Chided for too many hits on the snack cabinet, a work colleague shrugged it off as an epicurean temperament. It is true that Epicurus, father of hedonism, placed pleasure at the root of all happiness. But unfortunately for my gluttonous friend (who, to his credit, was offering a mock-justification and not a real one), step two in Epicurus is to realize that pleasure is best secured by tracking your lifestyle and your appetites always toward simple pleasures and never toward luxury. It may seem counterintuitive at first glance, but the pursuit of luxury is perhaps the single greatest obstacle to pleasure (and therefore to happiness). Thus Epicurus.
I always liked the twist on happiness and pleasure that dominates the novels of 18th-century England. I believe it was Ann Radcliffe (whose gothic novel, The Italian, 1797, is in my opinion still the greatest example of that genre to date) who put it most succinctly, although I can’t find the quote. Something like, “Pleasure is the excitement that comes from the gratification of an appetite; happiness is the deep contentment that comes from a life of virtue.” Pleasure is a state of sensory excitement bound to a momentary appetite; happiness is a state of being that transcends the momentary appetites. Thus the eighteenth century.
My personal elaboration for today is this. The contrast between pleasure and happiness commonly drawn in 18th-century novels doesn’t mean they’re constantly at odds. Fortunately or unfortunately for us (depending on whether you prefer that life be interesting or that life be easy), there is simply no direct correlation between happiness and pleasure. Some surface pleasures may be conducive to happiness, and some may be destructive of happiness. Some may resonate with pure joy at the depths, and some may stir up turbulence and dissonance at the depths. It all depends on whether those pleasures are consistent or inconsistent with virtue, affirming or debasing one’s core health or any human connections in play. When surface pleasure and deeper happiness go together, it makes things easy. When they are at odds, there has to be a trade-off, no way around it, a loss on one side will compensate for the gain on the other. That’s when it gets interesting.
Very nicely shown.
Thus the razor’s edge. Very well-crafted, Dr. D.
Pingback: Epicureanism « Peter J. Braspenning; Author, Scientist, Entrepreneur & Epicurean
Pingback: Good Angels and Bad | shakemyheadhollow
Pingback: Moral Hedonism? | Hedonix's Weblog
Much of Eastern philosophy tells us that removal of desire is the route to happiness. However, if we remove all our desire, then we become inert creatures with no motivation in doing anything. I still haven’t managed to work this through in my mind.
I’d like to think, Steve, that the conundrum is a function of the messiness of language. Words are not metaphysically attached to meanings but accumulate clouds of meaning with repeated usage. “Desire,” for example. If we narrow its meaning to those appetite-driven desires, we could escape that kind of desire/attachment and still be motivated to work toward that virtue-driven happiness. Put into terms of our other recent discussion, we can give up (or minimize) our desire for personal gratification and still be motivated to serve others and the community. At least that’s how I’d try to integrate my blog entry with Eastern philosophy (and I think it’s consistent with Eastern role models from Buddha to Gandhi to the Dalai Lama).
Pingback: Unhappiness | shakemyheadhollow
Well done! You’re right. I did enjoy this piece. I wonder what happens when we add bliss to the conversation. 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
Interesting. Maybe “bliss” is our word for the sublime form of happiness in my schema?? That’s just a layman’s thought. Maybe someone has actually studied and systematized the use of these terms 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person