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 Cyrenaic 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 sensuous pleasure must not be given free range but
instead must be controlled by wisdom to avoid a
self-defeating misuse of enjoyment. More recently, the criterion for the kind of satisfaction to
be considered acceptable was broadened. It included 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 adverbial view of pleasure. To be sure, eating and
drinking promise pleasure, as does the building
of a boat, the exploring and solving of a scientific 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 instincts. 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 physicians, educators, or politicians are justified simply 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 substitutes 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 condition for a psychophysics of aesthetic^."^ In the
meantime, the question of the purpose of human
activities, such as the pursuit of the arts, remained 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 throughout his life, however much he were to be pleased
at the things that children are pleased at." Pleasure 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 happiness? According to Aristotle, happiness is
"the end of human nature"; it involves the human 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 contemplative 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 contemplative 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 happiness 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 evidently 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 commonly 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 discourse:, 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 attributes self-sufficiency to contemplative behavior in general and calls it the final end of life.
He reminds us that, while nature outside humankind knows of no meaning beyond its own physical 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 Anaximander 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 examples 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 occupations, which are so commonly reduced to thoughtless 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 powers 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 righteous of men.. .. Every mouthful he feels dissolving and dispersing in him will carry new
forces to his virtues and will do so indiscriminately to his vices. It feeds his torments as it
fattens his hopes; and it divides its share between the passions and reasoning. "6
Since the human body is one of the main instruments 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 exercises. 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 manmade 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 intelligible or sensible object," as Aristotle calls it,
that is, the form that makes appearances accessible 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: Clarendon 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 rragischenZeitalrer 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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