The Paradox of Happiness
Early in the film, The Big Chill, the
girlfriend, (played by Meg Tilly) of the character whose funeral the others
are attending is asked if he seemed happy. This puzzles her. "I don't
know any happy people," she replies. "What are they like?"
Interesting question, particularly in light of
the growth industry that the desire for happiness supports in our culture.
From its enshrinement in our Constitution as an "inalienable right" (sharing
equal billing with Life and Liberty), the Pursuit of Happiness has expanded,
as a concept, to the extent that it now undergirds much of our economic,
philosophical, political--and most recently, and amazingly--spiritual foundations.
With the urgency and single-mindedness of an Olympian event, it's a pursuit
in which everyone seems to be taking part, with dozens of well-paid coaches
shouting encouragement from the sidelines.
Not that this is a new, or particularly American
phenomenon. Long before Ben Franklin and Poor Richard's Almanac--starting
a procession that stretches from Emerson and Thoreau to Norman Vincent
Peale and Tony Robbins--theologians and sages of all beliefs offered guidelines
for personal fulfillment. From Lao Tze to Goethe, from the Greeks to the
Sufis, across eons and oceans have come the many vaunted rules, or
practices assuring happiness. (Even Freud, in the midst of forming his
sober-minded view of the human condition, offered a modest, though cogent,
prescription for happiness: love and work.)
Throughout recorded history, mankind has yearned
for and struggled to find happiness. What is particularly American,
however, is the burgeoning therapies, workshops, seminars, infomercials
and seasonal "how-to" bestsellers promising to reveal the secrets of joy
and fulfillment. Every month, it seems, a new guru of personal growth appears.
A new Primer on Perfection arrives. A new Handbook for Happiness.
And yet, why does that scene from The Big Chill
resonate so much with viewers? Why do so many Americans seem to be unhappy?
It's a paradox that literally baffles the rest
of the world. The citizens of the wealthiest, most technologically advanced
country in the world spend billions trying to alleviate their unhappiness.
We take pills, join cults, go to spas, meditate, get advanced degrees,
get cable, get rolfed, hypnotized, liposuctioned, bio-feedbacked, and--when
all else fails--get stoned.
What's going on here?
Whenever I think about happiness, I think about
Nepal. I lived there for awhile, a number of years ago, as a result of
what can regrettably only be called a mid-life crisis. I seemed to be spinning
out of control, both personally and professionally, so I fled, like a character
in Maugham's The Razor's Edge, to the austere and ageless Himalayas.
This was before the recent political upheavals,
when Nepal--the fifth poorest nation on earth--was still under the divine
rule of the King, believed by the people to be an avatar of Vishnu (and,
incidentally, one of the world's richest men). I was struck by the staggering
poverty and want, particularly in the rural areas, exacerbated in modern
times by the exodus to Katmandu of most of the outlying villages' young
people. They'd begun leaving farm life for the many new service industry
jobs in the city--taxi driving, waiting tables, working in tourist hotels.
But what really struck me, in this small country
where 99% of the people were subsistence farmers, and where the
children's mortality rate was 50% before the age of seven, was one powerful,
irrefutable fact: the people were happy.
This fact was a constant topic of conversation
among us American visitors, tourists, journalists and longtime expatriates.
We sat in cafes, eating dal baht and drinking Chinese beer, marveling at
this seeming contradiction. Especially since we were all so...well...unhappy.
There was Diane, whose husband was a Peace Corps
engineer building dams for the government. She was bored and restless.
There was Bill, a low-level diplomatic envoy. His
goal was the embassy in China, instead of this "go-nowhere mud-pen."
There was Evan, a so-called "trust fund kid," whose
recent trekking experience had proved disappointing ("bad weather and lazy
porters"), and who couldn't wait for ski season in Vail.
"I've gotta get my shit together," someone always
said. "If only I could..." Fill in the blank: Get another job. Get laid.
Get divorced. Lose twenty pounds. Find time for my painting. Save some
money. Meet someone.) "Then--then--I'd be happy..."
Meanwhile, all around us, making pujas to their
many gods, doing laundry, carrying baskets, cooking rice, where the Nepalis.
Smiling. Not the smiles of "simple, happy, natives," like in some cheap
travel brochure. It had more to do with belonging, with a sense of righteousness,
a contentment forged out of an understanding of the sorrows and joys of
their hard lives.
In short, unlike us, they didn't need things to
be...otherwise.
Is that all it takes? I've wondered more
than once in the many years since Nepal. If, as Stephen Levine says, suffering
is caused by wanting things to be other than they are, is happiness mere
dennis@dennispalumbo.com
