Instinctive roots of philosophical pessimism – Part I

Sophocles

We can often hear the opinion that pessimism is just a mode of mood and not a very good one. Modern "hurray-optimists" in science, and especially in psychological “scientific” field constantly repeat the mantra that the man himself is an architect of his own happiness.

Unfortunately, they often forget that every carnage of the last century has been arranged just by very optimistic people who believed in the progress of humanity or a single nation towards great happiness. Naturally, all these doctrines did not shun anything for the sake of their dogmas.

In contrast, the literature of each historical era left behind works that reflect the real moods, expectations, hopes, joys and frustrations of people living at those times. Sometimes the style of description was mythological, sometimes allegorical, but very often it was realistic.

Some examples of this kind of approach respecting the worth of our human lot require a fuller illustration, since it forms the natural basis of the philosophical pessimism which is to occupy our attention by and by. This realistic view of mankind and the world, like that of the subject's individual life, is not confined to one age or race. It meets us at all periods of the world's history, and forms an ingredient in every developed literature.

One cannot do better than begin with that ancient literature which is very familiar to us all — the Old Testament. Although the prevailing temper of the writers of the Bible is decidedly not so pessimistic, the world in general being regarded as under the eye and guardianship of a wise and benevolent Deity, yet strains of pessimistic complaint are here and there heard with a striking distinctness, as in the Book of Ecclesiastes.

“Vanity of vanities,” we here read, “all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun?” and again, “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold all is vanity and vexation of spirit.” “For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts ... as the one dieth so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath.”

Let us now turn to Greek literature. The Greeks, in the period of their national bloom and maturity, were, on the whole, disposed to take a cheerful view of mankind as enriched by nature and befriended by the gods.

Yet the most doleful complaints of human life are met with in all periods, and with a striking frequency. Hesiod, for example, writes in one place, “The land and the sea are full of evils; by day and by night there wander unbidden maladies bearing evils to mortals.” Even the sunny-browed Homer falls now and again into a pessimistic vein, as when he writes: “For there is nothing whatever more wretched than man, of all things, as many as breathe and move on the earth.”

When we turn to the lyric and tragic poets we find frequent expressions of a similar tone of sentiment. In the elegies of Theognis, for example, the final conclusion of modem pessimism is expressed with almost a startling definiteness: “It would be best to the children of the earth not to be born… next best for them, when born, to pass the gates of Hades as soon as possible.”

The same reflection is made by Sophocles in the well-known passage of the Edipus Coloneus, “Not to be born is the most reasonable, but having seen the light the next best is to go thither whence one came as soon as possible.” Much the same thought is involved in the observation of Menander, “The gods take to themselves early in life the one they love.”

To turn to a later period, we meet, in a distich of Palladas, with a most affecting complaint of the human lot : “O race of men, much weeping, strengthless, pitiable, swept away down the earth and destroyed.”

In Roman literature, this pessimistic view of human life becomes still more distinct and dominant. Just as in Greece, in the full flower of its national greatness, the ruling tone was optimistic, so in the period of Roman decadence and dissolution the opposite mood prevails.

Although this tone of mind frequently clothed itself in a philosophical dress, it was none the less a deeply-rooted sentiment of the age underlying all philosophy. It may be traced in the writings of a poet and of a philosopher, and it is discoverable among the vestiges of popular ideas and sentiments which are still preserved.

The “O tempora, O mores!” of Cicero represents a widely prevalent despondency in view of the gathering ills of a declining polity. Even the ‘carpe diem’ teaching of Horace, though wearing a thin disguise of Epicurean philosophy, has a deep-lying tinge of pessimism.

It rests on the conviction that life is something shadowy and evanescent, and that all high and far-reaching endeavor is futile and foolish.

Proceed to part two of the article >>>