Minimalist Philosophy: The Cheaper Your Pleasures, The Richer You’ll Be

An ancient Greek philosopher named Epicurus believed that we don’t need all these extravagant pleasures to be happy. Expensive luxurious vacations to distant places, accumulating an excessive amount of money and possessions, or acquiring power through politics will not lead us to satisfaction in the long run. If anything, such pursuits only make us crave for more and deprive us of time, energy, and, in some cases, our morality. Epicurus himself chose a simple life, enjoying weak wine, bread, and cheese, and discussing philosophy with friends.

People use the word ‘minimalism’ in different contexts. In music, it’s a style characterized by simplicity. There’s minimalistic art that uses only simple and abstract forms. And recently, there’s been a surge in people adopting minimalism as a lifestyle by minimizing their possessions to get rid of unnecessary clutter. These forms of minimalism seem to have one common denominator: they use the minimal to achieve a goal, whether it’s a nice piece of music or art or a pleasant living environment. But could we apply this principle to our overall well-being as well? How can we live happy, prosperous lives without breaking the bank? How can we be satisfied without cost? How can we be wealthy with only the bare minimum? Several philosophers of the past shed their light on questions like these. Let’s take a look on different views of wealth, desire, and pleasure and how being ‘rich’ can be pretty cheap.

Having lots of money and material possessions doesn’t necessarily make someone rich. Often, but not always, wealthy people crave to accumulate more while being afraid of losing what they have. They live with stress, mistrust of others, and, sometimes, are entirely isolated from the masses who aren’t financially well off. These people may successfully accumulate material wealth, but, in many cases, this doesn’t happen without significant sacrifice. For example, someone working eighty hours a week hardly has time to relax, and there’s only a little time left to spend with family and friends, the latter Epicurus believed to be one of the essential sources of wellbeing.

Moreover, according to a study in the American Journal of Industrial Medicine, consistently working more than 40 hours a week is detrimental to our health, as the risk of coronary heart disease increases significantly. Another study, published in the Journal of Occupational and Environmental Medicine, found that working more than 45 hours a week (for at least ten years) was associated with an increased risk of cardiovascular disease. Of course, not all rich people overwork, and not all people who overwork are rich. But there’s a correlation.

A book named The Way of Chuang Tzu written by Thomas Merton contains a series of the author’s own versions of Zhuangzi’s classic sayings. The Taoist philosopher observed how the world values “money, reputation, long life, and achievement.” The world condemns “lack of money, a low social rank, a reputation of being no good, and an early death.” More than two millennia later, nothing has changed. As Zhuangzi stated back then, people seek things the world values and avoid what it condemns. And if they’re deprived of what they seek, they experience panic and despair.

They are so concerned for their life that their anxiety makes life unbearable, even when they have the things, they think they want. Their very concern for enjoyment makes them unhappy. The rich make life intolerable, driving themselves in order to get more and more money which they cannot really use. In doing so, they are alienated from themselves, and exhaust themselves in their own service as though they were slaves of others. And so, there seem to be significant downsides to the concept of working hard to play hard. Is the playing worth the work? And if not, and we choose not to chase what the world values, are we then condemned to a life of misery? Or can we perhaps find cheaper pleasures that provide the same satisfaction?

Some people would argue that the American transcendentalist philosopher Henry David Thoreau was a minimalist. He lived at Walden Pond in a small cabin for two years, with only the necessities, like a bed, a desk, a table, and a few chairs. He wrote down his experiences during his stay, later published in a book named Walden. On March 11th, 1856, Thoreau described in his journal a contempt for wealth and traveling compared to the simple life and the streams, woods, and natural phenomena he encounters in his own village. He figured that if he’d let himself get used to luxury, distant travel, or the tastes of fine wine or brandy, then those things become more and more to him, and the simple things less and less.

He’d need expensive pleasure to satisfy his needs. As an example, he stated that exchanging the city of Paris for his native village would be a “wretched bargain.” And yes: the hassle and the increased cost of living are consequences of developing a taste for things beyond our necessities. The easily accessible enjoyments may then move to the background and may be considered uninteresting, boring, and insufficient to satisfy our needs. We got ourselves ‘hooked’ on expensive pleasures, which also come with higher prices. Furthermore, some people may be hooked explicitly on the idea that the things they enjoy are ‘expensive.’ The actual pleasure these things provide is secondary.

Thoreau stuck to the most common events and everyday phenomena, like what his senses perceived during his daily walks, conversations with his neighbors, and the sight of marsh hawks in Concord meadows. He wrote: In this sense, I am not ambitious. I do not wish my native soil to become exhausted and run out through neglect. Only that traveling is good which reveals to me the value of home and enables me to enjoy it better. That man is the richest whose pleasures are the cheapest. We could say that the wealthiest person isn’t the one who has the most but the one most satisfied with what he has. And that being full of desires to be fulfilled is poor, but being content is rich. “If thou wilt make a man happy, add not unto his riches but take away from his desires,” Epicurus once said.

But what are these cheap pleasures Thoreau speaks about? How can we enjoy life with minimal cost? There are different ideas on what cheap pleasure entails, as ‘pleasure’ is different for everyone, and whether or not something is cheap depends on one’s circumstances. The 19th-century author, geologist, and evolutionary thinker Robert Chambers, for example, stated in a journal that reading is an inexpensive way of deriving pleasure. He stated: Reading, in fact, is nowadays almost as free as air. It would thus appear that all the best pleasures are the cheapest. Nature seems to tell us that we have only to restrain our wishes to what is good, and pure, and elevating, in order to be satisfied without cost.

Chamber’s suggestion is in line with Arthur Schopenhauer’s views on pleasure. In one of his essays, he argued that the highest pleasures are the pleasures of sensibility, or intellectual pleasures, such as thought, a taste for poetry, learning, reading, and meditation. According to Schopenhauer, all other pleasures (that are not of the intellect) are of a lower kind. They’re always satisfied at the cost of pain. Intellectual pleasures are often very cheap. Those who enjoy them can consider living in today’s day and age a blessing, as food for the intellect is widely available and basically free of cost. However, what Schopenhauer calls ‘lower’ pleasures can nevertheless be cheap. For example, enjoying a nice meal doesn’t have to be expensive if you cook it yourself, especially when it’s a simple meal, which Epicurus would endorse. The price of walking is ‘muscular energy,’ but not too much, and is, aside from that, an activity free of charge.

What pleasure is most enjoyable but also very affordable? Epicurus may have an answer to that question. His philosophy distinguished moving pleasures from static pleasures. Moving pleasures involve activity to satisfy one’s desire, like eating in a restaurant when hungry. Static pleasures, however, occur when a desire is satisfied. For example, the moment one isn’t hungry anymore. According to Epicurus, the highest pleasures are the passive pleasures, in other words, the lack of discomfort or, simply, contentment. Like Schopenhauer’s view on pleasure, Epicurus thought that ‘moving pleasures’ take a lot of effort. Pursuing them could also be dangerous. Of course, the degree of effort and danger depends on the pleasure itself. For example, opening the fridge and taking out some food doesn’t take a lot of effort, and, most of the time, isn’t very dangerous. But traveling around the world requires us to earn and save a lot of money, go from place to place, negotiate with people, and keep ourselves safe in foreign areas. Static pleasure, on the other hand, takes no effort at all. It’s simply the feeling of contentment after our needs are satisfied.

Schopenhauer, in turn, recognizes that happiness consists, for the most part, of “peace of mind and contentment.” But to achieve this, we need to reduce a strong impulse of human nature, which he called the ‘will-to-live.’ And that’s challenging to do, as it requires a degree of asceticism that is probably not reserved for the vast majority of humankind. So, how do we achieve static pleasure? Is there a way to be content as often as possible without becoming an ascetic? If Thoreau, Chambers, Schopenhauer, Zhuangzi, and Epicurus were still alive, they would’ve possibly agreed that satiating ourselves through simple, affordable pleasures is our best bet. Such pleasures are easy to come by and widely available; making them the source of our enjoyment saves us from the stress we’d experience if only what’s scarce and expensive would satisfy our needs. The cheaper our pleasures of choice, the less time and effort we need to attain them, and the more we enjoy not wishing for anything else. If that isn’t the ultimate form of minimalism, then what is?