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].”
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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.
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