'And one fine morning—' we will find happiness: excess and defect in The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises

'And one fine morning—' we will find happiness: excess and

defect in The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises

MA Thesis Literary Studies. Track: Writing, Editing and Mediating. University of Groningen.

Student: Isabella Marguerite Bazuin (S2363852) Supervisor: Prof. Richard D. P. Lansdown

Date of completion: 9 August 2019 Word count: 16,484

Contents

Abstract 3

Introduction 4

1. Origins of the pursuit of happiness and eudaimonia 11 2. Reaching for the unattainable in The Great Gatsby 25 3. Escaping the American Dream in The Sun Also Rises 41

Conclusion 55

Abstract

This thesis provides a study into the meaning of the pursuit of happiness, as found in the United States Declaration of Independence. Whereas a common interpretation of the pursuit of happiness relates to the American Dream – which promises success to anyone who is willing to work for it – research into Jefferson’s drafting of the unalienable rights shows resemblance between the phrase and Locke’s writings in his Second Treatise of Government and An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. In addition, the

Declaration’s notion of pursuing happiness relates to human flourishing or eudaimonia, as first discussed by Aristotle. To further explore the relationship between the pursuit of happiness and American ethos, this study analyses two novels of the nineteen-twenties – Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises – which deal with American idealism and moral disillusionment after the Great War. From the moral perspectives of our philosophers, the novels show dramas of excess and defect (which Aristotle predicts will not lead to eudaimonia), as Gatsby deludedly follows his desires in an unfair world, while Jake’s defective condition hinders his desires, leading to a lack of direction and a unique quest for significance. As Fitzgerald’s lyricism delivers a two-fold display of the American Dream – as it has resulted in a morally decayed society and failure for Gatsby, but continues to foster human desires – and Hemingway’s cynicism shows Jake (morally disillusioned as well) escaping American ideals, this study raises issues with American idealism, but also discloses how modern notions of the good life include dreams and desires as sources of happiness. While intellectual thought reveals the failure of unreasoned pursuits through the vices of excess and defect, the novels suggest that post-romantic souls possess capacities that lie beyond reason and thus require an equal method to aid their flourishing.

Introduction

Were we to attempt choosing a universal truth in life, the notion that every person wants to be happy would surely make a good candidate. Our desire to achieve happiness has the power to transcend backgrounds – be it cultural, religious or educational – and thus defies any superficial distinctions between people. The wish for happiness unites us, even while its prospect serves to guide us on our own individual journeys. And of course, happiness can be defined in many ways, making the quest for the ‘true’

definition a meritable but difficult one. Questions like what is happiness? and how does one achieve it? are fundamental to human life and have been asked by countless people (philosophers and poets alike) throughout the centuries, ranging from Aristotle to the writer – and no doubt also the reader – of this thesis. It is for this reason that the

present work provides a study of the concept of happiness, approaching it from a socio-historical and a national perspective, using two legendary novels of the nineteen-twenties as delivery systems for ideas and beliefs (reflecting both author and time spirit) on this subject.

Happiness and the American Dream

With the desire for happiness being an essential part of human nature, it has long since crossed the borders of our minds and souls, through public and philosophical debates, into the political sphere. One of its best-known featurings can in fact be found in the opening of the United States Declaration of Independence (1776), which famously announces the ‘pursuit of Happiness’ as an unalienable right. The Declaration appears vague however about the actual meaning of this pursuit, leaving ample room for

has been frequently cited in Supreme Court cases nevertheless, as litigants have used it ‘to argue for everything from the right to privacy to the right to pursue one’s chosen occupation’ (Conklin 197). Given this diversity of contexts, the ambiguous meaning of the pursuit can clearly be used to people’s (varying) advantages. An unveiling of its definition– and, therefore, an interpretation of happiness – has a particular importance for the American people and their prevailing ideas.

Perhaps the most quintessential American idea about happiness is conveyed by the narrative and notion of the ‘American Dream’, which defines happiness as the final end to one’s hard work and dedication, leading to the accomplishment of his or her goals; in other words, the dream implies that happiness lies in success. This ideal is rooted in its country’s promise that all human beings are created equal – all having been endowed with the unalienable rights of ‘Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness’ (as stated in the Declaration) – and thus are free to pave a way to their desired life paths and live their best lives. Cal Jillson provides the following elaboration upon this notion:

All who are willing to strive, to learn, to work hard, to save and invest will have every chance to succeed and to enjoy the fruits of their success in safety, security, and good order. Education (physical and intellectual skills), good character (honesty, cleanliness, sobriety, religiosity), hard work (frugality, saving,

investing), and a little luck form a broad pathway to the American Dream. Some start life with more wealth, more prominence, and more influence, but the opportunity to rise in society is promised to everyone … (6)

Jillson names ‘education’, ‘good character’ and ‘hard work’ (together with ‘a little luck’) as important virtues and characteristics of the American spirit. The American Dream

entails that, with these ingredients, one will be best placed to reach success; the latter has thus become completely accepted as the American final end to life, supposedly leaving its kinship with happiness unquestioned.

Philosophical notions of happiness

While the meaning of the pursuit of happiness remains subjective and uncertain, its origins prove rather ambiguous as well. Notably, the unalienable rights that are stated in the Declaration of Independence bear resemblance to John Locke’s writings on government and moral philosophy (Conklin 197-198; Levy 172). The pursuit of happiness that Locke describes (in his An Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1689)), however, is a pursuit driven by intellectual thought, with the purpose of steering people in the direction of ‘true happiness’ and discouraging any decisions that would lead them astray. Locke argues that such a pursuit of true happiness is the foundation of liberty, as it allows people to contemplate their true objectives and focus on these, instead of becoming distracted by their constant need for futile pleasures and other aimless desires (Essay 209-210).

Locke’s concept of true happiness relates to the classical concept of eudaimonia, which translates as ‘happiness’ or ‘human flourishing’. Aristotle was one of the first to provide an intellectual discussion of happiness, describing it as the best and final good in life, and therefore the target at which all actions should be aimed. In regard to achieving happiness, he explains that people with practical wisdom of the good life are able to choose the kind of virtuous actions that mediate happiness; the bulk of his argument then explains how to develop a moral character that leads to eudaimonia (Hornblower et al.). Given that Thomas Jefferson, who drafted the Declaration, wrote similar ideas on virtue and happiness and had a high esteem for classical thought, the

concept of happiness as something ‘real’ and ‘substantial’ – similar to Aristotle’s eudaimonia – is considered the inspiration behind the Declaration’s pursuit of happiness (Conklin 259-262).

What is interesting, still, is that the pursuit of ‘true’ happiness – as derived from Locke (and corresponding classical ideas) – is found in a different context than Locke’s listing of natural rights. As Locke in his Second Treatise of Government (1689) writes about the natural rights of ‘life, liberty, and estate’ (107), it is commonly believed that Jefferson – upon ‘copying’ this triad into the Declaration – replaced ‘estate’ with ‘the pursuit of Happiness’ (Sandel). This supposed amending implies that the pursuit of happiness relates to a right for material possessions, providing insight into the capitalist context of the American Dream and its ties with happiness.

Fitzgerald and Hemingway on happiness in the twenties

If we are to study the American Dream and its relation to (the pursuit of) happiness more closely, F. Scott Fitzgerald provides us with a literary case study in his The Great Gatsby (1925), where he scrutinises the meaning of the dream and its implications. His novel, as Anthony Larson suggests, can be employed as ‘a tool for revealing the truth about a world around us; the relationship between fiction and reality is reversed so that it is fiction which serves to better understand and read reality’ (285). The Great Gatsby can be studied ‘as a moral lesson on the excesses and failures of a certain America and — perhaps — the American dream itself’ (285). As the novel is set in the nineteen-twenties – a time in which the American Dream ‘fostered a sense of hope and renewal that enabled people to keep moving forward during the dark days of warfare, economic collapse, and personal challenges’ (Batchelor 135) – the dream had come a long way

from its (supposed) eighteenth-century promise of success, continuing to encourage the American people.

The people of the twenties – and war veterans in particular, such as those depicted by Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway – were indeed challenged to find meaning and happiness in their lives, for the catastrophe they witnessed in the Great War rendered their former moral codes helpless (Shen 1728). Referred to as the ‘Lost Generation’, this generation found itself disoriented and wandering for significance, and survivors often sought refuge in expatrism. As their beliefs no longer rested on solid foundations, the nature of their ‘new’ beliefs became an interesting theme for study and exploration, and novelists such as Fitzgerald and Hemingway reflected on this subject in their novels (Berman 1). The authors held differing views, however, as Fitzgerald in The Great Gatsby writes about the strive for the American Dream, whereas in The Sun Also Rises (1926) Hemingway showcases the escapism of American ideals. Their differing views can be explained through their contrasting personas and styles: Hemingway is characterised by his ‘archetypal masculinity’ and his writing ‘in spare, economical style, mostly about war, solitude, and adventure’, whereas Fitzgerald is typified as ‘a social striver, someone who prided himself on his budding elitism and his (incomplete) Princeton education … He wrote about socioeconomic status in prose that was, at least next to Hemingway’s, often lyrical and adorned’ (Delistraty). As expatriated war

veterans, they bonded over a shared love for both writing and drinking in Parisian bars, from where their careers followed very different paths (O'Callaghan). They continued writing their fiction meanwhile, and whereas they are often regarded for their rivalry friendship – with Hemingway in particular criticising Fitzgerald behind his back – they also spoke kind words to and of each other; Hemingway made a point of reassuring his contemporary and telling him “you can write twice as well now as you ever could”’,

while ‘Fitzgerald always referred to Hemingway as “the greatest living writer of [his] time”’ (O’Callaghan). Their friendship became less friendly over the years, however, and it ‘cooled as “Hemingway's star ascended and Fitzgerald's began to decline”’

(Lombardi). Nevertheless, their background and seemingly different views on

happiness and the American Dream allow for an interesting study and comparison of the aforementioned novels.

This study

Given the equivocal meaning of the Declaration’s pursuit of happiness, illustrating the general ambiguity surrounding the concept of happiness, with the American Dream as a compelling example that has been explored in fiction of the nineteen-twenties, this study boils down to the following inquiry: What is the meaning and background of the pursuit of happiness? How does it relate to the famous opening of the American Declaration of Independence and to the legend of the American Dream? How is this ideal evoked and challenged in two American novels (The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises), the authors of which knew each other so well, yet took such (apparently)

differing views on the subject?

The following chapter explains the origins of the Declaration’s third unalienable right, using the philosophical and moral doctrine of both Locke and Aristotle to

interpret the meaning of happiness. The second and third chapter discuss the two novels’ messages on (the pursuit of) happiness and the American Dream, reflected upon and scrutinised through the lens of philosophical thought, comparing both writers’ differing messages. While the study discusses the failings of the fictional characters from a Lockean and Aristotelian perspective, it also shows how, in the context of

American dreaming in the nineteen-twenties and corresponding modern desires, the philosophical models do not deliver on a promise of happiness.

1. Origins of the pursuit of happiness and eudaimonia

‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness …’

The Declaration of Independence, 1776

When Thomas Jefferson drafted the United States Declaration of Independence on behalf of the Founding Fathers, he not only meant to write a statement that would separate the Thirteen Colonies from Great Britain, he also set out to build a country in which all men would be free to pursue their best life. Fundamental to this objective was the idea that all human beings are created equal and, upon their creation, are given a set of rights so natural and ingrained that they cannot possibly be altered or removed. Formulated as a triad of unalienable rights, ‘Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness’, this idea, from the eighteenth century onwards, lies at the heart of the United States’ law, governance and ethos.

Locke’s natural rights

As John Locke’s philosophical writings were popular among the Founding Fathers (with Jefferson in particular), it seems no coincidence that the unalienable rights in the

Declaration echo Locke’s natural rights of ‘life, liberty, and estate’, with ‘estate’ referring to one’s (private) property (Conklin 197-198). At times in his Second Treatise of

Government (which contains the phrase), Locke refers to this set of natural rights by the term ‘property’ itself (Treatises 141). Locke believed that these rights are so

fundamental to human beings that no government can override them; they are not merely rights of law then, but belong to a state of nature, which attaches less to governments and legislators than to the people themselves (Sandel).

Locke explains that the state of nature – where natural laws arise from – is a state of liberty, since human beings are free and equal beings without a natural hierarchy. This liberty comes with certain (natural) constraints however, as human beings cannot give up their natural rights, nor can these rights be taken away from others. What is more, one cannot give another the absolute, arbitrary power over oneself. Similar to Jefferson’s wording in the Declaration, Locke’s reasoning for this right being unalienable is that it is given to individuals by a higher power (Sandel):

The state of Nature has a law of Nature to govern it, which obliges every one, and reason, which is that law, teaches all mankind who will but consult it, that being all equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty or possessions; for men being all the workmanship of one omnipotent and infinitely wise Maker; all the servants of one sovereign Master, sent into the world by His order and about His business; they are His property, whose

workmanship they are made to last during His, not one another’s pleasure. (Treatises 107)

In other words, God has a prior property right in human beings. By his blessing only are people entitled to life and are they free to live it. What is more, people can contemplate the essence of their natural rights through their capacity for reason; Locke explains that if properly reflected on what it means to be free, humans will come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as complete freedom. Given that all humans are ‘equal and

independent’, there must be certain restraints that enable freedom for everyone, those restraints being that ‘no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or

possessions’ (Sandel).

In order to explain a person’s natural right to private property in its pre-political sense, Locke states: ‘Though the earth and all inferior creatures be common to all men, yet every man has a “property” in his own “person.” This nobody has any right to but himself. The “labour” of his body and the “work” of his hands, we may say, are properly his’ (Treatises 116). Thus, a person’s body – and therefore the labour that he or she conducts – completely belongs to the person itself. Locke continues that also the fruits of one’s labour belong to oneself; in addition, the place that the fruits of the labour take up (like a piece of land with cultivated crops) becomes one’s possession through the fruits of one’s labour having enclosed and improved the place (Sandel). Along these lines, the underlying idea is that, through a person adding value to something that priorly was not his, he becomes the proprietor. As such, Locke included in his philosophy a profoundly capitalist idea on the acquisition of property.

Connecting the law of nature to a desirable governmental system, Locke argues that the purpose of political society is to protect one’s natural rights. This entails that there is a contract between government and people, as people choose a government to protect their life, liberty and property, and the government carries rule. This also means that when a government fails to protect a person’s rights, he or she is no longer bound to obey (Wishy 418). The Declaration echoes these ideas with its statement that, in order to secure ‘Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness’,

Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, – That whenever any Form of Government becomes

destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and

organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

These last two goods supposedly refer to the general happiness or welfare of people, since ‘[it] is the promotion of the general happiness for which new governments are formed and for which every government exists’ (Ford 452).

The American pursuit of happiness

With Locke’s work being the probable source for the unalienable rights in the

Declaration, it is assumed that Jefferson deliberately mirrored the first two rights (life and liberty). This, however, leaves the emergence of the pursuit of happiness somewhat of a mystery. It appears that Jefferson, whilst borrowing the rights from Locke’s Second Treatise, simply substituted ‘the pursuit of Happiness’ for the word ‘estate’. What is interesting about this perspective is that it may entail that the pursuit of happiness resembles the act of acquiring and owning property, and that the Declaration therefore allows every citizen to pursue his or her own material well-being. This was one of the first and rather traditional approaches to explaining the origin and meaning of the phrase (Conklin 198-199).

The idea of the pursuit of happiness equalling a pursuit of material well-being finds resonance in the notion that Jefferson, as well as other Enlightenment thinkers, believed that happiness was rooted in human beings’ capacity for reason along with their desire for material security. In this line of thought, Jefferson believed that

situation behind and finding prosperity in the new country he was about to establish. Regarding the critical situation that a considerable part of Europe was in – marked by crop failure, famine, job shortages, scarcity of land and rising taxes, plus political and religious persecutions – migration to the United States would mean chasing economic opportunity and personal freedom. Happiness would mean being able to provide for one’s family without fear, having ample opportunities for the improvement of

agriculture, transport and mobility, and freely living in an economically prosperous country. Timothy Shannon argues that ‘[with] that context in mind, Jefferson's "pursuit of Happiness" becomes much more than a pleasing turn of phrase. It was a remarkably succinct expression of the American dream, a confident look to the future rather than a backward nod to Locke. As such, it remains foundational to how we define ourselves as a nation’ (2).

Locke’s moral view on true happiness

In response to Jefferson’s amending of Locke – supposedly by inserting his own phrase in the place of ‘estate’ – Leonard Levy (amongst others) argues that Jefferson did not break with Locke, but in fact borrowed the third unalienable right from him as well. While Locke’s Second Treatise contains nothing about a pursuit of happiness, the phrase can be found in his An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Levy states that

‘Jefferson knew Locke's ponderous Essay on Human Understanding, which used the exact phrase “pursuit of happiness”’ (172). He then refers to Locke’s following passage:

The necessity of pursuing true happiness [is] the foundation of liberty. As therefore the highest perfection of intellectual nature lies in a careful and constant pursuit of true and solid happiness; so the care of ourselves, that we

mistake not imaginary for real happiness, is the necessary foundation of our liberty. The stronger ties we have to an unalterable pursuit of happiness in general, which is our greatest good, and which, as such, our desires always follow, the more are we free from any necessary determination of our will to any particular action, and from a necessary compliance with our desire, set upon any particular, and then appearing preferable good, till we have duly examined whether it has a tendency to, or be inconsistent with, our real happiness: and therefore, till we are as much informed upon this inquiry as the weight of the matter, and the nature of the case demands, we are, by the necessity of

preferring and pursuing true happiness as our greatest good, obliged to suspend the satisfaction of our desires in particular cases. (Essay 209-210)

Locke’s idea of happiness ties in with his philosophy on liberty, since he believes that people can only achieve a state of liberty when they are driven by a pursuit of true happiness. According to Locke, people’s wills are ‘immediately determined from time to time to every voluntary action by the uneasiness of desire, that is, the desire for some good that is absent’ (Cahn 270). This means that people constantly desire those things that are absent in their lives, causing an uneasiness which fuels their needs (for that which is absent) even more. Their true desires, in turn, are moved by ‘true happiness’, which Locke in its highest degree describes as ‘the utmost pleasure we are capable of’ (270). What Locke is thus trying to say is that people can only achieve true happiness if they suspend their constant need for pleasure and instead contemplate the actions that would result in the best possible life (270-271). As such, humans’ pursuit of true

happiness allows for liberty; it is also this pursuit that leads humans to utterly strain the intellectual capacities needed for achieving true happiness.

More than a pleasing turn of phrase

Despite the striking similarities between Locke’s philosophy and the Declaration, doubts have been raised about the pursuit of happiness carrying any significant meaning at all. Historian Carl Becker referred to the pursuit as a ‘glittering generality’ (qtd. in Conklin 199), something that ‘sounds pretty and appealing, but is either too general or too individualized to have any practical, substantive meaning’ (199). In this view, Jefferson’s pursuit merely functions as a rhetorical device, adding rhythm and beauty to the listing of unalienable rights, with a sense of undefined idealism. Although this interpretation has gained some popularity over the years, Carli Conklin argues that Jefferson was ‘a meticulous and deliberate writer and proponent of the rights and duties of man’ (200), who likely would not include such a meaningless phrase in a serious document concerning the natural and political rights of humankind. As Conklin argues that the pursuit is neither a result of someone else’s editing, nor a sign of a material objective, she poses that Jefferson’s pursuit refers to a happiness of substantial nature, synonymous with the ancient Greek concept of eudaimonia (199-200; 227); this is supposedly similar to Locke’s idea of ‘true happiness’. Instead of the twentieth-century idea of happiness as a ‘fleeting’ or ‘temporal’ emotion, eudaimonia is a ‘real’ and

‘substantial’ happiness, which ‘evokes a sense of well being or a state of flourishing that is the result of living a fit or virtuous life’ (200). Based on the information that the Founding Fathers found inspiration in the ancient classics and that Jefferson on this subject once wrote that ‘happiness is the aim of life, and virtue the foundation of happiness’, Conklin finds sufficient proof that the pursuit in the Declaration points towards a ‘pursuit of eudaimonia’ (234; 259; 262).

Aristotle’s eudaimonia

The study of eudaimonia dates back to the fourth century BC, when Aristotle first

discussed and elaborated upon the term in his Nicomachean Ethics. This virtue-oriented body of work, regarded as the first systematic treatment of ethics in Western

philosophy, begins with the teleological assumption that everything in life seeks an end: ‘Every craft and every method of inquiry and likewise every action and deliberate choice seems to seek some good. That is why they correctly declare that the good is “that which all seek”’ (Aristotle 2). Upon contemplating the variety of ends in life, Aristotle poses that there must be a ‘best’ end. He believes it is worth determining what this best end is, as proper knowledge of it would enable human beings to direct all their actions towards it; this is similar to Locke’s argument on contemplating true happiness and engaging on its pursuit in order to achieve the greatest good in life. Aristotle provides us with the following explanation:

If, then, there is some end of things doable in action that we wish for because of itself, and the others because of it, and we do not choose everything because of something else (since if that is the case, it will go on without limit so that the desire will be empty and pointless), it is clear that this will be the good – that is, the best good. Hence regarding our life as well, won’t knowing the good have great influence and – like archers with a target – won’t we be better able to hit what we should? (2)

Aristotle reasons that human’s best end is utmost in that it is pursued entirely for its own sake and not for the sake of something else. In this way, it is not a means for

obtaining something else, but a complete and final end, which all actions ultimately aim towards:

Since there are evidently many ends, and we choose some of them because of something else, as we do wealth, flutes, and instruments generally, it is clear that not all ends are complete. But the best one is apparently something complete. So if one thing alone is complete, this will be what we are looking for, but if there are more, it will be the most complete of them. (9)

Aristotle states that human’s best end can be found in happiness (which is the common translation of eudaimonia): ‘Happiness seems to be most like this, since it we always choose because of itself and never because of something else’ (9). Aristotle declares happiness to be the best good in life, since all human actions are – in the end – chosen for the sake of attaining happiness: it is thus an end in itself. Furthermore, he states that ‘[the] same conclusion also apparently follows from self-sufficiency, since the complete good seems to be self-sufficient’ (9). He continues that ‘self-sufficiency is what, on its own, makes a life choice-worthy and lacking in nothing, and this, we think, is what happiness is like’ (9).

Given the twentieth-century understanding of happiness as a somewhat fleeting emotion, Aristotle’s eudaimonia might more perspicuously be understood as ‘human flourishing’ (Hornblower et al.). Upon closer look, the word eudaimonia consists of the ancient Greek word for ‘good’ (Beekes 297), and the word for ‘godlike power’ or ‘fate’ (484-485). This implies that eudaimonia originally meant ‘good spirited’, or even ‘a divine power (daimon) [being] well (eu) disposed to you’ (Moran 9). What is more, eudaimonia can be interpreted as having ‘good internal divinity’ (Christensen and

Wittung 25). The ancient Greek word for happiness then – although different from Aristotle’s philosophy, which centres around intellectual thought – appears similar to what nowadays would be called ‘blessed’.

The pursuit of eudaimonia

Now that we know eudaimonia is human’s ultimate end in life, how can a person reach this state of flourishing? Firstly, Aristotle notes that people often find happiness in the ‘wrong’ things. He explains that ordinary people – ‘the most vulgar ones’ – regard ‘pleasure’ as happiness, and that these people prefer a ‘life of indulgence’ (5). While he does not reject the idea of enjoying pleasure in life, he discards the life of indulgence as ‘a life that is characteristic of grazing cattle’ (5). In addition to pleasure, he names

wealth and honour as examples of ‘plain’ and ‘obvious’ things that people often consider as happiness (5). Also, people recognise happiness in that which they desire but do not have; for instance, a person who is ill wants to identify with health and a poor person with riches (4). While all these examples may somehow contribute to happiness, Aristotle reasons that they themselves are no final ends, since they are not pursued entirely for their own sake (5-9).

Upon further contemplating human flourishing, Aristotle starts by positing that there must be some function that is unique to human beings and somehow ‘beyond’ that of other living things. This function is the human capacity for reason, he gathers, and he sets out to determine how reason can be combined with the practical nature of living:

There remains, then, some sort of practical living of the part that has reason. And of what has reason, one part has it by dint of obeying reason, the other by dint of actually having it and exercising thought. But “living” is said of things in

two ways, and we must take the one in accord with activity, since it seems to be called “living” in a fuller sense. (10)

Aristotle places emphasis on activity, since he believes that life is lived more fully

through activity. It is reasoned activity in particular which he has high acclaim for. To be more specific, it is ‘our rational element in conjunction with action [which] we are searching for rather than the mere passive possession of reason when attempting to discern the function of man’ (Karuzis 6).

While Aristotle does not provide complete clarity on what it is for human beings to flourish, he thinks that eudaimonia can be attained through ‘activity of the soul in accordance with complete excellence’ (Hornblower et al.). Aristotle states that such activity should be ‘in accord with virtue and, if there are more virtues than one, then in accord with the best and most complete’ (Aristotle 10). To this he adds: ‘in a complete life, for one swallow does not make a spring, nor does one day. Nor, similarly, does one day or a short time make someone blessed and happy’ (10). Virtuous actions, which are motivated by reason, should thus be practiced continuously throughout one’s life. Most of Aristotle’s further argument deals with how people can develop a moral character on the basis of which they can continuously choose actions that lead to eudaimonia.

Choosing eudaimonia through virtue

In discussing virtuous behaviour, Aristotle explains virtues as ‘states’ of the soul that can be attained through effort (Aristotle 26-27). To further explain, ‘[moral] virtues such as temperance or courage are acquired through habit, while intellectual virtues such as practical wisdom or philosophical wisdom are acquired through instruction’ (Karuzis 6-7). In addition, ‘it can be said that the state of our characters depends upon

the practicing of good actions that in turn actually make us good’ (7). By practising moral and intellectual virtue then, one obtains phronesis and – to summarise – develops the moral character of a phronimos: a ‘practically wise individual, who holds some fairly well-articulated conception of the good life and has, in addition, a special kind of insight about how to behave in particular circumstances. This insight derives from an interplay of reasoned reflection and a long process of moral training’ (Freeland 702).

As moral character is obtained by practising virtues, Aristotle further explains the nature of these actions:

Virtue, then, is a deliberately choosing state, which is in a medial condition in relation to us, one defined by a reason and the one by which a practically-wise person would define it. Also, it is a medial condition between two vices, one of excess and the other of deficiency. Further, it is also such a condition because some vices are deficient in relation to what the relevant feelings and actions should be and others are excessive, but virtue finds both the mean and chooses it. (28-29)

We see that Aristotle calls virtue a ‘deliberately choosing state’. Choice is a type of action then, and choosing adequately results in virtue. To be more specific, ‘virtue is a result of making the best choices in relation to the proper type of action’ (Karuzis 8), with the best choice lying in the mean between defect and excess. To give an example, Aristotle shows that the virtue of courage, if exercised into excess, would result in a person becoming overly rash, whereas a lack of courage in a person would make him or her a coward. However, he states that there are certain actions that do not have an intermediate and are fundamentally wrong, such as adultery, theft and murder (29).

At various times in his argument, Aristotle points towards the voluntary nature of living a virtuous life and achieving eudaimonia. He deliberately states that both virtue and vice are in our power: ‘Virtue too is up to us, then, and, similarly, vice. For where acting is up to us, so is not acting, and where saying “No” is up to us, so is saying “Yes”’ (43). But since the incentives for most of our actions are found in pleasure and pain, it would be best if people experienced pleasure in virtuous behaviour and pain when engaging in vice: ‘the biggest thing is enjoying what we should and hating what we should. For these extend throughout the whole of a person’s life and have a powerful influence with regard to both virtue and the happy life, since people deliberately choose pleasant things and avoid painful ones’ (175).

While the bulk of Aristotle’s philosophy on happiness deals with virtuous

activity, it is worth mentioning that he underlines the importance of friendship, for even if one is doing well in life and lacks nothing, life does not seem ‘worth it’ without friends (Hornblower et al.). Aristotle explains the importance of friendship as follows:

It is presumably strange too to make a blessed person live a solitary life, since no one would choose to have every good thing yet be by himself, since a human being is a political being and one whose nature is to love with others. To one who is happy, then, this also applies, since he has the natural goods. But clearly it is better to spend his days with friends and decent people than with strangers and random ones. Hence a happy person does need friends. (168)

Returning to the core of his argument, which is the meaning of happiness and how to achieve it, Aristotle considers: ‘But if happiness is activity in accord with virtue, it is quite reasonable that it should be in accord with the one that is most excellent, and this

will be the virtue of the best element’ (186). He then argues that the most complete happiness can be found in the activity of contemplation, as he qualifies reason as the best thing in us. Furthermore, contemplation seems to meet all the requirements for eudaimonia: it is self-sufficient – since the philosopher (he who leads a life of

contemplation) can contemplate the truth all by himself – and it is ‘loved’ entirely for its own sake, ‘[for] nothing arises from it beyond having contemplated’ (186). Also, besides virtue, the activity of contemplation involves pleasures that are ‘wondrous for their purity and enduringness’ (186). And while Aristotle admits that a life completely dedicated to the activity of philosophical wisdom would be ‘too high’ for man, or ‘more excellent than one in accord with the human element’, he concludes that in order for us to achieve our best end in life, we must indeed strain every nerve ‘to live in accord with the element in us that is most excellent’ (187).

2. Reaching for the unattainable in The Great Gatsby

‘… that we mistake not imaginary for real happiness is the necessary foundation of our liberty’ (Locke, Essay 209).

Known as a true American classic, The Great Gatsby – through its intricate patterning – offers an ironic as well as romantic perspective on the United States of the nineteen-twenties. Given its country’s ideal that ‘all men are created equal’, the novel opens with a surprising notion, as the narrator Nick Carraway shares the following lesson from his childhood: ‘In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had”’ (Fitzgerald 1). He hereby positions reality as a place of inequality and social circumstances, which should be taken into account when making a judgement. Elaborating upon this preconception, he explains: ‘Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth’ (2). Since ‘fundamental decencies’ refers to the conduct between people, Nick hereby imparts that not all people have similar

standards of behaviour, meaning that not everyone will be treated the same way in life. Nick himself, however, appears to approach people with consideration and respect. His attitudes portray him as (someone who views himself as) a phronimos: a ‘practically wise individual, who holds some fairly well-articulated conception of the good life and has, in addition, a special kind of insight about how to behave in particular circumstances’ (Freeland 702). Nick mainly applies his practical wisdom to evaluate the

lives of others; this is important to note, as it is through Nick’s perspective that Fitzgerald exhibits and comments on nineteen-twenties’ society and its (implied) pursuits of happiness.

Daring to be great: Gatsby’s American Dream

As Nick rolls out his exhibition of nineteen-twenties’ reality and the moral predicaments of the characters in it, he describes Jay Gatsby, whose life seems centred around being successful. At first impression, Gatsby does not seem burdened by any social

circumstances, as there is a noticeable deliberation in his aptitude for greatness:

If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register

earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. (2)

We see here that Gatsby breathes an air of self-made success: his personality is aimed at ‘successfully’ responding to his surroundings, his external gestures are strung together impressively, and he is wired – mechanically almost – to future glory. Despite Nick’s careful and considerate outlook, he admires Gatsby for his ‘extraordinary gift for hope’ and ‘romantic readiness’, which point towards the latter’s faith and creative capacities. Through Nick’s speaking highly of Gatsby, but at the same time finding him to represent

‘everything for which [he has] an unaffected scorn’ (2), Fitzgerald has created a paradox around the main character. Gatsby’s hope and strive for success make him the symbol of the American Dream, but through the romance of his vision combined with the ultimate crumbling of his dream, Fitzgerald illustrates the failure of this legend. Nick

furthermore discloses that Gatsby’s story will not end well, explaining that ‘it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men’ (2); it thus appears that Gatsby himself is not to blame for his failure, as it is something

outside the scope of his power, but within reality that has stood in the way of his dreams. Aristotle in turn would discredit Gatsby’s idealistic qualities, as they do not contribute to developing a moral character that leads to eudaimonia: ‘For it is by

deliberately choosing good things or bad things that we are people of a certain sort, not by believing them’ (39). Whereas Fitzgerald allows for and enhances the beauty of Gatsby’s dream, as we witness the unfolding of its tragedy, Aristotle’s and Locke’s moral views help us understand the personal failure of Gatsby’s intended ‘flourishing’.

Disadvantage as the motive for pursuing success

The motivation for Gatsby’s deliberate ‘making’ of himself and his success lies in the fact that he is one such person who was not gifted with those advantages Nick’s father spoke of. Nick interprets how young Gatsby, born as ‘James Gatz’ into an unfavourable social situation, invented the persona of ‘Jay Gatsby’ to compensate for his disadvantages:

I suppose he’d had the name ready for a long time … His parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people—his imagination had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby, of West Egg, Long Island,

sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s Business, the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end. (98)

As Nick explains, Gatsby had a ‘Platonic conception of himself’ – an outline of the person he wanted to become, rather than any intrinsic ideas about this person. The notion that this conception stemmed from his imagination underlines its elusiveness and

unprecedented reasoning. Believing himself to be the ‘son of God’, Gatsby aims to be about ‘His Father’s Business’, defined as ‘the service of a vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty’. By divine calling, then, should Gatsby pursue an end that is immense, flashy and apparently attractive, but which lacks any real value. In the negative phrasing of the beauty that Gatsby seeks, Fitzgerald critically draws attention to the elusive appeal of the American Dream; he holds on to the paradox, however, as the passage shows sympathy for Gatsby’s past and is delivered in an elevated style.

From a moral perspective, we may find that the merit of Gatsby’s pursuit lies less in his own internal well-being and more in his external appeal. In this way, it attaches not so much to Gatsby himself, but to others’ attitudes towards him; this is similar to the argument that Aristotle uses for finding ‘honour’ inequivalent to happiness, for ‘it is apparently more superficial than what we are looking for, since it seems to be in the hands of the honorers more than of the honorees, whereas we have a hunch that the good is something that properly belongs to us and is difficult to take away’ (5). Honour, similar to Gatsby’s father’s business, can be understood as a superficial, non-intrinsic good and an end that is not pursued for the sake of itself, but ‘in order to be convinced

that [the honoree is] good’ (5). Aristotelian thought also shows how Gatsby’s desire for material wealth will not to lead to eudaimonia, for money is a means for acquiring something else and likewise no end in itself.

The discontent that Gatsby feels towards his background, supported by the notion that ‘his imagination had never really accepted [the shiftless and unsuccessful farm people] as his parents at all’, appears to have boosted his pursuit of the American Dream, as the latter entails that ‘the opportunity to rise in society is promised to

everyone’ (Jillson 6). According to Aristotle, however, pursuing happiness should not be driven by discontent, as he argues that people often recognise happiness in that which (at a given moment) is absent in their lives: ‘often the same person thinks [happiness] is different things, since when he gets a disease, it is health, whereas when he is poor, it is wealth. But when these people are conscious of their own ignorance they are wonder-struck by those who proclaim some great thing that is over their heads’ (4). Lack or discontent, in this line of thought, offers a distraction from recognising the good and pursuing actual eudaimonia (which lies in becoming a human being of virtuous excellence), as it makes a person direct his or her sole attention to battling a defect.

Gatsby’s story thus sheds light on how the American ideals and their implications about human flourishing are different from the moral views of our philosophers (and thus the presumed inspiration for the Declaration’s pursuit of happiness); whereas the

philosophers apply intellect to battle human desires, the American ideals allow for people’s desires to nourish their dreams and fuel their pursuits.

What is interesting about the passage as well is that the divine portrayal of Gatsby – referring to him being the ‘son of God’ and having to be about ‘His Father’s Business’ – bears verbal comparisons to John Locke’s Second Treatise, when he writes:

no one ought to harm another in life, health, liberty or possessions; for men being all the workmanship of one omnipotent and infinitely wise Maker; all the servants of one sovereign Master, sent into the world by His order and about His business; they are His property, whose workmanship they are made to last during His, not one another’s pleasure. (107)

Locke thus says that all people belong to God and have been given natural rights to serve their purpose as God’s workmanship. In Gatsby’s case however, his depiction as the ‘son of God’ implies a unique and chosen position, underpinning his supposed destiny as a successful man. This individualistic approach to God, in which divinity ties in with material wealth and success, resembles an American perspective that is rooted in Puritan beliefs. Relating to the ‘Doctrine of the Elect’ – which believed that a select group of people would be spared from damnation by God – John Pidgeon explains that people looked for a sign of ‘belonging’ to this fortunate group: ‘Since hard work was associated with God, and since hard work often resulted in wealth, it was not long before these two things became associated. Wealth came to be a sign of goodness, since it indicated membership in the Elect’ (178). This provides insight into the capitalist approach to material wealth and its desirability in both Gatsby’s story and the American society that it represents. It shows how success – in terms of hard work leading to wealth – over time became a chief purpose of American people’s pursuits.

Faith over reason

While Gatsby stays faithful to his vision of greatness and success, his imagination is shown to take on delusional forms:

But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night. A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain … For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy’s wing. (99)

Once again, there is no sign of practical wisdom, as Gatsby appears driven by the

passionate and absurd ‘visions’ of his heart. The enchanting feel of the passage supports Gatsby’s need for the ‘unreality of reality’. His conception of the good life requires a bit of ‘magic’ almost, which is perhaps similar to Cal Jillson mentioning a ‘little luck’ as part of the ‘broad pathway to the American Dream’ (6); it is this magical aspect outside of reality that assures the possibility of Gatsby’s vision. We again see how Fitzgerald has it both ways: through his exposure of Gatsby’s delusion, which he writes about in a highly lyrical language, he offers a satirical as well as romantic view of the dream.

Since Gatsby’s dreams are not underpinned by intelligent reasoning, Locke would find that he is deceived by an illusion of happiness, since Locke explains that one should ‘mistake not imaginary for real happiness’, ‘for ‘the highest perfection of

intellectual nature lies in a careful and constant pursuit of true and solid happiness’ (Essay 209). Locke also says that in pursuing such true happiness, ‘the more are we free from any necessary determination of our will to any particular action’ (209). Whereas Gatsby’s visions do not resemble just ‘any particular action’, they are largely imaginative and, in that respect, deceptive. The notion that Gatsby’s heart is ‘in a constant, turbulent riot’ shows how he is bound to his dream and does not experience real freedom towards a pursuit of (true) happiness. While the American Dream encourages resolution and

perseverance against all odds, Locke would find that Gatsby’s commitment to his dream leads him to the ‘wrong’ end in life.

Regarding Gatsby’s faith and perseverance, Pidgeon states that ‘Gatsby is an idealist. His copy book in his own handwriting says, “study electricity, study needed inventions,” characterizing the faith that the perfection of the individual is possible in America’ (179). Pidgeon too draws on the Declaration as the groundwork for the American Dream, stating that ‘America was to be a place where men were politically free to pursue whatever goal they wished’ (179). He depicts the dream as ‘the idea that one can, if one wishes, make a fortune, rise to great heights, and achieve’ (179). What is interesting about this perspective is that it presents the unalienable right of liberty as a gateway for people to pursue whichever goal they dream of. This contradicts Locke’s intentions, as he believes that liberty lies in pursuing only that type of happiness which, upon examination by intellect, proves to be in accordance with ‘real’ or ‘true’ happiness; this entails that ‘the satisfaction of our desires’ needs to be suspended in cases that do not indicate true happiness (Essay 209-210). The American ideals Pidgeon mentions, and which Gatsby apparently follows, are less concerned with an intellectually driven pursuit of happiness, and more with the magnitude of one’s vision and one’s dedication towards it. We clearly see this in the schedule that Pidgeon refers to (Fitzgerald 173):

Rise from bed ……….………. 6.00 A.M. Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling ………. 6.15-6.30 ” Study electricity, etc ……….……….. 7.15-8.15 ” Work ……….……… 8.30-4.30 P.M. Baseball and sports ………..………… 4.30-5.00 ” Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it ……….. 5.00-6.00 ”

Study needed inventions ………...… 7.00-9.00 ”

GENERAL RESOLVES

No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] No more smokeing or chewing

Bath every other day

Read one improving book or magazine per week Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00 per week

Be better to parents

We see here that young Gatsby was planning to outgrow his initial social circumstances; he shows to be straining every nerve to live up to (his version of) his highest potential. Relating to Aristotle, the schedule speaks of habituation and instruction towards flourishing in many areas. Yet, Gatsby’s execution appears delusory in various aspects, with plans to study needed inventions (for two hours each day) and reading one improving book per week (on top of everything else). Also, ‘being better to parents’ aside, there is hardly a sign of virtuous behaviour, which lies in a ‘medial condition between two vices, one of excess and the other of deficiency’ (Aristotle 28). As Gatsby’s excessive optimism completely drowns the irrationality of his visions, Aristotle in all likelihood would label his behaviour as excessively idealistic or foolhardy.

Gatsby’s strive for the American Dream is also noticeable in his ‘resourcefulness of movement’ which Nick calls ‘so peculiarly American’ (64). Nick elaborates: ‘This quality was continually breaking through his punctilious manner in the shape of

impatient opening and closing of a hand’ (64). Ronald Berman suggests that this kind of behaviour implies ‘strength of character’ and ‘the ability to lead a life of feeling’ (61). ‘“Vitality,” “energy,” and the “restlessness” that Gatsby displays’, Berman continues,

are common phrases of the early twentieth century. Such phrases are shorthand (as in the speeches and writings of Theodore Roosevelt), for American creative possibility. Always in motion, Gatsby is intended to remind us of qualities

praised not only by novelists but also by those who believed that in order to have a moral life one had to first have great energy, concentrated will, and high

resolution. (62)

Berman hereby shows how the American idea of moral life had changed over the centuries; the Lockean esteem for intellect had been replaced with a high esteem for leading a life of feeling, whilst valuing one’s ability to translate imagination and original ideas into new things (referring to ‘creative possibility’). The ‘virtues’ of the twentieth century – great energy, concentrated will and high resolution – align with this new idea.

Deluded by decadent society’s appeal

When Gatsby falls in love with Daisy, she becomes the ultimate object of his pursuit, as she symbolises the wealthy society that he aspires to. His love for her is described as the quieting of his turbulent heart and the last step towards his final end: ‘He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God … At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete’ (110-111). Daisy is,

however, the antithesis of eudaimonia in the story; the fruitlessness of her existence is clearly expressed when she explains her view on life:

‘You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,’ she went on in a convinced way. ‘Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been

everywhere and seen everything and done everything.’ Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. ‘Sophisticated—God, I’m sophisticated!’ (17)

While Daisy believes that she has seen and done it all, her experiences have made no difference to her. Her character reveals an apparent pseudo-phronesis, as she thinks she knows the good life, but is unimpressed by it, leaving her cynical. When Jordan suggests planning something, Daisy is clueless, exclaiming to Nick: ‘“What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly. “What do people plan?”’ (11). Her helplessness is also revealed by her exclaiming: ‘“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” cried Daisy. “And the day after that, and the next thirty years?”’ (118). Through Daisy’s empty, superficial and narrow-minded portrayal, Fitzgerald offers a satirical view on the society she belongs to. In this line of thought, the novel’s early, unused title, Under the Red, White, and Blue, further supports Fitzgerald’s intention to scrutinise American society (Berman 54).

What is more, Daisy exposes cowardice – the defective condition of courage – at crucial moments in the story. The first time is when she leaves Gatsby for Tom, since the latter assures her social acceptability; this leads to Gatsby’s obsession with improving his social and financial position, in order to ‘mend’ the past and restore his relationship with her. Likewise, when Daisy runs over Myrtle, she panics and drives off, seeming most concerned with her own nerves. Both Daisy’s and Tom’s selfish indifference puts

Gatsby’s and Myrtle’s vitality and pursuits to rest, while they themselves walk off untroubled; they are in this way the personification of ‘the foul dust that floated in the wake of [Gatsby’s] dreams’. Berman argues that Daisy and Tom ‘lead quintessentially unexamined lives. As Nick puts it, they act and seem to live “for no particular reason” (9)—anathema to the philosophy of vital energy’ (62). Tom and Daisy oppose Aristotle’s and Locke’s philosophy then (for they do not have a reasoned final end), as well as the American ideals of great energy and resolution. This becomes particularly clear when Nick observes them sitting together at the dining table after Myrtle’s death: ’They weren’t happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale—and yet, they weren’t unhappy either’ (145). Daisy and Tom apathetically settle for a mediocre life; even though there may be a higher good, they opt for a life of social comfort, remaining not happy but not unhappy either.

As Daisy’s failure is ‘symbolic of the whole decadent society that she represents’ (Pidgeon 181), the societal challenges and unworthiness of the American Dream are demonstrated in Gatsby’s experience with her and Tom. To elaborate on the latter’s

behaviour, Tom suspects Gatsby to be ‘some big bootlegger’ and frowns upon the people

at his party for all the ‘new money’ that they represent: ‘“Well, he certainly must have strained himself to get this menagerie together”’ (107). Also, after his dispute with Gatsby, he exclaims: ‘“I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out. …

Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions ...”’ (130). The reader gets to see the hypocrisy of Tom’s words, as he himself has had affairs.

Altogether, such behaviours – Tom’s sexual promiscuity, the debauchery at Gatsby’s parties, the excessive materialism – illustrate the decay of moral standards in the nineteen-twenties, which relates to the American Dream’s spirit of ‘no limits’. What is

more, Tom looks down on Gatsby when he finds out the latter’s fortune has been acquired shadily, suggesting the corruption of the American Dream: it can only be pursued by pushing over hurdles, causing the more advantaged to lose their respect, while their own characters do not prove very respectable either.

Fostering the delusion

Regardless of Daisy’s failure, Gatsby holds on to the illusion he has fabricated around her. Nick interprets how reality, in its inability to touch the magnitude of his dream, must appear disappointing to him:

There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart. (95-96)

When Nick speaks of a man’s ‘ghostly heart’, he refers to the place where Gatsby’s dreams were born – still a place of hope and desire in this way – and to where Gatsby desperately wishes to retreat. Fitzgerald may have instilled his own feelings of nostalgia in such parts of the novel, for in his personal notebooks he writes that after leaving Princeton, ‘he regretted that he had “lost somewhere, and lost forever” all the symbols of the city. But even then, when the city and its symbols seemed irrevocably lost, he saw, for one fleeting moment, its future as it lay “wrapped cool in its mystery and promise”’ (Kehl 312). These feelings of promise – paradoxically related to a sense of ‘loss’ – tie in

with the American Dream, for Kehl explains that the moral loneliness of Americans – fostered by the ‘American restlessness and nervous energy’ – can be understood as a quest for identity (310). The American Dream answers to this quest with its ‘promise of freedom, of limitless potentiality, of the attainability of supereminent expectations’ (310). But while Gatsby has committed himself to such a quest, the promise appears to have encouraged his unrealistic views:

… he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at the unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about … (161)

What may once have been regarded as courage or hope has unquestionably

deteriorated into foolhardiness and delusion, leaving Gatsby alone in a world he hardly even recognises. The passage confirms that there was never any balance for Gatsby, only excess: ‘a single dream’ which he lived with for ‘too long’. While Aristotle stresses the importance of instilling balance and proportion in one’s life, through developing a moral character and choosing virtuous actions in accordance with a medial condition, ‘in a complete life’ notably, ‘for one swallow does not make a spring, nor does one day’, Gatsby has focused all his efforts on one single end in life – one green light at the end of a dock (10). Everything in his life has in fact been done for the acquisition of Daisy. We find out that Gatsby truly was an American lonely soul when none of his ‘friends’ attend his funeral. With Aristotle stating that a person requires friends in order to be happy,

since ‘a human being is a political being and one whose nature is to love with others’ (168), Gatsby’s lack of friendship is yet another indication of unhappiness.

The verdict: to dream or not to dream?

Does all this mean The Great Gatsby dramatically presents a fiasco of the pursuit of happiness? Gatsby indeed tumbles into many of the pitfalls Aristotle’s and Locke’s moral philosophy foresees. However, as we have seen, the American ideals of the twentieth century differ from intellectual thought. In Gatsby’s case, his version of the good life is revealed when the novel describes him metaphorically climbing to ‘a secret place above the trees’, in order to ‘suck on the pap of life’, paralleled with ‘gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder’ (110). As the ‘incomparable milk of wonder’ relates to the nourishment of one’s early dreams – when one is captivated by that which lies beyond reach – this idea embraces a pursuit that is not led by reason. This supposed ‘ingredient’ of the pursuit of happiness is also revealed when Nick, at the end of the novel, interprets the setting of Gatsby’s home:

… I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an æsthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder. (180)

Fitzgerald uses the last lines of the novel to synthesise and translate Gatsby’s

experiences into an overarching meaning. The passage shows how the American land once conveyed a promising sight to Dutch sailors, comparable to the green light Gatsby picked out at the end of Daisy’s dock. As the land answered to human dreams in ways they could neither contemplate nor imagine, it spoke to their capacity for wonder – something that both Aristotle and Locke leave out of their happiness ‘equation’. Gatsby embraces this capacity, finding himself magnetically drawn to that which remains unattainable within reality’s realm. As Nick, in spite of his wisdom, admires Gatsby, Fitzgerald allows for (and somewhere even applauds) this approach of desire over reason. He reaches for epiphany, explaining: ‘Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——’ (180). As we see, it does not matter that the envisioned prospect, rooted in early dreams, eludes people; their energy and vitality to work harder towards the American Dream are far greater than its possible failure. The hope that ‘one fine morning’ it will all have been worth it provides enough fuel. Fitzgerald ends with one last testimony of the bold and quintessentially American pursuit of happiness against all odds, showing its default, yet embracing the potential of humans’ desire for sentiments that once seemed to hold the best good in life: ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past’ (180).

3. Escaping the American Dream in The Sun Also Rises

Whereas Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics writes, ‘won’t knowing the good have great influence and – like archers with a target – won’t we be better able to hit what we

should?’ (2), The Sun Also Rises opens with Gertrude Stein’s famous statement, ‘You are all a lost generation’, instantly revealing its theme of disorientation. The ‘Lost

Generation’ of the early twentieth century is represented by Jake Barnes and his friends, who have no clear purpose in life and therefore indulge in merely hedonistic activities. In contrast to Jay Gatsby then, who steers all his actions towards the fulfilment of his dream, Hemingway’s characters are defined by a corresponding lack of direction. As they explore their way to life, the novel records the moral predicaments they fall into, exhibiting both their deterioration and growth.

The Lost Generation and its quest for meaning

A former soldier in the Great War (similar to Gatsby) and a symbol of the Lost Generation, Jake – the novel’s main character – belongs to ‘the generation of young Americans who had fought the war [and] became intensely disillusioned, as the brutal carnage that they had just faced made the Victorian social morality of early-twentieth-century America seem like stuffy empty hypocrisy’ (Shen 1728-1729). Jake witnessed his country’s former moral principles being proven meaningless, for the war showed an opposite manner of conduct and resolution; society’s prevailing thoughts on justice, morality, faith, humanity, and even love were therefore brought to an end. Since his generation was left without any proper moral tools, people were subjected to a harsh reality, with no guide on how to live in it.