Reviews activism flowed from his religious motives’ (103). Rickey argues that a national, socialist, workers party would meet Heidegger’s need for the enacting of a communal, historically- and culturally-specific revelation of being that places work at the heart of authentic existence. He also argues that Heidegger’s readiness to embrace the Fu¨hrerprinzip reflects the fact that the kind of antinomian ‘community of saints’ which he envisaged needs a charismatic leader if it is to be unified, since it ‘reject[s] organisation and rule’ (223, 12, 7). Setting aside the above worries about how religious such needs are, Rickey’s case is an interesting and novel one in which there may be some truth. But one ought not to overestimate the extent to which it undermines the views of those who would separate Heidegger’s philosophy from his politics. Were Rickey’s account to be correct, one would still need to see Heidegger’s political actions as those of a ‘philosophical dreamer’ who ‘constructed an entire imaginary philosophical stage for the historical happening’ of Nazism (R. Safranski, Martin Heidegger: Between Good and Evil, trans. E. Osers (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998), 234, 235); one needs such a ‘stage’ in order to explain how Heidegger came to see Hitler as that necessary charismatic leader and that National Socialist Workers Party as the national, socialist, workers party that would ‘overturn the existing experience of being’ (193). The very vagueness of what Rickey sees Heidegger as seeking might well account for his willingness to join in the Nazi’s ‘vague invocation of German national destiny’ (251). But that very vagueness also somewhat weakens the case for thinking that there was a powerful philosophical connection between Heidegger’s philosophy and Nazi politics. I should repeat that, despite my worries, there is much of interest in this book, much that I have been unable to discuss here. Rickey offers a fresh and thought-provoking perspective on Heidegger’s politics and religiosity. Denis McManus

The Pursuit of Unhappiness: The Elusive Psychology of Well-being By Daniel M. Haybron. Oxford University Press, 2008. xvþ357 pp. £30 doi:10.1017/S0031819109990180

In this substantial and carefully argued book, Daniel Haybron develops an account of happiness – what it is, how it relates to well-being, and why all too many people fail to achieve it. These are pressing 624

Reviews questions; and yet, as Haybron notes (10), the topic of happiness has not attracted much attention from philosophers in recent years. Haybron’s excellent book should help to reinvigorate this ancient and important debate. Haybron’s book is addressed both to philosophers and to a wider audience of non-specialists. It is written with exemplary clarity and precision. The book is explicitly addressed to a US audience and Haybron is not shy about revealing his own sensibilities. (City-dwellers, especially attorneys, had better brace themselves.) Some readers may find this a little jarring at times, but it does not greatly detract from the virtues of the book. The argument is carefully constructed and supported by a mix of telling examples, illuminating analysis and deft use of empirical research. Haybron is scrupulously honest in assessing the impact of his arguments: his conclusions are carefully nuanced. The result is an engaging and thought-provoking discussion, which poses some penetrating questions for ethicists, political philosophers and psychologists. Haybron’s primary target is what he labels the assumption of personal authority: this is the assumption that each individual is an expert in matters concerning their own well-being (11). According to Haybron, this assumption is supported by two further claims: transparency – the idea that it is relatively easy for each individual to discover what is good for them; and aptitude – the idea that, on the whole, individuals are capable of making good choices, even in environments that present them with numerous options (13 – 14). Taken together, these assumptions can be used to support a position that Haybron labels Liberal Optimism. This is the view that allowing people to choose their own goals from a broad array of options (‘option freedom’) is the best way to promote well-being (12). In response, Haybron argues that there are good reasons to question both transparency and aptitude. He concludes that the truth of liberal optimism cannot be blithely assumed: option freedom may have only limited value in the pursuit of happiness (262 –3). Yet he does not reject liberalism altogether. Whatever the prudential considerations, he suggests, there are strong moral considerations in its favour (20). The book falls neatly into four parts. In Part I, Haybron sets out his plan of action, provides a helpful survey of existing controversies and positions, and explains his approach. In Part II, he presents his account of happiness. He argues, persuasively, that happiness cannot be identified with pleasure: pleasure is too fleeting and shallow in its psychological effects (69). Nor can it be identified with life satisfaction – that is, the subject’s own evaluation of their 625

Reviews life as a whole. For while happiness is a continuous state, we are not continually evaluating our lives (85). Moreover, empirical evidence suggests that such evaluations are relatively fickle and contextdependent (86 –99). Instead, he argues, happiness should be viewed as an emotional phenomenon: happiness is a matter of the subject’s overall emotional condition over a period of time (109). Haybron devotes two chapters to his positive account of happiness – chapters that should be of interest not only to ethicists but also to philosophers of emotion. Among other good things, these chapters contain an excellent discussion of different kinds of positive emotion (109 –118) and a useful distinction between moods and mood propensities (133 – 138). As Haybron acknowledges, there is plenty of potential to develop the account further. For example, he has space only to gesture at an account of emotional valence (121 – 122; 146); and his account of the distinction between ‘central’ and ‘peripheral’ emotional phenomena (129 – 132) merits further development. But given the amount of ground already covered by the book, Haybron can be excused for not going into more detail here. In Part III, Haybron turns his attention to well-being. As he makes clear, his primary aim is not to offer a comprehensive account of wellbeing, but rather to explore the relationship between well-being and happiness. He begins by rejecting Aristotelian accounts of wellbeing, drawing a firm distinction between achieving well-being and living a good life (170 – 74). He goes on to offer an alternative account of well-being as centring on a notion of self-fulfilment, supplemented perhaps by other goods such as health and pleasure (193–194). Like the Aristotelian, Haybron rejects subjectivism about well-being, insisting that self-fulfilment is not a matter of how people view their lives (178). But unlike the Aristotelian, he rejects the idea that human beings share a common nature. Selves, he suggests, differ from each other, and can change their nature over time (185). Happiness, Haybron suggests, relates to well-being in two ways. First, happiness appears to be a reasonably reliable indicator that one’s life is going well (51). Secondly, happiness (or to be precise, authentic happiness) has intrinsic value as a form of self-fulfilment (187). Happiness has this status, he argues, because selves are, in part, emotional selves: each individual has an emotional nature. According to Haybron, one’s emotional nature consists in a set of dispositions to be happy in certain circumstances. To be (authentically) happy is to fulfil one’s emotional nature and hence an aspect of oneself (185). But happiness will not constitute a form of self-fulfilment if it is inauthentic – if it depends on values imposed by manipulation or indoctrination; or if it is the result of false beliefs; or if it caused by 626

Reviews some affective disorder. Inauthentic happiness is not a form of selffulfilment because it does not reflect one’s true self – though it does at least have the benefit of being pleasant (189 –192). There is much that is interesting and persuasive about this part of Haybron’s discussion. But I was left with some questions about the way in which he fits the jigsaw together. I shall mention three of them here. Taken together, they might be thought to point to a different account of the relationship between happiness and well-being. The first issue relates to Haybron’s claim that one’s emotional nature consists in the disposition to be happy in certain circumstances. One question here is why one’s emotional nature should be defined exclusively in terms of happiness. Admittedly, to understand someone, it is important to know what would make them happy. But it seems equally important to know what would make them indignant, grateful, jealous, anxious or sad. Indeed, emotional selffulfilment might be construed as a matter of experiencing the richest possible emotional life – the troughs as well as the peaks. Furthermore, if one’s emotional nature is something that can be fulfilled (as opposed to actualised) it is not obvious that it makes sense to characterise it as a set of dispositions. Talk of ‘fulfilment’ seems to point to something else – a set of wants or needs. Haybron argues, convincingly, that self-fulfilment is not a just matter of satisfying one’s avowed desires (179 –182); but his argument leaves open the possibility that it relates in part to some deeper set of wants or needs. The second issue relates to Haybron’s rejection of subjectivism. It might be assumed that the role he accords to happiness introduces an element of subjectivism into his account. But Haybron is keen to resist this interpretation. On his account, he points out, happiness is not a matter of how one thinks one’s life is going: it is an emotional condition, the presence or absence of which is an objective matter. However, there may be more to be said here. For on most current theories of emotion, emotions (and perhaps even moods) are taken to include intentional states – not reflective, cognitively sophisticated judgements, but appraisals or construals of some kind. Hence, if happiness is understood as an emotional condition, it might be thought that happiness is itself a kind of appraisal of one’s life, albeit one that may conflict with one’s considered evaluation. If so, well-being might turn out to be at least partly subjective – a matter of how one feels one’s life is going. The third question concerns Haybron’s account of the relation between self-fulfilment and authenticity – in particular, the claim that happiness cannot constitute a form of self-fulfilment if it is 627

Reviews based on false beliefs about the subject’s situation. Given that emotional self-fulfilment is simply the actualisation of a set of dispositions, it is not altogether clear why this should follow. Perhaps the point is that one’s emotional nature is defined as a disposition to be happy under certain circumstances: when happiness is based on a false belief, it is not a response to those circumstances. But this just pushes the question one stage back. For why take one’s emotional nature to be defined by the actual and not just the perceived circumstances in which one would be happy? Arguably, what defines my emotional nature is not that I would happy if I were, in fact, loved and admired by all, but that I would be happy if I honestly believed that was the case. Again, what might be needed here is the idea that one’s emotional nature is defined not by a set of dispositions, but by a set of needs or wants. This would fit naturally with the idea that happiness is, in part, an appraisal of whether those needs have been satisfied. On this picture, it would make perfect sense to suppose that illusory happiness is flawed. It is flawed because it is mistaken: it signals that one’s needs have been satisfied when they have not. If this were the correct picture, however, it might be thought to threaten Haybron’s claim that authentic happiness has intrinsic value as a form of self-fulfilment. For arguably, what this alternative picture suggests is that emotional self-fulfilment is a matter of satisfying one’s needs, not of being happy. Happiness may still be valuable, but as an indicator, not as a component, of self-fulfilment. But as far as self-fulfilment goes, the value of happiness will turn out to be instrumental, not intrinsic. None of this bears on the main thrust of Haybron’s argument against liberal optimism, with its supporting assumptions of transparency and aptitude. Haybron’s attack on the transparency assumption, which is found in Part II, has two prongs. First, he appeals to empirical evidence to establish that people’s considered judgements about their well-being are not altogether reliable (102). Secondly, he argues that happiness and unhappiness are likely to involve some rather subtle and complex psychological states, which people can easily overlook or misinterpret (150). In Part IV, Haybron turns his attention to the aptitude assumption. Drawing on considerations from evolutionary and cognitive psychology, he argues that there is little reason to suppose that people are particularly good at pursuing happiness (242 –249). Some of the empirical claims on which Haybron relies here are controversial. But he is careful not to overstate his case, presenting it as a challenge rather than a knock-out blow to his opponents. 628

Reviews With both the transparency and aptitude assumptions in doubt, liberal optimism stands open to question. Haybron ends by offering a careful analysis of possible alternatives: his preferred stance, which he labels liberal sobriety, is a relatively cautious response to the questions he has raised. Indeed, the primary message of these final chapters is a call for further inquiry. Haybron’s rich and stimulating discussion should provide an essential point of reference for those who take up the call. Carolyn Price

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