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Title: Pleasure
Original Title: Plaisir
Volume and Page: Vol. 12 (1765), pp. 689–691
Author: Unknown
Translator: Robert H. Ketchum [Northeastern University (Emeritus)]
Subject terms:
Ethics
Original Version (ARTFL): Link
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URL: http://hdl.handle.net/2027/spo.did2222.0000.826
Citation (MLA): "Pleasure." The Encyclopedia of Diderot & d'Alembert Collaborative Translation Project. Translated by Robert H. Ketchum. Ann Arbor: Michigan Publishing, University of Michigan Library, 2007. Web. [fill in today's date in the form 18 Apr. 2009 and remove square brackets]. <http://hdl.handle.net/2027/spo.did2222.0000.826>. Trans. of "Plaisir," Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, vol. 12. Paris, 1765.
Citation (Chicago): "Pleasure." The Encyclopedia of Diderot & d'Alembert Collaborative Translation Project. Translated by Robert H. Ketchum. Ann Arbor: Michigan Publishing, University of Michigan Library, 2007. http://hdl.handle.net/2027/spo.did2222.0000.826 (accessed [fill in today's date in the form April 18, 2009 and remove square brackets]). Originally published as "Plaisir," Encyclopédie ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers, 12:689–691 (Paris, 1765).

Pleasure is a feeling of the soul that makes us happy, at least during the time we are experiencing it. We cannot admire enough how nature is attentive to satifying our desires. If there is only one way in which nature manages the material universe, then it is thus only through pleasure that she manages human beings. She has taken care to attach an appeal to those exercises of the organs of the body that do not weaken them, to those occupations of the mind that do not exhaust it by extended and lively disputes, to all the movements of the heart that hate and repression do not poison, and finally to the fulfillment of our duty towards God, ourselves, and others. Let us examine each of these points in order.

1. There is an appeal attached to those things that exercise but do not weaken the organs of the body. The aversion children have for naps is evidence that activities which do not tire the body are naturally accompanied by a form of pleasure. The more dashing the hunt the greater its charm. For young people there is hardly a pleasure more affecting than the dance. Likewise, the sensation of pleasure afforded by a walk endures even into old age. It is barely blunted by the weakness of the body. Colors characterize objects offered to our view. The color of fire is most agreeable, but after a while becomes tiring to watch. The color green provides a gentle impression and is never tiring. The colors brown and black are sad. Nature has ordained the appeal of colors according to how they stimulate the eye. Those which are more stimulating are those which attract, yet never tire the sight. Thus the dark colors become a source of boredom since they require no effort for the eyes. Material objects once they have identified themselves by their colors strike us agreeably by their novelty and their uniqueness. Eager for agreeable feelings, we take pride in being able to derive these feelings from any and all unknown objects which present themselves to us. Moreover, their image is not yet in any way formed in our brain. These objects make a gentle impression on those fibers and this begins to fade as soon as the image, now diffuse, leaves the way clear to the mind. Grandeur and variety also have an appeal. The immensity of the sea, the river which falls precipitously from mountain heights into the abyss, the countryside where the eye is overwhelmed by the multitude of views that are offered on every side. All these things impress the soul with an appeal that is measured by the stimulation of the fibers in the brain. Another rich source of appeal is that of proportion, which enables you to grasp and to retain the position of things. Symmetry in works of art as well as in animals and plants divides the thing seen into two similar halves. On this foundation of uniformity, as it were, other proportions usually add to it the appeal of variety, the conformity of means with their ends. This is seen in the resemblance of a work of art to a known thing, the exemplification of design unity. Under the influence of these different relationships nature has imbued these works of art with an appeal. Those relationships enable the mind to grasp and retain that which is presented to our eyes. Architecture, Painting, Sculpture, and oratory all owe a part of their charms to this law. From this same source is born in part the appeal that is attached to the gracefulness of human bodies, which consists in a right relationship of movements to the end at which they aim. They are like a transparent veil through which the mind shows itself. The laws that govern the appeal of things to the sight also flow in through sounds; the gurgling of the brook and the murmur of the wind playing in the leaves of trees. All these gentle tones stir the fibers of hearing without tiring them. Proportion, variety, imitation, and unity of design give to music charms even more moving than those of the arts that work upon the sight. We owe to the theory of music this important observation: that harmonies are more or less agreeable to the degree that, by their nature, they are able to affect to a greater or lesser extent the fibers of hearing without tiring them. The analogy which applies in all of nature gives us reason to conjecture that this law influences every sensation. It is the assortment of colors that pleases the eye. It is in the depth of the retina, so to speak, that they are harmonized. This same law apparently extends to other living creatures who are guided to act by odors and tastes. Their degree of attractiveness identifies, it is true, those which are salutary. There appears however to be no strict relationship between their degree of desirability and health.

2. The body has its pleasures ; so does the mind. Those activities whether serious or frivolous that allow pleasure to enter without overdoing it are accompanied by an agreeable feeling. To watch a chess player focused on what he is doing, unconscious of everything that strikes his eyes and ears, would you not believe him intimately engaged with the care of his fortune or the health of the state? This meditation so deep has for its purpose the pleasure of exercising one’s mind through the position of a piece of ivory. It is from this gentle exercise of the mind that is born the appeal of mental effort which has no practical application. It is comparable to the shepherd of Virgil who hides only as much as is necessary for the pleasure of finding the things hidden. There were those men to whom was given the name of philosophers , who believed that the exercise of the mind was agreeable only to the extent of the resulting reputation one prided oneself on earning. But do not people devote themselves daily to reading and reflection, with no eye to the future and with no other design except to fill the present moment? If they were condemned to perpetual solitude, they would have an even greater taste for reading even though this would offer no profit whatsoever for their vanity.

3. The heart, like the mind and the body, has its penchants and is crazy for pleasures from the moment these inclinations are devoid of the threat of any immediate or expected pain. Everything is sure to please us as soon as its influence on us coincides with our inclinations. A moral or political speculation of little interest in our youth, attracts us when we are older. A story of gallantry, boring to an old man, will have its charms for a youth. In a painting inspired by the passion of poetry, it is not at all the fidelity of a portrait that lends the principal appeal. Rather, such is the contagiousness of passion, that merely seeing the portrait is to feel the emotion invested. Even sadness itself occasionally becomes delicious by means of that secret sweetness which is part of every emotion of the soul. The more tragedy makes tears flow, the more diverting it is. Every act of tenderness, of friendship, of acquaintance, of generosity, and good will provides a feeling of pleasure . Thus every man born benevolent is naturally gay, and every man born gay is naturally benevolent. Anxiety, sadness, and hate are inevitably unpleasant feelings and stem from the idea of pain that threatens us or afflicts us. Thus every man lacking in benevolence is naturally sad. You find, however, a kind of sweetness in the action of the soul which prompts us to assure our preservation and our happiness through the removal of those things that stand in our way. So it is that there are few feelings which are not, so to speak, complex and wherein there does not enter a portion of love. You can hate only a little because you love.

4. Finally, there is the pleasure attached to the fulfilment of our duties toward God, toward ourselves, and toward others. Epicurus, taking pride in having attacked the dogma of an intelligent cause, gave himself credit for having annihilated a power that was an enemy of our happiness. But why do we form this superstitious idea of a Being, who in giving us a taste for happiness, in offering us pleasureable feelings at every hand, and in endowing us with a range of faculties desired that there would be none of these the exercise of which would not be a pleasure ? Are these capacities we have thus tainted by the idea that they are evidence of the presence of a benevolent intelligence? Must not these capacities have a new value, if it is true that the soul is never more at rest and more perfect than when it feels that it is exercising them in a manner suitable to the intentions of their author? This idea purifies our pleasure, brings a calm to the heart, and sets aside anxiety and sadness. Set in the universe as in the Garden of Eden, if Providence forbids us the enjoyment of fruit by the want of our ability to pluck it, or by the difficulties related to this act, do we not accept with less appreciation those pleasures that are offered to us at every hand. Let us enjoy those which are offered to us without making ourselves unhappy by those which are denied. Desire nourishes hope and is extinguished by the impossibility of obtaining its objective. We owe to God’s power the tribute of a perfect submission to all that flows from the establishment of his laws. We owe to his wisdom an homage to an intimate persuasion which, if we were admitted to his counsels, we would applaud as the motive for his actions. These feelings of respect are accompanied by a feeling of pleasure ; happy tranquility follows them.

There is also a pleasure attached to the fulfillment of our duties toward ourselves. Pleasure is born in the bosom of virtue. What is more felicitous than to please ourselves in the pursuit of occupations suitable to our talents and our condition? Wisdom keeps sadness at a distance; it even spares us from pain, which in those who take pains to live rightly is hardly the result of excesses. When wisdom cannot foresee pain, it at least blunts its impact always more effectively than it can be met with an inadequate courage. Indians, savages, and fanatics display a gaity in the midst of the most intense pain. They master their concentration to the point of turning away the disagreeable feelings that strike them, and fix their attention on the phantom of perfection to which they have committed themselves. Could it be possible that reason and virtue learn from ambition and prejudice how to weaken the feeling of pain through happy diversions?

If we want to fulfill all our duties toward others, let us be just and benevolent; morality commands us, the theory of feelings invites us. Injustice, the fatal principle of all the evils of the human species, does not only afflict those who are its victims: it is a kind of serpent that begins by destroying the bosom of he who carries it within himself. Injustice is born of the avarice for wealth or honors and this greed causes a germ of anxiety and sadness to emerge. The habit of justice and benevolence that makes us happy, primarily by the stirrings of our heart, also makes us happy by the feelings it inspires in those who approach us. A just and benevolent man who lives only to do good deeds is loved and esteemed by all who come into contact with him. If someone praises him, it is for him to whom the praise is directed the most beautiful of all music. One could even say that there is no sweeter scene than to see oneself loved. Everything offered to him will be agreeable, all stirrings arising in his heart will be pleasures .

There are several kinds of pleasures : knowledge, and those of the body, mind, and heart. This follows from what we just said. Here an important question is posed: That well before the birth of Epicurus and Plato the human species was divided into two different groups. Did the pleasures deriving from the senses get the better of those of the soul? And among the pleasures of the soul, were those of the mind preferable to those of the heart? In order to judge, let us imagine them entirely separate one from the other and both carried to their highest point of perfection. Assume a being insensible to the pleasures of the mind, tasting only those of the body during its whole lifetime. Yet deprived of all knowledge, this being would not remember anything of what it had felt, it would not anticipate anything that it will feel. Encased, so to say, in its shell, all happiness would consist in the dull, blind feelings that affect this being at any given moment. On the other hand, let us imagine a man dead to all the pleasures of the senses, but able to savour all those the mind and the heart could gather. If he is alone, history, geometry, and the liberal arts furnish him with elegant thoughts, and each moment of his period of reflection provides him with new evidences of the power and extent of his mind. If he then enters a social setting where glory, the natural companion of virtue, and friendship provide him from beyond himself ever renewing proofs of the splendor and beauty of his soul, and if also in the bottom of his heart his soul’s conformity with reason is always accompanied by a secret joy that none can alter, then it seems to me that there are few born men experiencing the pleasures of the mind and the body, who, when placed between the two states of happiness, much like a philosopher of Herculean strength, would prefer the happiness of an oyster to the fate of an intelligent human being.

The pleasures of the body are never more acute than when there exists a remedy for pain. It is the intensity of thirst that determines the pleasure one feels in slaking it. Most of the pleasures of the heart and mind are not altered in any way by this impure mixture with pain. They take pain away through the power of their appeal. Whatever voluptuousness contains that is delicious, it takes from the mind and the heart; without their help it becomes bland and insipid in the end. The pleasures of the body last but a little while, only as much as they are able to take from a fleeting need. As soon as they have passed beyond this need, they become the germs of pain. The pleasures of the mind and the heart are thus much superior to them, even had they but the one advantage over them of being much more capable of filling life’s void.

But to which among the pleasures of the mind and the heart shall we give preference? It seems to me that there is nothing more affecting than those pleasures that cause the idea of perfection to be born in the soul. It is one of the purposes of our religion to which one daily dedicates his most important institutions, and even his conscience and person. Perfection, to protect itself from the withering effect of cowardliness, has put the fear of death into the bosom of men, who are pleased to have bought at this price the preservation of the things that are dear to them. It is the idea of perfection that causes the Indians to be insensible to the horror of burning themselves alive, and closes their eyes to every way out of this involuntary torture that is opened to them by the liberality and the religion of their prince. Virtues, friendship, passion, and even vices themselves borrow from perfection the essential part of their attractiveness.

A Greek comic felt that sufficient measures were not being taken to assure that a prisoner was being held securely. Had he not been entrusted to the guard of pleasure ? Had he not been enchained by delights? Plautus and Aristotle made use of this pleasantry. But any poet would have displayed little knowledge of the human heart if he had seriously believed that the captive would have never broken these chains. It would not have been necessary to cause the brilliance of glory to shine before his eyes for him to have found himself despised in his prison or to have feared the scorn of other men. He would have sooner been tempted to prefer a glorious danger to a shameful voluptuousness. Glory has a greater appeal for well-born souls than voluptuousness. We all fear scorn more than we do pain and death.

The qualities of the mind, it is true, provide to those who are not blinded by passion, a vision even more agreeable than the appearance of the body. Only envy or hate can make us insensitive to the pleasure of perceiving in another that lively penetration that grasps in each thing the aspects that best match the situtation in which one finds oneself. But the beauty of the mind, however brilliant it may be, is eclipsed by the beauty of the soul. The most ingenious initiatives of the mind do not have the brilliance of the features that vigorously depict a selfless, benevolent, and courageous heart. Human beings will applaud in every century Titus’ regret to have lost the time he did not have to be a cause of happiness, and the echos of our theatres every day applaud the speeches of the unfortunate woman who, bereft of all that is human, when asked about the resources she had left in her miseries, replies, “ Myself ” and “ It is enough .” There are few people with the character of Alcibiades who was more sensitive to the reputation of the man of intellect than to that of the man of integrity. How true it is that the feelings of the heart flatter more than the pleasures of the mind. In a word, the most regular features of a handsome face are less affecting than the graces of the mind which are eclipsed in their turn by the feelings and the actions which proclaim elevation in the soul and in courage. The natural appeal of things always arranges them in the order I have just explained, and it is thus that nature teaches us what experience confirms, that the beauty of the mind gives a greater right to happiness than that of the body, and that it gives less happiness than does the soul.

Among the pleasures , there are those which as much by their enjoyment as by their privation cause no pain: the odor of perfumes, the displays of Architecture, Painting, and oratory, the charms of Music, Poetry, Geometry, History, and a select society. All these pleasures are of this type. These are not in any way things that satisfy our wants, they are gifts that enrich us and increase our happiness. How many people are there who little know them and yet still enjoy a sweet existence? This is not the case with other agreeable feelings. For example, the law that invites us to nourish ourselves is not concerned with rewarding our docility, rather it punishes our disobedience. The author of all nature has not invested in pleasure alone the responsibility of inviting us to the job of preservation, he brings to it a resource much more powerful, pain.