If pleasure is all one or reducible to one, then there is no discernible difference between the pleasure obtained through reading literature, listening to music, or viewing art. Nor would such pleasures be discernible from those obtained through sport, or chopping wood, or playing push-pin. If maximising pleasure is your passion, then you might choose between activities based upon the quantity of pleasure that would ensue.
If pleasures are irreducible, then the pleasures obtained through reading literature, or listening to music, or playing push-pin are distinct. If maximising pleasure is your passion, then either you must employ some further metric in order to rank the variety of distinctly different pleasurable activities and aim to maximise that instead, or you must opt to maximise all pleasurable activities whenever the opportunity arises.
Are pleasures reducible or irreducible? Either answer has unsettling implications. The situation hints at an underlying confusion about the nature of pleasure. And perhaps this is what prompts me to pause over the claim that we “act for the sake of pleasure”. I am not sure that I understand what that actually means.
Let’s take an example from reading literature since that tends to be a common subject for this blog. Here are two novels that I very much enjoyed reading this past year: The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker and Excellent Women by Barbara Pym. Without doubt I obtained pleasure through reading these works. Would it make sense to say that I read them for the sake of pleasure? How would that be possible if I hadn’t read them already and could reasonably expect pleasure to be obtained? Certainly I read many novels this past year that were not accompanied by any abundance of pleasure; a few might best be described as unpleasurable. Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say in each of these cases that I am reading for some other purpose and that pleasure or pain is merely a fellow traveller? Of course I do tend to prefer, after the fact, those novels whose reading is accompanied by pleasure. But I surely haven’t read them for pleasure’s sake.
The Anthologist and Excellent Women share some features. A lightness of touch. Poignancy. Gently humorous situations and observations. A sureness in the authors’ choice of words. No doubt it was these shared characteristics that prompted a friend to recommend Pym’s Excellent Women to me when we were enthusing about Baker’s The Anthologist.
I tend to read literature with the hope of discovering wonderful writers. Writers who through their captivating characters and situations, and most especially through their careful crafting of their texts create objects that delight and inspire. I think that great writing is morally rich. It challenges and puzzles and urges the reader, all without declaring itself. It nurtures our moral lives (as opposed to proffering moral instruction). I almost never know exactly what to make of a novel that I rate highly. And this holds true for both of these novels. But I always think that spending time with such works is worthwhile.
If a little pleasure wants to come along for the ride, so much the better.