Where, then, lies the mistake, since all men crave the happy life? It is that they regard the means for producing happiness as happiness itself, and, while seeking happiness, they are really fleeing from it.
For although the sum and substance of the happy life is unalloyed freedom from care, and though the secret of such freedom is unshaken confidence, yet men gather together that which causes worry, and, while travelling life's treacherous road, not only have burdens to bear, but even draw burdens to themselves; hence they recede farther and farther from the achievement of that which they seek, and the more effort they expend, the more they hinder themselves and are set back.
This is what happens when you hurry through a maze; the faster you go, the worse you are entangled. Farewell.
For although the sum and substance of the happy life is unalloyed freedom from care, and though the secret of such freedom is unshaken confidence, yet men gather together that which causes worry, and, while travelling life's treacherous road, not only have burdens to bear, but even draw burdens to themselves; hence they recede farther and farther from the achievement of that which they seek, and the more effort they expend, the more they hinder themselves and are set back.
This is what happens when you hurry through a maze; the faster you go, the worse you are entangled. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 44
I know many people who are quite miserable, though I resist the temptation, promoted by those who believe other human beings to be disposable, of assuming that they somehow wish to be miserable.
As often as I have felt deeply dissatisfied, there was never a time when I didn’t desperately crave happiness. It was a confusion about its true meaning, and about the path by which to approach it, that always held me back.
And so, by only hazily perceiving a part of the whole, I lost sight of the end by getting too absorbed in the means.
Is it possible for pleasure, wealth, or fame to assist me in my happiness? They certainly can, but once I pursue them for their own sake, I am literally getting it backwards, and I find myself sliding in the opposite direction. Where I think that the supposed acquisition of an external object has brought me closer, it has merely served to distance me from the purpose of the internal subject.
Indeed, I won’t find a more potent way to increase my fear and worry than by hacking away at the limbs instead of digging down to the root.
From childhood, the powers-that-be insist that we must develop a set of skills aimed at gaining property and achieving status; there is no mention of improving the condition of the soul. After many years of running the race, there just might be a chance for finally getting a trophy, and yet it never lives up to its flashy promise—we may dismiss it as a mid-life crisis, but it is really a recklessly delayed existential reckoning.
If we do somehow manage to win the prize, we are deeply disappointed, and continue grasping for more and more. If, as is the case for so many, we fall short of the twisted expectations, we are consumed by sadness and bitterness, for we haven’t been trained to look anywhere else.
The result is a world full of adults who dream of once again living as children, from a time before they fell into the trap of becoming producers and consumers. Happiness seemed within view back then, and now the instructions from a poor map have left it beyond the horizon.
I have always loved mazes, and I will go out of my way to visit a hedge maze at an old estate, or a corn maze at a country fair; there is something about a leisurely stroll combined with a satisfying exercise of wit.
Then one day, I found myself wandering through a monster of a creation in East Texas, and I realized I had completely lost my bearings.
I ignored all the fairly simple rules I had learned for solving a maze, and I momentarily fell into a panic. It was my son who kept a level head, and who calmly set me straight.
That is much what it feels like to get hung up on prestige at the expense of philosophy.
I know many people who are quite miserable, though I resist the temptation, promoted by those who believe other human beings to be disposable, of assuming that they somehow wish to be miserable.
As often as I have felt deeply dissatisfied, there was never a time when I didn’t desperately crave happiness. It was a confusion about its true meaning, and about the path by which to approach it, that always held me back.
And so, by only hazily perceiving a part of the whole, I lost sight of the end by getting too absorbed in the means.
Is it possible for pleasure, wealth, or fame to assist me in my happiness? They certainly can, but once I pursue them for their own sake, I am literally getting it backwards, and I find myself sliding in the opposite direction. Where I think that the supposed acquisition of an external object has brought me closer, it has merely served to distance me from the purpose of the internal subject.
Indeed, I won’t find a more potent way to increase my fear and worry than by hacking away at the limbs instead of digging down to the root.
From childhood, the powers-that-be insist that we must develop a set of skills aimed at gaining property and achieving status; there is no mention of improving the condition of the soul. After many years of running the race, there just might be a chance for finally getting a trophy, and yet it never lives up to its flashy promise—we may dismiss it as a mid-life crisis, but it is really a recklessly delayed existential reckoning.
If we do somehow manage to win the prize, we are deeply disappointed, and continue grasping for more and more. If, as is the case for so many, we fall short of the twisted expectations, we are consumed by sadness and bitterness, for we haven’t been trained to look anywhere else.
The result is a world full of adults who dream of once again living as children, from a time before they fell into the trap of becoming producers and consumers. Happiness seemed within view back then, and now the instructions from a poor map have left it beyond the horizon.
I have always loved mazes, and I will go out of my way to visit a hedge maze at an old estate, or a corn maze at a country fair; there is something about a leisurely stroll combined with a satisfying exercise of wit.
Then one day, I found myself wandering through a monster of a creation in East Texas, and I realized I had completely lost my bearings.
I ignored all the fairly simple rules I had learned for solving a maze, and I momentarily fell into a panic. It was my son who kept a level head, and who calmly set me straight.
That is much what it feels like to get hung up on prestige at the expense of philosophy.
—Reflection written in 2/2013
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