Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts

Saturday, September 6, 2025

Necessary But Not Sufficient

     A graphic that’s been making the rounds of the Net has been much on my mind lately:

     That’s awfully good advice. I’d say those practices are necessary for long-term health and comfort in one’s body. But his body’s needs aren’t the only ones a man must meet if he’s to have a complete sense of well-being.

     A man is not his body alone. His soul has requirements of its own, above and apart from what’s required for physical health. Even a hard-core materialist will have a sense of this. He might use the term fulfillment rather than anything that smacks of the mystical, but the sense of needs that transcend the physical will be there even so.

     (“Fulfillment” had its heyday back in the Seventies. We don’t hear it as much these days. Nevertheless, it’s on a lot of minds, especially with the rise of the tradwife evangelists and the furor they’ve evoked among militant feminists.)

     Each of us needs a sense that he’s doing – or done – something worthwhile with his time on Earth. Without that, physical health and fitness are mere baubles that will be buried alongside you.

     That may be a strange thing to have on one’s mind at 5:00 AM EDT, but you know me, Gentle Reader.

***

     What’s required to feel that you’re doing, or have done, something worthwhile? Are there life paths that greatly improve the chance that you’ll sincerely believe it?

     That is one hell of a long-term study, Gentle Reader. It goes back to Socrates and Aristotle. The arguments over it have never ceased. They probably never will.

     Aristotle, for all his brilliance, had to approach the subject from the back end: happiness. He sensed that the traditional virtues were connected to happiness, and prescribed them emphatically. Even so, his argument was teleological: i.e., that living a virtuous life will make you happy. It left open the question: what if you live a virtuous life from cradle to grave, but find that you’re not happy? And indeed, there have been men whose lives have been absolute paragons, but have been unhappy throughout.

     This is not an argument for eschewing the virtues. It’s merely a demonstration that teleological arguments are always vulnerable to a teleological challenge. You may labor diligently for many decades at cultivating and practicing the virtues, yet not attain happiness.

     Time gives no refunds.

***

     I’m not about to claim that I have the answer. This is an early-morning ramble from an old man, Gentle Reader. Don’t read too much into it. But it does suggest something about what direction would be most profitable to follow.

     Happiness and the sense of a life well lived don’t have to be regarded as prizes awarded solely at the conclusion of life. They can be immediate: concomitants of the awareness that at this moment in time, you’re doing what you ought to be doing, and doing it right.

     I’d hope that every man has such moments. They may not last long, but they can bring a sense of purpose fulfilled: “I was there and I did my job,” whatever “my job” might be. They do something else, too: they speak to the desire for meaning that each of us feels: the yearning to believe, sincerely, that life is not a purposeless accident. That’s not a need that can be satisfied by any physical nutrient.

     I may return to this later on. For the moment, I need more coffee. No, it’s not sufficient, but it is necessary. Thank You, God.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Unhappily Ever After

     Are you...unhappy?

     Wait just a moment before answering, because there’s another question that you really ought to confront first: What does that mean?

     Happiness is an awfully difficult thing to define. Aristotle’s definition – that which we seek as an end in itself and for no other reason – is the only one that seems to hold water. But neither Aristotle’s take nor anyone else’s suffices to move happiness and unhappiness, as phenomena each of us knows from personal experience, into the realm of concepts that can be objectively weighed, measured, and made fit for formal analysis.

     I’m of two minds about happiness surveys. On the one hand, the non-mensurability of happiness makes them seem silly. On the other, surveys that imply or inquire about a connection between happiness and more objective factors can tell us important things about our priorities and what percentage of us believes they’re being met. That’s the essence of politics and public discourse.

     And Mondays are a particularly suitable day for writing about happiness, unhappiness, and political factors that might cause them, wouldn’t you say?


     Dr. Helen Smith notes the connection between happiness and our contemporary media:

     This [media] negativity has a psychological impact on people; it makes them more depressed about the world around them:
     According to some psychologists, exposure to negative and violent media may have serious and long-lasting psychological effects beyond simple feelings of pessimism or disapproval. The work of British psychologist Dr. Graham Davey, who specializes in the psychological effects of media violence, suggests that violent media exposure can exacerbate or contribute to the development of stress, anxiety, depression and even post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

     “Negative news can significantly change an individual’s mood — especially if there is a tendency in the news broadcasts to emphasize suffering and also the emotional components of the story,” Davey told The Huffington Post. “In particular... negative news can affect your own personal worries. Viewing negative news means that you’re likely to see your own personal worries as more threatening and severe, and when you do start worrying about them, you’re more likely to find your worry difficult to control and more distressing than it would normally be.”

     At first that seems like a “but of course” observation, a classic blinding flash of the obvious. But it deserves deeper consideration than that.

     We can’t usefully discuss happiness itself, but we can discuss, and perhaps even measure, the peripherals of happiness:

  1. What makes you happy? Under what circumstances?
  2. When are you happy? How long does it usually last?
  3. How do you usually choose to pursue happiness? Is it consistent with your answers above?

     I’ll address each of those questions in turn.


1. What makes you happy? Under what circumstances?

     While no two individuals lead identical lives, there’s a degree of commonality among Americans that points directly at our pursuit of happiness. From all the observations I’ve made of myself and others, the thing or condition that best correlates with happiness is the sense that one is adequately in control of one’s own affairs.

     “His own affairs” should be interpreted somewhat expansively. Let’s personalize the discussion by giving it a “protagonist:” our old friend Smith.

  • Smith must have a fairly clear conception of “his own affairs:” i.e., what’s part of them and what’s not;
  • He must be satisfied that he has control of them, and by implication, that others cannot materially mess with them;
  • He must be able to focus on them according to his personal priorities. In other words, matters that are either:
    1. irrelevant to him; or:
    2. outside his control
    ...must not intrude significantly on his consciousness.

     Consider, if you will, the typical white-collar workplace. If Smith has that sort of occupation, he’s likely to be happiest when he has a clear task, when he feels he can cope with it successfully (and busybodies of whatever station aren’t able or allowed to interfere), and when he’s free of distractions irrelevant to his task. Those conditions aren’t easily met these days in the typical office environment. It’s likelier that the blue-collar worker, whether he digs ditches, builds buildings, or drives a truck, will feel that degree of focus and control. In that alone there is significant enlightenment.


2. When are you happy? How long does it usually last?

     The answer to this question has a powerful interlock with the previous one. Smith is likeliest to be happy when he is able to focus on his own affairs and deal with them usefully.

     Now, it’s a commonplace that the most important matters in any man’s life aren’t problems to be solved but conditions of life that require continuous, ongoing attention and management:

  • Working at an occupation, profession, or vocation;
  • Caring for one’s spouse and progeny;
  • Maintaining one’s body, home, and possessions;
  • Maintaining one’s chosen position in society, commercial and personal.

     No one “solves” those things. Each of us comes to terms with them and copes, usually for decades. It seems obvious (there’s that word again) that neglect of any one of them can result in unhappiness. What’s less obvious is that Smith’s sense that he’s coping adequately with them is an important source of happiness.

     Once again, there’s enlightenment here. Why should merely coping adequately with the common necessities of life, the stuff that “everybody has to do,” be a source of happiness? There’s only one plausible answer: It allows Smith to feel like an achiever, a personal success. The happiness from that (usually subconscious) perception will last for as long as the perception itself lasts: i.e., until a life condition arises that Smith cannot cope with, or until he’s interfered with by meddlers, regardless of their motives.

     Note how this dovetails with the previous section.


3. How do you usually choose to pursue happiness?

     I recall reading some years ago, in a generally stupid anarcho-syndicalist tract, an unusually intelligent question from a syndicalist who, contrary to the tendencies among his sort, had identified the key paradox of human action. He phrased it approximately thus: How is it that a man can come home from a day’s backbreaking wage labor and enjoy digging in his own garden?

     The conditions of wage labor, while nowhere near as physically onerous as they once were, involve doing something for someone else. If that something is irrelevant to oneself – apart from the wage it earns, of course – it fails to satisfy the “his own affairs” component of sections 1 and 2 above. During the first century or so after the Industrial Revolution got rolling, a great many wage-labor jobs were of that sort: stand here on this assembly line, when this widget rolls past do this to it, and repeat for eight or ten hours at a stretch. Even today there are many jobs of that sort, though by percentage they’re far fewer than in the Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

     Smith’s usual path toward happiness, however fleeting, is to renew his focus on what matters to him personally. He leaves his occupation behind and turns his attention to his own affairs. How simply remarkable, and remarkably simple!

     This doesn’t omit the possibility that Smith might be happy at work. He might be, but (with certain exceptions; see Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s remarkable book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience) the “doing it for someone else” perception about wage labor will dilute that happiness. Karl Marx called this the chief source of alienation, and while his economics is total nonsense, he was at least insightful enough to isolate the critical difference between the industrial, division-of-labor economy and what preceded it.


     If you find yourself to be largely in agreement with the material in the sections above, it’s time to confront the countercurrent to human happiness most important to our time. This countercurrent has grown from a trickle a few of us once dealt with for an hour or two on Sundays to a raging torrent in which we must seemingly bathe continuously.

     The countercurrent is one I’ve written about many times, but most directly here: The Downside Of The Politicization Of Everything. Allow me to quote what I wrote about the American Left:

     We’re about to embark upon a course the nation has never before taken. A complete government neophyte, who has never held public office or served in the military, will soon be our chief executive, the man charged to “take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed.”

     That’s got the Left completely outraged. They were certain the power seat belonged to them...that it would go to their anointed one, who had all the proper punches on her ticket. For the great unwashed mass of Compassion-Challenged Deplorables, Those Who Do Not Understand The Complexities, to spurn her in preference for a total outsider – A reality-TV buffoon! A vulgarian! A businessman! – has turned their world upside down. As Professor Reynolds has noted, it’s a devastating blow to their self-regard:

     And now that Trump has won, people are, in fact, a lot less respectful of the traditional academic and media and political elites. Trump didn’t just beat them, after all. He also humiliated them, as they repeatedly assured everyone (and each other) that he had no chance. It’s a huge blow to the self-importance of a lot of people. No wonder they’re still lashing out.

     Had these persons not made politics their pole star – had they not insisted that everything is political and that they, the Inherently Superior of Wisdom and Virtue, are the only legitimate arbiters of all that is right, true, and just – they would not be suffering quite so much angst. The moral could hardly be clearer.

     Remember that old Leftist mantra, “The personal is political” – ? It’s the Left’s unswerving aim to make everything political – to insist upon everyone being mired in everyone’s decisions. No private lives! No private concerns! And no saying “that’s not my problem” by anyone at any time!

     The elimination of private lives and private affairs, and the denunciation of the “You mind your own business and I’ll mind mine” attitude that was once the American credo, is guaranteed to produce intense unhappiness, for the reasons I delineated in the numbered sections. No one can feel achievement about problems over which he has no control, which arise from the facts of reality and human nature itself, and which “in the everlasting congruity of things” (Thomas Carlyle) can never be solved.

     Only two communities of interest can possibly benefit from such a state of affairs: they who seek the rule of all things, and the media handmaidens who have enlisted in their cause. The former are there for power; the latter are in it for money and prestige. They might get what they want; as for the rest of us, no such luck.


     I’ve gone on here at rather greater length than usual, especially on a Monday. I hope you don’t feel your time has been wasted. But I begin to wonder if I should have introduced the subject. You see, here at Liberty’s Torch we write mostly about politics and public policy. That makes us part of the problem even if you, Gentle Reader, enjoy our offerings. The implications are two:

  1. I shouldn’t have said anything;
  2. I should find lots of other things to write about.

     And I believe I’ll stop right there.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

New Directions In Totalitarian Outreach

     [Owing to this important article on Congressional overspending, I’ve chosen to resurrect the following piece. It first appeared at Eternity Road, though I can’t remember exactly when. -- FWP]


     Columnist Robyn Blumner cites a few choice notions from British economist Richard Layard's new book, Happiness: Lessons From a New Science:

     It turns out, according to the author, that people measure success by looking at those around them. Keeping up with the Joneses is killing our inner peace. Even as we acquire luxury items, the other guy has more. Layard calls it a "hedonic treadmill."

     But there are other forces at work beyond our own affluenza, including the government's approach to the people it serves. When a nation embraces a culture of community well-being over a "you're on your own" attitude, happiness gets spread around. "Our fundamental problem today is a lack of common feeling between people --- the notion that life is essentially a competitive struggle," Layard says. He points to the Scandinavian countries as among the happiest because they "have the clearest concept of the common good."

     Layard endorses the high tax rates of these nations as a way to reduce overwork, making it less valuable. It also has the added benefit of giving government the resources to provide a broad array of social services that tend to make people's lives more secure, such as universal health care.

     And high taxes reduce income disparities, leading to a general sense of relative well-being. Layard says that studies find that the more equally a nation's income is distributed, the higher the level of average happiness. He is not talking about communism, but a shrinking of wealth disparities.

     No, Ma'am, he's talking about communism. He's using "a shrinking of wealth disparities" as a stalking-horse, a utilitarian lure with which to lead people into taking the claims of early Marxian communist theory seriousy -- even though in no country that has experienced communist rule has "a shrinking of wealth disparities" actually taken place.

     There are so many logical and rhetorical problems with Layard's thesis that it would be impossible to cover them all in a single essay, even at your Curmudgeon's habitual excessive length. But it's vital that at least the most important ones get a cursory evisceration.

     First, there's the hedonic treadmill. Now, this is an important line of thought, one not to be dismissed lightly simply because it's used by some as a bludgeon against "consumerism" and capitalism in general. But the hedonic treadmill is only a worthy concept when seen in its appropriate context: the passage of the years of an individual life.

     For the treadmill to catch at Smith's ankles, he must insist on perpetuating all his pleasures and diversions as he ages, rather than slough the pleasures of youth while adopting new pleasures and diversions as appropriate. For it is the multiplication of pleasures, all contending for space on Smith's agenda, that pulls the hedonic treadmill's belt. But since the typical man does, albeit with some regret, relinquish the pleasures of youth when the time comes to do so, he remains able to walk at a comfortable pace; the treadmill does not snare him. And our friend Smith is nothing if not typical.

     Layard's use of the hedonic treadmill is tendentious; he wants us to see it statically, as a trap that arises from increases in wealth and that's not countervailed by any other dynamic. Yet we all age. More, even the pleasures of youth change over time, as anyone who can remember how different the diversions of the Sixties were from those that the young enjoy today would realize at once. Time permits nothing to stand fast; it's ludicrous to imagine that our frivolities would be exceptions.

     Second, there's nothing but opinion behind the assertion that "people measure success by looking at those around them." Some undoubtedly do, but these are probably the least happy of all persons. They've relativized and externalized their desires; their wants are no longer their own. In effect, their sole motivation is the assuagement of their envy. But your Curmudgeon has known thousands of persons in his half-century on this ball of mud, and can only think of three to whom the charge would stick.

     A nation whose citizens are mainly actuated by envy is one which will experience no significant advancement. Its members will spend as much time (or more) trying to retard one another's gains as they'll spend working on their own fortunes; this is the logical consequence of a relativized desire system. History provides numerous examples of such societies -- and all the Twentieth Century's experiments in income-leveling, including all the Communist states that have passed into the dustbin of history, are among them.

     But the crown jewel of absurdity, the acme of counterfactual contention, is here:

     Layard endorses the high tax rates of these nations as a way to reduce overwork, making it less valuable. It also has the added benefit of giving government the resources to provide a broad array of social services that tend to make people's lives more secure, such as universal health care.

     Seldom have so many nonsensical notions been crammed into a fifty-word paragraph. Let's go through them in detail.

     High tax rates do not reduce overwork. They deprive the worker of a part of his incentive to work more; this is true. But Americans' interest in increasing their hours was no less during the days of our highest marginal income tax rates than it is under the much lower ones of today. They merely added another item to their agendas: tax minimization, whether by contriving clever bartering schemes, earning part of their incomes "off the books," or outrightly lying to the IRS about their deductible expenses.

     More, Layard's argument for high tax rates combines all the following:

  • The revenue funds "a broad array of social services";
  • Those services "make people's lives more secure";
  • The above, combined with the destruction of incentives to earn more, is what people would really prefer if they could get in touch with their inner Rousseau.

     Every word of this contention is demonstrably false. When tax rates rise past the Laffer crest, the marginal revenue they garner becomes negative. Thus, there is no net financial gain to the State from the elevation of the rates past that point. The Reagan anti-tax revolution of the Eighties established this beyond any possible counter-argument:

Fiscal Year Federal Receipts, $Billions
1980 517.1
1981 599.3
1982 617.8
1983 600.6
1984 666.5
1985 734.1
1986 769.1
1987 854.1
1988 909.0
1989 990.7
1990 1073.5

     Thus, despite the "heartless" Reagan tax cuts -- the Kemp-Roth rate reductions of 1981 and the Packwood tax reform act of 1986 -- federal revenues soared by 107%. Congress overspent the funds gathered, but in doing so did not provide any more social services than in previous decades. Indeed, federal social services remained close to constant in proportion to the populations served. However, something did increase rather dramatically: federal expenditures on the salaries and perquisites of federal employees:

Fiscal Year Federal Employment, Thousands Federal Wages Disbursed, $Billions
1980 2987 58.0
1981 2909 63.8
1982 2871 65.5
1983 2878 69.9
1984 2935 74.6
1985 3001 80.6
1986 3047 82.6
1987 3075 85.6
1988 3113 88.8
1989 3133 92.8

     Thus, while the federal workforce expanded by 4.8%, federal wages paid increased by 60% -- and every other cost account tied to federal employment increased in proportion. Perhaps those federal employees felt that their lives had become more secure, but it's doubtful that their increased prosperity had that effect on anyone else.

     With particular regard to the myth of "universal heath care," which pops up at each debate over the proper extent of government benevolence like a toadstool after a rainstorm, it is also demonstrably the case that in every country whose health care system has been nationalized under this pretense, the State has had to disguise the failure of the system as best it could by erecting a multi-tier scheme of service, under which persons unfortunate enough to be on a lower tier are compelled to wait or accept low-grade service while those in a higher tier are served with something approaching efficiency and efficacy. The stories from the old Soviet Union are legion; they're matched, in horrific quality if not in mere quantity, by the stories emanating today from France, Canada, and Britain. Socialized medicine leaves people to die rather than admit that its "universality" is a sham. This cannot be squared with any interpretation of "making people's lives more secure."

     Lastly, Layard's claim, in Miss Blumner's words, that:

     [H]igh taxes reduce income disparities, leading to a general sense of relative well-being. Layard says that studies find that the more equally a nation's income is distributed, the higher the level of average happiness.

     ...requires something more than "studies" for its substantiation. "Studies" about "well-being" and "happiness" are the most easily manipulated things in the world. They can be framed to produce whatever conclusion the "researcher" desires to reach. There are no metrics that can accurately and reproducibly capture happiness or well-being. All we have to go on is the observable behavior of people in the environments they choose for themselves from the available options. What we can observe with little effort is this:

  1. No matter where in the world we look, other things all being equal, people prefer to have more money and more choices of goods from which to select.
  2. As long as the possibility exists, they'll work more to get it.
  3. The population flow between nations where the State tries to impede private profit and material gain by taxes, regulations, and the like, and nations where the State puts fewer and lower such barriers in the citizen's way, is heavily from the former to the latter, often despite great hazards to life and limb in the journey.
  4. The most viciously invidious societies known to history have been those where the State's exactions were the highest. Individuals became obsessed with what their neighbors had managed to retain and amass. They often succumbed to the seductions of the State to become informants for it -- in hope of material reward.

     Thus, our verdict on Layard's contentions must be that they're contrary to both good sense and everything we know about the behavior of real human beings. If he's sincere, he's fatally unintelligent, naive, or ill-informed. If he's not, then he's just one more Marxist trying to seduce the unwitting into donning communist shackles. In either case, he deserves no respect whatsoever. But that's a judgment that applies to many an "economist" from the formerly-Sceptered Isle, which has been cranking out the preponderance of the Western world's Marxist polemicists with economics degrees since before World War II.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Shangri-la And Where To Find It

     Rufus goes for his first oncology treatment today. In consequence, I’m both pressed for time and in a rather detached frame of mind. Please read what follows in that light. Consider it an expansion of this essay, but of a more personal sort.


     The night before last, I saw Lost Horizon for the very first time. It’s eighty years old and its wrinkles are unconcealed – to make the movie watchable, the restorers had to substitute still shots for several badly damaged segments – but the spirit of the movie is powerfully affecting, especially when placed in its historical context.

     If you haven’t seen it, a plane crash deposits a group of unsuspecting travelers, including a world-weary British diplomat, in a village hidden in the Himalayas called Shangri-la. The community is rich in everything but material wealth and strife. The travelers are at first stunned by the quasi-pastoral peace of the place, the contentment of the quietly industrious villagers, and the unconcern with the things that animate and trouble the world beyond the mountains. Over time, all but one of the group decide to make their stay permanent.

     The community, insofar as it’s “ruled” in any sense, is under the hand of a man called the High Lama. This proves to be an ancient Belgian priest, Father Perreault, who has labored to gather in Shangri-la as many as possible of the great cultural treasures of Mankind. He hopes that Shangri-la will prove to be a redoubt for what is best in Man – a survival bunker, if you will, for the best that has been thought, said, and done, to which the survivors of the wars to come will have ultimate recourse. Here is how he expresses his intent to protagonist Robert Conway:

     It came to me in a vision, long, long ago. I saw all the nations strengthening, not in wisdom, but in the vulgar passions and the will to destroy. I saw the machine power multiplying, until a single weaponed man might match a whole army. I foresaw a time when man, exalting in the technique of murder, would rage so hotly over the world, that every book, every treasure, would be doomed to destruction. This vision was so vivid and so moving, that I determined to gather together all things of beauty and of culture that I could, and preserve them here, against the doom toward which the world is rushing. Look at the world today. Is there anything more pitiful? What madness there is! What blindness! What unintelligent leadership! A scurrying mass of bewildered humanity, crashing headlong against each other, propelled by an orgy of greed and brutality. A time must come, my friend, when this orgy will spend itself. When brutality and the lust for power must perish by its own sword. Against that time, is why I avoided death, and am here. And why you were brought here. For when that day comes, the world must begin to look for a new life. And it is our hope that they may find it here. For here, we shall be with their books and their music, and a way of life based on one simple rule: Be Kind! When that day comes, it is our hope that the brotherly love of Shangri-La will spread throughout the world. Yes, my son; When the strong have devoured each other, the Christian ethic may at last be fulfilled and the meek shall inherit the earth.

     It’s a vision beautiful enough to compel tears from a statue.


     Many have yearned for a place like Shangri-la. Its appeal derives in part from its dreamlike, completely static nature. It doesn’t progress or regress; it simply is, enduring and ageless. That’s a required attribute for perfection. As I’ve said before, perfect really means finished, and that which is finished must not change.

     Shangri-la, as a human society of any size, is impossible. Men aren’t like that. The best of us yearn to advance, to achieve, to prosper, to build the better mousetrap. The worst of us – and don’t kid yourself; as long as there are human beings, there’ll be evil ones – whether from envy or power-lust, yearn to set us at one another’s throats.

     But that doesn’t make the essence of Shangri-la – the character that gives it its beauty – unattainable.


     The central figure of the film isn’t protagonist Robert Conway. It’s the High Lama a.k.a. Father Perreault, who has less screen time than any of the other named characters. Shangri-la is what it is because of him: because of his vision, his ethic, and his determination that it should prevail. The spirit of moderation and contentment that dominates Shangri-la is an extension of Father Perreault himself: a man who wants nothing but the good of all those gathered around him.

     As I wrote above, a human society of any size would contain at least a few “immoderate elements.” These would disturb whatever pattern of life the rest might choose to follow. Yet there are micro-societies which do attain – very nearly, at least – a Shangri-la-kind of serenity. I’ve known at least two such micro-societies. Their peace and harmony are evident to any who care to observe them. They’re disturbed only when their members must interact with the “world outside”...a necessity they strive to minimize.

     Where I’ve written “micro-societies,” I now invite my Gentle Readers to substitute a more familiar term.


     These final years of life are proving highly educational for me. They’ve put me ever more often in mind of something Sir Edward Grey, England’s Foreign Secretary during World War I, wrote in his biography: that happiness consists not merely in having what one wants, but equally so in not having what one does not want.

     The combination is essential. Much human misery arises from affliction by “what one does not want,” whether it’s ungratifying labor, fatigue, disease, disability, nuisances of various kinds, or what-have-you. All the riches of the world could not complete one’s happiness were he unable to expel what he does not want from his life.

     Many struggle to become satisfied with what they have. Some never manage it. But anyone can contrive to eject from his surroundings the things and influences that worry or upset him. (It might require turning off the television once and for all, but I know a few people who’ve managed that minor miracle.) The key is limiting one’s domain to that which is entirely within one’s control, and venturing out of it only when absolutely necessary.

     Yes, there’s a terminus approaching. Yes, it’s likely that it will be preceded by disease, pain, and fear. But I thank God each day for my blessings, and this one above the rest: that He has granted me an interval in which I could learn what it means to be contented. I can only wish that every man who ever lives will know such an interval before he passes on.

     Yes, and every dog, too.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

-- Leigh Hunt --

     May God bless and keep you all.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

That Bellow

     No, not Saul. Joy! My recently acquired 2009 Chevy Corvette convertible!

     There’s nothing like the bellow of an American V8 engine with a performance-oriented exhaust system behind it. Just starting the engine is enough to increase any red-blooded man’s testosterone to the “Let’s hunt an endangered species to extinction and roast it over a bonfire of old-growth timber” level. And that, more than any other reason, is why I made this entirely unnecessary purchase.

     Yes, it’s frivolous. Yes, it will anger tree huggers from coast to coast – and we do have a few here on the fabled Island of Long. And yes, what I spent on it would feed hundreds of illegal aliens for a whole year. I don’t care. It was my money and my decision.

     If I regret anything about this purchase, it would be the requirement to pay the Vampire State’s Department of Motor Vehicles a king’s ransom in sales tax for the privilege of registering Joy for use on New York roads.

     Once in a while, a man facing the back end of life must do something completely disconnected from his impending future. Something for personal gratification and nothing else. Something to make him feel as if his happiness is his responsibility to nurture and protect. Something that deals a sharp whack across the chops to the legions that demand that We the People of the United States who’ve actually made something of ourselves should feel guilty about it.

     I tell you, people, that you not forget: it’s all right to be happy. And if that’s all right, then it’s all right for anyone, once the necessities are dealt with, to buy a red Corvette convertible, lower the top, and cruise blissfully and for no good reason down the main drag of his burg with the sun on his shoulders and the wind in his hair. A nineteen year old blonde right-seat decoration is not required.

     Some time ago, I wrote about forces, both secular and religious, that strive to make us feel guilty about having done well and having chosen to enjoy it. Today, with Joy’s top down and the sun shining, was a day to remember that God loves us – that He designed the universe as He did to make human happiness possible, though not guaranteed. It was a day to spit in the eyes of the guilt-mongers. To feel certain once more that life, even if it must end someday soon, isn’t just a test of our souls.

     If you’ve been feeling old...
     If you’ve wondered if life has a point...
     If your Significant Other is looking frayed...
     If your own juices have begun to sour in their cask...

     Go for a wholly unnecessary, entirely unjustifiable, gas-wasting, CO2 spewing ride in a Corvette convertible. With the top down. Let the engine’s music resound in your ears. Let the power, and the luxury, and the simple exercise of your freedom to do whatever you damned well please, no matter who says or thinks what about it, remind you just how good it is to be an American.

     May God forever guard and guide these United States of America!

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Cleanliness: A Sunday Rumination

     To those who’ve wondered where the Ruminations have disappeared to: I know it’s been a while since I last did one of these. I can’t produce them to order, or on a schedule; they require something extra, some impetus I can’t merely summon as I please. But then, that’s the case with other aspects of a life of faith, as well.


     “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” Who hasn’t heard that one a few dozen times? (Mainly as a child, when he’d been told to clean up in preparation for some adult affair he’d rather have declined to attend.) And who, in his mud pie-making years, has never been moved to ask “Why?”

     It’s a good question. It comes to mind this morning in connection with a passage from a recent novel from John Conroe’s Demon Accords series, Snake Eyes. Christian Gordon, an angel who has volunteered to become human and act as God’s policeman against demonic incursions, is about to participate in a rather perilous interaction with an enraged elemental. His partner, a powerful young witch, is creating a confinement in the hope of improving their chance to survive the encounter:

     I closed my eyes and tried to empty my head....When it was nice and inky black, I pictured a sword. Not just any sword, but my sword. The one shown to me by Barbiel, one I’ve apparently held for eons, one that was made when I was made. It shone bright in the blackness of my mind. I reached for it. I hadn’t done this much, mostly because I was always afraid it wouldn’t work. That I wouldn’t be able to get a hold of it...that I’m not worthy to hold it anymore.
     But suddenly I felt it in my hand, and when I opened my eyes, it was shining bright in the early morning sun. It sang to me, a song of divine creation and hope. The God Tear necklace round my neck sang back to it.
     That was the easiest I’ve ever retrieved it from its pocket dimension sheath. Of course, things are easier when you don’t have a multi-ton demon charging down on you.
     Declan was watching, frozen in place, but he blinked when he saw me notice him. “Ah, that’s freaking awesome!”
     “I know, right?” I replied. Then I tied the cord to the hilt and used the pointy part to scribe a circle in the dirt.
     “Ah, don’t you think it’s like, disrespectful or something to dig your Angel sword in the dirt?” Declan asked, raw disbelief in his voice.
     “Well, let’s see,” I said, still walking the arc, still digging the line. “He made the earth and dirt, right? And He made the sword and me also. So what’s the big deal?” I asked, not telling him that it just felt like the right thing to do.

     Pretty ballsy, eh? Of course, Chris is / was an angel, so perhaps he’s not bound to human standards of reverence for objects created by God. (Life must be pretty interesting for an angel-made-flesh who’s married to a vampire that’s about to bear him twins.) But he has a good point. All of Creation is ultimately traceable to God. None of it could continue to exist without His approval. “So what’s the big deal?” Specifically, why ought we to make a big deal out of cleanliness, as if it were a route to Godliness, or at least to holiness?

     It’s about our aspirations and our essence.


     We are made in God’s image. Not our physical forms, of course; those are entirely utilitarian, designed to give us what we need to survive and flourish among the predators and other hazards of temporal existence. His image is in our souls: transdimensional, transtemporal entities through which we can hear His voice, if we listen attentively. He does not command us to “cleanliness,” however defined – and you may take it as written that what constitutes “dirt” in the sense of bodily uncleanliness has varied wildly over time and space – but to love of Him and love of neighbor. Dirt, the soil upon which we stand, exists as much by His will as our souls.

     The dirt is as utilitarian as our bodies. We need it: to stand on, to grow crops in, to suppress the dust that would otherwise billow around us, and so forth. (Try growing a decent lawn without dirt. I dare you. Your neighbors would swiftly have words with you.) But as with all useful things, the usefulness of dirt is a matter of context.

     In tending to those other useful items, our bodies, we tend to dislike dirt for several quite valid reasons. It mars our appearance. It makes us itch. It can invite parasites unfriendly to our health. So we remove it as best we can, that we might have more attention to spend on other things.

     It can be a bit difficult to pray when you’re itching all over, swarming with lice or fleas, and you’re aware that your pew and the two or three ahead of and behind you are completely empty for all too obvious reasons.


     We cleanse ourselves for utilitarian reasons, but also for spiritual ones. In tending to our bodies we perform a kind of veneration, a gesture of appreciation and gratitude for what we are and what God has given us:

     For thou hast possessed my reins: thou hast covered me in my mother's womb. I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. [Psalm 139:13-15]

     Gratitude is the secret to enduring happiness: yet another of His gifts, and ironically perhaps the one spurned most often. It follows that conscious expressions of gratitude, including the efficient care and maintenance of what we’ve been given, are valuable aids to the conservation and nurturance of our faith.

     So we clean. We strive to remain clean, not merely for the utilitarian benefits but also in recognition that our bodies, His most personal temporal gifts to us, are items for which we should be thankful both in word and in deed...and that dirt, like all other useful things, has its proper place, beyond which it’s not useful but an encumbrance of which we should strive to rid ourselves.

     May God bless and keep you all.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

On Happiness -- A Quickie Rumination With A Little Music

     Aristotle called happiness that which we seek as an end in itself and for no other reason. It was among his most important insights...yet there’s at least one that was even more important:

Happiness cannot be sought directly.

     It’s the consequence of a life well lived, with full attention to the cultivation and exercise of the virtues, and the proper application of one’s gifts.

     Everything we seek explicitly, we seek for some utilitarian reason. Many of the things men seek are thought to be “routes to happiness.” Yet there are no such routes, other than a life well lived.

     A life well lived will elicit many reactions from others, all the way from fervent adulation to corrosive envy. Yet those things are not routes to happiness but mere incidental consequences of a life well lived. You cannot become happy by feasting on the emotions of others.

     Note the powerful correlation between the determination to live right and the virtue of gratitude. Life itself is a gift. Moreover, it’s the indispensable gift. You can’t live right if you don’t live, right?

     (Forgive me for that last, Gentle Reader. It was too good to pass up.)

     Among those who wallow in their unhappiness and complain most bitterly of it, we can find many who have more than they could ever be properly grateful for. Hearken to the late, great David Ackles as he tells us of a typical pair:

     It is possible to live right and to be grateful for the gift of life regardless of one’s placement in space, time, and circumstance. Ponder the Jenkinses in Ackles’ composition, and ask yourself: If I were to replace one of them, could I do it better than they did? How?

     Just a quick thought for your Wednesday. And may God bless and keep you all.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

The Secret To Happiness: A Sunday Rumination

     The following story comes in many variations, so you might have heard it somewhat differently on another occasion.


     They were a race of great power, numerous and capable. They built high, delved deeply, and ranged far. Their history encompassed many centuries of proliferation and advancement. Their future appeared as unbounded as the universe. Yet they were not happy.

     They quarreled ceaselessly, both among themselves and with those of other lands. Every household knew stress and strife; every polity teetered forever on the brink of collapse. Nothing they achieved, singly or in groups, brought the smallest balm to their souls.

     Which is why the discovery of the scroll captured the attention of all their world.

     It was aged and brittle. Their archeologists unrolled it with great delicacy, lest the message it bore across the centuries be fragmented and destroyed. When it was open at last, they found that it was written in a tongue that had not been used since the earliest era of their existence. When their paleolinguists succeeded in translating it, they were astonished, for its very first line it promised them that the secret to happiness lay within it. Yet the translation revealed nothing such.

     The last line appeared to be meaningless, merely a string of scribbles. A myriad of scholars argued fiercely over the translation, each one certain that his interpretation was correct and that all his colleagues were wrong. But none of them could say that he had divined the secret to happiness that the scroll promised on its very first line.

     No one could make out the significance of the scribbles on the last line.

     One of the paleolinguists had a young daughter, a girl of surpassing sweetness and grace. All who knew her spoke glowingly of her. All who met her, no matter how brief the encounter, thought frequently of her afterward, always with pleasure. Though her family was not materially wealthy, she asked for nothing and begrudged nothing to others. In all their world she seemed the only truly happy person.

     A day came when the girl’s father was puzzling over his copy of the scroll, on which he’d included the mysterious scribbles at the end. He’d left the door to his study open, and his daughter ventured hesitantly through it.

     “What are you working on, Father?” she said.

     He smiled and stroked her hair. “A copy of an ancient text. It claims to hold the secret to happiness, but neither I nor any of my colleagues can discern what that might be.” He sighed. “We could surely benefit from such a great wisdom.”

     The girl peered at the copy, squinted briefly, and said. “But it’s right there, on the last line.”

     “What?” her father exclaimed. He was immediately consumed with fury and suspicion, made all the more piercing by his fear that she might indeed have penetrated the mystery. “How is it,” he said angrily, “that you believe you can find what I and so many others of great erudition have missed over years of study?”

     The girl was unaffected by his tone or the storminess of his countenance. She took a pencil and a sheet of paper from his desk, smiled up at him, and said only “Watch.”

     First she copied the scribbled last line exactly as it appeared on the text in her father’s hands. When she was certain she had made an exact copy, she did something both old and new...something no scholar had thought to do before her: She assembled the individual fragments of the last line, superimposing them with care, until they resolved into a single picture.

     It was an ideogram.

     When she had completed her task, she set down the pencil, handed the sheet of paper to her father, and smiled. With a single glance he knew at once that she had glimpsed what he and innumerable others had failed to see. The ideogram expressed a single word in that ancient tongue, a word almost never used among them.

Gratitude

     “You see?” she said. “It was right there all along.”

     As her father surrendered to tears of inexpressible joy, she curtsied and went from the room.


     Learn the secret.
     Clasp it ever to your breast.
     Clutch it the more fiercely in times of sorrow.
     Share it with others, for it is not diminished by being shared.

     May God bless and keep you all.