happy like god

 

Señor Borges' imaginary friend mentioned an article in the New York Times today, Happy Like God: The Pursuit of Happiness in Troubled Times. I immediately read the article as Borges' friend is someone I take very seriously-- especially when it comes to this topic of happiness. Actually, not all that long ago I received a short missive from my man in Vaud which exuded such a state of "happiness" (as I idealize it at least) that his words left me rather devasted. He knows this, but I actually put my head down and cried my eyes out. "Happy like God" is not a bad expression for every word in his message spoke of a life of conscious-- and conscientious--choices. Choices made to induce a state of balance, tranquility, and --yes-- contemplative calm. From the food he puts in his body to the way he chooses to spend his time (he recently quit facebook in order to spend more time reading in libraries).

 Borges' friend, I feel, is living the Good Life.

The article he pointed to in the NYTimes is written by Simon Critchley (of The Book of Dead Philosophers & Zizek-Critchley debate fame; the latter only if you have absolutely nothing else to do), and revolves around the following quote by Rousseau:

If there is a state where the soul can find a resting-place secure enough to establish itself and concentrate its entire being there, with no need to remember the past or reach into the future, where time is nothing to it, where the present runs on indefinitely but this duration goes unnoticed, with no sign of the passing of time, and no other feeling of deprivation or enjoyment, pleasure or pain, desire or fear than the simple feeling of existence, a feeling that fills our soul entirely, as long as this state lasts, we can call ourselves happy, not with a poor, incomplete and relative happiness such as we find in the pleasures of life, but with a sufficient, complete and perfect happiness which leaves no emptiness to be filled in the soul.

Critchley tells us that, Rousseau is "describing the experience of floating in a little rowing boat on the Lake of Bienne close to Neuchâtel in his native Switzerland."

Our man in Vaud then asks: Our lives are filled with endless distractions, but is the idea of happiness as an experience of contemplation really so ridiculous?

I think not. And yet, I question whether in fact "moments" like the one described above-- moments of joy at "the simple feeling of existence" if such moments would or could ever really be enough. Many of the Readers of these Pages will remember my post on Paradise. When I wrote that post I was under the assumption that, not just me, but that many people wile away their hours imagining paradise. But I was surprised, first by Bill, and then by many other people who wrote to me to tell me that, no, that they found hell far easier to imagine. I think, in fact, it was Bill who remarked that without the imperative of temporality, the pleasures of paradise would quite possibly lose their pleasurability. I wonder... 

For one thing I wonder if a lifetime of back-to-back moments such as the kind Rousseau experienced in his rowing boat would add up to true happiness.

Robert Harrison, too, in a work entirely devoted to this concept of the garden-as-paradise, again and again suggests that we humans are in fact rather devoted to our various human projects. In that way,  suppose I feel like our distractions-- cell phones, car alarms, commuter woes and the traffic in Bangalore-- are in fact a necessary part of the human condition. While we may seek retreat from these distractions into our gardens (real and imaginary), my instinct is that it is the quest for Ithaka that really calls us. Our human fate.

　

 I was just talking to my friend Caesar about this, in fact. He is a man who derives tremendous pleasure-- and indeed happiness (充実感→充实感）-- from his work. And, his happiness, I think, is very closely tied up with a feeling of flourishing. To thrive and to flourish as human happiness-- Csikszentmihalyi's work on flow is interesting. That human beings thrive when they are working on something, "fully immersed in what they are doing.. [and with] a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and success in the process of the activity."

Is this not a really Heideggerean・Confucian notion of happiness? Happiness not as state of mind but as human activity.  Rousseau in his boat expresses what to my mind is a glorious mood. A happy mood or a happy moment. But to point to this as human happiness demands-- or at least it presupposes-- a Cartesian encapsulated Self, that can be somehow be found or uncovered if one peels away all the distractions or obligations of our life. If you see the self as something intrinsically embedded in a world which is not of our choosing and more than I think we would therefore be "thrown" into this world to such an extent that our projects andour various obligations and roles awould be in some very real sense be conflatable to who we really are-- like Odysseus. I mean, would Odysseus have been Odysseus without Ithaka. For whatever it is worth, I think not-- and indeed, I think happiness for Odysseus was none other than the trials and tribulations he experienced on the way home.

I don't think this lessens such Rousseauesque moments in any way either. For indeed such moments are glorious. That such feelings of timelessless, or "being in the moment" which can come over us in a boat or in a garden are intensely pleasurable and have very uplifting affects on our souls, I think this cannot be denied. Still, I would not call this happiness.

But then again, I could be wrong.

Anyway, I loved that the Rousseau quote comes from what Critchley tells us is Rousseau's third (!!)autobiography, titled, “Reveries of a Solitary Walker.” Philosophers and long walks- is this not a perfect fit? See Conrad's splendid post on walking here, in which he says:

And so when I walk I cannot merely walk; I must walk as Conrad, I must find my own way to walk, my own reasons to walk. This will take time, but even now I have managed a few quirks and motifs: the eye out for datestones, the prosifying ear, and the determination to walk until it grows dark, until the lampadaires spring into light, and then no more.

Conrad, if you read this, I have to tell you your words have been on my mind. You see, I never have walked as Peony. I walk as Tokyo, walk as Hong Kong, walk as LA, walk as beach or riverside. To walk as Peony-- I gotta tell you it is an intriguing thought.

**

Paintings again by Le Thanh Son.

Borges' friend also links to this superb John Williams performance of Bach. I am going to put the music in my music links. But  leave you with this (couldn't even believe it was there on youtube)

Salamanca, in the Northern Capital, left an interesting comment yesterday on my hong kong post, part of which was a really intriguing question about the taxonomy of crowds-- of cities. This post above partly grew out of his question and I wonder if anyone has any other thoughts on crowds and the way we come alive vis-a-vis place.

Comments

[casey kochmer]

walk as Peony

clear of thinking

but with full thought

flowing to the flowering of a Peony.

[Paul M. Rodriguez]

If a reader may opine, the finest (of the many) classical guitar interpretations of Bach on YouTube is Julian Bream's performance of the lute transcription of BWV 1001 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mZvdGAGlOo). Around 2:00 always strikes me through the heart.

[Peony]

Indeed, a Reader should always opine! And friends of our man Conrad are always welcome here. The music is truly exquisite! But, in fact, more than the music, I was very moved by your essay about expectations-- which I have read in fact several times.

If you haven't seen it, a great friend of this blog recommended the music from the film Tous les Matins du Monde. Have you seen it? this piece of music is also so beautiful I think.

[Paul Frank]

I think that Rousseau failed to understand that real happiness is
shared happiness. He certainly did not know how to treat his family.
Have you seen the film "Into the Wild"? I won't give away the ending
if you haven't.

Zhuangzi thought that there was a place out of time and out of place
where a lone individual could find happiness. In Burton Watson's
translation:

"Confucius went to call on Lao Tan. Lao Tan had just finished washing his hair and had spread it over his shoulders to dry. Utterly motionless, he did not even seem to be human. Confucius, hidden from sight, stood waiting, and then after some time presented himself and exclaimed, 'Did my eyes play tricks on me, or was that really true? A moment ago, Sir, your form and body seemed stiff as an old dead tree,as though you had forgotten things, taken leave of men, and were standing in solitude itself!' Lao Tan said, 'I was letting my mind wander in the Beginning of things.'"
孔子見老聃，老聃新沐，方將被發而干，蟄然似非人。孔子便而待之。少焉見，曰："丘也眩與？其信然與？向者先生形體掘若槁木， 似遺物離人而立于獨也。"老聃曰："吾游心于物之初。"

Reasonably enough, Confucius asks:

"What does that mean?"
何謂邪？

Lao Dan then explains the workings of yin and yang over time:

"Perhaps someone manipulates the cords that draw it all together, but no one has ever seen his form. Decay, growth, fullness, emptiness, now murky, now bright, the sun shifting, the moon changing phase--day after day these things proceed, yet no one has seen him bringing them about..."
或為之紀，而莫見其形。消息滿虛，一晦一明，日改月化，日有所為，而莫見其功.
Confucius asks:

"May I ask what it means to wander in such a place?
請問游是。

Lao Dan says:

"It means to attain Perfect Beauty and Perfect Happiness. He who
attains Perfect Beauty and wanders in Perfect Happiness may be called the Perfect Man."
夫得是至美至樂也。得至美而游乎至樂，謂之至人。

Their conversation continues, and let's leave them to it. The moments of happiness I have experienced, making love and talking with Veronique, reading and laughing and dancing with Laura, running alone, working, reading, have always been in time and in place. And the moments of greatest happiness have been in time and in place with people I love.

[Paul M. Rodriguez]

The music is beautiful. I haven't heard the viola da gamba played before. The tone (I might observe here of all places) has a hybrid east-west quality—it reminds me at once of the cello and the erhu. But then its Byzantine ancestor must have been heard all along the Silk Road.

Obviously I have not seen the movie. A quick search produces several negative reviews that dislike it in terms that recommend it to me.

It is gratifying that an essay of mine has moved someone of such discriminating taste. Accordingly I modestly observe that I wrote an essay in February of 2008 on "Happiness." I doubt its conclusion would be sympathetic to you—I have Stoic tendencies—but you might find something useful in the attempt to distinguish happiness from joy.

[Conrad]

Since you have asked me to clarify what I meant by 'walking as Conrad': for me walking is an escape, a freedom---I do not cogitate when I walk, I only look and contemplate what I see---it is therefore not primarily an intellectual exercise but a perceptual one; and because walking offers this freedom from cogitation, it provides the possibility of self-expression, in a funny way. (Think of the dérive.) And one wants to express oneself in one's own way: thousands of people have walked London, even systematically, just as thousands of people have painted Madonnas. For seven hundred years we have lived in an age where artists have wanted to paint the Madonna a bit differently from those before; similarly, I want to walk London a bit differently from those before. This in turn allows me to make actual discoveries---and it is this, discovery itself, which, as I have remarked before, effects for me something like your paradise.

[Peony walking in dewdrops]

Conrad,

You never--ever--disappoint. My question is one that has been bothering me since I read your words, and so I wanted to ask you what you meant but was afraid to be too tedious.

But, now, reading your response, I have to tell you I am very glad to have asked!

Indeed, this was really interesting. You are right. I do make every willful attempt to walk as Peony. I never realized it but I do. You asked about the walking in LA, well I walk aboout 6-7 kilometers around a lake in our town. At this time of year it is the dewdrop world as in the mornings everything is sparkling in dewdrops. There are geese and ducks... if I wait till the dewdrops melt to walk, then there are butterflies.

Like you, though, I do not walk as Das Man. In LA, das man wears spandex on her walks. She is in exercise gear and she walks to "get in shape." It is a practice to greet every single person you meet with a smile and a good morning. She never stops and keeps her eyes on the road ahead-- or talking to her exercise companion.

It has been remarked (by the usual suspects)that I look like a housekeeper when I walk- just off the bus, I walk like I am using my feet for transportation, to go somewhere... I wear normal clothes and I have my ipod on so I can ignore those loud greetings! I also stop for butterflies and dewdrops, for mushrooms and always, always veer left or right if I spot something to look at.

And like you, I do not think when I walk. Just like you said. I imagine. I really look too. So, just like you I think I may make discoveries-- both real and imaginary. And finally-- just like you-- I suppose I too stubbornly try and walk in a different way. First, walk as my only form of transportation (i think you stubbornly insisted on doing this in the heat of arizona?) But also walking as derive. And yeah... it is like paradise; dazzlingly free.

[Peony]

About the Viola da gamba

Isn't the sound of the instrument really beautiful, Paul? I really love this video. It's interesting what you say about the tone of the instrument as I too have been intrigued by its resonance... Not all that long ago I had taken my son to see a a harpsichord performance with the famous Japanese harpsichordist Masaaki Suzuki. Before the concert, in the lobby, there was an informal performance of a harpsichordist and a viola da gamba player which really made an impression on me. I just assumed it was a cello but the Kid informed me that no, that was NOT a cello! And yeah, it produces a very wide range of tones, doesn't it? It really resonates-- almost like a zither.. or is that just me?

[Peony]

About happiness

Paul, I loved your essay! And, in fact I agreed with every single word. Less stoic, I thought it enlightened (I say that not in the Buddhist sense but in the European sense).

And, I would want to suggest that we share many of the same approaches to this topic. Is that possible? Particularly this idea, that happiness (as idealized as the paradise of a gardenor or of our friend Conrad as he walks) categorically requires what you call the reminder of memory/reality/time or in Robert Harrison's words, of history.

By the way, I love the way you end the essay (below) and in fact have been struggling to think of this topic in terms of moods (as something, rather than internal to us, are something that comes over us from the outside. And therefore we need only to atune ourselves to them).

You never essentially are happy, you wear happiness; and like any cloth, it has proper and improper climates and seasons.

[Peony]

Paul, you write a lot about expectations in terms of happiness. It is something that is also much on my mind. My friend Caesar seems to think I lack confidence; that I underestimate myself. This is something he has been repeating to me, and I reallize that yes, compared to Caesar and the obviously ambitious women Caesar usually associates with, I suppose I do lack confidence or under-estimate myself in comparison. On the other hand, though, this also speaks to happiness which is based expectations as informed by one's values.

Along the these lines a friend is reading Shop Class as Soul Craft. I will have to ask him about the book.

[Paul M. Rodriguez]

I looked for more viola da gamba music on YouTube but I missed that one, alas. I don't hear much resonance, though it is tonally various, but I can't really judge on the basis of flash video through computer speakers—still it's certainly a much less powerful instrument than the cello, and the supinated bowhold is necessarily less precise than that of a cellist—but perhaps more expressive, in the way that a painter making a broad, expressive outline will hold the brush underhand, and switch to overhand to add detail, or, of course, the way the pen is held in Eastern calligraphy or Western offhand flourishing.

I leave the above sentence is its run-on state to attest its spontaneity—including the link to IAMPETH, as I've long been curious to know what admirers of ink painting would think of this almost forgotten form, its nearest Western equivalent.

You do a great deal of thinking about happiness and I don't pretend to understand all of it, but it is possible that we share approaches. I am myself a gardener and walker, though when I try to write about gardening or walking I cannot get past the simple animal need and delight. I used to take long walks on the Pontchartrain levée in unspeakable summer heat, humidity, and sun, sprawl on a stone floor until it had soaked the heat out of me, read until dark, and then walk again. Or at this time of year one can go out walking and come back with handfuls of berries, blueberries and raspberries. The blueberries were planted; the raspberries appeared out of nowhere after Katrina and grow everywhere now. I don't have anything to say about them; I just eat them.

[Paul M. Rodriguez]

I missed your previous comment while I was writing mine. I don't know you, but let me say: of course you underestimate yourself. You're an intelligent person and all intelligent people end up underestimating themselves, for two reasons. First, because they are lack the benefit of blindness to limitation and contingency. Second, and mostly, because they make the mistake of associating with other intelligent people. Intelligent people never exactly match up in their abilities, and faced with people who can do things they can't, each one ends up taking themselves as the baseline and imagining that everyone around them improves on it. They lose perspective on where they actually fit into the general spectrum of human ability.

I don't understand why lack of ambition should imply lack of confidence. One can be confident but not ambitious—content—or ambitious but not confident—discontent—or ambitious and confident—enterprising. As for shop class, having done a fair amount of manual labor of various kinds, I can assure you that writing is at least as satisfactorily humane a skill to possess and practice.

[M.W.Nolden]

Paul: You are absolutely correct concerning the less powerful but more expressive sound of the viola da gamba. This is precisely why they fell out of use until the period instrument revival in the twentieth century. It is an instrument (as are most of the period) for intimate performance venues, not the concert hall. Savall is playing an authentic period gamba so we also have gut, not metal strings which gives it that somewhat "damped" (eastern) sound rather than the singing sound of the contemporary cello. The bow position is because (I just came across this last week.) the power sounds on the Gambe come on the pull rather than the push, the opposite of the cello.

The reason I know all this is that Peony & I have been playing Youtube toss for the past six months with Baroque opera & early music videos.
To keep up with her, I try to do my homework….

[Peony]

MW, remember this one from before? It seems that nowadays the viola da gamba is often coupled with the harpsichord. I wonder if that was always the case?

And I suppose the harpsichord too was music for an "intimate affair"... when we saw Suzuki play, chairs were place not a meter from the instrument right on the stage. (The hall's seating was too far back apparently). You can imagine Adonis was so excited to sit that close and he was conducting and the Master kept looking over and winking at the him as he played.

MW, have you listened to Savall's daughter play harp and sing?