Ends and means. Unamuno 1.15
The purpose of our life cannot be to achieve goals that require the destruction of our humanity. If doing better means destroying ourselves, then we should not do better. Thus Unamuno. You can listen to this passage <here>.
Todo lo que en mí conspire a romper la unidad y la continuidad de mi vida, conspira a destruirme, y, por lo tanto, a destruirse. Todo individuo que en un pueblo conspira a romper la unidad y la continuidad espirituales de ese pueblo, tiende a destruirlo y a destruirse como parte de ese pueblo. ¿Que tal otro pueblo es mejor? Perfectamente, aunque no entendamos bien qué es eso de mejor o peor. ¿Que es más rico? Concedido. ¿Que es más culto? Concedido también. ¿Que vive más feliz? Esto ya ..., pero, en fin, ¡pase! ¿Que vence, eso que llaman vencer, mientras nosotros somos vencidos? Enhorabuena. Todo esto está bien, pero es otro. Y basta. Porque para mí, el hacerme otro, rompiendo la unidad y la continuidad de mi vida, es dejar de ser el que soy, es decir, es sencillamente dejar de ser. Y esto no: ¡todo antes que esto! ¿Que otro llenaría tan bien o mejor que yo el papel que lleno? ¿Que otro cumpliría mi función social? Sí, pero no yo.
«¡Yo, yo, yo, siempre yo! -dirá algún lector-; y ¿quién eres tú?» Podría aquí contestarle con Obermann, con el enorme hombre Obermann: «para el universo nada, para mí todo»; pero no, prefiero recordarle una doctrina del hombre Kant, y es la de que debemos considerar a nuestros prójimos, a los demás hombres, no como medios, sino como fines. Pues no se trata de mí tan sólo: se trata de todos y de cada uno. Los juicios singulares tienen valor de universales, dicen los lógicos. Lo singular no es particular, es universal.
Everything within me that conspires to break the unity and continuity of my life is conspiring to destroy me, and thus to unmake itself as well. Every individual within a people or town who conspires to break the spiritual unity and continuity of that population works to bring about its destruction, and his own as part of it. Perhaps another population is better? Certainly possible, though we have no sure understanding of better or worse. Maybe it is richer? Granted. Perhaps it has better manners? Granted again. Perhaps it lives better, with more happiness? This is already dubious, but fine, let it be so. Could we say that it wins while we lose? Wonderful. That is all fine, but this victorious town is not ours. And that is the end of the matter. For in my experience, making myself other than I am—breaking the unity and continuity of my life—is ceasing to be what I am, ceasing in fact to exist. And that I will not concede: anything but that! Another might easily take my job and do it as well or better than I, fulfilling my social role—but then I wouldn't be doing it.
“Me, me, me!” some reader will say. “And who are you, anyway?” I could answer like the great Obermann (†): “To the universe I am nothing; to myself, everything.” But no. I prefer to recall one of Kant's doctrines: that we should consider our neighbors, other humans, as ends rather than means. This is not just about me; it touches each and every individual. Singular judgments carry the value of universals, the logicians say. The singular is not particular, but universal.
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(†) The fictional author of a series of epistles composed by Étienne Pivert de Senancour (1770-1846). Son of a royal courtier in the ancien régime, young Senancour fled a career in the church to pursue life in Switzerland, where he married and eked out a living by his pen. The Revolution left him with no footing in France, whose new government recognized him as an aristocrat-in-exile. His character Obermann is to a certain extent autobiographical—living alone in the Alps, frustrated by his inability to give proper ethical expression to his moral ideals.