Why I Write About Pleasure

A Manifesto

May 18, 2024

Writers abhor a vacuum! One reason I write about pleasure is because so few others do. Diane Ackerman’s Natural History of the Senses was published a full 34 years ago; Paul Bloom’s How Pleasure Works appeared in 2010. Who’s making it their focus today? (This is a genuine question: in the comments, please name contemporary authors on pleasure.) There are plenty of books about sex, but the other pleasures don’t get their due.

Perhaps there’s this dearth because it’s hard to write about pleasure. It’s easy to describe a mountain view—the snow-capped peaks, the towering pines, the valley green below. It’s harder to convey the thrill of being lightly scratched when you expected a caress. One can convey sound through onomatopoetic words: splashes and tinkles and rumbles and roars. But how to communicate the scent of your mother’s perfume? Or the taste of cinnamon? You can’t describe or explain or analyze it: you can only say “Chanel No. 5” or “cinnamon” and hope your readers have experienced it for themselves.

Pleasure extends beyond the five senses, such as the pleasures of cursive writing, and giving compliments and putting your hands in your pockets—all of which I’ve discussed in earlier Pleasure Principle posts. (Autocorrect just made it “Pleasure Principal”— a position I’ll gladly accept!) Although I have written a post called “The Big O: What Makes it so Big?,” not every pleasure is sensual, nor of major importance. But even minor pleasures can enhance the day, and it has become my self-imposed mandate to write about these, as well as to muse about pleasure in general.

An early Pleasure Principle post advised putting a single flower in a narrow vase and bringing it into your bathroom. The room is usually so small that one flower becomes the focal point, and it will bring you a small pleasure whenever you walk in.

It’s good to accommodate pleasure. A friend tells me she spends her first waking hour in bed with her iPhone. She used to feel furtive and guilty about it, but then she realized she loved that hour, and she decided to “allow” herself to enjoy it. Now she doesn’t blame herself for “wasting time”: that hour is one of her acknowledged pleasures.

What part should pleasure play in a life? Clearly, it’s different for everyone. I don’t advocate a pleasure-focused life; studies show that a purpose-driven life leads to greater happiness and fulfillment. Even Tennyson’s lotus eaters got bored. Pleasure alone does not suffice. Hundreds of books have been written about achieving happiness and meaning in life, and these books have probably helped some people achieve serenity.

But let’s not forget about pleasure! Within reason, and at no harm to others, I think we should welcome pleasure into our lives whenever we can. Although pleasure does not in itself bring happiness, surely pleasure is happiness-adjacent! So let’s hear it for hot-springs, and spring-rolls, and rolls in the hay!

Pleasure is my natural subject. I was a sensual little girl (as described in Just Say Yes: A Marijuana Memoir), and I grew up to be a sensual woman. At five I liked to spin until the room rocked and I fell: I loved the dizziness and being out of control. At eight, I was scheming for back rubs from my friends. At ten, I coated my pinkies with candlewax, and when I had a warm thick cap of wax on my fingers, I’d put them against the outside corners of my eyes for a 3-second jolt of ecstasy. At 13, when bored in class, I’d constrict my upper arm against the chairback until the whole arm felt depleted—and then I’d release it, just to feel the blood-rush.

You’d think with that background that I’d have ended up using hard drugs, but only pot appealed to me. I need to slow down and chill, and weed is good for that, and safe. And pot helps me sleep really well. In addition, cannabis is known for enhancing certain pleasures, in particular food, music, and sex. Getting stoned and listening to Bach in a church is a peak experience.

So what is the pleasure principle? The term was invented by Freud (he wasn’t all wrong) to refer to the way humans instinctively seek pleasure and avoid pain. And not only humans: your dog wants your couch and not the hard floor. Humans gravitate to what gives them pleasure: the beach, the barbecue, the new lover. Freud thought of humans as having a pleasure-driven id (the most basic self), a constraining super-ego (often dictated by society), and an ego which mediates between the two.

The contradiction between wanton desire and societal restraint is the subject of many a novel, and the pleasure principle does not always prevail. (Just ask Anna Karenina.) But in everyday life, in ways large and small, the pleasure principle can bring us joy.

PS I asked ChatGPT4 to describe this Substack. Here’s what he/she/it/they said!

Catherine Hiller's Substack, The Pleasure Principle, focuses on savoring life after the age of 50. She explores themes of pleasure through her personal essays, blending literary insights with real-life experiences. Hiller's writings often reflect on the unexpected joys and the enduring capacity for pleasure and love, even as one grows older. Her perspective is informed by her extensive background as a novelist and essayist, touching on both the subtle and profound aspects of living a pleasurable life beyond conventional youthful exuberance.