A decent read, but it could have gone deeper and been more encompassing in its reach, considering its subject matter (suffering, meaning, sacrifice, etc.) Not terrible, but not great either.
Some people think that people are natural hedonists, caring only about pleasure. But the author adopts a position of motivational pluralism, the idea that there is no single monovalent value that lies at the bottom of people’s desires. The book defends three related ideas:
- First, certain types of chosen suffering can be sources of pleasure.
- Second, a life well lived is more than a life of pleasure (but includes pleasure, in a transcend and include manner.)
- Third, some forms of suffering are essential to living a complete life.
Pain, owing to our interpretive capacity (which is essential for life, as Feldman-Barrett, Schachter and Singer, the pomos and the feminine-minded are absolutely correct to emphasise) can be good. We can interpret pain to be good, if, say, it’s in the service of some higher goal. Pleasure has more to do with happiness in the moment (hedonia), and meaning has more to do with happiness through time (eudaimonia), but it’s destructive of happiness in the moment. Meaning and happiness aren’t antithetical, but they can be isolated or experienced together.
Why do we seek pain? We respond to differences, not absolutes, which means something can become pleasurable not because of any stand-alone properties it has, but in contrast to the experience of the past. So we seek pain, firstly, in order to maximise the contrast with future experience and generate future pleasure. But the balance has to be right; the pain can’t be disproportionate to the future pleasure. Secondly, voluntary pain also causes us to lose our ‘selves’, similar to meditation or drugs, which is another facet of its universal appeal. Thirdly, it’s a costly signal of a social pleasure; we could advertise our toughness, our religious devotion, etc.
The law of least work says that organisms take the path of least resistance when possible. But effort itself can be a pleasure as it sweetens the value of the products of labour. As Taylor Swift says: “Men only want love if it’s torture.” If you suffer for something that gives delight, soon the suffering can give joy. But we can go further and state, with Bloom, that certain pursuits are intrinsically joyful regardless of the results that occur and that it’s the struggle itself that is pleasurable. These are the flow states of Csikszentmihalyi. Some effort becomes intrinsically enjoyable when it’s seen as a game, and games have several properties:
- An attainable goal,
- Sub-goals and some indication of progress,
- Mastery, the right sort of difficulty,
- Social contact, camaderie, and competition,
- Collections (although this can be considered a fact of subgoals.)
But it isn’t just flow that’s necessary for a life well-lived; you need something more, something meaningful.
(This chapter was the one I disagreed with the most.) But what is meaning? We can point to things that are considered meaningful to people, such as climbing a mountain, going to war, bringing forth demon-stricken souls into the world (or having children), etc. What makes them meaningful? Bloom is surely correct to say that you can achieve a meaningful life without knowing you’re trying to do so or thinking about it; it doesn’t have to be explicitly stated. (Is this a further case of something that is positively destroyed by being explicit, in the same way that if you explain a joke it kills it? I’m inclined to believe so.) But the author slightly loses me when he claims that there’s no such thing as an abstract meaning of life, following Frankl’s assertions. “Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life to carry out a concrete assignment which demands fulfillment.” It’s a bit like asking a chess champion what the best move in the world is; it’s too vague and broad to be considered in the abstract, bereft of any grounding contextual particularity. I think I see the point in this, but I think this position is simply one in the long process of finding out what the general point of life actually is. In other words, discovering the meaning of life is a process, the opinion here espoused being merely one step in the completion of this process. (What is the final opinion then? The lack of all opinion, the cessation of thought itself. What is the meaning of life? To know God. Who, or what, is God? That is something that you have to experience for yourself if you want to have any dreams of ever understanding what life is all about; I am physically incapable of writing that answer out for you, not because I’m an unskilled writer (which I surely am) but because it is literally impossible to convey the meaning of life to anyone through any representational means.) The author then tries to find out what distinguishes a meaningful activity or experience from a meaningless one. After going through various lists that others have helpfully compiled, noting the similarities (belonging, purposeful behaviour, transcendence, and coherence) Bloom attempts to integrate what has come before:
“A meaningful activity is oriented toward a goal, one that, if accomplished, would have an impact on the world—and this usually means that it has an impact on other people. This activity extends across a significant portion of one’s life and has some structure—it’s the sort of thing that one can tell a story about. It often connects to religion and spirituality and often connects to flow (leading to the experience of self-loss) and often brings you into close contact with other people and is often seen as morally virtuous—but none of these additional features are essential.”
Next, the author tackles religion, which is our species’ longest and deepest attempt to make sense of suffering. Chosen suffering (in limited doses) is what people actually need to live meaningful lives; but what about unchosen suffering? Some religions teach that suffering is a product of a beneficent form of discipline; that suffering wakes us up when we become complacent in life. But does unchosen suffering make us better people? According to Bloom, not so. Surely there are instances of unchosen suffering making people stronger than they would have otherwise been; but too much and it makes us bitter and resentful.
I’ll end on the note that made me give this book 3 stars. He draws a distinction between hedonia and eudaimonia, which I’ve described before. (Hedonia is the moment, eudaimonia is the past/future.) Remember how the universe proceeds: A B A*, the dialectic of progress, the descent into chaos and the rise into order, differentiation and integration, transcend and include, etc. Bloom criticises Gilbert for disagreeing with Mill, who states that it’s better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied. Gilbert draws a distinction between the Experiencer (right) and the Observer (left), the former who enjoys a nice relaxing dip into the pool and the latter who criticises the animalistic impulses of the former. Surely we want to be the Observer, or Socrates, according to Bloom, because who wants to be a pig, right? He’s correct, I don’t want to be a pig, but I certainly don’t want to be dissatisfied either. I think there’s an even better way out of this “dilemma”; ‘Tis better to be the Buddha satisfied than either Socrates dissatisfied or the pig satisfied! Why? Because the Buddha has been to the depths of Socrates and come out better on the other side of suffering; he has descended into chaos and emerged in order; transcended and included rationality. Socrates is a necessary, and unpleasant, part of the journey but it doesn’t end there and to stop at Socrates would be to leave a job half-done. Ignorance is certainly bliss but only AFTER the hell of knowledge.