Pleasure sucks.

I can hear you now: “Adam, you’re writing in PLAYBOY, America’s foremost publication dedicated to pleasure. Are you seriously going to argue that pleasure, the very feeling that makes life worth living, ‘sucks’?”

Yes, I am. Sorry, you velvet-clad sybarites. Pleasure isn’t all that great, and the idea that it makes life worth living doesn’t stand up to the barest scrutiny.

The problem is that pain is a lot more powerful than pleasure. The South African anti-natalist philosopher David Benatar points out this fundamental asymmetry: “The worst pains are also worse than the best pleasures are good. Those who deny this should consider whether they would accept an hour of the most delightful pleasures in exchange for an hour of the worst tortures.”

Okay, I’ll bite: Would I, in exchange for one hour of supremely satisfying intercourse with a sexually and emotionally fulfilling partner of my choosing, agree to be waterboarded for one hour while a demon slowly peels off my toenails with a pair of red-hot pliers, a stinging jellyfish gives me a titty twister and an Amazonian candiru fish swims up my penis?

Don’t know about you—I’ll pass.

Because pain traumatizes and injures, its effects linger long after it’s felt. Pleasure, on the other hand, is fleeting. As soon as it arises, it’s gone.

If I may offer a personal example: As I write this, I’m sitting next to a pool at a hotel in Phoenix. The sun is warm, the wind is blowing, and I have a cold beverage in my hand. If anything is pleasurable, it’s this! But tomorrow, I have to get up at four a.m., go to the airport and fly coach, with a layover, to Montreal. It doesn’t matter how lovely it feels to dip my piggies in the pool today; tomorrow’s going to suck. Once again, pain has the upper hand.

Even if we were somehow able to craft lives for ourselves in which we felt pleasure every waking moment—and in America in 2019, this seems to be the goal of an awful lot of people—we would still never be content. “Sure, this is nice,” I think, sitting by the pool, the breeze ruffling my hair, “but wouldn’t it be even nicer if it were a few degrees cooler, and if I looked better with my shirt off, and if those kids from Ohio weren’t hogging the hot tub? I wish I were richer so I could start my own hotel and ban kids forever! That would be the life!” And on and on. Pleasure feels nice, but it never truly makes us happy.

Finally, let’s not forget that our pleasure often comes at the expense of another’s pain: That fat cat up in first class may be enjoying his lie-flat seat, but is it worth it when its existence means those of us in back are all the more cramped and miserable?

The truth is, pleasure is not a goal worth striving for. So what, instead, should we seek? I would argue that the answer is satisfaction. Satisfaction isn’t a fleeting sense of joy or titillation; it’s a feeling of abiding comfort, of being free from desire. And it can be achieved not just by improving our own lives but by helping those around us. What’s more satisfying than knowing you’ve done good in the world? And while pleasure is often expensive, satisfaction has no price tag and is available to everyone.

Of course, once you’re satisfied, if you have the opportunity to experience pleasure every now and again—knock yourself out! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go engage in emotionally fulfilling intercourse with the partner of my choice.

Check out Miel Bredouw’s “My Pleasure” essay, on the complexities of masturbation, here.