Dr. Muhammad Akram Zaheer
The English philosopher Jeremy Bentham argued that governments should be judged not by slogans or ceremony, but by the extent to which they promote “the greatest happiness of the greatest number.” His famous hedonic calculus was an attempt to measure pleasure and pain through factors such as intensity, duration, certainty, nearness, extent and consequences. Though conceived in the 18th century, the idea still offers a useful lens through which modern governance can be examined. In Punjab today, where Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz Sharif has launched a range of reforms, Bentham’s framework invites a timely question: do these policies increase public welfare while preserving liberty and rights?
Punjab, Pakistan’s most populous province, has long suffered from bureaucratic inertia, weak service delivery and growing public frustration. Successive administrations promised change, yet governance often remained hostage to red tape. Since taking office in 2024, Maryam Nawaz Sharif has sought to project a more interventionist and welfare-oriented model. Her government has introduced housing programmes, youth schemes, transport expansion, digitalisation drives and regulatory authorities. Whether one supports or opposes the politics behind them, these measures deserve assessment on outcomes rather than rhetoric. From a Benthamite perspective, social welfare schemes carry obvious utility. Programmes such as Apni Chhat Apna Ghar aim to expand affordable housing, while scholarships, laptops and youth internships seek to widen opportunity. If a poor household gains shelter, a student gains access to digital tools, or an unemployed graduate secures training, the pleasure generated is not merely private it radiates into families and communities. Bentham would likely classify such measures as high in intensity, duration and extent, because benefits can be both immediate and long-lasting. Similarly, the province’s investment in transport and citizen facilitation may be read through utilitarian logic. New buses, road rehabilitation, mobile health clinics and digital service centres can reduce everyday suffering: fewer delays, easier mobility, quicker access to healthcare, and less humiliation in dealing with officialdom. Governance often fails not in grand theory but in ordinary inconvenience. Bentham understood this well. Removing avoidable pain from daily life is itself a moral gain.
Yet Bentham’s calculus also asks governments to weigh costs. Every policy has side effects. A subsidy poorly targeted may waste public money. A welfare scheme designed for headlines rather than institutional sustainability may create temporary satisfaction but long-term fiscal strain. Punjab’s ambitious spending priorities have drawn attention because development allocations and sectoral budgets have risen sharply. If such spending builds durable capacity, the utility case is strong. If it expands debt or weakens finances, the pleasure may be short-lived. The sharper test lies in legal and institutional reform. Maryam Nawaz’s administration has promoted the Punjab Enforcement and Regulatory Authority (PERA), aimed at tackling hoarding, profiteering and encroachments. On paper, this appears Benthamite: inflation and market disorder impose pain on millions, so stronger enforcement may benefit the wider public. But utilitarianism is not a blank cheque for state power. Bentham supported codified law and administrative efficiency, yet arbitrary authority can itself become a source of suffering. If enforcement agencies act transparently, proportionately and under judicial oversight, utility rises. If powers are abused, fear replaces trust.
The same dilemma appears in policing reforms. Public demand for safer streets is genuine, and crime control yields collective benefit. But liberty cannot be collateral damage. Reports surrounding tougher policing structures, including the Crime Control Department, have raised concerns among rights advocates. Here Bentham meets modern constitutionalism: security matters, but unchecked coercion can inflict pain more severe than the disorder it claims to cure. Effective governance must protect citizens from both criminals and excessive state force. This brings us to individual rights. Bentham famously criticised the abstract language of “natural rights,” yet contemporary democracies have refined the debate. Rights today are practical guarantees against arbitrary detention, censorship, discrimination and abuse. In a province as politically vibrant as Punjab, liberty means the citizen’s ability to criticise power, seek justice and live without official intimidation. No utilitarian success in roads or subsidies can fully compensate for the erosion of these freedoms. Happiness without dignity is an incomplete metric.
To Maryam Nawaz’s credit, her administration has also highlighted inclusion from minority welfare initiatives to disability support and women-focused programmes. Such measures align with a more modern utilitarianism that counts the welfare of marginalised citizens equally, not merely the majority. If sustained fairly and free from patronage, these can strengthen social cohesion and widen the moral reach of the state. Punjab’s real challenge, however, is institutionalisation. Pakistan’s politics too often personalises governance. Schemes are tied to personalities, not systems; announcements outpace execution; reforms depend on one office rather than stable rules. Bentham would have warned against this. Good government is not episodic generosity but predictable administration under law. The public gains most when institutions outlast leaders. In the end, the verdict on Punjab under Maryam Nawaz Sharif cannot rest on partisan enthusiasm or reflexive criticism. Bentham’s hedonic calculus asks harder questions: Are citizens safer? Are services easier to access? Are opportunities wider? Are rights secure? Is pain reduced for the many without injustice to the few?
If the answer increasingly becomes yes, then Punjab may indeed be moving toward the greatest happiness principle. But if efficiency comes at the cost of liberty, or welfare at the expense of accountability, then the calculus turns against power itself. Governance, like philosophy, is judged not by promises but by consequences.
