It’s common to discuss the evaluative metric of hedonic calculus in terms of “maximizing” pleasure and “minimizing” pain, aiming for a situation where, on balance, the agent experiences a greater return in happiness than their investment in effort. While this simplistic picture has its merits, the imprecise language involved could support two erroneous interpretations which, if left unchecked, lead either towards insatiable extravagance, or else, towards reserved timidity, each for the very same reason depending on where the emphasis is placed.
To tackle the easier error first, the exhortation to “minimize” pain could be, and historically has been, misconstrued as recommending a path of habitual caution and repression, where anything that might cause a measure of discomfort or hurt is routinely avoided, until, at the minimum extreme, it becomes impossible even to survive without enduring some small measure of exertion. This bare minimum, then, is taken to represent absolutely necessary human values, these and these alone are considered sufficient, the resulting state of numb subsistence is slapped with a shiny new name like eudaimonia or tranquility, and anything extra is avoided as deadly poison. “Surely that’s absurd!” you may say, but it is not difficult to find moderate ascetics of widely different stripes who have learned essentially the same clumsy lesson. These men and women rally against striving to achieve any “unnecessary” desires, arguing that, since they cannot mourn the absence, removal, or failure to achieve that which was never prized to begin with, they are also spared the great distress of want, loss, and disappointment. As such, those shrewd individuals systematically trim down their requirements to the bare minimum until what remains is so easily met as to be virtually assured of satisfaction. We may find our examples among the Cynics, Stoics, various mendicant monks, Buddhists, Jainists, Daoists, even some confused Epicureans — history is full of their kind, take your pick.
Of course, such a program in self-denial is ridiculous and, if anything is unnecessary, certainly we have found it here. In the words of Aristippus, “it is not abstinence from pleasures that is best, but mastery over them without ever being worsted.” These ascetics have simply lost their nerve — they are afraid of the possibility of disappointment; they shy away from comfort, out of fear that it will someday pass and disappoint them with its absence: they abstain from pursuing pleasure, not due to strength of character, but from weakness of spirit. By contrast, Epicurus maintains that just because all pleasures are good in themselves, this does not mean that all pleasures are choice-worthy, and conversely, just because all pains are bad in themselves, this does not mean that all pains are avoidance-worthy. Often, we should choose the painful, difficult, uncomfortable course of action, because it will lead to greater pleasure! But doesn’t this present a problem for an ostensibly hedonistic philosophy? On what basis are we to make our determination in any instance, if the pleasure or pain that it will cause is no longer enough? In fact, hedonic calculus remains the criteria, but as rational beings, we are able to make principled judgements about the expected outcomes of our activity beyond the sliver of a moment, such that we may judge something initially painful as tending to cause more pleasure in the future, and vice-versa for something initially pleasurable. This is the true import of the economy of pleasure, and like good economists, we do not use a single immediate variable as our sole determining factor, we must use general knowledge and principles to predict where the trends are heading in the future, though we can only enjoy them in the present.
This same argument can be applied to correcting the opposite error, which is to take “maximization” as some cosmic proclamation that only the highest peak-experiences ultimately count, and we should toil to procure greater and greater degrees of excitation. Sure, you may be content relaxing by the beach-side, but could you be doing cocaine instead? Well, consistent hedonism suggests you should! Oh, you are happily married, but wouldn’t a one-night stand or an affair offer extra pleasure? Hey, hedonism says it would! Similar examples are readily deployed as lazy reductio ad absurdum arguments against hedonistic philosophies. On the surface, they have the appearance of compulsion, or at least, they’re often compelling enough for most people to reject hedonism out-of-hand — to laugh it away, or to condemn it as dangerous degeneracy.
There are two main reasons why these arguments fail to hold up to the least scrutiny. The first is the inverse of the pain-avoidance argument: just because something is pleasurable, or even “more pleasurable”, in the immediate context, does not mean that it ought to be chosen if it will lead to greater pain in the long-run. This is the obvious flaw of the more absurd “maximization” arguments, and even those who proffer them will soon admit the illusion of legitimacy hinges on making an arbitrary insistence of short-sightedness, since the would-be hedonist will clearly be ruined sooner or later if they were to take this code of conduct seriously. How can any so-called “consistent hedonism” recommend a principle of action that will, even at a glance, cause the agent far greater pains than any pleasures gained? Obviously it cannot. The other argument runs in the opposite direction, and involves a misunderstanding regarding what it means to “maximize” one’s pleasure. It is not at all obvious that the cocaine-induced party-lover is actually experiencing “more” pleasure, in the relevant sense, than the leisurely beach-goer, or the studious chemistry student, even setting aside future consequences. What does “in the relevant sense” mean here? It means that the only course rational hedonism actually recommends is the one where, on balance, we experience a greater extent of joy than sorrow over a lifetime. The greater the extent of pleasure experienced, you see —not primarily the “degree” or “amount” — the better. Hence Epicurus summons us to continuous pleasure, not intense pleasure. Any modest level of pleasantness we actively enjoy, and can confidently expect to sustain, while maintaining peace of mind and avoiding bodily stress, is meeting the criteria of our hedonistic program, as guided by the faculties of nature. Within reason, we must add variety and spice, because monotony yields diminishing returns and stagnant habituation, and, as we covered earlier, one ought to take calculated risks or expend their efforts where these will generally add to our enjoyment. But where on earth does this additional duty to endlessly pursue “increase” for its own sake come from? God only knows.
The surest course for extending pleasurable experience over a lifetime actually recommends exercising temperance, and instructs us to greedily defend certain necessary preconditions for happiness, such as maintaining our self-control, confidence, and satisfaction. By contrast, far from achieving the pleasure he so desires, the insatiable “hedonist” who endlessly seeks after higher thrills, or who feeds a bottomless appetite, is suffering a mental illness which will assure he is never content no matter what he obtains. We can only enjoy pleasantness in the moment, it is not the kind of good that can be stored up, accumulated, saved for later — miss what is present, and it is gone forever. Our avaricious seeker will never stop to enjoy what he so desperately chases. Quite the counter-productive course. Hence, Aristippus teaches us to disdain excess, to dispense with the tiresome business of chasing after empty figments, and instead, to focus our energy on adapting and enjoying present circumstances in the most advantageous manner.
We Cyrenaics wish only to live as easily and pleasantly as possible, not to ceaselessly crank the dopamine dial to 11 in slavish service to Dionysius, nor again to shrink from any possibility that events may temporarily turn against us, committed to diminishing ourselves first lest the universe do it for us. We deserve better, and can readily achieve it.
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