Perhaps the main theme of Part Two (“Causes of Happiness”) is the importance of being connected to the stream of life. (My halftime report on Part One is here.) Children and work are the usual vehicles for achieving this connection.
My favorite chapter of Part Two is Chapter 15, “Impersonal Interests.” (My favorite chapter in Part One is Chapter 8, “Persecution Mania”; I am worried about what these preferences say about me!) One of the features of the Russellian view that stands out is the recognition of fairly severe limits on the extent of human altruism that can be expected. People are willing to sacrifice for their family and friends, but as the degree of separation increases, the philanthropic impulse decreases considerably. Russell notes how requiring substantial sacrifices even for one’s children – as by mothers who must give up careers for their families – is a recipe for unhappiness. Compared to Peter Singer, for example, Bertrand Russell elucidates a sort of moral code that is easier to implement, and therefore I suppose I want to believe that it also is closer to being correct – though I possess no intellectual refutation of Singer’s more demanding morality. How (comparatively) liberating for the conventionally selfish is Russell’s notion that the counsels of a hedonist and that of a “sane moralist [p. 190]” should essentially be identical!
In the Preface, Russell announces his belief that by “well-directed effort,” many people who are unhappy could become happy. In Part Two, he adumbrates more fully his views on how that effort should be directed. One of the curiosities of the recommended behavior is that it can’t really be pointed squarely at happiness; rather, happiness is sort of a beneficial side effect of efforts made for other reasons. Taking direct aim at happiness is apt to result in perverse consequences. You need affection to be happy – but if you express that need too openly, other people will withhold affection. You must take delight in others to be happy, but if you try to simulate delight, they will sense that you are merely tolerating them, and again your plan will be thwarted. You need the admiration of others to be satisfied, but if securing admiration is the motivation for your work, you will achieve neither admiration nor satisfaction. Friends are requisite for happiness, but excessive kindness or generosity directed towards winning friends will backfire. You need success to be happy, but if success comes too easily, it will not bring happiness. Even to focus too intently on how to cure your unhappiness is apt to make you inner-directed, and thereby cut off your opportunities for contentment.
The happiness arena is replete with virtuous circles, while the unhappiness realm is a slough of despond, from which it is hard to extricate yourself. If you are unhappy you will (1) lack zest which will (2) tend to make you unlovable which will (3) probably make you introspective, and then conditions (1), (2), and (3) will make you unhappy… and so on. If you are happy you will (1) be zestful and you will (2) take a lively interest in people and things and you will (3) approach your work with more energy which will (4) tend to make you successful, and then conditions (1) through (4) will make you happy… and so on. Switching from the vicious circle to the virtuous circle seems to me to be extremely hard, even if one scrupulously tries to apply Russell’s “well-directed effort.” For people near the margin of happiness, the Russellian approach would seem to have much to offer. But how common are those folks at the margin? In the final chapter, Russell suggests that his self-help plan can overcome garden-variety unhappiness, while severe cases might require professional assistance. The strongly reinforcing nature of the vicious circle, however, makes me suspect that the typical unhappiness is that which Russell considers severe, and unlikely to be adjusted even by a good faith effort to implement his advice. Russell does a better job of identifying the features and correlates of happiness (and unhappiness) than he does at providing a recipe for making lemonade out of (perceived) lemons.
Showing posts with label The Conquest of Happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Conquest of Happiness. Show all posts
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 17
Chapter 17 (pages 186-191), “The Happy Man”
When it comes to happiness, cause and effect frequently are confused. Neither our adopted creeds nor our intellectualized narratives cause us to be happy or unhappy. “The man who is unhappy will, as a rule, adopt an unhappy creed, while the man who is happy will adopt a happy creed...[p. 186].” There are basic ingredients that are all but pre-requisites for happiness, such as adequate food and shelter, love and respect – for some people, parenthood could be added to the list. With these ingredients in place, unhappiness has a psychological source, which in the usual, not-too-severe cases, can be self-cured – but the self-cure is to lessen self-involvement! Passions to avoid (and to educate people to avoid) in the name of happiness include fear, envy, the sense of sin, self-pity and self-aggrandizement (as discussed in Part One). These passions imprison us in self-focus. Fear nurtures self-deception, but living a life of deceit is precarious and leaves us vulnerable to a massive shock when the truth can no longer be dodged – while the intuitive knowledge of this danger causes apprehension.
“The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections and wide interests, who secures his happiness through these interests and affections and through the fact that they, in turn, make him an object of interest and affection to many others [p. 188].”
How to escape from the happiness-robbing self-focus? First the cause of self-focus should be diagnosed. If it is a sense of sin, then recognize that cause (and its disconnect from anything actually sinful) in your conscious mind, where this realization can seep into the unconscious. If you are self-centered due to self-pity, or out of fear, then these conditions can be understood and combated, too. Outside interests then will emerge spontaneously.
There is substantial overlap between a good life and a happy life. Moralists who teach that a good life is about self-denial generate a self-centeredness (in carefully watching over your appetites) that redounds to neither happiness nor goodness. There needn’t be such a sharp distinction between an individual and everyone else. Broad interests connect individuals with the “stream of life [p. 191].” A healthy, but not excessive, interest in your own well-being promotes happiness in yourself and in others. Unhappiness arises when a person is internally disjointed (with a chasm between the conscious and unconscious mind) or externally disconnected, cut off from society. “The happy man is the man who does not suffer from either of these failures of unity, whose personality is neither divided against itself nor pitted against the world [p. 191].” Even death engenders no dread for someone who is instinctively connected to the ongoing parade of life.
When it comes to happiness, cause and effect frequently are confused. Neither our adopted creeds nor our intellectualized narratives cause us to be happy or unhappy. “The man who is unhappy will, as a rule, adopt an unhappy creed, while the man who is happy will adopt a happy creed...[p. 186].” There are basic ingredients that are all but pre-requisites for happiness, such as adequate food and shelter, love and respect – for some people, parenthood could be added to the list. With these ingredients in place, unhappiness has a psychological source, which in the usual, not-too-severe cases, can be self-cured – but the self-cure is to lessen self-involvement! Passions to avoid (and to educate people to avoid) in the name of happiness include fear, envy, the sense of sin, self-pity and self-aggrandizement (as discussed in Part One). These passions imprison us in self-focus. Fear nurtures self-deception, but living a life of deceit is precarious and leaves us vulnerable to a massive shock when the truth can no longer be dodged – while the intuitive knowledge of this danger causes apprehension.
“The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections and wide interests, who secures his happiness through these interests and affections and through the fact that they, in turn, make him an object of interest and affection to many others [p. 188].”
How to escape from the happiness-robbing self-focus? First the cause of self-focus should be diagnosed. If it is a sense of sin, then recognize that cause (and its disconnect from anything actually sinful) in your conscious mind, where this realization can seep into the unconscious. If you are self-centered due to self-pity, or out of fear, then these conditions can be understood and combated, too. Outside interests then will emerge spontaneously.
There is substantial overlap between a good life and a happy life. Moralists who teach that a good life is about self-denial generate a self-centeredness (in carefully watching over your appetites) that redounds to neither happiness nor goodness. There needn’t be such a sharp distinction between an individual and everyone else. Broad interests connect individuals with the “stream of life [p. 191].” A healthy, but not excessive, interest in your own well-being promotes happiness in yourself and in others. Unhappiness arises when a person is internally disjointed (with a chasm between the conscious and unconscious mind) or externally disconnected, cut off from society. “The happy man is the man who does not suffer from either of these failures of unity, whose personality is neither divided against itself nor pitted against the world [p. 191].” Even death engenders no dread for someone who is instinctively connected to the ongoing parade of life.
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 16
Chapter 16 (pages 178-185), “Effort and Resignation”
The golden mean is a banal concept, but there is wisdom in it, including in its application to the question of whether you should exert effort or resign from worldly matters. Happiness generally requires attention (hence “conquest”), given all the problems and misfortunes of this world. The necessary attention involves some outward effort -- and perhaps some inward effort to inculcate resignation.
Effort is needed to earn your daily bread, but happiness also requires a feeling of success that a subsistence income alone will not provide. Income has become a measure of success; only a small percentage of people can achieve relatively large incomes, however, suggesting a helpful degree of resignation with respect to earnings. A desirable marriage might require effort, especially for the gender that is in the majority. Successfully raising children is quite an operose undertaking.
“[O]ne may say that some kind of power forms the normal and legitimate aim of every person whose natural desires are not atrophied [p. 181].” The power over others that is sought varies with one’s disposition –- perhaps power over thoughts, actions, emotions, or the power to mitigate pain. The desire for power is intertwined with the spur to the appropriate effort, and harnessing this passion and effort for good ends helps build society.
But passion can be an obstacle to success, especially if the fear of failure becomes a source of excessive anxiety. A temperate resignation to the possibility of failure and to unpreventable misfortune is helpful. “The attitude required is that of doing one’s best while leaving the issue to fate [p. 182].” The paralyzing resignation of despair must be avoided, but the resignation associated with hopes that are larger than our narrowly personal ends is helpful. A researcher who yearns for scientific progress may not achieve that progress personally, but can avoid despair if the larger enterprise moves ahead.
Russell provides a sort of compartmentalization story for how he believes the desirable type of resignation should operate. If your marriage turns unhappy, you shouldn’t let it interfere with your (important) work. Oh well, you presumably say, these things happen, and in the meantime, I have work to do.
Some people work themselves into a lather over trivialities, like their laundry being delayed or a train missed. Wise people handle these minor problems (they needn’t ignore them) without an expenditure of emotion. Perhaps irritable or anxious people cannot overcome their emotional roadblocks, short of dedicating themselves to a larger, impersonal enterprise which will render minor matters less meaningful. “The man who has become emancipated from the empire of worry will find life a much more cheerful affair than it used to be while he was perpetually being irritated [p. 184].” He takes a detached, almost ironic approach to the inevitable trials of everyday life. Allow yourself a multiplicity of views of yourself. Do not be consistently a hero in a tragedy, nor a comic clown, but take on many roles, if you cannot be entirely detached.
Your effort to succeed at a task will not be undone by a dose of humor or by a healthy understanding of the relative unimportance of the enterprise. In the long-run, self-deception will undermine the quality of the work, and perhaps even turn it to bad ends. “Half the useful work in the world consists of combating the harmful work [p. 185].” Facing the truth about ourselves is painful at first, but an eventual salvation. “Nothing is more fatiguing nor, in the long run, more exasperating than the daily effort to believe things which daily become more incredible [p. 185].”
The golden mean is a banal concept, but there is wisdom in it, including in its application to the question of whether you should exert effort or resign from worldly matters. Happiness generally requires attention (hence “conquest”), given all the problems and misfortunes of this world. The necessary attention involves some outward effort -- and perhaps some inward effort to inculcate resignation.
Effort is needed to earn your daily bread, but happiness also requires a feeling of success that a subsistence income alone will not provide. Income has become a measure of success; only a small percentage of people can achieve relatively large incomes, however, suggesting a helpful degree of resignation with respect to earnings. A desirable marriage might require effort, especially for the gender that is in the majority. Successfully raising children is quite an operose undertaking.
“[O]ne may say that some kind of power forms the normal and legitimate aim of every person whose natural desires are not atrophied [p. 181].” The power over others that is sought varies with one’s disposition –- perhaps power over thoughts, actions, emotions, or the power to mitigate pain. The desire for power is intertwined with the spur to the appropriate effort, and harnessing this passion and effort for good ends helps build society.
But passion can be an obstacle to success, especially if the fear of failure becomes a source of excessive anxiety. A temperate resignation to the possibility of failure and to unpreventable misfortune is helpful. “The attitude required is that of doing one’s best while leaving the issue to fate [p. 182].” The paralyzing resignation of despair must be avoided, but the resignation associated with hopes that are larger than our narrowly personal ends is helpful. A researcher who yearns for scientific progress may not achieve that progress personally, but can avoid despair if the larger enterprise moves ahead.
Russell provides a sort of compartmentalization story for how he believes the desirable type of resignation should operate. If your marriage turns unhappy, you shouldn’t let it interfere with your (important) work. Oh well, you presumably say, these things happen, and in the meantime, I have work to do.
Some people work themselves into a lather over trivialities, like their laundry being delayed or a train missed. Wise people handle these minor problems (they needn’t ignore them) without an expenditure of emotion. Perhaps irritable or anxious people cannot overcome their emotional roadblocks, short of dedicating themselves to a larger, impersonal enterprise which will render minor matters less meaningful. “The man who has become emancipated from the empire of worry will find life a much more cheerful affair than it used to be while he was perpetually being irritated [p. 184].” He takes a detached, almost ironic approach to the inevitable trials of everyday life. Allow yourself a multiplicity of views of yourself. Do not be consistently a hero in a tragedy, nor a comic clown, but take on many roles, if you cannot be entirely detached.
Your effort to succeed at a task will not be undone by a dose of humor or by a healthy understanding of the relative unimportance of the enterprise. In the long-run, self-deception will undermine the quality of the work, and perhaps even turn it to bad ends. “Half the useful work in the world consists of combating the harmful work [p. 185].” Facing the truth about ourselves is painful at first, but an eventual salvation. “Nothing is more fatiguing nor, in the long run, more exasperating than the daily effort to believe things which daily become more incredible [p. 185].”
Monday, March 30, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 15
Chapter 15 (pages 170-177), “Impersonal Interests”
This chapter concerns leisure pursuits that are not closely connected to one’s occupation, such as a scientist’s reading of advances in other fields. “One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue and nervous strain is inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical importance in one’s own life [p. 171].” Without outside interests, the brain is always brooding about some practical matter, depriving the subconscious of the opportunity to play its role of leavening the valleys and disproportions in our mental states. We end up irritable and tired, and then the tiredness distances us further from impersonal interests, until the situation cascades to a breakdown.
Impersonal interests require no decisions, which are fatiguing. The notion of “sleeping on” an important decision demonstrates wisdom, as the subconscious can undertake its processing overnight – or while an impersonal interest is being pursued. The appropriate type of impersonal interest is one that does not require the same modes of thought as work, does not involve a financial interest (unlike work), and is not so exciting that the subconscious remains riveted to the leisure pursuit. Golf, theatre, spectator sports – these are just a few of the many types of impersonal pursuits that fit the bill.
Russell speculates that working women tend to be less able than are men to take their minds off their work and lose themselves in some impractical diversion. Though it may appear as if this conscientiousness improves work performance, Russell suspects that its long-run effects are deleterious from the point of view of workplace productivity.
Impersonal pursuits help put the relative significance (and the cosmic insignificance) of one’s main pursuits in useful perspective. Someone who overvalues their work might become a fanatic, and be willing to impose large costs to promote their work ends. “Against this fanatical temper there is no better prophylactic than a large conception of the life of man and his place in the universe [p. 173].” Without a generous survey of the world and its history, you will succumb to expedience, choosing dubious means as the efficient path to serving what might be worthy ends. The result often will be short-term success, but long-term pain. If you imbue your mental outlook with the proper sense of proportion, “you will realize that the momentary battle upon which you are engaged cannot be of such importance as to risk a backward step towards the darkness out of which we have been slowly emerging [p. 174].” A loss in today’s battle, or even a serious setback in your personal fortune, will also pain less, if you know that your efforts are connected to the long-term struggle of raising mankind out of barbarism.
Russell provides his vision for education, in which children are made aware of man’s small place in the universe and the minuteness of a single human lifespan within the current of mankind’s past and future journey on earth. Simultaneously, Russell would hope to “impress upon the mind of the young the greatness of which the individual is capable, and the knowledge that throughout all the depths of stellar space nothing of equal value is known to us [p. 175].” People, provided with such training, who become capable of greatness of soul develop a stoicism that allows them to be infused with joy even when external circumstances are trying.
Helping one to deal with those inevitable trying circumstances is another benefit of impersonal pursuits. The distraction that they provide, at moments when troubles cannot be addressed but must be endured, is a great salve to anxiety. Even grief in the death of a loved one must be moderated, and the right type of impersonal pursuits – not degrading practices such as excessive consumption of alcohol or drugs – can aid in that process. “To bear misfortune well when it comes, it is wise to have cultivated in happier times a certain width of interests, so that the mind may find prepared for it some undisturbed place suggesting other associations and other emotions than those which are making the present difficult to bear [p. 172].” All our loves, all our pursuits, are mortal, so we can only insure against devastation by diversifying the risk, by holding a wide portfolio of interests.
This chapter concerns leisure pursuits that are not closely connected to one’s occupation, such as a scientist’s reading of advances in other fields. “One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue and nervous strain is inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical importance in one’s own life [p. 171].” Without outside interests, the brain is always brooding about some practical matter, depriving the subconscious of the opportunity to play its role of leavening the valleys and disproportions in our mental states. We end up irritable and tired, and then the tiredness distances us further from impersonal interests, until the situation cascades to a breakdown.
Impersonal interests require no decisions, which are fatiguing. The notion of “sleeping on” an important decision demonstrates wisdom, as the subconscious can undertake its processing overnight – or while an impersonal interest is being pursued. The appropriate type of impersonal interest is one that does not require the same modes of thought as work, does not involve a financial interest (unlike work), and is not so exciting that the subconscious remains riveted to the leisure pursuit. Golf, theatre, spectator sports – these are just a few of the many types of impersonal pursuits that fit the bill.
Russell speculates that working women tend to be less able than are men to take their minds off their work and lose themselves in some impractical diversion. Though it may appear as if this conscientiousness improves work performance, Russell suspects that its long-run effects are deleterious from the point of view of workplace productivity.
Impersonal pursuits help put the relative significance (and the cosmic insignificance) of one’s main pursuits in useful perspective. Someone who overvalues their work might become a fanatic, and be willing to impose large costs to promote their work ends. “Against this fanatical temper there is no better prophylactic than a large conception of the life of man and his place in the universe [p. 173].” Without a generous survey of the world and its history, you will succumb to expedience, choosing dubious means as the efficient path to serving what might be worthy ends. The result often will be short-term success, but long-term pain. If you imbue your mental outlook with the proper sense of proportion, “you will realize that the momentary battle upon which you are engaged cannot be of such importance as to risk a backward step towards the darkness out of which we have been slowly emerging [p. 174].” A loss in today’s battle, or even a serious setback in your personal fortune, will also pain less, if you know that your efforts are connected to the long-term struggle of raising mankind out of barbarism.
Russell provides his vision for education, in which children are made aware of man’s small place in the universe and the minuteness of a single human lifespan within the current of mankind’s past and future journey on earth. Simultaneously, Russell would hope to “impress upon the mind of the young the greatness of which the individual is capable, and the knowledge that throughout all the depths of stellar space nothing of equal value is known to us [p. 175].” People, provided with such training, who become capable of greatness of soul develop a stoicism that allows them to be infused with joy even when external circumstances are trying.
Helping one to deal with those inevitable trying circumstances is another benefit of impersonal pursuits. The distraction that they provide, at moments when troubles cannot be addressed but must be endured, is a great salve to anxiety. Even grief in the death of a loved one must be moderated, and the right type of impersonal pursuits – not degrading practices such as excessive consumption of alcohol or drugs – can aid in that process. “To bear misfortune well when it comes, it is wise to have cultivated in happier times a certain width of interests, so that the mind may find prepared for it some undisturbed place suggesting other associations and other emotions than those which are making the present difficult to bear [p. 172].” All our loves, all our pursuits, are mortal, so we can only insure against devastation by diversifying the risk, by holding a wide portfolio of interests.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 14
Chapter 14 (pages 162-169), “Work”
Work, even dull work, tends to be better than idleness. Leisure time requires that decisions be made as to how to fill it – decisions that will bring no happiness as they are subject to constant second-guessing. Most people prefer to be told what to do and when to do it. So work alleviates tedium, and allows greater pleasure to be taken in intermittent vacations. Work also serves as an outlet for ambition and for generating a favorable reputation. “Continuity of purpose is one of the most essential ingredients of happiness in the long run, and for most men this comes chiefly through their work [p. 163].” The domestic work of housewives does not possess the same advantages (money, reputation, and satisfaction) as outside, paid work.
Though tedious work is better than idleness, some forms of work provide opportunities for profound pleasures. “Two chief elements make work interesting: first, the exercise of skill, and second, construction [p. 164].” People with special skills enjoy utilizing those skills, at least as long as those skills can continue to be honed. Some professions, such as politician or businessman, hold the potential for improvement, and hence happiness, into old age. “Construction” refers to the idea that there are varieties of work in which something ordered and lasting is left behind, as opposed to the rubble generated by destruction. While some destruction is a necessary prelude to further construction, many people engage in wholly destructive work; such people like to delude themselves that they are motivated by constructive purposes, when they actually are motivated by hate. Revolutionaries often are most detailed and eloquent when discussing their destructive purposes, but at a loss for any nuance when asked about constructing better alternatives. They might find pleasure in destruction, but destruction can be complete, and then their pleasure ends. Construction generally is ongoing, and even when complete brings joy in contemplation. Opportunities for constructive work are themselves an antidote to hate. “The satisfaction to be derived from success in a great constructive enterprise is one of the most massive that life has to offer, although unfortunately in its highest forms it is open only to men of exceptional ability [p. 167].” [Among the men of art and science whom Russell singles out as creators are Shakespeare and Lenin, the latter for generating order out of chaos; recall that Russell is not all that enamored of Lenin, however – RBR.] Later (page 169), Russell notes that bringing up passable children is a form of constructive work that can bring real, lasting satisfaction.
Great artists often are of a temperament that limits happiness; nevertheless, their artistic work, while perhaps not making them happy, makes them less unhappy. Successful scientists tend to be happy, with their work being the chief source of their satisfaction. (Russell is here returning to a topic that he discussed in Chapter 10, the happiness of scientists and (at least relative) unhappiness of artists -- RBR.)
Modern literary creators (including journalists) often are unhappy, because their work is directed by corporate Philistines, who commission output that the literary men “regard as pernicious nonsense [p. 168].” It is better to have such a corporate job, even if you disagree with the aims of your employer, than to starve. Nevertheless, it is better to receive less pay for work that you view as valuable in itself, than to receive a higher salary for work of which you are ashamed. Happiness doesn’t come easily without self-respect.
There is a good deal of variation in the extent to which people can view their lives as a whole. It is an advantage to do so, as then over time you can amalgamate the disparate parts of your life into a unified structure that is conducive to your own happiness, instead of going this way or that as current expedience dictates. “The habit of viewing life as a whole is an essential part both of wisdom and of true morality, and is one of the things which ought to be encouraged in education [p. 169].”
Work, even dull work, tends to be better than idleness. Leisure time requires that decisions be made as to how to fill it – decisions that will bring no happiness as they are subject to constant second-guessing. Most people prefer to be told what to do and when to do it. So work alleviates tedium, and allows greater pleasure to be taken in intermittent vacations. Work also serves as an outlet for ambition and for generating a favorable reputation. “Continuity of purpose is one of the most essential ingredients of happiness in the long run, and for most men this comes chiefly through their work [p. 163].” The domestic work of housewives does not possess the same advantages (money, reputation, and satisfaction) as outside, paid work.
Though tedious work is better than idleness, some forms of work provide opportunities for profound pleasures. “Two chief elements make work interesting: first, the exercise of skill, and second, construction [p. 164].” People with special skills enjoy utilizing those skills, at least as long as those skills can continue to be honed. Some professions, such as politician or businessman, hold the potential for improvement, and hence happiness, into old age. “Construction” refers to the idea that there are varieties of work in which something ordered and lasting is left behind, as opposed to the rubble generated by destruction. While some destruction is a necessary prelude to further construction, many people engage in wholly destructive work; such people like to delude themselves that they are motivated by constructive purposes, when they actually are motivated by hate. Revolutionaries often are most detailed and eloquent when discussing their destructive purposes, but at a loss for any nuance when asked about constructing better alternatives. They might find pleasure in destruction, but destruction can be complete, and then their pleasure ends. Construction generally is ongoing, and even when complete brings joy in contemplation. Opportunities for constructive work are themselves an antidote to hate. “The satisfaction to be derived from success in a great constructive enterprise is one of the most massive that life has to offer, although unfortunately in its highest forms it is open only to men of exceptional ability [p. 167].” [Among the men of art and science whom Russell singles out as creators are Shakespeare and Lenin, the latter for generating order out of chaos; recall that Russell is not all that enamored of Lenin, however – RBR.] Later (page 169), Russell notes that bringing up passable children is a form of constructive work that can bring real, lasting satisfaction.
Great artists often are of a temperament that limits happiness; nevertheless, their artistic work, while perhaps not making them happy, makes them less unhappy. Successful scientists tend to be happy, with their work being the chief source of their satisfaction. (Russell is here returning to a topic that he discussed in Chapter 10, the happiness of scientists and (at least relative) unhappiness of artists -- RBR.)
Modern literary creators (including journalists) often are unhappy, because their work is directed by corporate Philistines, who commission output that the literary men “regard as pernicious nonsense [p. 168].” It is better to have such a corporate job, even if you disagree with the aims of your employer, than to starve. Nevertheless, it is better to receive less pay for work that you view as valuable in itself, than to receive a higher salary for work of which you are ashamed. Happiness doesn’t come easily without self-respect.
There is a good deal of variation in the extent to which people can view their lives as a whole. It is an advantage to do so, as then over time you can amalgamate the disparate parts of your life into a unified structure that is conducive to your own happiness, instead of going this way or that as current expedience dictates. “The habit of viewing life as a whole is an essential part both of wisdom and of true morality, and is one of the things which ought to be encouraged in education [p. 169].”
Friday, March 13, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 13
Chapter 13 (pages 145-161), “The Family”
Family life could be the great fount of happiness, but under current conditions, both parents and children typically find the whole exercise trying. The subject of this chapter, however, is limited to what can be done about familial unhappiness by individuals, without reforming society at large. [Nevertheless, this is the longest chapter of the book – RBR.]
Women used to be “driven into marriage by the intolerable conditions of life for the spinster [p. 146],” which included financial dependence on a male relative and, if unchaste, being socially scorned as a fallen woman. The entrance of women into careers and the decline of the domestic services industry means that parenthood comes at a heavier price than before for well-to-do women. In particular, career women almost invariably have to stop working if they give birth, reinstituting a life of financial dependence. Further, they are then confronted with “a new and appalling problem, namely the paucity and bad quality of domestic service [p. 147].” [An old complaint that was apparently not yet a chestnut in 1930, and a reminder of just how large a change it was when middle-class (particularly British?) folks could no longer afford to hire servants -- RBR.] So a former career woman either undertakes the domestic labor herself or becomes shrewish in dealing with the maids. “Weighed down by a mass of trivial detail, she is fortunate indeed if she does not soon lose all her charm and three-quarters of her intelligence [p. 147].” Husbands and children find her company to be problematic. She is so aware of all that she has given up for her children that she demands a repayment of which they are incapable. The paradox is that by performing her domestic duties faithfully she loses the affection of her husband and children – affections which would not have been threatened by a carefree neglect of those duties.
Urbanization combined with family life can generate unhappiness. Cities are much more densely packed than before, and cramped apartment dwellers do not have a yard (or simply the great outdoors) in which the children can play. So parents in cities have a hard time escaping the noise of children, whereas suburban life involves a happiness-threatening commute to work for the father and his marginalization in his family’s lives.
The movement from master-slave relationships towards democracy, even within the family, has undermined traditional roles and created some uncertainty about proper behaviors. Obedience of children towards parents is no longer taken for granted. Psychoanalysis has rendered parents fearful that whatever they do, they will be psychologically scarring their offspring; the “simple and natural happiness [p. 150]” of family life is compromised. Wealthier, more civilized, and more intelligent people become less likely to have children, though the uncivilized remain relatively fruitful. Western nations will be seeing their populations fall, except to the extent that immigration compensates for the natural decrease. Civilizations that cannot reproduce are unstable, and will find their places usurped by those who multiply. Governments and clergymen can exhort all they want, but the blandishments of neither patriotism nor holiness are particularly successful at inducing breeding. Ignorance of how to prevent pregnancy can be an effective spur to population growth, and governments do their best to spread this ignorance, but this, too, is a losing battle. Parenthood will only be popular if the interest (that is, happiness) of the parents can be enlisted into the cause.
As a general proposition, being a parent can provide the best and most lasting happiness, for men almost as well as for women. Russell recounts his own experience: “…speaking personally, I have found the happiness of parenthood greater than any other that I have experienced [p. 153].” People who pass up this happiness develop a profound listlessness. As you get older, happiness requires that you are not atomized, but are “part of the stream of life flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future [p. 153].” Perhaps a lasting work product can produce the same feeling of connection, but for most folks, children are the only means. Without children, your interests appear to be limited to your lifespan, lending a sense of futility to any endeavor.
Normal parental affection towards one’s children is a different order of feeling than other types of affection – and a similar point seems to apply to non-human animals, too. “If it were not for this special emotion there would be almost nothing to be said for the family as an institution, since children might equally well be left to the care of professionals [p. 155].” Other types of affection tend to be granted conditional on good behavior or good health or what have you – parental affection remains strong even when other claims to affection have been lost. The affection of your parents might not seem all that important when times are good, but at times of failure, it provides an invaluable security.
In human relationships that involve one dominant and one submissive partner, such as employer and employee, securing happiness for the dominant party is relatively easy. The world has become more interested in making these relationships happy for both parties; therefore, parents now draw less happiness from their children, while children suffer less from their parents.
Caring for an infant “gratifies not only the parent’s love towards the child, but also the parent’s desire for power [p. 156].” As the child develops, however, its well-being demands that the parent cede power, allowing the child more independence. Some parents continue to play the tyrant. Other parents validate their child’s claims to independence, but at the cost of their own happiness, as the child chooses directions that do not coincide with parental interests. The parental impulse towards possessiveness is hard to overcome, even when acting upon it does not conduce to the welfare of the child. Parents who recognize this problem become indecisive, and their very uncertainty undermines their value for the child. “Better than being careful, therefore, is to be pure in heart [157].” If you really put your child’s welfare above your own, you can guide your child confidently, and the mistakes that assuredly you will make will not prove costly.
The ingrained respect for a child’s personality that engenders wise parenting also is a necessary attitude for successful marriages and friendships. “In a good world it would pervade the political relations between groups of human beings, though this is so distant a hope that we need not linger over it [p. 158].” The respectful stance greatly adds to parental happiness, as parents with this respect can act in the best interests of their children without seeking the shallow joys of gratifying their desire of power.
Mothers recognize that they are not expected to teach calculus to their children, but they are less willing to contract out other duties of child-rearing, even when specialists are better placed to fulfill these duties. For some months around the birth of a child, perhaps, mothers generally will not be able to continue fulltime in their professional capacities; nevertheless, motherhood and careers should be compatible. If society expects otherwise, the sacrifice required by mothers will be too large, and the mothers themselves will seek excessive emotional compensation from their children. “It is important, therefore, quite as much in the interests of the children as in those of the mother, that motherhood should not cut her off from all other interests and pursuits [p. 160].” Those who are good at child rearing should specialize in it, providing paid services for other parents, many of whom are baffled by the demands of child care. It is almost received wisdom that fathers are not accomplished at child rearing, and there is no shame for them in taking a back seat in such domestic duties. Yet children love their fathers as much as their mothers. It would liberate women and benefit children if mothers similarly could leave many of the tasks of child raising to adept professionals.
Family life could be the great fount of happiness, but under current conditions, both parents and children typically find the whole exercise trying. The subject of this chapter, however, is limited to what can be done about familial unhappiness by individuals, without reforming society at large. [Nevertheless, this is the longest chapter of the book – RBR.]
Women used to be “driven into marriage by the intolerable conditions of life for the spinster [p. 146],” which included financial dependence on a male relative and, if unchaste, being socially scorned as a fallen woman. The entrance of women into careers and the decline of the domestic services industry means that parenthood comes at a heavier price than before for well-to-do women. In particular, career women almost invariably have to stop working if they give birth, reinstituting a life of financial dependence. Further, they are then confronted with “a new and appalling problem, namely the paucity and bad quality of domestic service [p. 147].” [An old complaint that was apparently not yet a chestnut in 1930, and a reminder of just how large a change it was when middle-class (particularly British?) folks could no longer afford to hire servants -- RBR.] So a former career woman either undertakes the domestic labor herself or becomes shrewish in dealing with the maids. “Weighed down by a mass of trivial detail, she is fortunate indeed if she does not soon lose all her charm and three-quarters of her intelligence [p. 147].” Husbands and children find her company to be problematic. She is so aware of all that she has given up for her children that she demands a repayment of which they are incapable. The paradox is that by performing her domestic duties faithfully she loses the affection of her husband and children – affections which would not have been threatened by a carefree neglect of those duties.
Urbanization combined with family life can generate unhappiness. Cities are much more densely packed than before, and cramped apartment dwellers do not have a yard (or simply the great outdoors) in which the children can play. So parents in cities have a hard time escaping the noise of children, whereas suburban life involves a happiness-threatening commute to work for the father and his marginalization in his family’s lives.
The movement from master-slave relationships towards democracy, even within the family, has undermined traditional roles and created some uncertainty about proper behaviors. Obedience of children towards parents is no longer taken for granted. Psychoanalysis has rendered parents fearful that whatever they do, they will be psychologically scarring their offspring; the “simple and natural happiness [p. 150]” of family life is compromised. Wealthier, more civilized, and more intelligent people become less likely to have children, though the uncivilized remain relatively fruitful. Western nations will be seeing their populations fall, except to the extent that immigration compensates for the natural decrease. Civilizations that cannot reproduce are unstable, and will find their places usurped by those who multiply. Governments and clergymen can exhort all they want, but the blandishments of neither patriotism nor holiness are particularly successful at inducing breeding. Ignorance of how to prevent pregnancy can be an effective spur to population growth, and governments do their best to spread this ignorance, but this, too, is a losing battle. Parenthood will only be popular if the interest (that is, happiness) of the parents can be enlisted into the cause.
As a general proposition, being a parent can provide the best and most lasting happiness, for men almost as well as for women. Russell recounts his own experience: “…speaking personally, I have found the happiness of parenthood greater than any other that I have experienced [p. 153].” People who pass up this happiness develop a profound listlessness. As you get older, happiness requires that you are not atomized, but are “part of the stream of life flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future [p. 153].” Perhaps a lasting work product can produce the same feeling of connection, but for most folks, children are the only means. Without children, your interests appear to be limited to your lifespan, lending a sense of futility to any endeavor.
Normal parental affection towards one’s children is a different order of feeling than other types of affection – and a similar point seems to apply to non-human animals, too. “If it were not for this special emotion there would be almost nothing to be said for the family as an institution, since children might equally well be left to the care of professionals [p. 155].” Other types of affection tend to be granted conditional on good behavior or good health or what have you – parental affection remains strong even when other claims to affection have been lost. The affection of your parents might not seem all that important when times are good, but at times of failure, it provides an invaluable security.
In human relationships that involve one dominant and one submissive partner, such as employer and employee, securing happiness for the dominant party is relatively easy. The world has become more interested in making these relationships happy for both parties; therefore, parents now draw less happiness from their children, while children suffer less from their parents.
Caring for an infant “gratifies not only the parent’s love towards the child, but also the parent’s desire for power [p. 156].” As the child develops, however, its well-being demands that the parent cede power, allowing the child more independence. Some parents continue to play the tyrant. Other parents validate their child’s claims to independence, but at the cost of their own happiness, as the child chooses directions that do not coincide with parental interests. The parental impulse towards possessiveness is hard to overcome, even when acting upon it does not conduce to the welfare of the child. Parents who recognize this problem become indecisive, and their very uncertainty undermines their value for the child. “Better than being careful, therefore, is to be pure in heart [157].” If you really put your child’s welfare above your own, you can guide your child confidently, and the mistakes that assuredly you will make will not prove costly.
The ingrained respect for a child’s personality that engenders wise parenting also is a necessary attitude for successful marriages and friendships. “In a good world it would pervade the political relations between groups of human beings, though this is so distant a hope that we need not linger over it [p. 158].” The respectful stance greatly adds to parental happiness, as parents with this respect can act in the best interests of their children without seeking the shallow joys of gratifying their desire of power.
Mothers recognize that they are not expected to teach calculus to their children, but they are less willing to contract out other duties of child-rearing, even when specialists are better placed to fulfill these duties. For some months around the birth of a child, perhaps, mothers generally will not be able to continue fulltime in their professional capacities; nevertheless, motherhood and careers should be compatible. If society expects otherwise, the sacrifice required by mothers will be too large, and the mothers themselves will seek excessive emotional compensation from their children. “It is important, therefore, quite as much in the interests of the children as in those of the mother, that motherhood should not cut her off from all other interests and pursuits [p. 160].” Those who are good at child rearing should specialize in it, providing paid services for other parents, many of whom are baffled by the demands of child care. It is almost received wisdom that fathers are not accomplished at child rearing, and there is no shame for them in taking a back seat in such domestic duties. Yet children love their fathers as much as their mothers. It would liberate women and benefit children if mothers similarly could leave many of the tasks of child raising to adept professionals.
Monday, March 2, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 12
Chapter 12 (pages 137-144), “Affection”
Being beloved promotes the zest for life, whereas the feeling of being unloved destroys it. Those who feel unloved might try to win the love of others through extraordinary kindness or generosity, though this tactic is likely to fail: “human nature is so constructed that it gives affection most readily to those who seem least to demand it [p. 137].” Alternatively, those who perceive themselves to be unloved might take revenge upon the world, perhaps through violence, or perhaps, like Jonathan Swift, through a biting satire. The most common response to feeling unloved, however, is to fall into quiet despair, punctuated by bouts of ill feeling towards others. “As a rule, the lives of such people become extremely self-centered and the absence of affection gives them a sense of insecurity from which they instinctively seek to escape by allowing habit to dominate their lives utterly and completely [p. 138].” They seek to stay on their tried and true paths to avoid encountering a hostile world.
A sense of security leads to happiness, unless the feeling of invulnerability induces foolish risk-taking. Even in risky endeavors, like crossing over a chasm on a dodgy bridge, the feeling of security can lower the risk – a similar proposition applies to many types of activities. This useful self-confidence grows out of receiving sufficient, appropriate affection: receiving, not giving, though the symmetric type of affection is the standard case. Admiration works as well as affection in generating zest: public performers who receive admiration keep up their spirits. But for those who cannot call upon the admiration of a large, diffuse crowd, more concentrated affection is required. Children take the affection of their parents for granted -- affection that is essential for their happiness, as it is their guarantee against disaster. Children who lack parental affection do not meet the world with the same optimistic curiosity, and they become gloomy introverts at a young age, later turning to some unsound philosophy or theology to provide an inadequate alternative. The stochastic world does not fit into the deterministic boxes provided by these creeds. Children who receive affection do not have to create an artificial world for the safety they cannot find in the real one.
The appropriate type of affection that produces inquisitive, happy children cannot itself be too focused on safety above new experience. It might be satisfying to a parent to have a child who only feels secure in the vicinity of the parent, but this dependence will have deleterious long-term effects for the child. Adults with such an upbringing seek refuge from reality in their romantic connections, looking for the same unconditional admiration and protection from harsh truths.
We should try to minimize the extent to which our affection for others reflects fears for misfortunes that might befall them. We might use such apprehensions to cloak our own possessiveness. Some men prefer timid women, whom they can control via the provision of protection.
The ability to inspire sexual feelings in someone else is extremely important to the happiness of adults; sexual love provides joy directly, and by sustaining a zest for life, also indirectly aids happiness. Women tend to love men for their characters, while men are more moved by looks. Characters, however, can be unlovable thanks to their deformation from childhood. We probably know better how to foster good looks than good characters.
It is one thing to be beloved; but what about the affection that we have for others? The better type of affection emanates from a person who is confident and secure; the lesser type comes from a need for security. Both types generally are present simultaneously, and both are helpful. Nevertheless, the version of affection that reflects insecurity is far inferior, both because it is a product of fear and because it promotes self-centeredness. “In the best kind of affection a man hopes for a new happiness rather than for escape from an old unhappiness [p. 142].”
Mutual affection can be mutually invigorating. But the benefits of affection also can be wholly one-sided, where one person’s affection comes at the expense of the other person’s vitality. A person who uses his partner to promote his own good, but does not think of how to generate mutual benefits, misses out on one of life’s joys; his ego is his prison.
People are conditioned, through social and private sanction, to be excessively cautious in their bestowal of affection. The result is too little affection in the world, and too much unhappiness. Those who exceed the norm in their bestowal of physical affection are not necessarily better off, however; sex can be undertaken without breaking down the walls of self. “[T]he only sex relations that have real value are those in which there is no reticence and in which the whole personality of both becomes merged in a new collective personality [p. 144].”
Being beloved promotes the zest for life, whereas the feeling of being unloved destroys it. Those who feel unloved might try to win the love of others through extraordinary kindness or generosity, though this tactic is likely to fail: “human nature is so constructed that it gives affection most readily to those who seem least to demand it [p. 137].” Alternatively, those who perceive themselves to be unloved might take revenge upon the world, perhaps through violence, or perhaps, like Jonathan Swift, through a biting satire. The most common response to feeling unloved, however, is to fall into quiet despair, punctuated by bouts of ill feeling towards others. “As a rule, the lives of such people become extremely self-centered and the absence of affection gives them a sense of insecurity from which they instinctively seek to escape by allowing habit to dominate their lives utterly and completely [p. 138].” They seek to stay on their tried and true paths to avoid encountering a hostile world.
A sense of security leads to happiness, unless the feeling of invulnerability induces foolish risk-taking. Even in risky endeavors, like crossing over a chasm on a dodgy bridge, the feeling of security can lower the risk – a similar proposition applies to many types of activities. This useful self-confidence grows out of receiving sufficient, appropriate affection: receiving, not giving, though the symmetric type of affection is the standard case. Admiration works as well as affection in generating zest: public performers who receive admiration keep up their spirits. But for those who cannot call upon the admiration of a large, diffuse crowd, more concentrated affection is required. Children take the affection of their parents for granted -- affection that is essential for their happiness, as it is their guarantee against disaster. Children who lack parental affection do not meet the world with the same optimistic curiosity, and they become gloomy introverts at a young age, later turning to some unsound philosophy or theology to provide an inadequate alternative. The stochastic world does not fit into the deterministic boxes provided by these creeds. Children who receive affection do not have to create an artificial world for the safety they cannot find in the real one.
The appropriate type of affection that produces inquisitive, happy children cannot itself be too focused on safety above new experience. It might be satisfying to a parent to have a child who only feels secure in the vicinity of the parent, but this dependence will have deleterious long-term effects for the child. Adults with such an upbringing seek refuge from reality in their romantic connections, looking for the same unconditional admiration and protection from harsh truths.
We should try to minimize the extent to which our affection for others reflects fears for misfortunes that might befall them. We might use such apprehensions to cloak our own possessiveness. Some men prefer timid women, whom they can control via the provision of protection.
The ability to inspire sexual feelings in someone else is extremely important to the happiness of adults; sexual love provides joy directly, and by sustaining a zest for life, also indirectly aids happiness. Women tend to love men for their characters, while men are more moved by looks. Characters, however, can be unlovable thanks to their deformation from childhood. We probably know better how to foster good looks than good characters.
It is one thing to be beloved; but what about the affection that we have for others? The better type of affection emanates from a person who is confident and secure; the lesser type comes from a need for security. Both types generally are present simultaneously, and both are helpful. Nevertheless, the version of affection that reflects insecurity is far inferior, both because it is a product of fear and because it promotes self-centeredness. “In the best kind of affection a man hopes for a new happiness rather than for escape from an old unhappiness [p. 142].”
Mutual affection can be mutually invigorating. But the benefits of affection also can be wholly one-sided, where one person’s affection comes at the expense of the other person’s vitality. A person who uses his partner to promote his own good, but does not think of how to generate mutual benefits, misses out on one of life’s joys; his ego is his prison.
People are conditioned, through social and private sanction, to be excessively cautious in their bestowal of affection. The result is too little affection in the world, and too much unhappiness. Those who exceed the norm in their bestowal of physical affection are not necessarily better off, however; sex can be undertaken without breaking down the walls of self. “[T]he only sex relations that have real value are those in which there is no reticence and in which the whole personality of both becomes merged in a new collective personality [p. 144].”
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 11
Chapter 11 (pages 124-136), “Zest”
Zest is the mark of the happy person. You can see a parallel in the attitude some people adopt when sitting down for a meal. [Russell offers an amusing portrait of people of various characters, such as epicures and gluttons, taking nourishment.] One version of diner is a person who possesses a healthy appetite, enjoys the meal, but doesn’t overeat. This is the approach that a happy person of zest brings to all of life’s offerings. “What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in relation to life [p. 125].” Those unhappy Bryonic types are like folks who are bored by eating. Nevertheless, most people who don’t enjoy, or don’t allow themselves to enjoy, the feast of life view the healthy partaker as somehow inferior. But the more aspects of life from which you can draw pleasure -- whether dining or football or reading -- the better. Broad interests allow you to avoid introversion and unhappiness.
Russell tells a parable of two sausage-making machines. The first takes pleasure in the pigs that are its inputs and in turning them into sausage, while the second spends its time reflecting upon its own inner machinery, eventually failing to function at sausage making at all. “This second sausage machine was like the man who has lost his zest, while the first was like the man who has retained it [p. 126].” Our minds need to reflect on the outer world, even if we are to be successful at meaningful introspection. It is our interest in things that converts events into experiences. We are better adapted to our world, the broader our interests. A keen specialized interest alleviates tedium, though holding a wider array of interests is a more reliable aid to happiness.
When we travel, we are exposed to many different people. Some travelers will take stock of their surroundings, and try to imagine the thoughts and circumstances of those around them, while others will pay them no heed. Some people find everyone else boring, while others quickly develop friendly feeling towards those nearby. Even unpleasant experiences such as an earthquake hold value for people possessing zest, though some forms of illness can destroy zest.
Russell takes up again the issue of the difference between the man of zest (the man with the healthy appetite) and the man of intemperance. A glutton sacrifices all of life’s other pleasures to indulge in eating, with consequent cost to overall happiness; those addicted to other pleasures suffer a similar fate. For happiness, our passions must fit within a sensible framework of living. “If they are to be a source of happiness they must be compatible with health, with the affection of those whom we love, and with the respect of the society in which we live [p. 130].” The acceptable limits of a passion depend upon one’s circumstances: a rich bachelor can devote much more time and energy to chess, in a manner consistent with happiness, than can a man with familial and economic obligations. Alcoholism and gluttony, as they undermine health, are roads to unhappiness even for those who have the time and means to indulge. Passions become miseries if not contained within a solid lifestyle, which includes physical and mental health, income sufficient for necessities, and adequate attention to social and familial duties. To sacrifice these essential elements to an interest is wrong, whether the interest be alcohol or chess. It is one thing to work during the day with some savor of that evening’s forthcoming chess match; it is something else entirely to play chess all day instead of working. The latter is a violation of the classic virtue of moderation. Society, however, sometimes is willing to forgive the neglect of familial duties, especially if the military or creative passion that draws the sacrifice meets with success.
Passions often are indulged to excess, as in the case of alcoholism, with a view to becoming oblivious to something painful. Seeking oblivion through dedication to a commendable end or the development of valuable faculties cannot be condemned. “It is otherwise with the man who seeks oblivion in drinking or gambling or any other form of unprofitable excitement [p. 132].” There can be some close calls, however, such as those people who seek escape through risky adventures that simultaneously might serve some public object.
“Genuine zest, not the sort that is really a search for oblivion, is part of the natural make-up of human beings except in so far as it has been destroyed by unfortunate circumstances [pp. 132-3].” Human children and animals of all ages show a natural curiosity. Much of the curtailment of zest in human adults is necessary to rein in liberties whose indulgence would threaten society. Our impulses arrive haphazardly, but we need regularity to get the trains to run smoothly or for the successful completion of any other task that requires considerable coordination. The constant fettering of our impulses, especially at work, makes it hard to remain zestful.
Health and energy are necessary for zest. Health seems to have been improving for the past century in developed countries, but energy, perhaps not. For women, “zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of respectability [p. 135].” Women are victimized by being taught not to be too lively in public and not to take too evident an interest in men. “To such women all that is ungenerous appears good and all that is generous appears evil [p. 135].” The stifling of interests and sociability in woman is pernicious. “For women as for men zest is the secret of happiness and well-being [p. 136].”
Zest is the mark of the happy person. You can see a parallel in the attitude some people adopt when sitting down for a meal. [Russell offers an amusing portrait of people of various characters, such as epicures and gluttons, taking nourishment.] One version of diner is a person who possesses a healthy appetite, enjoys the meal, but doesn’t overeat. This is the approach that a happy person of zest brings to all of life’s offerings. “What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in relation to life [p. 125].” Those unhappy Bryonic types are like folks who are bored by eating. Nevertheless, most people who don’t enjoy, or don’t allow themselves to enjoy, the feast of life view the healthy partaker as somehow inferior. But the more aspects of life from which you can draw pleasure -- whether dining or football or reading -- the better. Broad interests allow you to avoid introversion and unhappiness.
Russell tells a parable of two sausage-making machines. The first takes pleasure in the pigs that are its inputs and in turning them into sausage, while the second spends its time reflecting upon its own inner machinery, eventually failing to function at sausage making at all. “This second sausage machine was like the man who has lost his zest, while the first was like the man who has retained it [p. 126].” Our minds need to reflect on the outer world, even if we are to be successful at meaningful introspection. It is our interest in things that converts events into experiences. We are better adapted to our world, the broader our interests. A keen specialized interest alleviates tedium, though holding a wider array of interests is a more reliable aid to happiness.
When we travel, we are exposed to many different people. Some travelers will take stock of their surroundings, and try to imagine the thoughts and circumstances of those around them, while others will pay them no heed. Some people find everyone else boring, while others quickly develop friendly feeling towards those nearby. Even unpleasant experiences such as an earthquake hold value for people possessing zest, though some forms of illness can destroy zest.
Russell takes up again the issue of the difference between the man of zest (the man with the healthy appetite) and the man of intemperance. A glutton sacrifices all of life’s other pleasures to indulge in eating, with consequent cost to overall happiness; those addicted to other pleasures suffer a similar fate. For happiness, our passions must fit within a sensible framework of living. “If they are to be a source of happiness they must be compatible with health, with the affection of those whom we love, and with the respect of the society in which we live [p. 130].” The acceptable limits of a passion depend upon one’s circumstances: a rich bachelor can devote much more time and energy to chess, in a manner consistent with happiness, than can a man with familial and economic obligations. Alcoholism and gluttony, as they undermine health, are roads to unhappiness even for those who have the time and means to indulge. Passions become miseries if not contained within a solid lifestyle, which includes physical and mental health, income sufficient for necessities, and adequate attention to social and familial duties. To sacrifice these essential elements to an interest is wrong, whether the interest be alcohol or chess. It is one thing to work during the day with some savor of that evening’s forthcoming chess match; it is something else entirely to play chess all day instead of working. The latter is a violation of the classic virtue of moderation. Society, however, sometimes is willing to forgive the neglect of familial duties, especially if the military or creative passion that draws the sacrifice meets with success.
Passions often are indulged to excess, as in the case of alcoholism, with a view to becoming oblivious to something painful. Seeking oblivion through dedication to a commendable end or the development of valuable faculties cannot be condemned. “It is otherwise with the man who seeks oblivion in drinking or gambling or any other form of unprofitable excitement [p. 132].” There can be some close calls, however, such as those people who seek escape through risky adventures that simultaneously might serve some public object.
“Genuine zest, not the sort that is really a search for oblivion, is part of the natural make-up of human beings except in so far as it has been destroyed by unfortunate circumstances [pp. 132-3].” Human children and animals of all ages show a natural curiosity. Much of the curtailment of zest in human adults is necessary to rein in liberties whose indulgence would threaten society. Our impulses arrive haphazardly, but we need regularity to get the trains to run smoothly or for the successful completion of any other task that requires considerable coordination. The constant fettering of our impulses, especially at work, makes it hard to remain zestful.
Health and energy are necessary for zest. Health seems to have been improving for the past century in developed countries, but energy, perhaps not. For women, “zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of respectability [p. 135].” Women are victimized by being taught not to be too lively in public and not to take too evident an interest in men. “To such women all that is ungenerous appears good and all that is generous appears evil [p. 135].” The stifling of interests and sociability in woman is pernicious. “For women as for men zest is the secret of happiness and well-being [p. 136].”
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 10
Chapter 10 (pages 113-123), “Is Happiness Still Possible?”
It is tempting to believe that it is impossible to achieve happiness in the modern world, but Russell finds contrary evidence through “introspection, foreign travel, and the conversation of my gardener [p. 113].”
Happiness can roughly be said to come in intellectual and physical (or perhaps complex and mundane) varieties. Russell’s elderly gardener finds joy in physical exertion and his ongoing struggle against the depredations of rabbits. But even the highly educated can achieve the same species of happiness, which comes from overcoming obstacles to achieve success. To bring consistent joy, success should be the typical, though not the invariable, outcome. Someone who is overoptimistic will be unpleasantly surprised by failure, so there is something to be said for modesty, in that the surprises that are likely to come your way will tend to be pleasant. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be overly modest, as then you will steer clear of worthy challenges.
Among the highly educated classes, scientists are particularly happy. “Many of the most eminent of them are emotionally simple, and obtain from their work a satisfaction so profound that they can derive pleasure from eating, and even marrying [p. 115].” Their intelligence is channeled into their work – work which is commonly understood to be progressive and important – and hence they do not over-complicate their emotional lives. Their work fully engages their intelligence. The public applauds scientific genius, even though it cannot understand the fruits of that genius, while the same public vilifies artistic genius which produces similarly incomprehensible outputs. So scientists typically are happy and artists typically are unhappy.
Intelligent young people in the West have a species of dissatisfaction that comes from not possessing appropriate outlets to engage their capacities. Their counterparts in Russia are probably quite happy, as they can be part of the creation of a whole new world, one in which they believe they hold the key to its creation. Older people in Russia have been rendered ineffectual (often through violence), reducing the constraints upon the activities of the young. Further, the belief that the Russian youth have in their creative potential is not misplaced – they probably can produce a better world than what existed in the pre-revolutionary era, even if it is a world sophisticated Westerners would want no part of.
Young people in India, China, and Japan also have work that they view as important and in which they can be successful. Western-style youthful cynicism “results from the combination of comfort with powerlessness [p. 117].” An Eastern youth, neither powerless nor comfortable, eschews cynicism for a reformer’s zeal: “…probably even while he is being executed he enjoys more real happiness than is possible for the comfortable cynic [p. 117].”
“The pleasure of work is open to any one who can develop some specialized skill, provided that he can get satisfaction from the exercise of his skill without demanding universal applause [p. 118].” This sentiment remains largely true despite our heavily mechanized economy. Indeed, peasants are less happy for having their output subject to the vicissitudes of nature, whereas those who work with machines can enjoy near-total control. Further, machines hold the potential to eliminate the most routine, uninteresting work. Humans gave up the satisfying occupation of hunting when they took to agriculture (an exchange made to reduce the risk of starvation), and entered “a long period of meanness, misery, and madness, from which they are only now being freed by the beneficent operation of the machine [pp. 119-120].” Young men can’t wait to leave the countryside for the companionship that can be found within the city and its factories.
Belief in a cause, even an absurd one, promotes happiness, though Russell is not suggesting that his readers take up ridiculous causes – there are plenty of solid ones. A similar type of happiness can be found in devotion to a hobby: “any pleasure that does no harm to other people is to be valued [p. 121].” Russell notes that he is a collector of rivers, in that he likes to visit as many as he can. But the happiness found in hobbies and such generally is not deep. “Fundamental happiness depends more than anything else upon what may be called a friendly interest in persons and things [p. 121].”
A friendly interest in people amounts to observing and taking pleasure in their individuality, interests, and quirks. This approach can not be taken on in a spirit of abnegation: it must be sincere. “People wish to be liked, not to be endured with patient resignation. To like many people spontaneously and without effort is perhaps the greatest of all sources of personal happiness [p. 122].” A similarly cheerful approach to things – like the attitude of geologists towards rocks – yields something of the same type of happiness, and provides a helpful respite from our focus on our personal concerns.
“The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile [p. 123].”
It is tempting to believe that it is impossible to achieve happiness in the modern world, but Russell finds contrary evidence through “introspection, foreign travel, and the conversation of my gardener [p. 113].”
Happiness can roughly be said to come in intellectual and physical (or perhaps complex and mundane) varieties. Russell’s elderly gardener finds joy in physical exertion and his ongoing struggle against the depredations of rabbits. But even the highly educated can achieve the same species of happiness, which comes from overcoming obstacles to achieve success. To bring consistent joy, success should be the typical, though not the invariable, outcome. Someone who is overoptimistic will be unpleasantly surprised by failure, so there is something to be said for modesty, in that the surprises that are likely to come your way will tend to be pleasant. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be overly modest, as then you will steer clear of worthy challenges.
Among the highly educated classes, scientists are particularly happy. “Many of the most eminent of them are emotionally simple, and obtain from their work a satisfaction so profound that they can derive pleasure from eating, and even marrying [p. 115].” Their intelligence is channeled into their work – work which is commonly understood to be progressive and important – and hence they do not over-complicate their emotional lives. Their work fully engages their intelligence. The public applauds scientific genius, even though it cannot understand the fruits of that genius, while the same public vilifies artistic genius which produces similarly incomprehensible outputs. So scientists typically are happy and artists typically are unhappy.
Intelligent young people in the West have a species of dissatisfaction that comes from not possessing appropriate outlets to engage their capacities. Their counterparts in Russia are probably quite happy, as they can be part of the creation of a whole new world, one in which they believe they hold the key to its creation. Older people in Russia have been rendered ineffectual (often through violence), reducing the constraints upon the activities of the young. Further, the belief that the Russian youth have in their creative potential is not misplaced – they probably can produce a better world than what existed in the pre-revolutionary era, even if it is a world sophisticated Westerners would want no part of.
Young people in India, China, and Japan also have work that they view as important and in which they can be successful. Western-style youthful cynicism “results from the combination of comfort with powerlessness [p. 117].” An Eastern youth, neither powerless nor comfortable, eschews cynicism for a reformer’s zeal: “…probably even while he is being executed he enjoys more real happiness than is possible for the comfortable cynic [p. 117].”
“The pleasure of work is open to any one who can develop some specialized skill, provided that he can get satisfaction from the exercise of his skill without demanding universal applause [p. 118].” This sentiment remains largely true despite our heavily mechanized economy. Indeed, peasants are less happy for having their output subject to the vicissitudes of nature, whereas those who work with machines can enjoy near-total control. Further, machines hold the potential to eliminate the most routine, uninteresting work. Humans gave up the satisfying occupation of hunting when they took to agriculture (an exchange made to reduce the risk of starvation), and entered “a long period of meanness, misery, and madness, from which they are only now being freed by the beneficent operation of the machine [pp. 119-120].” Young men can’t wait to leave the countryside for the companionship that can be found within the city and its factories.
Belief in a cause, even an absurd one, promotes happiness, though Russell is not suggesting that his readers take up ridiculous causes – there are plenty of solid ones. A similar type of happiness can be found in devotion to a hobby: “any pleasure that does no harm to other people is to be valued [p. 121].” Russell notes that he is a collector of rivers, in that he likes to visit as many as he can. But the happiness found in hobbies and such generally is not deep. “Fundamental happiness depends more than anything else upon what may be called a friendly interest in persons and things [p. 121].”
A friendly interest in people amounts to observing and taking pleasure in their individuality, interests, and quirks. This approach can not be taken on in a spirit of abnegation: it must be sincere. “People wish to be liked, not to be endured with patient resignation. To like many people spontaneously and without effort is perhaps the greatest of all sources of personal happiness [p. 122].” A similarly cheerful approach to things – like the attitude of geologists towards rocks – yields something of the same type of happiness, and provides a helpful respite from our focus on our personal concerns.
“The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile [p. 123].”
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Halftime
Chapter 9 marks the end of “Causes of Unhappiness,” which is the first section of The Conquest of Happiness. The second and final section, “Causes of Happiness,” picks up with Chapter 10. So now is an appropriate moment for a halftime report, especially as this timing preserves the RBR custom of declaring halftime at a point somewhat beyond the physical midpoint of the text: “Causes of Happiness” is a bit shorter than “Causes of Unhappiness.”
A lack of moderation is probably the most consistent component of Russell’s analysis of the causes of unhappiness. Excessive self-absorption; excessive love of power; excessive pursuit of excitement; excessive estimation of one’s own virtues, abilities, or interest for other people; excessive ambition, envy, or belief in the malevolence of others; excessive concern with public opinion, excessive labor, and even excessive altruism – these all are causes of unhappiness.
Rational thought is one of the cures for these ills, especially those that are based on false beliefs, such as the typical overestimation of one’s own talents and virtues. Other false (and probably subconscious) beliefs, in particular, those that associate pleasure with wickedness – which Russell thinks are quite widespread due to improper yet standard moral upbringing – also can be combatted by examining their untruth. Russell’s decision to begin his specific listing of the causes of unhappiness with “Byronic unhappiness” can be seen as part of the larger project of countering unhappiness with correct thinking. In Unpopular Essays, Russell takes aim at Leibniz and other philosophers for pushing too far their ambitions to uncover truths through reasoning, to believe that deep understandings can be generated “by merely sitting still and thinking…[Unpopular Essays, p. 60].” The major premise of The Conquest of Happiness, at least so far, is that unhappiness can be overcome by sitting still and thinking – but not too much!
In recent years there has been a burgeoning of research into happiness, and much of what Russell has to say anticipates this literature. Russell, like Adam Smith before him, recognizes that people adapt fairly quickly to the stable conditions in which they find themselves. [Here’s Smith, in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (III.I.72): “…in every permanent situation, where there is no expectation of change, the mind of every man, in a longer or shorter time, returns to its natural and usual state of tranquillity.”] Adaptation, the hedonic treadmill, is one of the chief tenets of modern happiness research. For Russell, adaptation is one reason to be moderate in pursuing excitement, because you will find you will need a larger dose for the same effect in the future. Russell also picks out (in Chapter 5) some conditions, such as noise and a hard commute to work, that current researchers believe people have less facility in adapting to – and hence these conditions undermine happiness. Despite our powers of adaptation, Russell notes that for full human flourishing, stability alone generally is not enough: a person has to dwell in an environment congenial to his or her tastes and beliefs. Russell does not believe that rationality per se crowds out other forms of happiness – otherwise reasoning one’s way to happiness would be a fool’s errand – though he does recognize that dwelling on oneself too much is a symptom of unhappiness.
Russell again follows Smith in regarding a quiet life as a key to happiness. Smith virtually equates tranquillity and happiness (TMS, III.I.72): “Happiness consists in tranquillity and enjoyment. Without tranquillity there can be no enjoyment; and where there is perfect tranquillity there is scarce any thing which is not capable of amusing.” Russell is only slightly less assertive: “A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live [p. 56].”] Russell is in accord with much current thinking when he attributes some unhappiness to indecision or second guessing, a lack of commitment to a choice. Further, what is sometimes called “flow,” the losing of oneself in a challenging but doable task, is associated with happiness in modern discussions, and it looks as if Russell understands the importance of flow, too -- for instance, when he suggests in Chapter 2 that not having to struggle undermines happiness.
As usual, I find myself in broad agreement with Russell’s argument. Further, I believe that the process of reading the first half of this book has contributed to my own happiness! I have tried to employ Russellian advice, for instance, to moderate my envy and my fear of societal disapprobation. One of my consumption decisions has been affected by Russell’s admonition to avoid spending money on things that we only value because society expects certain sorts of expenditures. Now I have to read the second half of The Conquest of Happiness not just to avoid unhappiness, but to find happiness.
A lack of moderation is probably the most consistent component of Russell’s analysis of the causes of unhappiness. Excessive self-absorption; excessive love of power; excessive pursuit of excitement; excessive estimation of one’s own virtues, abilities, or interest for other people; excessive ambition, envy, or belief in the malevolence of others; excessive concern with public opinion, excessive labor, and even excessive altruism – these all are causes of unhappiness.
Rational thought is one of the cures for these ills, especially those that are based on false beliefs, such as the typical overestimation of one’s own talents and virtues. Other false (and probably subconscious) beliefs, in particular, those that associate pleasure with wickedness – which Russell thinks are quite widespread due to improper yet standard moral upbringing – also can be combatted by examining their untruth. Russell’s decision to begin his specific listing of the causes of unhappiness with “Byronic unhappiness” can be seen as part of the larger project of countering unhappiness with correct thinking. In Unpopular Essays, Russell takes aim at Leibniz and other philosophers for pushing too far their ambitions to uncover truths through reasoning, to believe that deep understandings can be generated “by merely sitting still and thinking…[Unpopular Essays, p. 60].” The major premise of The Conquest of Happiness, at least so far, is that unhappiness can be overcome by sitting still and thinking – but not too much!
In recent years there has been a burgeoning of research into happiness, and much of what Russell has to say anticipates this literature. Russell, like Adam Smith before him, recognizes that people adapt fairly quickly to the stable conditions in which they find themselves. [Here’s Smith, in The Theory of Moral Sentiments (III.I.72): “…in every permanent situation, where there is no expectation of change, the mind of every man, in a longer or shorter time, returns to its natural and usual state of tranquillity.”] Adaptation, the hedonic treadmill, is one of the chief tenets of modern happiness research. For Russell, adaptation is one reason to be moderate in pursuing excitement, because you will find you will need a larger dose for the same effect in the future. Russell also picks out (in Chapter 5) some conditions, such as noise and a hard commute to work, that current researchers believe people have less facility in adapting to – and hence these conditions undermine happiness. Despite our powers of adaptation, Russell notes that for full human flourishing, stability alone generally is not enough: a person has to dwell in an environment congenial to his or her tastes and beliefs. Russell does not believe that rationality per se crowds out other forms of happiness – otherwise reasoning one’s way to happiness would be a fool’s errand – though he does recognize that dwelling on oneself too much is a symptom of unhappiness.
Russell again follows Smith in regarding a quiet life as a key to happiness. Smith virtually equates tranquillity and happiness (TMS, III.I.72): “Happiness consists in tranquillity and enjoyment. Without tranquillity there can be no enjoyment; and where there is perfect tranquillity there is scarce any thing which is not capable of amusing.” Russell is only slightly less assertive: “A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live [p. 56].”] Russell is in accord with much current thinking when he attributes some unhappiness to indecision or second guessing, a lack of commitment to a choice. Further, what is sometimes called “flow,” the losing of oneself in a challenging but doable task, is associated with happiness in modern discussions, and it looks as if Russell understands the importance of flow, too -- for instance, when he suggests in Chapter 2 that not having to struggle undermines happiness.
As usual, I find myself in broad agreement with Russell’s argument. Further, I believe that the process of reading the first half of this book has contributed to my own happiness! I have tried to employ Russellian advice, for instance, to moderate my envy and my fear of societal disapprobation. One of my consumption decisions has been affected by Russell’s admonition to avoid spending money on things that we only value because society expects certain sorts of expenditures. Now I have to read the second half of The Conquest of Happiness not just to avoid unhappiness, but to find happiness.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 9
Chapter 9 (pages 100-110), “Fear of Public Opinion”
Happiness for most people requires that their social set approve of their actions and ideas, though there are multitudinous social sets that support widely varying and even opposing views. The young frequently catch ideas that are disapproved of where they live, and not having exposure to the rest of the world, don’t know that those ideas might well be lauded or commonplace elsewhere. “Thus through ignorance of the world a great deal of unnecessary misery is endured…[p. 101].” [So does internet access decrease misery? — RBR] It requires tremendous energy to maintain mental independence in the face of near-universal rejection of one’s ideas, and people in these circumstances typically are rendered too timid to follow their ideas to the ultimate conclusions.
Most young people find their own surroundings congenial, but for those with special intellectual or artistic talents (especially in small towns), adolescence is extremely trying. Their interests and beliefs will be roundly condemned, and only when they go to university will they find much fellow feeling. Still, there is a good chance that after school their setting or profession will require that they again conceal many of their thoughts and beliefs, and even if it is not required, “unnecessary timidity [p. 103]” might lead to this intellectual isolation. Public opinion is a bit like a dog, less likely to attack those who ignore it than those who fear it – at least for those whose deviancies from the conventional line are not too radical. The flouting of convention will be more tolerable from someone if their behavior is not viewed as a criticism of the herd, so a jolly and good-natured person has more scope for lapsing from custom.
Alas, the lack of sympathy from others tends to make unconventional people not so jolly and good-natured, even if they hide their views. In a congenial setting, their whole character will seem to change for the better. Young people should willingly sacrifice income to place themselves in such a favorable setting. Many do not know of the existence of appropriate locales, and in this matter, experienced elders could offer useful advice.
Geniuses of the past (like Galileo and Kepler) have managed to overcome society’s repression, but these are only the ones we know about. What about those geniuses or people of talent who were not so fortunate to be able to successfully shield themselves and their ideas from the persecutors? We need to limit the hostility that society can bestow upon the unconventional, to ensure that talent thrives.
The young should not respect the wishes of the old, when those wishes refer (as they frequently do) to the lives of the young. A young person who wants to go upon the stage might be met with warnings and threats from his parents. But if he has no aptitude in the thespian arts, the professionals will let him know that expeditiously – and theirs is an opinion that is worthy of some respect, especially by the inexperienced. The parents will adapt soon enough to their child’s occupational choice.
With the exception of expert opinion, the views of others should hold little influence. Many people spend money not in ways that they would in isolation, but because certain modes of spending are the done thing. Knee-jerk opposition to public opinion, however, is another case of being in thrall to convention; indifference is best, both for individual happiness and for making society interesting. Traditionally, aristocrats had the social freedom to follow their own interests, but with the decline of aristocracy, this source of human diversity is drying up. [Russell here is echoing On Liberty, where John Stuart Mill, too, bemoans the increasing uniformity in human characters.]
Improvements in transport mean that people have more scope for finding congenial companions – one is not limited to a small set of neighbors. [Again, Russell anticipates the web?:] “Social intercourse may be expected to develop more and more along these lines, and it may be hoped that by these means the loneliness that now afflicts so many unconventional people will be gradually diminished almost to vanishing point [sic, p. 109].”
People today probably have less reason to fear the disapproval of their neighbors, but more reason to fear public attacks in the press, which can be terrifying. [Once again, one gets the impression that Russell is drawing on painful personal experience -- RBR.] Press freedom might require some legal curtailment, given the huge costs that malicious publicity can impose upon innocent people. The best answer, however, is more tolerance. The spread of true happiness will promote tolerance, as happy people are less likely to seek pleasure by persecuting others.
Happiness for most people requires that their social set approve of their actions and ideas, though there are multitudinous social sets that support widely varying and even opposing views. The young frequently catch ideas that are disapproved of where they live, and not having exposure to the rest of the world, don’t know that those ideas might well be lauded or commonplace elsewhere. “Thus through ignorance of the world a great deal of unnecessary misery is endured…[p. 101].” [So does internet access decrease misery? — RBR] It requires tremendous energy to maintain mental independence in the face of near-universal rejection of one’s ideas, and people in these circumstances typically are rendered too timid to follow their ideas to the ultimate conclusions.
Most young people find their own surroundings congenial, but for those with special intellectual or artistic talents (especially in small towns), adolescence is extremely trying. Their interests and beliefs will be roundly condemned, and only when they go to university will they find much fellow feeling. Still, there is a good chance that after school their setting or profession will require that they again conceal many of their thoughts and beliefs, and even if it is not required, “unnecessary timidity [p. 103]” might lead to this intellectual isolation. Public opinion is a bit like a dog, less likely to attack those who ignore it than those who fear it – at least for those whose deviancies from the conventional line are not too radical. The flouting of convention will be more tolerable from someone if their behavior is not viewed as a criticism of the herd, so a jolly and good-natured person has more scope for lapsing from custom.
Alas, the lack of sympathy from others tends to make unconventional people not so jolly and good-natured, even if they hide their views. In a congenial setting, their whole character will seem to change for the better. Young people should willingly sacrifice income to place themselves in such a favorable setting. Many do not know of the existence of appropriate locales, and in this matter, experienced elders could offer useful advice.
Geniuses of the past (like Galileo and Kepler) have managed to overcome society’s repression, but these are only the ones we know about. What about those geniuses or people of talent who were not so fortunate to be able to successfully shield themselves and their ideas from the persecutors? We need to limit the hostility that society can bestow upon the unconventional, to ensure that talent thrives.
The young should not respect the wishes of the old, when those wishes refer (as they frequently do) to the lives of the young. A young person who wants to go upon the stage might be met with warnings and threats from his parents. But if he has no aptitude in the thespian arts, the professionals will let him know that expeditiously – and theirs is an opinion that is worthy of some respect, especially by the inexperienced. The parents will adapt soon enough to their child’s occupational choice.
With the exception of expert opinion, the views of others should hold little influence. Many people spend money not in ways that they would in isolation, but because certain modes of spending are the done thing. Knee-jerk opposition to public opinion, however, is another case of being in thrall to convention; indifference is best, both for individual happiness and for making society interesting. Traditionally, aristocrats had the social freedom to follow their own interests, but with the decline of aristocracy, this source of human diversity is drying up. [Russell here is echoing On Liberty, where John Stuart Mill, too, bemoans the increasing uniformity in human characters.]
Improvements in transport mean that people have more scope for finding congenial companions – one is not limited to a small set of neighbors. [Again, Russell anticipates the web?:] “Social intercourse may be expected to develop more and more along these lines, and it may be hoped that by these means the loneliness that now afflicts so many unconventional people will be gradually diminished almost to vanishing point [sic, p. 109].”
People today probably have less reason to fear the disapproval of their neighbors, but more reason to fear public attacks in the press, which can be terrifying. [Once again, one gets the impression that Russell is drawing on painful personal experience -- RBR.] Press freedom might require some legal curtailment, given the huge costs that malicious publicity can impose upon innocent people. The best answer, however, is more tolerance. The spread of true happiness will promote tolerance, as happy people are less likely to seek pleasure by persecuting others.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 8
Chapter 8 (pages 89-99), “Persecution Mania”
The insane version of persecution mania “is only an exaggeration of a tendency not at all uncommon in people who count as normal [p. 89].” The milder form destroys happiness, but is capable of self-cure.
We are all familiar with people who claim to have been victimized by a multitude of others. At first the claims are plausible, but as the number of purported villains increases, the realization dawns that the self-proclaimed victim has either imagined the injuries or might be at fault for any actual misdeeds. Sympathy becomes withheld, and this withholding helps to build the perceived persecution cascade, by being another wrong incurred. But even the bestowal of sympathy leads to the cascade, as the offer of fellow-feeling motivates the victim to try to keep the sympathy flowing, by embellishing the bad treatment to the point of incredulity. Outsiders can offer understanding when they come across such a person, but the persecution maniacs themselves – and almost all of us have a dose of this disease – also can diagnose and remedy their situation.
Consider malicious gossip. We all do it, but when we learn that others have engaged in this at our expense, we are terribly aggrieved. No one is perfect, and we shouldn’t be too concerned that our friends let slip the fact that they do not think we are perfect. After all, we like our friends, whom we recognize as quite fallible.
“Persecution mania is always rooted in a too exaggerated conception of our own merits [p. 92].” Russell gives the example of a playwright whose lack of success is blamed on a refusal to fawn or some other creditable reason, and the inventor whose failure is blamed on a conspiracy of insiders. One of the worst cases is someone who really has a legitimate unacknowledged insight or complaint, but then makes that situation much more central to the working of the world than it is. Again, the lack of interest by others suggests conspiracy, at least to the victim, who attaches “undue importance to facts which are perhaps exceptional rather than typical [p. 93].”
Some philanthropists feel aggrieved by the lack of gratitude from the beneficiaries of their largesse. The motives to do good generally are not pure, however – a sense of power can enter into philanthropy. Much do-gooding involves trying to keep other people from pursuing pleasures such as alcohol, tobacco, or gambling. One motive here might be envy of those who can get away with indulgences that would come at too dear a social price for the philanthropist. The absence of thanks for the moral guidance will be noted by those who think they have sacrificed for public betterment. Politicians also can convince themselves that they are motivated to serve the common good, and resent the public when it doesn’t seem sufficiently grateful.
Russell draws on the previous examples to suggest four general precepts that can help ward off persecution mania. First, your motives aren’t as pure as you would like to think; second, “don’t overestimate your own merits [p. 94]”: third, others are rightly less interested in you than you are; and, fourth, most people are not sufficiently interested in you to have a motive to attack you.
Russell singles out business people and philanthropists for overestimating the purity of their motives, and for their conviction that the way they think the world should be is in fact the correct world order. Vanity plays a role in maintaining this conviction. For a third instance, Russell draws on his own personal history. “The high-minded idealist who stands for Parliament – on this matter I speak from experience – is astonished by the cynicism of the electorate which assumes that he only desires the glory of writing the letters ‘M.P.’ after his name [p. 95].” But reflection shows that the cynics are largely right.
Standard moral teaching calls for a basically unattainable level of altruism, though the would-be virtuous can convince themselves that they meet the infeasible goal. But the majority of everyone’s behavior is rightly “self-regarding [p. 95],” which is a good thing for survival. [The term “self-regarding” is at the heart of John Stuart Mill’s analysis in On Liberty; according to Mill (Russell’s godfather), society cannot legitimately coerce decisions by adults if those decisions involve matters that are self-regarding – that is, do not involve any significant, direct harms to others.] Further, it is hard to maintain enthusiasm for any work if there is not some self-regarding motive at play – though aid for close family members should be considered self-regarding in this context. Altruistic motives that extend more broadly do not seem to be consistent with human nature. Those who believe that morality requires them to harbor such altruism are likely to be deceived in the degree of success that they have achieved, leaving them ripe for persecution mania.
If you are not meeting success in your profession, you should seriously consider the possibility that you are not very good at it. “It is true that there are in history cases of unrecognized merit, but they are far less numerous than the cases of recognized demerit [p. 96].” How can you tell if you are an unrecognized genius or a rightly dismissed hack? Here is one diagnostic test: if you produce your work primarily because of a compulsion to express yourself in a certain manner, then persist; if you are motivated primarily by the desire for applause, then shift gears when the applause is continually withheld. Your pain at recognizing that you are not as talented as you hoped will be fleeting, and you will prepare the ground for renewed happiness. This notion applies just as well to those who expect too much from others, and to those who believe that the rest of the world is sufficiently interested to maintain a conspiracy against them. “No satisfaction based upon self-deception is solid, and however unpleasant the truth may be, it is better to face it once for all, to get used to it, and to proceed to build your life in accordance with it [p. 99].”
The insane version of persecution mania “is only an exaggeration of a tendency not at all uncommon in people who count as normal [p. 89].” The milder form destroys happiness, but is capable of self-cure.
We are all familiar with people who claim to have been victimized by a multitude of others. At first the claims are plausible, but as the number of purported villains increases, the realization dawns that the self-proclaimed victim has either imagined the injuries or might be at fault for any actual misdeeds. Sympathy becomes withheld, and this withholding helps to build the perceived persecution cascade, by being another wrong incurred. But even the bestowal of sympathy leads to the cascade, as the offer of fellow-feeling motivates the victim to try to keep the sympathy flowing, by embellishing the bad treatment to the point of incredulity. Outsiders can offer understanding when they come across such a person, but the persecution maniacs themselves – and almost all of us have a dose of this disease – also can diagnose and remedy their situation.
Consider malicious gossip. We all do it, but when we learn that others have engaged in this at our expense, we are terribly aggrieved. No one is perfect, and we shouldn’t be too concerned that our friends let slip the fact that they do not think we are perfect. After all, we like our friends, whom we recognize as quite fallible.
“Persecution mania is always rooted in a too exaggerated conception of our own merits [p. 92].” Russell gives the example of a playwright whose lack of success is blamed on a refusal to fawn or some other creditable reason, and the inventor whose failure is blamed on a conspiracy of insiders. One of the worst cases is someone who really has a legitimate unacknowledged insight or complaint, but then makes that situation much more central to the working of the world than it is. Again, the lack of interest by others suggests conspiracy, at least to the victim, who attaches “undue importance to facts which are perhaps exceptional rather than typical [p. 93].”
Some philanthropists feel aggrieved by the lack of gratitude from the beneficiaries of their largesse. The motives to do good generally are not pure, however – a sense of power can enter into philanthropy. Much do-gooding involves trying to keep other people from pursuing pleasures such as alcohol, tobacco, or gambling. One motive here might be envy of those who can get away with indulgences that would come at too dear a social price for the philanthropist. The absence of thanks for the moral guidance will be noted by those who think they have sacrificed for public betterment. Politicians also can convince themselves that they are motivated to serve the common good, and resent the public when it doesn’t seem sufficiently grateful.
Russell draws on the previous examples to suggest four general precepts that can help ward off persecution mania. First, your motives aren’t as pure as you would like to think; second, “don’t overestimate your own merits [p. 94]”: third, others are rightly less interested in you than you are; and, fourth, most people are not sufficiently interested in you to have a motive to attack you.
Russell singles out business people and philanthropists for overestimating the purity of their motives, and for their conviction that the way they think the world should be is in fact the correct world order. Vanity plays a role in maintaining this conviction. For a third instance, Russell draws on his own personal history. “The high-minded idealist who stands for Parliament – on this matter I speak from experience – is astonished by the cynicism of the electorate which assumes that he only desires the glory of writing the letters ‘M.P.’ after his name [p. 95].” But reflection shows that the cynics are largely right.
Standard moral teaching calls for a basically unattainable level of altruism, though the would-be virtuous can convince themselves that they meet the infeasible goal. But the majority of everyone’s behavior is rightly “self-regarding [p. 95],” which is a good thing for survival. [The term “self-regarding” is at the heart of John Stuart Mill’s analysis in On Liberty; according to Mill (Russell’s godfather), society cannot legitimately coerce decisions by adults if those decisions involve matters that are self-regarding – that is, do not involve any significant, direct harms to others.] Further, it is hard to maintain enthusiasm for any work if there is not some self-regarding motive at play – though aid for close family members should be considered self-regarding in this context. Altruistic motives that extend more broadly do not seem to be consistent with human nature. Those who believe that morality requires them to harbor such altruism are likely to be deceived in the degree of success that they have achieved, leaving them ripe for persecution mania.
If you are not meeting success in your profession, you should seriously consider the possibility that you are not very good at it. “It is true that there are in history cases of unrecognized merit, but they are far less numerous than the cases of recognized demerit [p. 96].” How can you tell if you are an unrecognized genius or a rightly dismissed hack? Here is one diagnostic test: if you produce your work primarily because of a compulsion to express yourself in a certain manner, then persist; if you are motivated primarily by the desire for applause, then shift gears when the applause is continually withheld. Your pain at recognizing that you are not as talented as you hoped will be fleeting, and you will prepare the ground for renewed happiness. This notion applies just as well to those who expect too much from others, and to those who believe that the rest of the world is sufficiently interested to maintain a conspiracy against them. “No satisfaction based upon self-deception is solid, and however unpleasant the truth may be, it is better to face it once for all, to get used to it, and to proceed to build your life in accordance with it [p. 99].”
Friday, January 16, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 7
Chapter 7 (pages 77-88), “The Sense of Sin”
The behaviors that induce a guilty conscience vary across the globe, so conscience cannot be some sort of voice of the divine within us. Conscience takes on many manifestations, including the fear of being caught when apprehension is imminent – people can live perfectly well with the thought of their indiscretion, but suddenly repent when they are exposed. The fear of being outcast from society is a related dimension of conscience – a dimension that does not apply to those innovators who do not accept the prevailing morality, and hence do not feel that they have sinned when they have violated that morality.
A sense of sin frequently resides in the subconscious. People have a vague feeling that a certain behavior is sinful, even when reason does not proclaim it to be so. This feeling does not fully deter the behavior, but ensures that guilt is a constant presence. The inchoate sense of sin generally is a vestige of moral precepts implanted in childhood. Thus guilt accompanies lying, cursing, alcohol, tobacco, and anything sexual. In childhood, these topics would cost a boy the approval of his mother or nurse; in adulthood, he retains the guilt, though has forgotten its origin. The association of morality with asceticism is contrary to reason – a rational morality would encourage any pleasure that brought no harm to anyone.
“If a child has been conventionally educated by somewhat stern parents or nurses, the association between sin and the sex organs is so firmly established by the time he is six years old that it is unlikely ever to be completely undone throughout the rest of his life… The result is that adult men feel women to be degraded by sex, and cannot respect their wives unless their wives hate sexual intercourse [p. 81].” Conventionally educated women try to avoid taking pleasure in sex, though nowadays, among the educated, it is men whose sex lives are most distorted by the morality they learned as a child – and this distortion is most likely to exhibit itself in weak moments. The unconscious feeling of remorse for acts that are not objectively objectionable can be combatted by a vivid impression of the rational view. “Look into the irrationality closely with a determination not to respect it and not to let it dominate you [p. 83].”
A sober approach to morality will reveal that much of the moral teaching given to the young is foolish, while the sorts of moral issues that will be relevant for adults go unaddressed. Respectable people fall short of morality all the time with regard to sharp business dealings, cruelty toward intimates, overzealousness in political disputations, and so on. These behaviors bring real costs, not just to those nearby but to civilization more generally. Nevertheless, people’s minds are untroubled by them, they do not imagine reproachful looks from their mothers concerning these transgressions. This illustrates the absurdity of most moral teaching to the young, which focuses on actions that do not cause harm, to the exclusion of those that do. “Our nominal morality has been formulated by priests and mentally enslaved women. It is time that men who have to take a normal part in the normal life of the world learned to rebel against the sickly nonsense [p. 84].” Rebellion is not enough for happiness and consistency, however; one must also think through and root out all of the secondary emanations of those superstitions learned as a child.
Even violations of a rational moral code are not best reacted to by a sense of sin – the concomitant loss of self-respect, which makes one feel unhappy and inferior, redounds to no good. It makes one solitary and envious. “An expansive and generous attitude towards other people not only gives happiness to others, but is an immense source of happiness to its possessor, since it causes him to be generally liked [p. 85].” This generous attitude demands a harmonious nature, where the conscious and the unconscious mind mesh well. Most people can achieve this harmony if they think hard about what their rational beliefs are, and root out even fleeting feelings inconsistent with those beliefs. The time devoted to this process (which needn’t be prodigious if the reasoning is forceful) is well-spent: “Nothing so much diminishes not only happiness but efficiency as a personality divided against self [p. 85].” One cannot become a moody self-analyst, however – happiness and mental harmony require that our energies be directed outward, not inward.
The notion that rationality comes at the sacrifice of more profound emotions is erroneous. In the beneficent emotions, there is nothing for reason to condemn. The internal harmony that rationality promotes provides the space for the outward orientation that is requisite for happiness. Rationality can help us overcome the self-centeredness which arises from the sense of sin. When we achieve internal harmony in this fashion, we no longer equate pleasure with intoxication; rather, it is complete possession of our faculties that brings us pleasure. Russell concludes the chapter: “The happiness that is genuinely satisfying is accompanied by the fullest exercise of our faculties, and the fullest realization of the world in which we live [p. 88].”
The behaviors that induce a guilty conscience vary across the globe, so conscience cannot be some sort of voice of the divine within us. Conscience takes on many manifestations, including the fear of being caught when apprehension is imminent – people can live perfectly well with the thought of their indiscretion, but suddenly repent when they are exposed. The fear of being outcast from society is a related dimension of conscience – a dimension that does not apply to those innovators who do not accept the prevailing morality, and hence do not feel that they have sinned when they have violated that morality.
A sense of sin frequently resides in the subconscious. People have a vague feeling that a certain behavior is sinful, even when reason does not proclaim it to be so. This feeling does not fully deter the behavior, but ensures that guilt is a constant presence. The inchoate sense of sin generally is a vestige of moral precepts implanted in childhood. Thus guilt accompanies lying, cursing, alcohol, tobacco, and anything sexual. In childhood, these topics would cost a boy the approval of his mother or nurse; in adulthood, he retains the guilt, though has forgotten its origin. The association of morality with asceticism is contrary to reason – a rational morality would encourage any pleasure that brought no harm to anyone.
“If a child has been conventionally educated by somewhat stern parents or nurses, the association between sin and the sex organs is so firmly established by the time he is six years old that it is unlikely ever to be completely undone throughout the rest of his life… The result is that adult men feel women to be degraded by sex, and cannot respect their wives unless their wives hate sexual intercourse [p. 81].” Conventionally educated women try to avoid taking pleasure in sex, though nowadays, among the educated, it is men whose sex lives are most distorted by the morality they learned as a child – and this distortion is most likely to exhibit itself in weak moments. The unconscious feeling of remorse for acts that are not objectively objectionable can be combatted by a vivid impression of the rational view. “Look into the irrationality closely with a determination not to respect it and not to let it dominate you [p. 83].”
A sober approach to morality will reveal that much of the moral teaching given to the young is foolish, while the sorts of moral issues that will be relevant for adults go unaddressed. Respectable people fall short of morality all the time with regard to sharp business dealings, cruelty toward intimates, overzealousness in political disputations, and so on. These behaviors bring real costs, not just to those nearby but to civilization more generally. Nevertheless, people’s minds are untroubled by them, they do not imagine reproachful looks from their mothers concerning these transgressions. This illustrates the absurdity of most moral teaching to the young, which focuses on actions that do not cause harm, to the exclusion of those that do. “Our nominal morality has been formulated by priests and mentally enslaved women. It is time that men who have to take a normal part in the normal life of the world learned to rebel against the sickly nonsense [p. 84].” Rebellion is not enough for happiness and consistency, however; one must also think through and root out all of the secondary emanations of those superstitions learned as a child.
Even violations of a rational moral code are not best reacted to by a sense of sin – the concomitant loss of self-respect, which makes one feel unhappy and inferior, redounds to no good. It makes one solitary and envious. “An expansive and generous attitude towards other people not only gives happiness to others, but is an immense source of happiness to its possessor, since it causes him to be generally liked [p. 85].” This generous attitude demands a harmonious nature, where the conscious and the unconscious mind mesh well. Most people can achieve this harmony if they think hard about what their rational beliefs are, and root out even fleeting feelings inconsistent with those beliefs. The time devoted to this process (which needn’t be prodigious if the reasoning is forceful) is well-spent: “Nothing so much diminishes not only happiness but efficiency as a personality divided against self [p. 85].” One cannot become a moody self-analyst, however – happiness and mental harmony require that our energies be directed outward, not inward.
The notion that rationality comes at the sacrifice of more profound emotions is erroneous. In the beneficent emotions, there is nothing for reason to condemn. The internal harmony that rationality promotes provides the space for the outward orientation that is requisite for happiness. Rationality can help us overcome the self-centeredness which arises from the sense of sin. When we achieve internal harmony in this fashion, we no longer equate pleasure with intoxication; rather, it is complete possession of our faculties that brings us pleasure. Russell concludes the chapter: “The happiness that is genuinely satisfying is accompanied by the fullest exercise of our faculties, and the fullest realization of the world in which we live [p. 88].”
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 6
Chapter 6 (pages 67-76), “Envy”
Envy “is one of the most universal and deep-seated of human passions [p. 67].” Children evince evidence of envy at an early age; educators and other adults must always appear scrupulously evenhanded in their dealings with children. Adults are just as envious, but somewhat better at concealing it. Envy is probably the motive behind the support for democracy. Women typically are envious of other women, and men are envious of other men in the same profession.
Envy undermines happiness – it generates pain from what others possess, instead of pleasure from one’s own possessions, and might even motivate measures to deprive others of perceived advantages. Unrestrained envy can destroy excellence. Fortunately, admiration is a countervailing emotion, and one that should be nurtured.
Envy in adulthood might reflect childhood injustices. Envious people imagine all sorts of slights, and their company becomes so unwelcome that actual slights are then forthcoming. There’s a type of circularity linking envy and unhappiness: envious people are unhappy, but it requires happiness to overcome envy. Nevertheless, the recognition of envy in oneself is helpful to overcoming it. Efforts should be invested in thinking in absolute terms, how one is doing objectively, without making odious comparisons with others. “With the wise man, what he has does not cease to be enjoyable because some one else has something else [p. 71].” If you see someone, your inferior, better rewarded than yourself, your best strategy is to ignore it and enjoy what you have. Indeed, the happiness that you then possess will make you the object of envy: “After all, what is more enviable than happiness [p. 71]?” And even the better–rewarded or more successful person always has someone still more successful to envy: success is no cure for envy!
Though modesty is regarded as a virtue, excessively modest people require too much reassurance, and shy away from tasks in which they could succeed. Modest people often end up envious and unhappy; they are apt to try to bring down more successful people. Russell supports the instilling of self-esteem in the young, which will forestall efforts to preclude excellence in others.
People do not envy those who really are out of their sphere, those with whom they are not directly competing. The doctrines of democracy and socialism have lent greater scope to envy. Fatigue, too, can generate envy. But the source of envy might not always be direct. A man who is envious of others in his profession might really feel inadequate because of an unhappy family life.
In the past a person only envied his neighbors. Now, with better education and communication a person can envy people worldwide, and many people do. Why is there so much hatred? People feel dissatisfied, and suspect that others possess the means to happiness that they themselves lack. We are like apes in a zoo, who seem to be saddened by their recognition that they are missing out on something better, a higher existence. Modern man knows there is something better, but he doesn’t know how to grasp it. Envy at least has the almost saving grace of being an expression of our pain. The way out is to transcend oneself, to enlarge one’s heart.
Envy “is one of the most universal and deep-seated of human passions [p. 67].” Children evince evidence of envy at an early age; educators and other adults must always appear scrupulously evenhanded in their dealings with children. Adults are just as envious, but somewhat better at concealing it. Envy is probably the motive behind the support for democracy. Women typically are envious of other women, and men are envious of other men in the same profession.
Envy undermines happiness – it generates pain from what others possess, instead of pleasure from one’s own possessions, and might even motivate measures to deprive others of perceived advantages. Unrestrained envy can destroy excellence. Fortunately, admiration is a countervailing emotion, and one that should be nurtured.
Envy in adulthood might reflect childhood injustices. Envious people imagine all sorts of slights, and their company becomes so unwelcome that actual slights are then forthcoming. There’s a type of circularity linking envy and unhappiness: envious people are unhappy, but it requires happiness to overcome envy. Nevertheless, the recognition of envy in oneself is helpful to overcoming it. Efforts should be invested in thinking in absolute terms, how one is doing objectively, without making odious comparisons with others. “With the wise man, what he has does not cease to be enjoyable because some one else has something else [p. 71].” If you see someone, your inferior, better rewarded than yourself, your best strategy is to ignore it and enjoy what you have. Indeed, the happiness that you then possess will make you the object of envy: “After all, what is more enviable than happiness [p. 71]?” And even the better–rewarded or more successful person always has someone still more successful to envy: success is no cure for envy!
Though modesty is regarded as a virtue, excessively modest people require too much reassurance, and shy away from tasks in which they could succeed. Modest people often end up envious and unhappy; they are apt to try to bring down more successful people. Russell supports the instilling of self-esteem in the young, which will forestall efforts to preclude excellence in others.
People do not envy those who really are out of their sphere, those with whom they are not directly competing. The doctrines of democracy and socialism have lent greater scope to envy. Fatigue, too, can generate envy. But the source of envy might not always be direct. A man who is envious of others in his profession might really feel inadequate because of an unhappy family life.
In the past a person only envied his neighbors. Now, with better education and communication a person can envy people worldwide, and many people do. Why is there so much hatred? People feel dissatisfied, and suspect that others possess the means to happiness that they themselves lack. We are like apes in a zoo, who seem to be saddened by their recognition that they are missing out on something better, a higher existence. Modern man knows there is something better, but he doesn’t know how to grasp it. Envy at least has the almost saving grace of being an expression of our pain. The way out is to transcend oneself, to enlarge one’s heart.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 5
Chapter 5 (pages 57-66), “Fatigue”
Moderate physical fatigue conduces to sound sleep, a healthy appetite, enjoyment of holidays, and happiness. [Later, on page 61, Russell suggests that the same is true of intellectual fatigue, provided it does not involve an emotional component. – RBR] Excessive physical work, however, is destructive of health and happiness. Fortunately, the torture of physical overwork has been curtailed in modern industrial societies, but nervous fatigue is rampant, especially among those who are materially well off.
Urban dwellers must contend with noise, constant exposure to strangers, and the daily rush to the workplace. On the job, the subordinate must be unnaturally respectful, again adding to pressure. Even successful businesspeople are nervous wrecks, as they achieve their success through years of strain and concentration. Those who could live comfortably on family fortunes nevertheless manufacture stresses – via gambling or lack of sleep – that mimic those of workers. “Voluntarily or involuntarily, of choice or of necessity, most moderns lead a nerve-racking life and are continually too tired to be capable of enjoyment without the help of alcohol [p. 59].”
Much fatigue comes from worry, “and worry could be prevented by a better philosophy of life and a little more mental discipline [p. 59].” People fruitlessly worry about problems at times during which they can do nothing about them. Happiness and efficiency can both be nurtured through the mental discipline to think through and deal with problems only when they are ripe. Second guessing also should be eliminated, in the absence of new information: “Nothing is so exhausting as indecision, and nothing is so futile [p. 60].”
Our anxiety about our performance can be lessened by the realization that the world at large, and even our personal world, is unlikely to be much affected by the quality of our feats. We can acclimate ourselves even to great misfortunes.
Unlike physical or intellectual fatigue, which promote sleep, emotional fatigue undermines rest, and it has a tendency to cascade. “One of the symptoms of approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important and that to take a holiday would bring all kinds of disaster [p. 61].” It is not work that produces a nervous breakdown, but some underlying emotional problem for which work provides an (ineffectual) escape.
Controlling the worries that afflict the unconscious is possible with enough conscious attention. Russell sees the unconscious as consisting largely of emotional thoughts that were once conscious, but have become buried. Russell tries to take advantage of this feature of the unconscious. He thinks very hard for a few days about a difficult topic that he is working on. Next, he banishes the topic from his conscious thought, assigning it to his unconscious. “After some months I return consciously to the topic and find that the work has been done [p. 63].” He used to spend the intervening time in fruitless worry, but he is no longer disheartened by the lack of evident progress.
Russell advocates a parallel process for anxieties. Think hard about the worst that can happen, and focus on just how limited the disaster would be (as is always true). Repeat this process if necessary – the end result is that anxiety is supplanted by “a kind of exhilaration [p. 63].”
Worries grow from fears unconfronted, and worries should be combatted by rational, intense thought about the fearful prospect. Eventually, the fear will be familiar, and lose its potency. If you find yourself brooding on a subject, intentionally brood even more intensely, until familiarity or boredom neutralizes the object of concern.
Society praises physical courage in men, but not in women, and moral courage in no one. If society offered its imprimatur to other forms of courage, such as bucking conventional opinion, there would be an increased supply of those types of courage, less fear and worry, and hence less fatigue.
Russell returns to the topic of how the desire for excitement leads to fatigue. He suggests that men develop a taste for this excitement because they cannot afford to marry at a young age – due to the financial demands that marriage as currently constituted places upon husbands. Russell then cites the case of Judge Lindsey, whose proposal for easily-abrogated companionate marriages, which would add to human happiness if adopted, nevertheless caused the judge to be widely reviled. (Russell also defended Lindsey in Marriage and Morals, which was published the year before The Conquest of Happiness.) But without a significant change in social institutions, what is a young man to do? Russell counsels moderation in the pursuit of fatiguing pleasures, to ensure that the young man will still be capable of a happy union when his circumstances allow him to marry.
Moderate physical fatigue conduces to sound sleep, a healthy appetite, enjoyment of holidays, and happiness. [Later, on page 61, Russell suggests that the same is true of intellectual fatigue, provided it does not involve an emotional component. – RBR] Excessive physical work, however, is destructive of health and happiness. Fortunately, the torture of physical overwork has been curtailed in modern industrial societies, but nervous fatigue is rampant, especially among those who are materially well off.
Urban dwellers must contend with noise, constant exposure to strangers, and the daily rush to the workplace. On the job, the subordinate must be unnaturally respectful, again adding to pressure. Even successful businesspeople are nervous wrecks, as they achieve their success through years of strain and concentration. Those who could live comfortably on family fortunes nevertheless manufacture stresses – via gambling or lack of sleep – that mimic those of workers. “Voluntarily or involuntarily, of choice or of necessity, most moderns lead a nerve-racking life and are continually too tired to be capable of enjoyment without the help of alcohol [p. 59].”
Much fatigue comes from worry, “and worry could be prevented by a better philosophy of life and a little more mental discipline [p. 59].” People fruitlessly worry about problems at times during which they can do nothing about them. Happiness and efficiency can both be nurtured through the mental discipline to think through and deal with problems only when they are ripe. Second guessing also should be eliminated, in the absence of new information: “Nothing is so exhausting as indecision, and nothing is so futile [p. 60].”
Our anxiety about our performance can be lessened by the realization that the world at large, and even our personal world, is unlikely to be much affected by the quality of our feats. We can acclimate ourselves even to great misfortunes.
Unlike physical or intellectual fatigue, which promote sleep, emotional fatigue undermines rest, and it has a tendency to cascade. “One of the symptoms of approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important and that to take a holiday would bring all kinds of disaster [p. 61].” It is not work that produces a nervous breakdown, but some underlying emotional problem for which work provides an (ineffectual) escape.
Controlling the worries that afflict the unconscious is possible with enough conscious attention. Russell sees the unconscious as consisting largely of emotional thoughts that were once conscious, but have become buried. Russell tries to take advantage of this feature of the unconscious. He thinks very hard for a few days about a difficult topic that he is working on. Next, he banishes the topic from his conscious thought, assigning it to his unconscious. “After some months I return consciously to the topic and find that the work has been done [p. 63].” He used to spend the intervening time in fruitless worry, but he is no longer disheartened by the lack of evident progress.
Russell advocates a parallel process for anxieties. Think hard about the worst that can happen, and focus on just how limited the disaster would be (as is always true). Repeat this process if necessary – the end result is that anxiety is supplanted by “a kind of exhilaration [p. 63].”
Worries grow from fears unconfronted, and worries should be combatted by rational, intense thought about the fearful prospect. Eventually, the fear will be familiar, and lose its potency. If you find yourself brooding on a subject, intentionally brood even more intensely, until familiarity or boredom neutralizes the object of concern.
Society praises physical courage in men, but not in women, and moral courage in no one. If society offered its imprimatur to other forms of courage, such as bucking conventional opinion, there would be an increased supply of those types of courage, less fear and worry, and hence less fatigue.
Russell returns to the topic of how the desire for excitement leads to fatigue. He suggests that men develop a taste for this excitement because they cannot afford to marry at a young age – due to the financial demands that marriage as currently constituted places upon husbands. Russell then cites the case of Judge Lindsey, whose proposal for easily-abrogated companionate marriages, which would add to human happiness if adopted, nevertheless caused the judge to be widely reviled. (Russell also defended Lindsey in Marriage and Morals, which was published the year before The Conquest of Happiness.) But without a significant change in social institutions, what is a young man to do? Russell counsels moderation in the pursuit of fatiguing pleasures, to ensure that the young man will still be capable of a happy union when his circumstances allow him to marry.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 4
Chapter 4 (pages 48-56), “Boredom and Excitement”
In nature, humans seem to be the only animals prone to boredom, in part because the experience of boredom may require the perception of more agreeable activities than those that are currently engaged in. Humans, especially males, desire excitement. The movement from hunting and gathering to agriculture greatly promoted boredom; modern machinery actually lessens it.
[Russell provides a very amusing (though painful) picture of previous lower-class society, where wives and daughters had to endure hours of “family time” after dinner – time in which they couldn’t read, but were expected to listen to their father’s dull monologues. He indicates how it was even worse in the middle ages, and speculates that witch hunts were dreamed up to relieve the tedium -- RBR].
“We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of boredom [p. 50].” We don’t think that boredom is part of the human condition, so we pursue excitement – live in cities, listen to the radio, take our cars to the movies, drink alcohol – to keep boredom at bay. But then the necessary down times will appear boring in contrast. Even quarrels and wars might be engaged in to stem ennui. “Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it [p. 51].”
Boredom that is endured without drugs can be fruitful. Drugs can be beneficial, more frequently than the prohibitionists allow. “But the craving for drugs is certainly something which cannot be left to the unfettered operation of natural impulse [pp. 50-1].” Someone accustomed to drugs, in their absence, faces a trial of boredom that only time can overcome. Tolerance, craving, and withdrawal, however, apply to all strong stimulations, not just those provoked by drugs. We must be moderate in our pursuit of excitement to maintain our capacity for pleasure. “A certain power of enduring boredom is therefore essential to a happy life, and is one of the things that ought to be taught to the young [p. 52].”
Great books and good lives all contain boring passages. Imagine what a modern publisher would say if, for the first time, the Old Testament were presented for potential publication. A thorough reduction to edit out the dull bits and enliven the text would be required. A similar rewrite would be mandated for almost all old books now considered classics. Accomplished people generally lead quiet lives, as they need to preserve their energy for their arduous work.
Russell (p. 53) again returns to the theme that children should be taught to endure monotony. Children need structured quotidian existences, and shouldn’t be overindulged with passive pleasures such as watching shows or with the stimulations of excessive travel. The higher pleasures are those that the child himself creates within a structured environment, “by means of some effort and inventiveness [p. 54].” Constant diversions generate drug-like tolerance, and undermine the ability to direct energy towards distant, long-term goals.
Russell admits to adopting a mystical tone. Pleasures should be of the slow sort, in keeping with the pace of the earth and its seasons. Gambling is one example of a pleasure that has no earthly contact; such pursuits are joyless, and lead to dissatisfaction the moment they are abandoned. Pleasures, “on the other hand, that bring us into contact with the life of the Earth have something in them profoundly satisfying; when they cease, the happiness that they have brought remains, although their intensity while they existed may have been less than that of more exciting dissipations [p. 55].” (A similar distinction applies to love versus mere sexual attraction.) Urban dwellers, disconnected from those slow earthly rhythms, suffer from a boredom brought on by fear of boredom. “A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live [p. 56].”
In nature, humans seem to be the only animals prone to boredom, in part because the experience of boredom may require the perception of more agreeable activities than those that are currently engaged in. Humans, especially males, desire excitement. The movement from hunting and gathering to agriculture greatly promoted boredom; modern machinery actually lessens it.
[Russell provides a very amusing (though painful) picture of previous lower-class society, where wives and daughters had to endure hours of “family time” after dinner – time in which they couldn’t read, but were expected to listen to their father’s dull monologues. He indicates how it was even worse in the middle ages, and speculates that witch hunts were dreamed up to relieve the tedium -- RBR].
“We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of boredom [p. 50].” We don’t think that boredom is part of the human condition, so we pursue excitement – live in cities, listen to the radio, take our cars to the movies, drink alcohol – to keep boredom at bay. But then the necessary down times will appear boring in contrast. Even quarrels and wars might be engaged in to stem ennui. “Boredom is therefore a vital problem for the moralist, since at least half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it [p. 51].”
Boredom that is endured without drugs can be fruitful. Drugs can be beneficial, more frequently than the prohibitionists allow. “But the craving for drugs is certainly something which cannot be left to the unfettered operation of natural impulse [pp. 50-1].” Someone accustomed to drugs, in their absence, faces a trial of boredom that only time can overcome. Tolerance, craving, and withdrawal, however, apply to all strong stimulations, not just those provoked by drugs. We must be moderate in our pursuit of excitement to maintain our capacity for pleasure. “A certain power of enduring boredom is therefore essential to a happy life, and is one of the things that ought to be taught to the young [p. 52].”
Great books and good lives all contain boring passages. Imagine what a modern publisher would say if, for the first time, the Old Testament were presented for potential publication. A thorough reduction to edit out the dull bits and enliven the text would be required. A similar rewrite would be mandated for almost all old books now considered classics. Accomplished people generally lead quiet lives, as they need to preserve their energy for their arduous work.
Russell (p. 53) again returns to the theme that children should be taught to endure monotony. Children need structured quotidian existences, and shouldn’t be overindulged with passive pleasures such as watching shows or with the stimulations of excessive travel. The higher pleasures are those that the child himself creates within a structured environment, “by means of some effort and inventiveness [p. 54].” Constant diversions generate drug-like tolerance, and undermine the ability to direct energy towards distant, long-term goals.
Russell admits to adopting a mystical tone. Pleasures should be of the slow sort, in keeping with the pace of the earth and its seasons. Gambling is one example of a pleasure that has no earthly contact; such pursuits are joyless, and lead to dissatisfaction the moment they are abandoned. Pleasures, “on the other hand, that bring us into contact with the life of the Earth have something in them profoundly satisfying; when they cease, the happiness that they have brought remains, although their intensity while they existed may have been less than that of more exciting dissipations [p. 55].” (A similar distinction applies to love versus mere sexual attraction.) Urban dwellers, disconnected from those slow earthly rhythms, suffer from a boredom brought on by fear of boredom. “A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live [p. 56].”
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 3
Chapter 3 (pages 39-47), “Competition”
Business people like to say that the struggle for life undermines their happiness, but they don’t face such a struggle. “Everybody knows that a business man who has been ruined is better off so far as material comforts are concerned than a man who has never been rich enough to have the chance of being ruined [pp. 39-40].” It is the struggle for preeminence, and not for life, that is the real threat to happiness. Successful business people could choose to leave this competition and still live well, but generally they don’t view escape as an option.
“The working life of [a high-ranking business person] has the psychology of a hundred-yard race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive [p. 41].” He sacrifices his life for this competition, not unlike Hindu widows who willingly submit to the flames. “The business man’s religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the Hindu widow, he suffers the torment gladly [p. 41].” People pursue risky investments with high expected returns and concomitant high stress, even though they could have secure returns and untroubled minds if they weren’t caught up in the competition to outshine others. Some degree of money and success contributes to happiness, but money and success should not be purchased via the sacrifice of all the other components of happiness.
The competition for money is worse in America, in part because professional excellence itself is there only discernible in monetary terms. The competitive habit even extends to what books people read, or can boast about reading.
Competition undermines civilized standards generally. The art of conversation, knowledge of good literature, and other quiet pleasures are nearly abandoned. This is not a personal failing. “The trouble arises from the generally received philosophy of life, according to which life is a contest, a competition, in which respect is to be accorded to the victor [p. 46].” Power is now preferred to intelligence, as with the dinosaurs, and the intensely power-focused will eventually meet the fate of the dinosaurs. (Already they have low birth rates – “they do not enjoy life enough to wish to beget children [p. 46].”) Competition is destroying the pleasures of work as well as of leisure, and one perceived escape is to pursue leisure activities that are as tense as work. The “natural termination” of this system is “drugs and collapse. The cure for this lies in admitting the part of sane and quiet enjoyment in a balanced ideal of life [p. 47].”
Business people like to say that the struggle for life undermines their happiness, but they don’t face such a struggle. “Everybody knows that a business man who has been ruined is better off so far as material comforts are concerned than a man who has never been rich enough to have the chance of being ruined [pp. 39-40].” It is the struggle for preeminence, and not for life, that is the real threat to happiness. Successful business people could choose to leave this competition and still live well, but generally they don’t view escape as an option.
“The working life of [a high-ranking business person] has the psychology of a hundred-yard race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive [p. 41].” He sacrifices his life for this competition, not unlike Hindu widows who willingly submit to the flames. “The business man’s religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the Hindu widow, he suffers the torment gladly [p. 41].” People pursue risky investments with high expected returns and concomitant high stress, even though they could have secure returns and untroubled minds if they weren’t caught up in the competition to outshine others. Some degree of money and success contributes to happiness, but money and success should not be purchased via the sacrifice of all the other components of happiness.
The competition for money is worse in America, in part because professional excellence itself is there only discernible in monetary terms. The competitive habit even extends to what books people read, or can boast about reading.
Competition undermines civilized standards generally. The art of conversation, knowledge of good literature, and other quiet pleasures are nearly abandoned. This is not a personal failing. “The trouble arises from the generally received philosophy of life, according to which life is a contest, a competition, in which respect is to be accorded to the victor [p. 46].” Power is now preferred to intelligence, as with the dinosaurs, and the intensely power-focused will eventually meet the fate of the dinosaurs. (Already they have low birth rates – “they do not enjoy life enough to wish to beget children [p. 46].”) Competition is destroying the pleasures of work as well as of leisure, and one perceived escape is to pursue leisure activities that are as tense as work. The “natural termination” of this system is “drugs and collapse. The cure for this lies in admitting the part of sane and quiet enjoyment in a balanced ideal of life [p. 47].”
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 2
Chapter 2 (pages 24-38), “Byronic Unhappiness”
Enlightenment does not require unhappiness. “The wise man will be as happy as circumstances permit, and if he finds the contemplation of the universe painful beyond a point, he will contemplate something else instead [p. 24].” Those who attribute their unhappiness to a rational view of the world are mistaken. They are unhappy for some other reason, and that unhappiness leads them to focus only on the negative aspects of existence.
When in the mood that “all is vanity,” one does not escape through philosophy, but through the imperative for action. Only the comfortable, not those fighting for survival, think that all is vanity. People are adapted for struggle, and when everything comes without effort, one of the necessary inputs into happiness is lost: “to be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness [p. 27].” In a good mood, however, we can see how much is new under the sun, like airplanes, newspapers, and skyscrapers. There is no tragedy in the cycle of generations, each seeing its day in the sun. (Indeed, immortality would sap the joys from the world.) Reason counsels optimism as much as it does despair. Instability and falling incomes, however, tend to make for pessimistic attitudes.
Love contributes to happiness, and does so more now that Victorian attitudes towards sex and love have been falling out of favor. Love itself is a delight, though this is not its chief virtue. The absence of love is painful. “A man who has never enjoyed beautiful things in the company of a woman whom he loved has not experienced to the full the magic power of which such things are capable [p. 34].” Love is an antidote to egoism, and gives the lie to philosophies that suggest the highest good can come from within, or from outside of society – parental love is even more telling than romantic love in this regard.
The philosophy of the futility of endeavor has changed our relationship to drama. In Shakespeare’s time, people really could look on the death of a king as tragic and deeply meaningful. “The cosmic significance of an individual death is lost to us because we have become democratic, not only in outward forms but in our inmost convictions [p. 36].” Modern tragedy requires a community problem, not an individual misfortune – Russell cites approvingly “Massenmensch” by Ernst Toller (whom he also had kind words for in Unpopular Essays). Young intellectual writers who are drawn to a futile view of existence should get out in the world and struggle for the means to meet their physical needs. “I believe that after some years of such an existence, the ex-intellectual will find that in spite of his efforts he can no longer refrain from writing, and when this time comes his writing will not seem to him futile [p. 38].”
Enlightenment does not require unhappiness. “The wise man will be as happy as circumstances permit, and if he finds the contemplation of the universe painful beyond a point, he will contemplate something else instead [p. 24].” Those who attribute their unhappiness to a rational view of the world are mistaken. They are unhappy for some other reason, and that unhappiness leads them to focus only on the negative aspects of existence.
When in the mood that “all is vanity,” one does not escape through philosophy, but through the imperative for action. Only the comfortable, not those fighting for survival, think that all is vanity. People are adapted for struggle, and when everything comes without effort, one of the necessary inputs into happiness is lost: “to be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness [p. 27].” In a good mood, however, we can see how much is new under the sun, like airplanes, newspapers, and skyscrapers. There is no tragedy in the cycle of generations, each seeing its day in the sun. (Indeed, immortality would sap the joys from the world.) Reason counsels optimism as much as it does despair. Instability and falling incomes, however, tend to make for pessimistic attitudes.
Love contributes to happiness, and does so more now that Victorian attitudes towards sex and love have been falling out of favor. Love itself is a delight, though this is not its chief virtue. The absence of love is painful. “A man who has never enjoyed beautiful things in the company of a woman whom he loved has not experienced to the full the magic power of which such things are capable [p. 34].” Love is an antidote to egoism, and gives the lie to philosophies that suggest the highest good can come from within, or from outside of society – parental love is even more telling than romantic love in this regard.
The philosophy of the futility of endeavor has changed our relationship to drama. In Shakespeare’s time, people really could look on the death of a king as tragic and deeply meaningful. “The cosmic significance of an individual death is lost to us because we have become democratic, not only in outward forms but in our inmost convictions [p. 36].” Modern tragedy requires a community problem, not an individual misfortune – Russell cites approvingly “Massenmensch” by Ernst Toller (whom he also had kind words for in Unpopular Essays). Young intellectual writers who are drawn to a futile view of existence should get out in the world and struggle for the means to meet their physical needs. “I believe that after some years of such an existence, the ex-intellectual will find that in spite of his efforts he can no longer refrain from writing, and when this time comes his writing will not seem to him futile [p. 38].”
Friday, November 28, 2008
The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 1
Chapter One (pages 15-23), “What Makes People Unhappy?”
You might be happy yourself, but when you look around you can see that unhappiness abounds, even on holidays or at parties. The origin of some unhappiness lies in the social system, stemming, for instance, from the prevalence of war, economic exploitation, or poverty. This book will not deal with those big issues, however. The focus rather will be on how an individual person, unremarkable in wealth and health, can find happiness, given the prevailing social conditions. “My purpose is to suggest a cure for the ordinary day-to-day unhappiness from which most people in civilized countries suffer, and which is all the more unbearable because, having no obvious external cause, it appears inescapable [p. 17].”
Russell relates that he was unhappy as a child, and suicidal as an adolescent, though buoyed then by the desire to learn more mathematics. Now (1930) he is happy, and getting happier, it seems, chiefly “due to a diminishing preoccupation with myself [p. 18].” Self-absorption, whether in one’s perceived sins, or manifested as narcissism or megalomania, is quite common. The sinner may believe that his adult reason has allowed him to discard those nostrums taught to him in his infancy, but he still retains them. Pleasures, especially sex, he has learned to think of as wicked. He partakes, but cannot enjoy his transgressions. The only pleasure his early training permits him is his mother’s caresses. These are unattainable as an adult, and he cannot respect those who provide a substitute, his sexual partners. Liberation from these ingrained beliefs and desires is a necessary step for happiness.
Narcissists cannot love others, and lose interest in a romantic partner once they are sure that the partner loves them. Their work, sustained by the thought of the acclaim they will win from professional success, is undermined by their lack of interest in the subject itself: “…the man whose sole concern with the world is that it shall admire him is not likely to achieve his object [p. 21].” Extreme vanity leads to boredom, as activities cannot be enjoyed in themselves. The problem might stem from a lack of self-confidence, and could be cured by an infusion of self-respect. “But this is only to be gained by successful activity inspired by objective interests [p. 21].”
Many madmen and most great men have been megalomaniacs, focused on power and the inspiring of fear in others. Alexander the Great, differentiated from the lunatic by the fact that Alexander really could achieve domination, still could not achieve happiness, as his ambition outran his success. Any megalomaniac must also fail eventually, though this thought (and those who dare to speak it) can be repressed – while the psychological repression itself precludes happiness. Like self-love, love of power in moderation conduces to happiness; when all-consuming, however, it is disastrous.
What is the general lesson? “The typical unhappy man is one who, having been deprived in youth of some normal satisfaction, has come to value this one kind of satisfaction more than any other, and has therefore given to his life a one-sided direction, together with a quite undue emphasis upon the achievement as opposed to the activities connected with it [p. 22].” Narcissists and megalomaniacs believe that happiness is possible, though they employ unsuitable means for finding it. Many others give up even the thought of finding happiness. They seek distraction instead, perhaps in the “temporary suicide” of drunkenness. The first step for these discouraged souls is to convince them that happiness is desirable. Such persuasion might not be easy: “Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the fact [p. 23].” But most people will seek happiness if they believe that it is attainable.
You might be happy yourself, but when you look around you can see that unhappiness abounds, even on holidays or at parties. The origin of some unhappiness lies in the social system, stemming, for instance, from the prevalence of war, economic exploitation, or poverty. This book will not deal with those big issues, however. The focus rather will be on how an individual person, unremarkable in wealth and health, can find happiness, given the prevailing social conditions. “My purpose is to suggest a cure for the ordinary day-to-day unhappiness from which most people in civilized countries suffer, and which is all the more unbearable because, having no obvious external cause, it appears inescapable [p. 17].”
Russell relates that he was unhappy as a child, and suicidal as an adolescent, though buoyed then by the desire to learn more mathematics. Now (1930) he is happy, and getting happier, it seems, chiefly “due to a diminishing preoccupation with myself [p. 18].” Self-absorption, whether in one’s perceived sins, or manifested as narcissism or megalomania, is quite common. The sinner may believe that his adult reason has allowed him to discard those nostrums taught to him in his infancy, but he still retains them. Pleasures, especially sex, he has learned to think of as wicked. He partakes, but cannot enjoy his transgressions. The only pleasure his early training permits him is his mother’s caresses. These are unattainable as an adult, and he cannot respect those who provide a substitute, his sexual partners. Liberation from these ingrained beliefs and desires is a necessary step for happiness.
Narcissists cannot love others, and lose interest in a romantic partner once they are sure that the partner loves them. Their work, sustained by the thought of the acclaim they will win from professional success, is undermined by their lack of interest in the subject itself: “…the man whose sole concern with the world is that it shall admire him is not likely to achieve his object [p. 21].” Extreme vanity leads to boredom, as activities cannot be enjoyed in themselves. The problem might stem from a lack of self-confidence, and could be cured by an infusion of self-respect. “But this is only to be gained by successful activity inspired by objective interests [p. 21].”
Many madmen and most great men have been megalomaniacs, focused on power and the inspiring of fear in others. Alexander the Great, differentiated from the lunatic by the fact that Alexander really could achieve domination, still could not achieve happiness, as his ambition outran his success. Any megalomaniac must also fail eventually, though this thought (and those who dare to speak it) can be repressed – while the psychological repression itself precludes happiness. Like self-love, love of power in moderation conduces to happiness; when all-consuming, however, it is disastrous.
What is the general lesson? “The typical unhappy man is one who, having been deprived in youth of some normal satisfaction, has come to value this one kind of satisfaction more than any other, and has therefore given to his life a one-sided direction, together with a quite undue emphasis upon the achievement as opposed to the activities connected with it [p. 22].” Narcissists and megalomaniacs believe that happiness is possible, though they employ unsuitable means for finding it. Many others give up even the thought of finding happiness. They seek distraction instead, perhaps in the “temporary suicide” of drunkenness. The first step for these discouraged souls is to convince them that happiness is desirable. Such persuasion might not be easy: “Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the fact [p. 23].” But most people will seek happiness if they believe that it is attainable.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Next Up: The Conquest of Happiness
Must Stick With The Plan. Must Stick With The Plan. And so on. So The Conquest of Happiness it is. My copy is a Liveright Paperback (W.W. Norton), the reset version of 1996. The original copyright is listed as being issued to Horace Liveright, Inc., in 1930. We have come across Horace before, as the publisher of Marriage and Morals (just one year before The Conquest of Happiness) and also as an anti-censorship figure.
The 191 pages comprise 17 chapters plus a single-paragraph Preface; similar to the layout of Proposed Roads to Freedom, the chapters are divided into two sections. The first section (chapters 1 through 9) is “Causes of Unhappiness” and the second section (chapters 10 through 17) is, as you guessed, “Causes of Happiness.” Prior to the contents is an excerpt from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass – an excerpt that suggests that non-human animals manage to avoid unhappiness. The Preface notes that The Conquest of Happiness is an effort to record thoughts “inspired by what I hope is common sense [p. 11].” Russell has written the book, he announces, in the belief “that many people who are unhappy could become happy by well-directed effort…[p. 11].”
Here are the titles of the 17 chapters:
1. What Makes People Unhappy?
2. Byronic Unhappiness
3. Competition
4. Boredom and Excitement
5. Fatigue
6. Envy
7. The Sense of Sin
8. Persecution Mania
9. Fear of Public Opinion
10. Is Happiness Still Possible?
11. Zest
12. Affection
13. The Family
14. Work
15. Impersonal Interests
16. Effort and Resignation
17. The Happy Man
Onwards to Part One, “Causes of Unhappiness.”
P.S. -- An electronic edition of The Conquest of Happiness is available from Questia, but I am not sure of the rules for access.
The 191 pages comprise 17 chapters plus a single-paragraph Preface; similar to the layout of Proposed Roads to Freedom, the chapters are divided into two sections. The first section (chapters 1 through 9) is “Causes of Unhappiness” and the second section (chapters 10 through 17) is, as you guessed, “Causes of Happiness.” Prior to the contents is an excerpt from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass – an excerpt that suggests that non-human animals manage to avoid unhappiness. The Preface notes that The Conquest of Happiness is an effort to record thoughts “inspired by what I hope is common sense [p. 11].” Russell has written the book, he announces, in the belief “that many people who are unhappy could become happy by well-directed effort…[p. 11].”
Here are the titles of the 17 chapters:
1. What Makes People Unhappy?
2. Byronic Unhappiness
3. Competition
4. Boredom and Excitement
5. Fatigue
6. Envy
7. The Sense of Sin
8. Persecution Mania
9. Fear of Public Opinion
10. Is Happiness Still Possible?
11. Zest
12. Affection
13. The Family
14. Work
15. Impersonal Interests
16. Effort and Resignation
17. The Happy Man
Onwards to Part One, “Causes of Unhappiness.”
P.S. -- An electronic edition of The Conquest of Happiness is available from Questia, but I am not sure of the rules for access.
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