“In the psycho-analytical theory of the mind, we take it for granted that the course of mental processes is automatically regulated by the pleasure-principle; that is to say, we believe that any given process originates in an unpleasant state of tension and thereupon determines for itself such a path that its ultimate issue coincides with a relaxation of this tension, i.e. with avoidance of “pain” or the production of pleasure..” – Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920).
In our quest for perspectives on contentment, the last of the later thinkers I offer for consideration is Sigmund Freud (1856-1939). Second perhaps only to Schopenhauer in his pessimism, Freud moved from psychology to philosophy with his late essay Civilization and Its Discontents (1929). While the general theme of this work is social criticism and an attack on religion as deception, the first two sections (of eight) describe his analysis of contentment and happiness for the individual and are thus the focus of our interest. In addition his concerns about religiosity serve as pre-emptive arguments against the contentment that we will discuss in the next section on the encounter with ultimate reality, the fourth component of a fully meaningful life.
In the first of the two parts he starts with the assertion that all religion is an illusion, but frets over the fact that a close and respected friend thinks this is not inconsistent with personal religiosity demonstrated by the nearly universal “oceanic feeling” experienced by people. Freud himself has never had that feeling and struggles to find a psychological explanation for it. He considers whether it is a type of connection with the world, but has doubts because in his study of human psychology, the ego learns the opposite as it grows, that is, to detach itself from the pain of the outside world. He also dispenses with the idea that it is love for another which can be explained by his psychoanalytical theories. He does not relinquish his doubt of the “oceanic feeling” as religious in origin since, for him, religion appears to result from the frail adult striving for the security of a primordial or supernatural father figure. He also challenges its authenticity as Yogi’s can elicit similar sensations through their practices.
Nevertheless in the second part Freud demonstrates an unexpected level of intellectual integrity in trying to identify, by the process of elimination, possible sources of happiness and contentment once religion and spirituality are eliminated. He starts with the preliminary position that “Life as we find it is too hard for us; it entails too much pain, too many disappointments, impossible tasks.”1 As a result we default to one or more of three alternatives: (1) diversionary activities, (2) substitute gratifications, and (3) intoxicating substances.2 Regarding the first, Freud notes that religion historically offered purpose to human life, but by his time this function is being served more often by Science and Art, thus self-immersion in them answers two human needs that of purpose and that of distraction from life’s discomforts. Meanwhile since most people cannot achieve contentment in this manner, they attempt gratification via the pleasure principle – i.e. by maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain – but find this is in conflict with the world. Moreover pleasure comes mainly from the relief of unmet needs and so can provide, at most, only temporary satisfaction.
(continued next post)
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1Freud, Sigmund, Civilization and its Discontents. Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1952. The Great Books, Volume 54, page 771.
2Freud himself was reportedly a cocaine addict.
We must start with Schopenhauer’s metaphysic of the thing-in-itself, ‘will’, which he sees as the ultimate force inside us and underpinning the universe. Quoting Aristotle, he notes “not pleasure, but freedom from pain is what the wise man will aim at.”1 This statement in his view turns on an essential truth – pain is the ‘positive’ of life, and happiness its negative. The acknowledgement of discomfort and unease is resisted by the will, but satisfaction of the will requires it meet no resistance. However resisting the will is a fundamental positive, a form of freedom that the will counters with pleasure when resistance eases. Pleasure then is illusory and temporary. Contentment, we learn, comes not from a ledger of pleasures, but a deficit of evils. In his words, “to live happily only means to live less unhappily…”2 In fact, Schopenhauer has backed into a kind of Neo-Epicureanism.
– both of which are undone by the hypocrisy of society, unnecessary mourning, and the folly of excessive desires. He concludes: “Men of worth or value soon come to see that they are in the hands of Fate, and gratefully submit to be moulded by its teachings. They recognize that the fruit of life is experience, and not happiness; they become accustomed and content to exchange hope for insight; and in the end, they can say with Petrarch, that all they care for is to learn: Altro diletto che ‘mpara, no provo.” 6
In the prior post, we looked at contentment as presented by Montaigne is his two essays: On Constancy and On Solitude. We come last to his unforgettable essay, That to Study Philosophy is to Learn to Die, in which Montaigne counter poses pleasure as the typical pursuit of people with the far greater gratification which comes from preparing oneself for death. He argues that contentment cannot be found in pleasure if one is in constant fear of death. He tells us “Now of all the benefits that virtue confers upon us, the contempt of death is one of the greatest, as the means that accommodates human life with a soft and easy tranquility, and gives us a pure and pleasant taste of living without which all other pleasure would be extinct.”6
For Montaigne then contentment comes from rational withdrawal – particularly withdrawal from avoidable evils. In fact for him life can be divided into three periods; instruction, practice of good, and withdrawal. This later phase of life involves solitude and freedom from worldly concerns. However because death is unavoidable, confrontation with our mortality and preparation for death is both a virtue and the ultimate means to contentment.
“Though the tears flow, the mind remains unmoved.” – AEneid, iv. 449.
In his essay On Solitude he goes further. Once we achieve the good we can in life, the time comes when we must withdrawal more fully from the world into solitude where contentment awaits us. He discourages the propensity to physical flight from our circumstances – “the principal vexations of life…ambition, avarice, fear, and inordinate desires, do not leave us because we forsake our native country.”3 At some point, “We have lived enough for others, let us at least live out the small remnant of our life for ourselves, let us now call in our thoughts and intentions to ourselves, and to our own ease and repose.” 4 Montaigne advises we cut off our obligations and learn to “soothe and caress” ourselves. In this way you will come “to be contented with yourself,; to borrow nothing of any other but yourself; to stay and fix your soul in certain and limited thoughts, where she may please herself, and having understood the true and real goods, which men the more enjoy the more they understand, to rest satisfied, without desire of prolongation of life or name.”5 
“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” – Albert Camus.
In Boethius’ words, “He that would build on a lasting resting-place; who would be firm to resist the blasts of the storming wind; who seeks too, safety where he may contemn the surge and threatening of the sea; must leave the lofty mountain’s top, and leave the thirsting sands. The hill is swept by all the might of the headstrong gale: the sands dissolve, and will not bear the load upon them. Let him fly the danger in a lot which is pleasant rest unto the eye: let him be mindful to set his house surely upon the lowly rock. Then let the wind bellow, confounding wreckage in the sea, and thou wilt still be founded upon unmoving peace, wilt be blessed in the strength of thy defence: thy life will be spent in calmness, and thou mayest mock the raging passion of the air.”3
Philosophy alone tells us why we must accept our individual fortune within the construct of the cosmos, how to recognize true goods from false, and the means to self-mastery and internally-focused contentment. Simple, but difficult – no guide, no study, no meditation practices, no asceticism – just strength of reason and …strength of will.
In concluding my vacation and the excellent thoughts of Giorgio Vasari in his biography of great Renaissance artists, we come to Gozzoli who becomes for Vasari a model of how contentment follows purpose despite personal suffering: “He who pursues the path of excellence in his labors, although it is, as men say, both stony and full of thorns, finds himself finally at the end of the ascent on a broad plain, with all the blessings that he has desired …deliver men from poverty, and bring them to that secure and tranquil state in which, with so much contentment…”9
Vasari counsels us that poverty need not be an obstacle to personal purpose and accomplishment with the example of Perugino: “How great a benefit poverty may be to men of genius, and how potent a force it may be to make them become excellent – nay, perfect- in the exercise of any faculty whatsoever, can be seen clearly enough in the actions of Pietro Perugino…Riches, indeed, might perchance have closed the path on which his talent should advance toward excellence…”11
I stop here omitting the ultra-famous artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo Buonarroti, as well as many others, simply to tease the inclination of the reader to check out Vasari for himself. We are awed that not only did he personally know so many great individuals, a thing most of us will never experience, but that he was able to transform that knowledge into an enduring masterpiece full of perceptive observations on how genius reinforces the meaning of life for us mere mortals.
Speaking on Massacio and Masalino (“big Thomas” and “little Thomas”) who often combined efforts: “It is the custom of nature, when she makes a man very excellent in any profession, very often not to make him alone, but at the same time, and in the same neighborhood, to make another to compete with him, to the end that they may assist each other by their talent and emulation; which circumstance, besides the singular advantage enjoyed by the men themselves, who thus compete with each other, also kindles beyond measure the mind of those who come after that age…”5
Speaking of Brunelleschi, designer of the great il Duomo of Florence, we learn not to underestimate those of apparent diminutive stature perhaps including ourselves and how purpose leads to contentment: “Many men are created by nature small in person and in features, who have a mind full of such greatness and a heart of such irresistible vehemence, that if they do not begin difficult- nay, almost impossible – undertakings, and bring them to completion to the marvel of all who behold them, they have never any peace in their lives; and whatsoever work chance puts into their hands, however lowly and base it may be, they give it value and nobility.”6
Vasari confirms our earlier conclusions on contentment and legacy vis a vis wealth and material goods with the example of Fra Angelico. “ He might have been rich, but to this he gave no thought; nay he used to say that true riches consist only in being content with little…he sought no dignity save that of seeking to avoid Hell and draw near to Paradise. And what dignity, in truth, can be compared to that which all churchmen, nay, all men, should seek, and which is to be found only in God and in a life of virtue?”7
He uses Alberti as his model for the symbolic immortality of virtuous personal creation: “…with regard to name and fame, it is seen from experience that writings have greater power and longer life than anything else; for books go everywhere with ease, and everywhere they command belief, if only they be truthful and not full of lies.”8
The life of Fra Filippo Lippi becomes for Vasari an example of how even the least fortunate can become great. This remarkable artist went from an orphan in a monastery who tore up his school books to prisoner and slave of Moorish pirates to greatness as one of the one of the most excellent painters of his time.
“He was not a great artist but he was a good man, and industrious investigator,… a generous as well as intelligent critic. In simple, racy, almost colloquial Tuscan, and occasionally with the vividness of the novelle, he gave us one of the most interesting books of all time… It will remain for centuries to come one of the classics of the world’s literature.” – Will Durant, describing Giorgio Vasari.1
The first of his observations occurs while speaking of Luca Della Robbia, “…no one ever became excellent in any exercise whatsoever without beginning from his childhood to endure heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and other discomforts; wherefore those men are entirely deceived who think to be able, at their ease and with all the comforts of the world, to attain to honorable rank. It is not by sleeping but by waking and studying continually that progress is made.”2 Vasari reminds us that purpose requires endurance and sacrifice, and perhaps that suffering is built into it.
His comment on Ghiberti sounds like something we might expect to find in Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations: “Since it is seldom that talent is not persecuted by envy, men must continue to the best of their power, by means of the utmost excellence, to assure it of victory, or at least to make it stout and strong to sustain the attacks of the enemy…”4
Still traveling, I return to A Loeb Classical Library Reader referenced in the last post where we find one other thinker who addresses contentment – Jerome (c342- 420 C.E.). His Latin name was Eusebius Sophronius Hieronymus but he is better known as Jerome of Stridon or Saint Jerome. His translation of the bible into Latin was the first and came to be known as the Vulgate. He was also a Christian philosopher known for his teachings on moral life mainly to city dwellers and especially to women.1 Today’s selection is from a letter to Marcella written in 385 C.E.
He explains, “…as today we have traversed a great part of life’s journey through rough seas, and as our barque has been now shaken by tempestuous wind, now holed upon ragged rocks, let us take this first chance and make for the haven of a rural retreat. Let us live there on coarse bread…and on milk, country delicacies, cheap and harmless.”3 Each of the seasons offer in turn privacy, a place for rest, and escape from the cold unlike in the city where we find an unsettling bustle, fury, madness, and profligacy. Contentment comes from cleaving to God and hope in a future in heaven, not the “poor passing pleasures here on earth.”4
On my current vacation to Europe I have with me a treasure I purchased at After-words in Chicago four years ago, A Loeb Classical Library Reader. This small paperback (234 pages) published in 2006 by Harvard University Press contains selections from 33 classic works spanning twelve centuries from Homer to St. Jerome and covering history, philosophy, poetry, drama, and satire in their original Greek or Latin although thankfully accompanied by an English translation. Given our current subject matter on contentment, I was drawn to the selection from On the Nature of Things by Lucretius subtitled The Epicurean ideal: peace of mind.
According to Lucretius, Nature sanctions a simpler way focused on the avoidance of pain and a mind free of care and fear. Pain is easily removed by meeting physical needs; luxuries are neither natural nor necessary. Neither beautiful tapestries nor royal robes cure one of sickness. Treasure and noble birth offer little of value to the body or to peace of mind. No army can relieve us of fears, superstition, or the terror of death. Can we doubt “that this power wholly belongs to reason, especially since life is one long struggle in the dark?”3 This kind of darkness is dispelled, not by light, but “by the aspect and law of nature.”4
