Pleasure Yes, Pain No—Part 1

A number of philosophers over the last few millennia have advised us to make many of life's choices from the perspective of a very simple guideline: seek pleasure and avoid pain. One of the first proponents of this concept was Epicurus, an ancient Greek philosopher, living in the 4^th century BCE, who established a school in Athens. Epicurus maintained that we have an innate drive within us to want to experience pleasure and to do what we can to escape pain. It's natural; we don't have to cogitate on it. All animals instinctively do it and we humans—just another animal—do it too.

Some two thousand years later a few Enlightenment philosophers were giving pretty much the same advice. Both Jeremy Bentham (18^th century) and John Stuart Mill (19^th century) founded the Utilitarian concept that it is nature's influence which drives humans to seek happiness and eschew pain. This simple directive very much appeals to me, yet I shy away from using the terms “pleasure” and “pain.” Why? For one, I'm aware that history has not been kind to Epicurus. Look in any dictionary and find that an “epicure” is one who “takes particular pleasure in fine food and drink.” An epicurean is one who is “devoted to sensual enjoyment.” Epicureanism “advocates hedonism.” So says the dictionary.

In the 2500 years since Epicurus walked the streets of ancient Athens, his pleasure/pain message has gotten distorted; which has discredited his wider teachings in many people's minds. In fact, his reputation was being dragged through Greek gutters even as he lived, as pernicious rumors were spread by opponents of his teachings. The slandering process transformed his message from a simple, beneficial one into one of debauchery and licentiousness. His ethical teaching unjustly became unfairly reviled in the eyes of many people, over the years.

Epicurus became portrayed as a sensual degenerate, but the fact is that he and his followers lived lives of simplicity and moderation. Their aim was to put attention to what is required of us to live morally, while avoiding all forms of over-indulgence. It's unfortunate that their message of temperateness became submerged.

There is no question that Epicurus' philosophy was largely discredited because people have chiseled his message into stone, by insisting on using those terms “pleasure” and “pain.” It's unfortunate that these English words have become the accepted translations for the Greek words that he used. In fact, the words pleasure and pain are well off Epicurus' original intent; they are even misleading. So, before I proceed, let me look for two English words which I think better capture the essence of what he meant.

The Greek word that Epicurus used to describe the absence of pain was ataraxia. Its meaning is an untroubledness of mind; a tranquility; or freedom from disturbance. It implies an ideal state of mind. A few alternative English words (from the thesaurus) that also capture the meaning of ataraxia are: contentment, fulfillment, happiness, and serenity. All of these words describe a state of mind that results from the examined life—very much in contrast to a shallow life of pleasure and entertainment. So when I ponder Epicurus' message, I think more along the lines of seeking tranquility and serenity, not pleasure.

More on Epicurus' message next time...

Trolley Quandary—Part 2

Interestingly, a modern (as well as more realistic) version of the trolley quandary has recently come up. It features the issue of how to program the software of autonomous cars. The quandary: you are riding in such a car and an unavoidable accident is about to occur. Should the car's software be written in a utilitarian manner—that is, to choose a course of action that harms or kills the fewest people? What if those harmed might include you, the owner of the vehicle? Would you buy the car with that program, or would you want the car's autonomous program altered to protect you at all costs, regardless of who else might be harmed or killed?

This is a problem that is currently causing a real ethical dilemma in the autonomous car world. Recently, in late June, a Tesla Model S car, on autopilot, failed to see a truck enter an intersection in Florida. The car kept going and killed the rider/driver of the car. Now this is a real trolley problem. What should be done about the car's software program, to avoid future such accidents? [Update: another Tesla car crashed, in somewhat similar circumstances.]

The issue for Tesla seems to be that they are releasing the car's software for beta-testing by the public. Beta-testing is a common practice used by high tech companies, which has customers flush out software bugs—such as in smart phones. It's a way of allowing those companies to rush new technology into people's hands, and then improve and debug the product, using customer feedback. These companies admit that failure of their product is part of the game; you don't progress at a fast pace without failure, they say. There is a good argument that, while this practice may be acceptable for smartphones, it can be dangerous for cars—where safety is a prime issue. Major car companies traditionally thoroughly test safety items before releasing them. Is Tesla playing with customers' lives?

Once again, I find the autonomous car software problem not to be all that likely. Sure, a death happened, but was it a different problem than the trolley car, that could be solved a different way? You may posit a simple scenario for the autonomous car (such as which way to direct the car in an impending crash), as in the case of the trolley car problem, but in the end it's just a thought experiment. It's an abstract situation that may never really occur. Furthermore, the unfolding of the actual accident may not present just those two contrasting alternatives. In a real accident, there may well be many other options that cannot be foreseen, or tiny events that could completely alter the situation. I find it impossible to imagine that anyone could program the car's software to adequately cover all possibilities.

However realistic or unrealistic the trolley car quandary or the autonomous car situations are, I see a more general issue that needs to be addressed. We have had countless technical innovations introduced into society—most of them sold to us through the advantages they offer us. They save time or money; they solve society's problems or offer wondrous advantages. We have often rushed to make these technical “solutions” reality; sometimes to later experience a greater harm.

For example, DDT was once offered as a miracle solution to mosquito diseases. It then nearly wiped out several bird species. Oil and coal offered humanity wondrous kinds of energy sources; now they threaten to warm the climate to dangerous levels. The atom bomb was developed to end World War Two; now we have nuclear proliferation that threatens to make many species extinct—maybe including us. And how about the innocent intent of Dr. Frankenstein? He created a creature who subsequently wreaked havoc.

In our rush to introduce new technology, we usually don't pause to ponder the potential downsides. We throw caution to the winds, in the name of the advancement of science and an easier lifestyle. Science and technology are often billed as amoral disciplines—unconcerned either with ethics or the questions of right and wrong, and thus we can go forward with no concern to the downside of their applications. Their use, however, often leads to moral quandaries. We could benefit from more caution, from pausing and considering the potential moral ramifications of unbridled technology.

Trolley Quandary—Part 1

There is a classical thought experiment that has been wrestled with by practitioners in the fields of ethics, psychology, and cognitive science; often termed the “trolley problem.” It was conceived of the the mid 20^th century as a way to explore how people would respond to a hypothetical ethical situation, in which they were faced with the imminent death of either one person or five people—positing that the observer had the ability to choose between one or five deaths, but must choose one or the other. In the hypothetical scenario you can't choose neither... it's either one death or five.

The scenario is often described thusly: a trolley car is barreling down train tracks. You are standing next to a lever that can divert the trolley off to a sidetrack. If the trolley keeps on its present course, you can see that five people (who are either disabled or tied to the tracks) will be run over. If you flip the lever, however, the trolley will be diverted to the sidetrack, where only one person is tied down and will be killed. What do you do? Do you passively watch five people get run over, or take action to save them (flipping the switch), which kills only one person?

The trolley quandary has been described in several alternative scenarios—maybe some of them more likely than others. It has been a common thought experiment that illustrates the essence of the concept of utilitarianism—an ethical philosophy that seeks to maximize the well-being (or minimize the harm) of all creatures involved in a situation. It is sort of a numerical approach that tallies up suffering and happiness and chooses the path of least suffering... or maximum happiness. In the trolley car dilemma it is clear that a utilitarian wouldn't hesitate to pull the lever—thus sacrificing one person to save five. The mathematics is simple and straightforward—the choice is clear. One or five.

I find myself objecting to this thought experiment, however, because it seems to me to be a rather far-fetched scenario. It's unlikely I'd ever find myself in such a situation, and if I were, I doubt that the details of the dilemma would be as clean as described. I rebel at the narrow and even unrealistic choices presented. So much for my hangup with the scenario.

Psychologists and philosophers have a ready answer to my objection, by positing any number of more likely scenarios—each of which just presents the same dilemma: I must choose to sacrifice either one or five lives. Which would it be? What would I do? Quit prevaricating and choose!

For argument's sake, here's another scenario that may be a little more realistic: I'm a transplant surgeon who has five patients who will soon die, if they don't get an organ transplant. Along comes a bum, an itinerant hobo who happens to be a perfect match for all five patients. Would it be ethical for me to sacrifice that neer-do-well guy, in order to save the five patients?

More trolley quandary next time...

Pleasure or Pain?—Part 2

To return to Bentham's insistence that it is our very nature to seek pleasure (happiness) and avoid pain, it is interesting that he reached his conclusion over half a century before Darwin had the insight that evolution was the cause of our innate drives. While Bentham grasped the fact that this behavior for all creatures was “natural,” Darwin described for us how it came to be. That is, those critters who were good at finding pleasure and avoiding pain were more likely to survive, because their lives were more robust and fit, and they succeeded in passing on this capability to their offspring. In contrast, animals who did not succeed were more likely to perish—if only because their quality of life was poor—and not have offspring.

One of the challenges of those who subscribe to Bentham's ideas of utilitarianism is to know when we've acquired enough pleasure or happiness. Can we control ourselves, so that life does not become one extended obsession of seeking pleasure? Humans have not been very good at reining in their greed. In fact, too many of those who get a taste of pleasure go overboard with it. A prime example is today's ultra-rich who seize all they can get and create overwhelming economic inequality. Bentham and others saw that it must be the job of government to check inequality and ensure justice for the populace. It's not working very well in the US, today, however, largely due to the fact that the super rich pretty much control government through their corporate power.

On the other side of the coin, we can ask: Should we go to extremes to avoid pain? Is all pain bad? It may be natural for us to shun pain, but are there occasions when we might need to face it? Unlike animals, our cognitive abilities can help us examine the need to avoid pain all the time, and do something about it. Doesn't it make sense to visit the dentist and endure the discomforting prick of the novocaine needle and have a cavity filled, so I won't have to endure much greater pain later, when the tooth becomes abscessed? As another example, I attribute a good deal of the enduring relationship I have with my wife to the discomfort we endured during several conflict resolution sessions we have had over the years. It was downright painful to have to admit a few times that I was wrong in something I did or said.

Volumes of philosophical tomes and many psychological studies have pondered the struggle to balance pleasure and pain. Like most issues of philosophy, there never is a clear and final truth to be discovered. Life is too complex for that.

Maybe the best we can do is to make ourselves as aware of the inherent nature of pleasure and pain as we can, and then move through life, constantly seeking the appropriate balance at each step along the way. Seek happiness, but don't go overboard with it. Control yourself. Similarly, the avoidance of pain is natural, but it seems to me that it's more a case of taking a close look and having the courage to face pain when it makes sense to—especially when it brings the opportunity to learn. It doesn't make sense, however, to invite unnecessary pain into our lives. That just causes damage.

Pleasure or Pain?—Part 1

Every creature—from gigantic blue whales down to microscopic bacteria—shares a common tendency: to seek pleasure and avoid pain. This seeking-versus-avoidance behavior is so deeply ingrained in us that we almost never think about it. In fact, it's instinctual... we don't have to think about it, because evolution has made it innate in us. We do it naturally. We humans grab for pleasure—sex, food, warmth, comfort—just as an insect does. Similarly, we back off from pain much like a worm or a bear does.

Many philosophers have pondered this pleasure-or-pain phenomenon, and have come up with a wide range of theories and explanations for this behavior. One of the early Enlightenment philosophers to delve into this topic was an oddball Englishman named Jeremy Bentham. He was both a philosopher and a social reformer who founded the school of utilitarianism in the early 1800s. Utilitarianism seeks the “greatest happiness” in the populace—defining happiness as a predominance of pleasure over pain. Bentham was convinced that it is our nature to have the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain literally drive our behavior—that they “govern us in all we do, in all we say, in all we think...”

A couple of millennia before Bentham, the Greek philosopher Epicurus had some of the same ideas. Both he and Bentham felt that a lot of human behavior is driven by our desire to seek pleasure and avoid pain. In fact, Epicurus decided that the very basis of human fulfillment is dependent on our success at finding pleasure.

Unfortunately, the use of the word “pleasure” can be problematic, because it too often carries the connotation of shallow amusement or sensual gratification. Thus Epicureanism came to be associated with hedonism—a misinterpretation that has caused many people to shy away from Epicurus' ideas—especially the more straight-laced Protestants. Neither Bentham nor Epicurus advocated hedonism. So in order to avoid some of the controversy, I think a more appropriate word is happiness, rather than pleasure. We all seek happiness, in the sense that we wish for peace, health, safety, and spiritual fulfillment.

More on Pleasure or Pain next time...