Enjoyment is Better Than Self-Discipline For Some Things

Florida Jewish News, June 9

“Don’t you want a piece of cake?” she asked me. “No, I’m full,” I responded. “Oh, so am I,” she said with a little laugh, “but that won’t stop me from having the dessert. You’re really self-disciplined.”

“Not at all,” I told her, “I just really want to enjoy my food. I wouldn’t want to spoil it.”

Now that stopped her cold. Wasn’t I getting it backwards? Doesn’t eating more mean I’m enjoying it more?

Now that stopped her cold. Wasn’t I getting it backwards? Doesn’t eating more mean I’m enjoying it more?

No, it doesn’t. And people who are telling themselves that are just pulling the wool over their own eyes. They know doggone well that when they eat and eat and eat, they can’t possibly be enjoying it as much as they did when they took their first bite at the beginning of the meal. Take for instance when you break the fast after Yom Kippur. That first bite could be made out of drywall and it would taste delicious. Why is that? Obviously, because God created us to really enjoy the process of satisfying our basic needs. He didn’t want us to merely do His bidding; He wanted us to have fun doing it. In His Infinite Wisdom, He built in the mechanism that if we enjoyed something we needed to do, we’d be more likely to do it. Since we have to eat, He made eating fun. (Thank you, God; that was nice of You.)

We feel pleasure through our senses, but we feel pleasure in our stomachs most of all. My doctor told me that there are more nerve endings in the stomach than in the brain! The greatest feeling of pleasure comes not from the taste buds but from the stomach. The moment the stomach is satisfied, forget it because nothing else will taste as good as it did fifteen minutes ago. You can’t fool yourself either; you can ogle over the taste but you will not replicate the total delight you had when you were first hungry.

So, no, I didn’t exercise any self-discipline at all to turn down the cake. It was more like self-interest. I wanted to enjoy to the max the next piece that I would have. I already had planned exactly when I was going to have it, too. My mouth was watering just thinking about it. Oh, that’s another thing about the anti-self-discipline stance I take: When you’re not totally stuffed, you can always enjoy imagining rich and delicious food, but when you are totally stuffed, it’s nauseating. Personally, I’d rather enjoy the dream than be nauseated by the reality, so less indulgence means more pleasure once again.

There’s another aspect to maximizing the pleasure of eating: It’s about having focus. If you pay undivided attention to that delicious piece of chocolate cake (or sushi or whatever does it for you), you enjoy it more. Try it, you’ll see. Do the following experiment: First, be sure you’re hungry and then take something delicious to eat. Now, open up the newspaper and get into an article as you read. If the article grabs you, you will see that you missed most of the experience of eating. If you’re like some people I know, you may even forget what you were eating. Same thing is true if you get into a conversation while you’re eating. Remember your first date with the person of your dreams? You may remember what you ate, but did you care? Trust me, you didn’t taste it. Human beings are capable of doing several things at once, as long as they’re automatic. Well, eating usually is an automatic experience, but that’s exactly the problem. If you want to really get pleasure from it, you have to pay attention to the whole experience.

Basically, those are the exact same reasons why it’s very easy for me to daven in shul without talking. The identical principles of pleasure apply.

Now, I can hear you saying, “Dr. Deb, you’re nuts.”

“Davening,” as one man kindly tried to point out to me, “is an obligation—for men—so what does it have to do with pleasure?”

I have half-a-dozen answers to that, none of which are my real answer. But I’ll give them to you anyway. For the men, my first answer is that if it’s an obligation, then you get more reward for doing what you’re told rather than volunteering. That’s because the minute someone tells you to do something, you don’t want to do it. As Rabbi Yossi Jankowitz explains, that’s the clean-your-room phenomenon: The minute you tell the child who was on the brink of cleaning his room, to clean it, he no longer wants to.

Second, since we’re supposed to be happy with serving God, and davening is serving God, we ought to be happy doing it.

Third, who knows, maybe Somebody’s listening. Maybe this thing really works and our prayers will be answered?

Fourth, it’s more fun to daven than wash the dishes, pay taxes, clean the carpet or do carpool. There are a lot of reasons to consider it a pleasure when you think of the alternatives.

Fifth, on Shabbos, davening in the minyan, even without talking, is a great excuse to get dressed up and show off your new Shabbos suit or dress.

Finally, you should feel good davening because when it’s all over, you get to eat at the Kiddush and everyone knows that positive reinforcements given after a behavior do reinforce the preceding behavior. In fact, that’s probably why Kiddush was invented in the first place.

Finally, you should feel good davening because when it’s all over, you get to eat at the Kiddush and everyone knows that positive reinforcements given after a behavior do reinforce the preceding behavior. In fact, that’s probably why Kiddush was invented in the first place.

“Okay, okay,” I can hear you saying, “I can see why there might be some positives to davening, but why are you saying you don’t need self-discipline to keep quiet in shul? And why are you comparing davening to eating, of all things?”

Remember I said that the answers above aren’t my real answer? Here’s the one from my heart, jokes aside: When I daven, I don’t just believe I’m connected to God, I know it. I feel it. What could be better than that? Do I need self-discipline to have a personal audience with the Creator of the Universe? Of course not! It’s a great pleasure. And that is especially true if we’re aware of our needs—our (emotional) hunger—as we daven.

 And here’s the other part of the Pleasure Principle: When I’m totally focused on my davening, with no distractions, I feel even more connected to Hakodosh Baruch Hu.

Like the enjoyment over good food, the more you focus on it, the more the delight. So, too, with davening. The focus adds pleasure. Why then distract yourself with things that can’t compare to the delight of conversing with your Creator?

Next time you’re eating and next time you’re davening, ask yourself: Exactly where will my greatest pleasure come from—a temporary indulgence or deeper satisfaction? If you get that answer right, not only will you delight more in both the davening and the eating, but you’ll know what true pleasure is, something about which most people are clueless.