Concentration is the key to joy. Our hearts are quiet if we know what we’re doing and why, with an end in view. What we’re doing may be unwelcome, unpleasant – we may not be having what is called “a good time” – we may complain – but the inevitability of our occupation relieves us of distressful doubt.
The corollary is no less true. Not knowing what we’re up to sets us on the path to despair. So-called “free time,” if it’s truly free, that is, absent of purpose, becomes a hell-hole. No one likes feeling lost. Twice in my life, absence of purpose has tipped me into a clinical depression.
Capitalism gets this truth backward, which engenders anger and confusion. Capitalism touts “labor-saving” devices and distracts us with new baubles. “Better things for better living,” it promises. “TGIF” is a universal theme – Thank God It’s Friday – when “TGIM” would make for happier hearts. Capitalism counts on discontent to peddle its wares. My dog-pal Henry doesn’t pine for the newest and best. He’s happy with what he’s got.
Vocation, not vacation, makes me happy. I am happy now, not wondering whether I’m happy, hounding myself to six hundred publishable words. Sure, I grumble about my harness – I’m human – but pay no attention. Anxiety commences – instantly! – when I don’t know where I’m going.
This helps explain why capitalism’s success has led to its undoing. The galling irony of our moment is we’ve never been more prosperous or less satisfied. The “free time” we’ve been taught to covet isn’t a “good time” at all. We start posing pesky questions, such as “Why am I alive? Why bother?” None of the delights on offer quite “hits the spot.” TV faces fill vacated brains with grievances. We had no idea how unhappy we were until we had time to think about it. Self-driving cars are another noxious miracle. I kind of like driving my car – it makes me think I’m doing something.
I was raised to deplore obsession. The ideal was to be relaxed, tolerant, broad-minded. Folks who took things “too seriously” were, well, you know, a little off. Thank heavens I recovered from my rearing. If you love your labor, there’s no such thing as “too seriously.” I dissolve when not obsessed. Easy-going, for me, means hard going. “What is man but his passion?” wrote Robert Penn Warren.
Religion used to supply multitudes with direction but for decades its appeal has been waning. Capitalism dislikes religion. When you’re praying, you’re not buying. Most religions urge satisfaction with less and sharing with the poor. What dangerous ideas! Moderation, frugality, sobriety are bad for business. If consumers don’t consume, we’re all cooked!
Suffering may be the only cure for our disease. America in our fatuity has traded in dyspepsia for disaster. The Nameless One’s followers imagined transgender bathroom rights and someone else’s abortion was making them wretched. Soon enough we’ll all be assailed by real troubles, thanks to their hero’s malign mismanagement.
Depression – in an individual or population – is a spiritual, not a material complaint. It’s not what we have or don’t that gets us down, it’s who we are and where we’re headed. Paradoxically, the Nameless One has blessed me with a purpose more precious than gold. Each day I busy myself inveighing against evil and advocating beauty, grace, kindness, decency, truth, faith as our hearts’ anodyne. I fancy – don’t laugh now – my words may stimulate or solace. This crazy dream makes me glad to be alive.
Henry thinks I’m daft.