by Tim O'Keefe
TWELVE
Varieties of pleasure, varieties of desire
Because the Epicureans proclaim that pleasure is the highest good, they have often been tarred with the same brush that tars all hedonists: that they are unscrupulous, unbridled sensualists, busy stuffing themselves with dainties from the local Epicurean shop before engaging in lascivious dances and disgusting orgies. The Epicureans rightly protest that this involves a gross misunderstanding of their philosophy. Instead, mental pleasures are greater than physical pleasures, and lack of pain is itself a kind of pleasure. Indeed, the highest sort of pleasure is tranquillity, freedom from fear and anxiety. So they recommend paring down one’s desires to only the natural and necessary ones, which are easy to satisfy, and thereby gaining self-sufficiency and the confidence regarding the future that accompanies it.
Varieties of pleasure
The first distinction Epicurus makes is between mental and bodily pleasures and pains. In some sense, of course, all pleasures and pains are mental, in so far as one has to have a mind in order to experience them, and one experiences them primarily with one’s mind (although the Epicureans insist that the body too has a share in sensation). Likewise, in some sense all pleasures and pains are bodily, in so far as animals and their minds are corporeal, and pleasures and pains are (in this sense) corporeal states. Still, there are some pleasures and pains that are bodily in a commonsensical way. When I am hungry, or my hand is smashed with a meat tenderizer, I am aware of something wrong with my bodily state right now. And when I am enjoying the taste of a banana, or the sensation of a good shoulder rub, I am aware of something good going on with my body right now.
Mental pleasures and pains, unlike bodily pleasures and pains, are not confined to the present, but span the past, present and future. Memories of past painful experiences can themselves be painful, and memories of pleasurable ones pleasurable. Recalling being humiliated at school can still be painful today, whereas thinking back to hiking the mountains of Samos is soothing. Indeed, the Epicureans recommend that people should train themselves to recall sweet memories as a way to have pleasure always available to them (Cic. Fin. 157). Epicurus himself apparently did this while dying. He claimed that he was able to endure with equanimity the terrible agony of kidney stones by recalling past philosophical conversations with a friend (DL X 22). Likewise, anticipating the future can be painful or pleasurable, depending on how I expect it to go. If I have to go to get my wisdom tooth extracted by an incompetent dentist who performed the procedure badly the previous time, my anxiety in the week leading up to the procedure may well cause me more suffering than the operation itself. But if I manage to find another dentist recommended by friends, who in addition will do the procedure under full anaesthetic, I will face the procedure with a feeling of sweet serenity. These sorts of mental pleasures and pains, although they depend on bodily pleasures and pains – ultimately, they involve memories of past bodily pleasures and pains or anticipations of future bodily pleasures and pains – are nonetheless greater (Cic. Fin. 155).
The Cyrenaics, a group of rival hedonists who flourished around the time of Epicurus, disagree on both counts. First, they claim that bodily pains are worse than mental ones – presumably on the ground that they are, on the whole, more vivid and intense – and adduce as evidence for this that we punish wrongdoers with bodily pain (DL X 137). As noted, Epicurus disagrees with this on the grounds that mental pains encompass past, present and future, while bodily ones are confined to the present. But he could also have noted that, if we equate happiness with a pleasant life and unhappiness with a painful one (as hedonists should), most extremely unhappy people are unhappy not because they have a greater amount of bodily pains than others, but because of feelings of regret, dissatisfaction, anxiety and fear. And exceptionally happy people do not typically outstrip the rest of us in having more bodily pleasures, but greater joy and tranquillity.
But the Cyrenaics seem to have a stronger point when they object that not all mental pleasures depend on bodily ones. They give the examples of taking joy in conversations and ambitions (presumably, the memory of conversations and the anticipation of fulfilling one’s ambitions). Indeed, Epicurus himself seems to be describing exactly such a pleasure in the letter he dictates while in physical agony on the last day of his life, and Lucretius also describes his awe at beholding the wondrous workings of the universe, as revealed by Epicurus (DL X 22; DRN III 28–30). Basing all mental pleasures and pains on bodily ones is far too restrictive. The Epicureans could try to reply by saying that mental pleasures and pains need not each directly depend on bodily pleasures and pains, but only indirectly. For example, the ambition for political office may itself be held because a person (mistakenly) believes that by securing it he will be able to gain security from attacks by other people and enrich himself so as to satisfy his urge for bodily pleasures, and then my anticipation that I will attain this office is pleasurable. Still, such a manoeuvre probably covers at best only some mental pleasures and pains.
The second distinction Epicurus makes is between kinetic and katastematic pleasures. “Kinetic” pleasures, as the name suggests, involve movement. Bodily kinetic pleasures are associated with some sort of active titillation of the senses, for example the savoury, greasy taste of a sausage slathered with mustard as it caresses my tongue. They also seem to be associated with the process of satisfying some desire. For example, I am hungry, and this hunger is painful. But then, as I chew the sausage and swallow it, I am in the process of satisfying my desire for food and replenishing myself, and this process would be a bodily kinetic pleasure. These kinetic pleasures are what we usually think of when we think of pleasure.
But now, think of my state after I have eaten the sausage. I am full, and no longer suffering from the pain of hunger. The key Epicurean innovation is to insist that this state – of not being in pain or need, of having one’s desires satisfied – is not merely a neutral state, but another type of pleasure, a “katastematic” pleasure. The simple principle that allows us to declare such states pleasures is that everything we take delight in is a pleasure, just as everything that distresses us is a pain (Cic. Fin. I 37). And we take delight not only in sensory titillation, but also in the state of being free from pain or want.
On the mental side, Epicurus classifies “joy” as a kinetic pleasure (DL X 137). And the mental katastematic pleasure of being free from regret, fear and anxiety is ataraxia, or tranquillity.
Not only does Epicurus insist that these “katastematic” pleasures are pleasures, but he classifies them as the greater sort of pleasure. Indeed, he says that the removal of all pain is the limit of pleasure (KD 3), and that once this limit is reached, pleasure cannot be increased but only varied (KD 18). This is why he says, “The cry of the flesh: not to be hungry, not to be thirsty, not to be cold. For if someone has these things and is confident of having them in the future, he might contend even with Zeus for happiness” (SV 33, trans. in IG). A full, hydrated and comfortably warm person has reached the limit of bodily pleasure, which is aponia, or freedom from bodily distress. And since mental pleasures and pains depend on bodily pleasures and pains, a person who has confidence that he will continue on in this comfortable state will reach the limit of mental pleasure, which is ataraxia, or tranquillity. And this combination of aponia and ataraxia - with ataraxia being by far the more important of the two – is the pinnacle of happiness. Epicurus is properly called a hedonist, since he avows that pleasure is the sole intrinsic good. But given his idiosyncratic understanding of pleasure, with ataraxia being the primary constituent of the happy life, it may be less misleading to call him a “tranquillist”.
Understandably, this theory of pleasure attracted a wide range of attacks. The Cyrenaics claim that, for Epicurus, the happiest person is a corpse or somebody asleep (DL 2 88 [IG I-10]; Clement of Alexandria Stromates 2.21,130.8–9 [IG I-13]). But the Epicureans seem to have a ready reply. While corpses are free from pain and anxiety, there is a large d
ifference between being unconscious and being tranquil. Corpses do not take delight in being free from fear, while we can. So the Epicureans could say, quite reasonably, that while aponia and ataraxia are defined negatively as freedom from bodily and mental pain, they are still positive mental states that require a person to be aware of them to be pleasures.
Cicero raises a more serious set of objections (Cic. Fin. II 28–35). First, he claims that the lack of pain is not properly called a pleasure. We all understand pleasure to involve some sort of “sweet sensation”, as do those pleasures that Epicurus calls “kinetic”. If Epicurus wishes to say that the absence of pain is also intrinsically good, he may do so. But he should not ineptly group two disparate phenomena with little in common – pleasure and the absence of pain – under the single label of “pleasure”. Instead, he should just admit that we have a composite highest good: attaining both pleasure and the absence of pain. Or, since Epicurus misleadingly speaks of the absence of pain as the “limit of pleasure”, even though at other times he extols the pleasures of the senses, perhaps he would be better off simply admitting that the highest good is the absence of pain.1
But this admission would expose Epicurus to Cicero’s second objection. In his proof of hedonism, Epicurus points to the behaviour of infants. But, says Cicero, Epicurus believes that what rouses infants to action is the prospect of sensory pleasures, that is, “kinetic” pleasures, not merely the so-called pleasure of absence of pain. So, in order to remain consistent with the starting-point of his ethics, he should have said that kinetic pleasure is the highest good. But, embarrassed to expound such a sensualist theory, Epicurus switched to praising the austere, respectable “katastematic” pleasures instead. Although initially plausible, Cicero’s appeal to infant behaviour is not decisive against the Epicurean theory. Babies can be motivated by the prospects of a clean nappy, a full tummy and a warm blanket. And having attained all these things, they enjoy their state and are utterly content, needing nothing more to add to their pleasure.
Still, the first objection remains. Epicurus could simply and blandly repeat the formula that “anything we take delight in is a pleasure”, which encompasses both kinetic and katastematic pleasures and is sufficient to unite them as a single class. But this reply may seem insufficient. Furthermore, it leaves unanswered the questions of why katastematic pleasures are the greatest pleasures and why, once the state of freedom from pain has been attained, pleasure can be “varied” but not increased. Imagine that I am enjoying the state of being hydrated, full and warm. Then somebody offers me a small chocolate bon-bon, and I greatly enjoy the delicious taste of the dark chocolate. Why am I not experiencing more pleasure now than I was before, with the bon-bon pleasure added on top of all those katastematic pleasures? More generally, what is the place of kinetic pleasures (which the Epicureans admit are intrinsically good) in the Epicurean theory of the highest good, which seems to exclude them in preference to the katastematic pleasures of aponia and ataraxia?
These sorts of puzzles and difficulties have led some to think that perhaps Cicero slightly misunderstands or misrepresents the root of the Epicurean distinction between the two types of pleasure.2 (Cicero’s description of the distinction, our fullest report of it, has been the basis for the explanation of it above.) On this interpretation, Epicurus’ thinking on pleasure takes as its starting-point Plato’s discussion of pleasure and pain in the Philebus. According to Socrates, pain is the perceived disruption to or dissolution of an organism’s natural, healthy state. Pleasure is the perceived process of restoration of the organism toward its natural, healthy state (Phlb. 42d). This theory fits in with Lucretius’ descriptions of hunger, thirst, pain and pleasure. Lucretius writes that the substance of creatures’ bodies inevitably suffers losses over time as they exert themselves, undermining their bodily constitution. Awareness of this causes gaping hunger and panting thirst, and creatures instinctively seek food and water in order to restore their bodies and satisfy these cravings (DRN IV 858–76). Likewise, Lucretius says that pain occurs when the particles of matter in the body are disturbed from their place and reel around, whereas pleasure occurs when they are returning to their position (DRN II 963–6).
However, Socrates also says that the state in which one’s health is being neither restored nor disrupted is neither pleasurable nor painful (Phlb. 42d–e; see also Rep. 583c–84a), which implies that the state of having had one’s health restored is not pleasurable, whereas Epicurus insists that being aware that one is healthy in body and mind is highly pleasurable. So what distinguishes kinetic and katastematic pleasures is that kinetic pleasures are ones we are aware of while in the process of replenishing ourselves and restoring our natural state, whereas katastematic pleasures are the ones we are aware of when we are in the state of functioning naturally and healthily. This natural, healthy state will be painless. But it will involve awareness and sensory pleasures, pleasures that (contra Cicero’s report of Epicureanism in book one of On Ends) should be classified as katastematic, not kinetic.
On this view, Epicurus has perfectly good reason to set a limit on pleasure: once one has reached the state of functioning perfectly healthily in body and mind, a state that moreover is free of all turmoil and distress, one cannot increase the “amount” of that state or the satisfaction one takes in it. In this way, Epicurean pleasure would be almost utterly unlike Benthamite pleasure. For Jeremy Bentham, one can always toss another pleasure on top of the ones you are currently experiencing, or crank up the dial in the pleasure machine to increase the intensity of some pleasure from 10 to 11, and thereby increase the total number of hedons. Epicurus would also have some justification for his odd claim that unlimited and limited time contain equal amounts of pleasure (KD 19). For a Benthamite, duration increases amount: all else being equal, ten minutes of back rub pleasure will produce twice as many hedons as five minutes. But on the Epicurean view, it is far less clear that quantifying the amount of pleasure one receives according to how long it lasts makes any sense.
Varieties of desire
Epicurus, as noted above, advocates sorting through possible pleasures and pains and choosing among them based on their long-term consequences. The beer a friend is offering me now will bring me pleasure, and that pleasure is good. But because I have a job interview an hour hence, I should not choose this pleasure, as it would be more than outweighed by the pains caused by my not receiving the job and feeling great self-loathing. The main emphasis of Epicurean ethics, however, is not so much on picking and choosing from particular courses of action, as in the example above. Instead, it is on changing ourselves, by thinking through what we desire and making sure that we want only what we really need.
The Epicureans believe that to have a desire is to think we lack something good, which is painful, whereas the process of satisfying our desires, and especially the state of being free from want or need, are pleasant. So pleasure and desire-satisfaction are closely bound up. With respect to any given desire, we can take one of two strategies regarding it: we can strive to fulfil it, or we can eliminate it. For the most part, the Epicureans plump for the latter, advocating desire-reduction as the path to happiness.
The Epicureans divide desires into three classes: (i) natural and necessary; (ii) natural but not necessary; and (iii) vain and empty. Examples of natural and necessary desires are desires for food, drink and shelter. They are “natural” in the sense that all human beings naturally have them: we do not have to learn to want food when hungry, but seek it out instinctively. Because such desires are “hard-wired” in us in this way, they are difficult if not impossible to eliminate. Epicurus says they are “necessary” either for happiness, or in order to live free from bodily trouble, or even to live, period (Ep. Men. 127). You may be able to continue existing without clothing or shelter, but it will be cold and miserable. And absent food and hydration, you will soon die. Fortunately for us, these natural and necessary desires are easy to fulfil. Simply getting some rice and beans to fi
ll your belly is not that big a deal. This is especially true if you are part of a network of friends willing to help each another out, in case anybody falls on hard times and has trouble even getting the basics needed to live comfortably. Furthermore, these desires are naturally limited. As Epicurus puts it, it is false to think that the stomach is insatiable and requires unlimited filling (SV 59). Instead, once you eat enough, you are full. Of course, eventually you will need more, but that is all right. It is still not true that, no matter how much you eat, you still need more. These desires you should try to fulfil, and you should try to plan out your life so that you can be confident that they will be fulfilled.
The vain and empty desires are the opposite of the natural and necessary ones in every way. Examples include desires for fame, power and wealth. Unlike natural and necessary desires, I do not have these instinctively. Instead, I learn them, usually from a sick society. Epicurus would be disgusted by the advertising industry and consumer culture, which he would regard as corrupting. These vain and empty desires are based on false opinions about what I need. For example, I might believe that having a sleek sports car will make me happy and bring me the respect and admiration of other people, as they stare at me, jaws agape, while I speed by in a stylish outfit and wraparound sunglasses. Sadly, if I were to get such a car, I would simply look like a pitiful academic undergoing a mid-life crisis, and soon I would grow bored with my toy, while still owing large monthly payments on it. It would be easy to multiply examples: Botox treatments, unnecessarily large houses, game consoles and so on.