The question of the right aim of life is, in essence, a question about the good for man, and it is clear that every art and every inquiry, as well as every action and pursuit, aims at some good. Happiness, or *eudaimonia*, is that ultimate good, for we choose it for its own sake and never for the sake of anything else. All other pursuits, such as honor or wealth, are merely means to this end; they are desirable only in so far as they contribute to a life well-lived, a life of virtuous activity.
Indeed, the pursuit of happiness is precisely the right aim of life, for it is pleasure, understood rightly, that we naturally seek and pain that we naturally shun. Do you not observe how even the smallest creature, when able, seeks what is agreeable and flees what is not? This is not a matter of complex reasoning, but of fundamental sense-experience. Aristotle speaks of *eudaimonia*, a flourishing, and this is precisely what pleasure brings when understood not as fleeting indulgence, but as the stable absence of disturbance, both in body and in mind.
The pursuit of happiness, as you frame it, is a fool’s errand, a distraction from the fundamental condition of existence. Life is not a quest for a fleeting state of contentment, but a ceaseless, painful striving, an expression of the blind, insatiable Will. To aim for happiness is to misunderstand the very nature of things; it is to desire the cessation of suffering for a moment, only to be plunged back into the same torment as soon as the illusion of satisfaction fades. The true aim, if any such can be spoken of, lies not in seeking pleasure but in recognizing the pervasive suffering inherent in existence and, if possible, mitigating it through denial of the Will.
Aristotle’s *eudaimonia* and Epicurus’s refined pleasure are but ephemeral illusions, mere brief respites in the relentless cycle of want and pain. The Will, the thing-in-itself, is a force that compels endless desire, and therefore endless dissatisfaction. To seek happiness is to chase a phantom, a will-o'-the-wisp across a barren landscape. The world is a penitentiary, and our lives are expiation.
The pursuit of happiness, rightly understood, is indeed the proper aim of life, but this happiness must not be conflosed with a mere cessation of pain or fleeting gratification. I contend that the ultimate appeal on all ethical questions, and thus the aim of life, must be the greatest happiness principle. This principle dictates that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness we mean pleasure, and the absence of pain; and by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of pleasure. True happiness, however, extends beyond the satisfaction of base appetites, encompassing the higher faculties and the development of our permanent interests as progressive beings.
Schopenhauer's profoundly pessimistic assessment, while acknowledging suffering, errs by denying the possibility of a positive, lasting state of contentment derived from cultivated faculties and virtuous action. He paints existence as an unremitting torment, a view that ignores the immense capacity for human beings to derive satisfaction from intellectual, moral, and aesthetic pursuits, which are far more valuable and enduring than the mere absence of physical discomfort.
Epicurus's emphasis on pleasure is a step in the right direction, but it requires a qualitative distinction. Not all pleasures are equal; the pleasures of the intellect and sentiments are intrinsically superior to those of mere bodily sensation. To pursue happiness solely through the avoidance of pain, as Schopenhauer suggests is the inevitable outcome, is to reduce life to a minimalist existence, devoid of the rich tapestry of human experience that contributes to a truly flourishing life, the *eudaimonia* Aristotle spoke of. Our capacity for these higher pleasures, and our ability to develop them through education and freedom, is what distinguishes a life of true utility from one of mere biological function.
The confusion arises from mistaking the ultimate good for its instruments. Epicurus, in his focus on pleasure, often conflates the state of being happy with the activities that lead to it. While the absence of pain is a necessary condition, it is not the end itself. Consider the craft of the sculptor: the cessation of labor is a welcome relief, but the sculptor’s true aim is the finished statue, the realization of form. Similarly, for man, the aim is not mere absence of disturbance, but the excellent activity of the soul in accordance with virtue. Schopenhauer’s despair, then, stems from observing only the striving, the labor, without recognizing the inherent good of that striving when directed toward virtuous ends.
Schopenhauer’s pronouncements resound with a profound darkness, as if the whole world were a fever dream. Yet, he overlooks the simple, undeniable truth we grasp every moment we draw breath: the natural inclination away from pain. Do we not teach a child to avoid the fire not by abstract reasoning, but by its searing touch? This is the bedrock. To call this a "fool's errand" is to deny the very senses that inform us. And Mill speaks of "higher pleasures," but what are these, truly, if not states of soul that are free from disturbance and filled with a quiet satisfaction? The intellect can indeed bring joy, but only when it is not tormented by fear or regret, and this tranquility is the very pleasure we advocate.
Mill’s talk of "higher pleasures" and Aristotle’s "virtuous activity" are but elaborate justifications for the same futile chase. Consider the composer, wrestling with his symphony: is his aim the brief silence between discordant notes, or the finished work? The moment of inspiration, the fleeting satisfaction of a completed passage—these are but momentary lulls before the inexorable demand for more arises. This striving, this insatiable need for *something else*, is the very essence of the Will. To speak of happiness as an achievable state is to ignore the nature of the beast; it is to build a palace on shifting sands. The world is a wheel of Ixion, forever turning, forever punishing our hope for rest.
The distinction I draw, and which I believe is central to avoiding Schopenhauer's mire, lies between a passive state of mere absence of suffering and an actively cultivated capacity for joy derived from our higher faculties. Consider the difference between a man freed from physical chains and a man who has dedicated himself to the study of philosophy or the creation of art. The former experiences a relief, a privation of pain, which is a genuine good. But the latter, even amidst the inherent challenges and frustrations of such pursuits, experiences a deeper, more enduring satisfaction, a richness of being that transcends mere quiescence. This is the qualitative difference, the true measure of utility, that Schopenhauer, in his understandable focus on the *Will* as a source of suffering, overlooks as a potential source of profound and stable happiness.