My own son will inherit my humble collection of pipes. He may choose to smoke them or not, and that will be his own choice. Either way, the pieces of the tradition will be passed along. Whatever happens, something new will hopefully occur to those wonderful pieces of briar wood, some with silver bands, and a few with high quality straight-grain. Perhaps he will sell them, but even then they may find a new home.
Yes, do tell me that tobacco is bad for me, as is alcohol, sugar, or fat. I understand this completely. What we all miss is a simple principle: moderation through appreciation. Most anything will kill us in excess. Most everything will enhance life in restraint.
My first lust for tobacco came from cheap cigarettes, and a chemical addiction to nicotine. I fought that addiction for years, and then one day I beat it. I finally had enough of being a sucker. I was tired of hacking out a piece of a lung every morning, and of just being a slave.
I would hardly advise this for anyone, but I eventually ended up embracing pipe smoking, not as a replacement, but as an improvement. Some men will eat burgers and fries every day, and die of obesity. Some men will drink a fifth of rotgut a day, and die of cirrhosis. Some men will smoke two packs of Marlboro's a day, and die of lung cancer or emphysema. I suspect all of then really died from a broken heart.
And here, I thought to myself, what if I can find satisfaction in something I deeply enjoy, but in a way that doesn't just appeal to my passions, but actually helps me to be better?
At first, I huffed and puffed at a pipe like it was a cigarette. This was no better. Then, when I figured out the cadence for a slow and leisurely smoke, I assumed I had to be doing it all of the time. This was also no improvement. I finally tried some sort of timetable for myself, to keep it all in place. Yet how was this different than spacing my consumption of the old coffin nails?
There was the key. Joy, true pleasure, does not come from the quantity of consumption. It comes from the quality of enjoying something for the right reasons, at the right time, and in the right way. All the "bad" things we condemn, all the terrible things we try to outlaw and regulate, are never really the problem. Our thinking about them, and the way we make use of them, is really the problem.
For example, some people told me that sex was the best thing ever, always to be pursued and enjoyed. Others told me sex was the worst thing ever, always to be shunned and regretted. I once fell in love with a girl who believed the former, and I once followed ideologues who preached the latter.
They were both wrong, and I was wrong to listen to either of them. Sex is good when it proceeds from genuine and committed love, and it is evil when it proceeds from selfish and manipulative lust. That is certainly an unpopular view in our age, but it is true nonetheless.
All other things created in this world are no different. Our estimations, and corresponding actions, make all the difference.
Wasn't this originally about Peterson pipes? Yes, and here's how it comes together. Some people enjoy a glass of whiskey, or a snifter of brandy, or a fine glass of good vintage wine. They do so not to get drunk, but to savor the flavors, to enjoy the character, to appreciate the experience. One day, the smoking of a pipe did all of that for me.
I was sitting on my front step, and I had packed a Peterson D12, a rather rare shape, with a pinch of Penzance Flake, an even rarer pipe tobacco. This suddenly had nothing to do with a buzz, or selling any fancy image, or going through a stale routine. I found the practice itself, much like making, presenting, and drinking a fine pot of tea, to be its own reward. It took on, dare I say it, the character of something sacred. It helped me clear my thoughts, order my feelings, and direct my intentions. It became a means for concentration, and for reflection of the best sort.
Lady Nicotine had nothing to do with it anymore. Lady Philosophy had taken over.
This wasn't gratification. It was appreciation. Not just for the tobacco, or the pipe, or even the exercise of smoking the pipe. It was about how the chance to take a moment to think, in all the right circumstances, helped me to put myself in order.
For a time, I would smoke a single pipe a day. As the years passed, it hardly mattered if it was even every day. A week or two might pass, but when I knew that I needed to get myself together, I also knew it was time for a pipe.
And that was exactly how I remembered the men in my past who had smoked their Peterson pipes. For all of them, it was a moment of peace. The tools were the means to the end. For some, a good meal not only feeds the body, but also feeds the soul. For me, a good pipe not only calms my nerves, but actually helps me to understand.
A Peterson pipe, the "thinking man's pipe", as the old Irish adverts used to say, is my own aid. You will surely find you own aid, whatever it might be.
Smoking a pipe, of course, is not to everyone's taste. Discovering whatever might help us to understand and to love is, however, everyone's most desperate need.
Moderation through appreciation.
Written in 11/2015
Admittedly a promotional video, but inspiring nonetheless:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9C0zvyonOek
'I believe that pipe smoking contributes to a somewhat calm and objective judgment in all human affairs."
—Albert Einstein
"On land, on sea, at home, abroad
I smoke my pipe, and worship God."
—Johann Sebastian Bach
"A pipe is the fountain of contemplation, the source of pleasure, the companion of the wise; and the man who smokes, thinks like a philosopher and acts like a Samaritan."
—Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton
"A pipe gives a wise man time to think, and a fool something to stick in his mouth."
—C.S. Lewis
"The pipe draws wisdom from the lips of the philosopher, and shuts up the mouth of the foolish; it generates a style of conversation, contemplative, thoughtful, benevolent, and unaffected."
—William Makepeace Thackeray
"A pipe is to the troubled soul what the caresses of a mother are for her suffering child."
—Indian Proverb
"I do not own this collection of Peterson pipes. I am merely its custodian."
—Jim Lilley
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