Human beings are deliberative creatures. We weigh things up all the time. At its most basic level, we weigh up what we enjoy. You open the fridge at dinner time and think, “Hey, I’m in a pasta kind of mood tonight.” You turn on Netflix and scroll through hundreds of movies before choosing one that suits. This thing will give me more satisfaction and pleasure than that thing.
The problem, though, is that weighing up pros and cons is not locked into the moment. The pleasure of an act might echo out into the future in happy, contented ripples. That movie might be so good that you’ll talk about it with friends or join a Reddit group dedicated to appreciating it. At other times, the indulgence of the now might lead to great pain in the future. Binging pasta might lead to a stomach ache and terrible torpor the next morning. A long time ago, I had a job I hated, and so my Mondays were doubly bad — the Monday itself was a miserable trial, but my Sunday afternoons would drain of fun as The Loom kicked in.
In this week’s Mini Philosophy, I spoke with the neuroscientist Rachel Barr about this kind of problem — how weighing up an act has to consider the before and after as much as the act itself. And she has a theory that might help us reframe the issue. She calls it the “cold-plunge fallacy.”
The cold-plunge fallacy
Much of the advice you get works on a simplistic calculation. It will look at the act itself or an individual event and ask, “Does this single thing make me happier, better, healthier, or whatever?”
The problem is that every behavior has a before and after, and when it comes to weighing up, there are no time limits. We do not — or should not — say, “Let’s measure how much pleasure this will give me in the next ten minutes only.” A good, rational, intelligent deliberation will try to consider the knock-on effects and foreseeable consequences as much as possible. Only when we weigh up all of that can we say if something is good or bad.
The same is true of mental health therapies and wellbeing advice. This is how Barr put it:
“The things that you do for your mental health should be aligned with what your brain needs and your natural rhythms. And they should, in most cases, feel quite good.
There’s something I’ve noticed, and I’ve been calling it the cold-plunge fallacy. I know that there are some people who enjoy cold baths and that kind of stuff, and so great, go ahead and enjoy it. But for the rest of us mere mortals, the idea of stepping into an ice bath for 10 minutes a day is awful. And the amount of self-persuasion that goes into convincing yourself to do something like that might be a problem. Yes, cold plunging is evidence-based, but it might be such a small yield that you get out of it, and you hate it.
I have to wonder if that constant self-persuasion and hatred of the task doesn’t then outweigh the small, tiny benefit that you’d get from it.”
The point Barr is making is not that “cold plunging is bad.” In fact, she recognizes that it’s likely beneficial for some people. But others will hate the prospect so much that it outweighs the benefits. We shouldn’t ignore the fact that, for some people, the anxious and resentful preparation for a cold plunge is more awful than for others.
Washboard abs and the phone in a safe
Essentially, the cold-plunge fallacy asks us to take better stock of our mental health and to know what makes us happy or anxious. Here are three more examples of the cold-plunge fallacy to help us all decide better what is good or bad for us, as individuals.
The 5 a.m. club. Ryan has just turned 42, and he’s wobbling more than he used to. As he sits on the sofa, he watches a video of Mark Wahlberg — minimal body fat, good set of teeth, and a fifty-something who looks thirty-something. Ryan finds out that Wahlberg is an early riser. He puts in a 5 to 9 before the 9 to 5: gym, meditation, mindfulness, preparation. Six pack.
So, Ryan sets his alarm and joins in. He’s resolute and carries on for a year, and then he asks, “Am I better?” Well, he’s waking up earlier, and he is healthier. But he also doesn’t speak to his wife much anymore — they used to be night owls. He can’t really stay out later than 9 p.m. now, otherwise he gets drowsy. And, to be honest, he’s not getting better at waking at 5 a.m. The early, obnoxious beep-beep-beep is making his sleep worse overall. The 5 a.m. club works for Wahlberg, but not for Ryan.
Digital detox weekends. Something has to change. The notification yesterday told Kat that she spends five hours a day on her phone. “I don’t have time to read books,” she tells people. But she does have time for TikTok. And so, she decides to lock her phone away at the weekends. From Friday bedtime until Monday alarm, no phone at all. Here comes a more relaxed, mindful Kat.
Except, she isn’t. She stays up late on Friday night, frantically replying to messages, automating emails, and telling everyone she’ll be AWOL for 48 hours. And when Saturday comes around, she’s constantly worried. What if her son needs her? How can he get in touch? What if a client has a meltdown and threatens to pull the deal? Going digital cold turkey doesn’t work for Kat.
52-books-a-year challenge. They’re in the car driving back from a dinner party, and Paul turns to his wife.
“I wish I could talk about books the way Pete did,” he says.
“Well, why not actually read some?” his wife replies.
So, Paul commits to a kind of Rocky montage with books, so he can be just like Pete. He’s going to read one book every week for a year. It starts well enough, but it does take up a lot of time.
“Paul, can you help with the dinner tonight?”
“Not tonight, darling. I’ve still got about half of this book to get through.”
Paul doesn’t watch TV anymore, he doesn’t message his friends, and he rarely helps around the house. What’s more, he’s starting to hate reading. Books are no longer fun, but a time-sensitive job. And he knows full well that the books he’s choosing are getting slimmer and more basic each time. By month 11, he’ll be reading Mr. Men books.
Paul can certainly rival Pete for literary chat these days, but he’s stressed, unhappy, and his wife hates him.
Like plunging into a cold pond, your decisions ripple across time, eventually bouncing off other areas of your life in ways that aren’t always easy to predict. So you might do well to remember that some supposedly beneficial habits may never work for you. They might even flop for Wahlberg.
This article The cold-plunge fallacy: Why some fads may never work for you is featured on Big Think.
