Philosophy 101, part III - down with maths

Based on the experiences that I have gleaned from my long (one week + one day) career in blogging, I have come to the conclusion that the long posts in which I attempt to convey many ideas (other peoples' ideas at that) often fail to captivate.

Thus, today I sought one single idea from which I might gain a little inspiration.

I couldn't resist 'the greatest happiness principle', which 19th century philosopher Jeremy Bentham believed explained the meaning of our existence. I imagined that this greatest happiness principle would have something to do with strawberries, champagne, sunshine and many, many Oscar de la Renta dresses. Sadly it does not.

Very much unhappily, the greatest happiness principle or, felicus calculus is (in true post-enlightenment style) an algorithm for calculating just how much joy would result from any specific action.

In my book, the use of an algorithm to do any calculation is a sure fire way to pass an afternoon with very little joy of any kind. When I began this search I thought that I might be capable of being sufficiently open minded to accept differing spiritual views of life's meaning. Asking me to perform mathematical calculations is going a step further than I had hoped I would be asked to venture.

To measure pure, heartfelt, uninhibited, soulful, natural, face-stretching-grin, belly-sore-from-laughing joy, Bentham instructed us to ask 6 questions:

1. how strong is the joy?

2. how long will it last?

3. how likely is it that the pleasure will occur?

4. how soon will this happiness occur?

5. how likely is it that the action will be followed by sensations of the same kind?

6. what is the probability that it will not be followed by sensations of the opposite kind?

and John Stuart Mill made the addition of a 7th question:

7. how many people will be affected?

Following mathematical manipulation, the answers to these questions would supposed tell us just how moral was the act that we were considering.

Something tells me that if 19th century women had asked themselves these supposedly rational questions before deciding to chance a roll in the hay, few of us would be here today to question our existence.

Thankfully, obviously not too many a milking maid stopped in the throws of passion to make a quick back-of-an-envelope calculation to ascertain whether it would all be worth the fuss of getting undressed, and the human race lived to fight another day.

I am all in favour of looking before I leap and of trying to remember to consider the impact of my actions upon others, but I'll be damned if the meaning of my life will be calculated to be 42.

If I will make one rule for this search it will be this: the meaning of life may be messy and possibly undefined, but it will not be found through an utterly unpoetic mathematical calculation.

The happiness of different people is impossible to quantify. We are not beads on an abacus but complex, mystifying, flawed, beautiful possibilities.

If you wish to seek the meaning of life by means of long division I encourage you to do so, but you won't find that here.