:, what possible meaning can there be to saying that art exists only for art's sake when the basic condition distinguishing organisms from inorganic things is that all their activities are motivated by an ulterior purpose? Aristotle at- tributes self-sufficiency to contemplative be- havior in general and calls it the final end of life. He reminds us that, while nature outside human- kind knows of no meaning beyond its own phys- ical existence, the human mind is privileged to explore the full awareness of what is reported by the senses and understood through thought. In other words, there is no meaning to human life other than the full experience of its existence, and the capacity to have such experience implies the moral duty to use it.

Obviously, philosophy has met this demand whenever it has adhered to its task. As a single reminder, I will refer to the saying of Anaxi- mander quoted by Nietzsche as a cornerstone of Greek philosophy: "Things must undergo their destruction where they originate, according to necessity; for they must pay penalty and be sentenced for their injustice according to the order of time."4 The full awareness of coming and going, the full implication of life and death, are the human extensions of being in the world.

Before I refer to the aesthetic consequence of this obligation, it is pertinent to give some ex- amples of what is meant by the contemplative approach to the practice of daily life, since that practice is the context in which the arts make their contribution. The contemplative life calls for the utmost enrichment of the daily occupa- tions, which are so commonly reduced to thought- less routine. The aesthetic attitude requires, as a kind of worldly preparation for its task, the very opposite of what William James recommends when he says: "The more of the details of our daily life we can hand over to the effortless custody of automatism, the more our higher pow- ers of mind will be set free for their own proper ~ o r k . " ~ On the contrary, such automatism blunts the mind's preparedness for the conscious life. With deeper wisdom, Paul ValCry initiates his

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Arnheim Pleasure to Contemplation

socratic dialogue L'hme et la danse with an apology for eating and drinking. "The man who eats," he makes Socrates say, "is the most righ- teous of men.. . . Every mouthful he feels dis- solving and dispersing in him will carry new forces to his virtues and will do so indiscrimi- nately to his vices. It feeds his torments as it fattens his hopes; and it divides its share be- tween the passions and reasoning. "6

Since the human body is one of the main in- struments of art, a constant awareness of its form and functions is a requirement of contemplative daily living. It is prescribed, for example, by various schools of transcendental meditation, and is the mental attitude controlling Yoga exer- cises. The person assuming a meditative stance concentrates, in systematic succession, on the levels of the body, building from the toes through the legs and the pelvis and chest all the way to the crowning seat of sensation and thought in the head. Instead of taking the body's being for granted, the mind acknowledges its significant nature and expression.

In the same spirit, the mind takes cognizance of the eloquent appearance of the objects and actions populating the natural and the man- made environment. The shapes, the colors, and the motions, as well as the functions observed

in daily experience offer the raw material for the compositions of the painters and sculptors, the dynamics of music, and the perceptual referents of language in poetry, drama, and narrative.

What distinguishes the particular contribution of the arts is, first, that they present "the intel- ligible or sensible object," as Aristotle calls it, that is, the form that makes appearances accessi- ble to the mind. It is, furthermore, the particular ability of art to go beyond mere cognizance. By animating the forces that make form expressive, it evokes a corresponding resonance in the mind of maker and recipient. By art they are enabled consciously to experience the powers that carry the meaning of our existence.

1. J.C.B. Gosling, Pleasure and Desire (Oxford: Claren- don Press, 1969), Chs. 4 and 5.

2. Rudolf Arnheim, New Essays on rhe Psychology of Art (University of California Press, 1986). p. 45.

3. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. W.D. Ross, in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. R. McKeon (New York: Random House, 1941).

4. Nietzsche, Die Philosophie im rragischen Zeitalrer der Griechen (Leipzig: Krijner, 1930 (1874)), p. 27.

5. William James, The Principles of Psychology (New York: Dover, 1950). p. 122.

6. Valery, L'iime er la danse (Paris: Gallirnard, 1924).

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