Solid Joys and Lasting Treasure
Sunday, November 22nd, 2009
Happiness can well up in us at any time. Which is lovely, but the real prize is to be able to hold on to it, to quietly place it at the heart of our motivation, values and world-picture, not in a needy grasping way but one that is both solid and relaxed.
Otherwise, it can just leach away, or, worse, lead to a kind of ‘equal and opposite’ reaction – a point that was first made by Jacques Lacan (a writer whose work I normally find incomprehensible, but who certainly hit something here.) If your mind has been programmed for not much pleasure, for example by a puritan upbringing, too much of the stuff can just short-circuit the system with painful results (Lacan called this ‘jouissance’). How much pleasure can you take?
But maybe it’s not just about amount of pleasure, but about quality. I think some kinds of pleasure are inherently more lasting and stable than others.
For the Christian, the most lasting and stable pleasure is that of knowing God’s love – the quote after which I have entitled this piece comes from an eighteenth century hymn by John Newton (which I remember singing in school). As a ‘possibilist’ I can certainly accept that as one potential source of solid joy, but I would like to look at others, just in case Nietzsche was right after all!
Looking at the writings of the British psychoanalytic school, there is a clear and powerful belief in love as a solid joy and lasting treasure. Fairburn postulated that our need for love was our deepest motive, and Bowlby showed what happened when it was not given to the growing child. (So The Beatles were right!) I certainly think that a loving family is a marvellous source of love, and a wonderful safe place where love gets cycled round and round (despite the odd argument, falling-out etc.) Family life got a lot of stick from so-called progressive people when I was growing up, and looking back I’m afraid they were talking total crap. To truly love another human being is the most ennobling – and wisdom-granting – experience we can have.
Another deep source of joy is our simple capacity for fun – a deceptively deep connection to those sources. Fun is a sudden letting rip of energy and joie-de-vivre with no agenda or egoism. Yippee! I stress the ‘no agenda or egoism’ bit.
Neither of these two joy sources get a lot of mention in so-called serious philosophy, but I think this is a big mistake.
It’s also interesting to look at the enemies of joyfulness. I’m afraid that public life seems full of these – by which I don’t just mean ‘work’, but politics and the more general placing of ourselves in a social context. Envy and concern about status can ‘get to us’ and kill joy, even well away from work. Work itself, of course, can necessitate dealing with fucked-up, energy-sucking people (as well as delightful, fun, life-enhancing people – a third source of joy!) Work is important, financially and spiritually – it’s more than Philip Larkin’s ‘old toad’ – but putting it right at the heart of our lives seems just plain wrong to me.
As a young man, I thought a lot about politics, what was fair, unfair in society etc. As I grow older, I worry less and less about this. Human flourishing is not about success or social position, but about developing one’s ability to tap into solid, lasting sources of joy, the placing of this ability at the heart of our being, and the capacity to then spread this joy out to (at least a few) others. Too elevated a social position (or too strong a concern with elevating one’s social position) can force false idols into the rightful place of a true, living faith in humanity – one’s own, and other people’s – and (possibly) in God. That doesn’t mean that vicious inequality and exploitation are ‘OK’, but it does mean that removing these won’t of itself solve humanity’s problems. We all have to learn how to live happily and on good, honourable terms with our fellow human beings, and this truth will never change, whatever form society takes.
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The end of the book? No way!
Saturday, October 24th, 2009
I went to a most enjoyable ‘networking’ event at the Frontline Club last night. The event was centred round a panel discussion about the future of book publishing.
The consensus view was that publishing is in trouble, not just because of the downturn and the buying power of Tesco, but because to a threat to books as a medium. Digitization has wrought havoc to the music industry (apparently people are spending as much money as they ever did on recorded music, but nearly all that money is now going into the receiving equipment and very little on the actual music). A photographer in the audience said that his business had collapsed in the last two years thanks to digitized imagery. Surely, the same will soon happen to book publishing?
An obvious answer is ‘yes’, but I am more sceptical. I accept that once something becomes ‘digitized’, a pressure towards its becoming free builds and builds. But books don’t actually digitize that well. People like the look and feel of books. Books do furnish a room, to quote Anthony Powell. Even the panellist from Sony promoting his e-reader did so for a specific ‘niche’ use – you can take 100 books on holiday this way – rather than ‘this will kill the book’.
Certain types of book will clearly have a tougher time in the future. The encyclopaedia has virtually been killed by Google and Wikipedia, and I wonder how many other reference- and text-books will go the same way. But in general, books will become one way in which ‘content’ is ‘accessed’ by people. Some folk will desert to e-readers; many will stay with books. To meet this increased competition, books will, I hope, rise to the challenge, becoming as aesthetically pleasing (decent paper, nice clear print, good layout, great jacket design) and as professionally promoted as possible. Hopefully another casualty of the rise of the e-reader will be the crappily made book. As an author I have had my share of abysmal covers, rubbish layout (one book wasn’t even right-hand justified) and printing on loo-paper – as well as some fantastic jobs by really professional ‘book creation’ teams.
The topic of self-publishing was raised. A couple of years ago everyone in the know was talking about Lulu, but actually people still prefer to be published by big name (or up-and-coming) publishers. It’s a classic rule of marketing that the more noise there is in a market, the bigger the need to create powerful brands. The most powerful brand of all in publishing remains the successful author (apparently Dan Brown now has the first, second, third and fourth most successful paperbacks). Following that is the imprint with a clear vision of who its readers are and what they want, a great design team and a reputation for ruthless ‘content quality’ control (buy a XYZ Books book, and you know you’ll get something good). Authors and imprints that establish powerful brand identities will be able to ride any amount of digitization.
(The turning of an author into a brand is a fascinating topic. It involves us doing stuff like tours, teaching, an website, blogging – things which used to be called ‘promotion’, and were thought of as something bolted rather uneasily on to the creative process, but which will I think become more and more an integral part of the author’s life.)
The future for authors and publishers who pursue excellence (and who understand their readers) seems set fair. Far from threatening them, the internet will help these people promote what they do, and, of course, encourage that best of all marketing tools, word of mouth (or ‘word of mouse’).
The really interesting challenge posed by e-readers is the opportunity for a new type of art form to emerge, which really uses their capabilities, not just to mimic books rather badly, but to bring onto the ‘page’ sound, graphics, hyperlinks and God knows what else. This may be a step too far for a 55-year old wordsmith like me (though I fancy a try at it some time) – but some young genius out there will crack this one, and create something really new and exciting. Will this kill the book, then?
Maybe, but even then, I think our paper friend will still be with us. TV and video were going to kill the cinema, but instead created new markets. The ‘e-reader experience’ of the future will most likely do the same.
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Two cheers for community
Saturday, October 10th, 2009
Sitting watching Harvest Assembly at my daughter’s school, a nice warm feeling filled me. Here we all were, about 100 parents and as many kids, all sharing this moment. There is the usual range of people in our village, from the rather snooty to the, well, let’s say, rather unsnooty. But we’re all united in our desire for this to be a nice place to live, and especially for our children to be safe and happy and to flourish here. This school, which is excellent, by the way, is a shining example of this.
Later in the afternoon, my daughter got into a spat with another girl. I’ve no idea ‘who started it’; like most spats I imagine the fault was on both sides. Yet when this other girl’s mum advanced towards me I was immediately on full war alert. Call me what you like, madam, but don’t you dare try and put all the blame onto my daughter…
In the end it was all settled moderately amicably. But the point it bought home to me was that the notion of community is at best a fragile one. Recent books have been written lamenting the collapse of community life, and politicians regularly wave the word as an ideal to strive for. But community just isn’t that strong a bond.
One of the great horrors of the war in Yugoslavia was that people ‘from the same community’ started murdering each other. ‘They’d lived side by side for many years,’ the press lamented, ‘then suddenly they started doing this…’ Sadly what happened was that deeper loyalties were stirred, and the old community loyalty suddenly no longer mattered a hoot. Closer to home, mining villages in the 1980’s, which are often cited as examples of ‘close-knit’ communities, appeared to split wide open when the miners’ strike made people choose between sides. Community mattered less than personal conviction.
Is this a disease of modernity? Up to a point it might be, but arguably this doesn’t matter. We are modern, whether we find that reassuring or not.
I’m not arguing that the notion of community is a sham, but I am saying that it is a relatively weak bond, and that we are unwise to put too much trust in it. When things get tough, we need closer, more powerful links to other people to support us.One’s close family is the ideal set of links, but, sadly, many families just don’t live up to this. If yours doesn’t provide support, where do you turn? A close group of friends is the best answer I can think of. David Cameron owes his success, in part at least, to his membership of the ‘Notting Hill Set’. Many great artists have been members of a ‘school’. According to the press, Simon Cowell has a group of mates (this does not include Louis!), who help each other out by setting up joint business ventures, providing very exclusive contacts and probably lending each other the odd million if they’re a bit short.
It’s nice to be part of a community, and this belonging should be enjoyed. But it’s not the great cure-all some people make it out to be.
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Going Round in Circles
Saturday, October 3rd, 2009
Last week, Derren Brown had us all drawing pictures of concentric circles. I actually dreamt about them! It got me thinking about how we build concentric circles of psychological defences around ourselves.
My dream had three circles (exactly what Derren made me and thousands of other viewers all draw – this guy is a genius, albeit rather scary). Mapping these on to the psyche and its defences…
The first, outer defensive layer is a simple unwillingness to be intimate, to be close, to show myself, to risk getting put down and hurt. It manifests itself in many ways – in shyness, in cruelty (‘get your blow in first!’), in any of the ways we can drive people away. (Sometimes, of course, we have to drive people away! But I’m talking about irrational, automatic reactions here, about a mechanism that clicks in, even if we don’t want it to.)
What is this protecting? A second layer of defence: a little perfect me that cannot bear the tiniest blemish, the tiniest implication that I am less than perfect… The ‘British psychoanalytic’ school call this the false self. Narcissistic people are dominated by this false self: the rest of us have it up to a degree (the lucky ones have no trace of it). It is a global and timeless thing – I was reading the Three Musketeers to my daughter the other day, and the young men in this 19th century novel have a true narcissist’s hyper-sensitivity to personal insult. In many other cultures men (especially) are obsessed with ‘face’ or ‘honour’.
This middle circle is created in turn to protect us from something nasty in the inner circle. What exactly? It must be pretty terrifying: annihilation, meaninglessness, abandonment – the demons that stalk our minds when we are small (the time we set these false selves up).
The material last week, on saying ‘yes’ to life is useful here, as to say ‘yes’ from the heart does much to take away the power of these demons. There is no void, unless we choose to live in one. There is a many-faceted, abundant world, full of potential for fun and love and creativity and adventure and laughter and beauty (OK, and for sadness and loss).
The two defensive layers take a lot of energy. If we render them unnecessary by calming and essentially defusing the terrified core, we free up a lot of energy to enjoy life. This brings in another ‘circle’ concept, the virtuous circle (a set of self-reinforcing events or forces). The more positive our central view of life, the less energy we need to put into defending ourselves from monsters and the more energy we have for doing positive things, which in turn reinforces our positive view of life, which gives us even more energy… And so on.
This isn’t Pollyanna-ism. There will be inevitable sadnesses on the journey. But they are much better dealt with from a position of fundamental optimism than from one teetering on the edge of despair to start with.
This, I think, is the meaning of the Bible quote: “For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, from him shall be taken, even that which he hath.” (Mark 4 v 25). I’ve always wondered what Jesus meant by that – it seems very unfair and contrary to the fundamental Christian message of love and equality. But it’s how the psyche works. Depression is the end result of a vicious circle (mutually reinforcing negative stuff) and happy living emerges from a virtuous circle. Saying ‘yes’ to life is all about moving from the former to the latter, a key to living a life that is both happy and useful to others.
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Saying ‘yes’ to life
Saturday, September 26th, 2009
This is another of those phrases, like ‘I’m OK; you’re OK’ that are considered a bit corny, but which in my view conceal a deep truth beneath their chirpy exterior. Anyone who has suffered from depression will understand the power of the opposite of this phrase: life just seems too scary, or overwhelming, or difficult. Saying ‘no’ to life, scuttling off and hiding in a hole of some kind, seems the obvious choice. At least we don’t get hurt any longer…
However, we’re not designed to live in holes, and events have a habit of prising us out of our burrows. As we’re not prepared for the world at these moments, it can all go wrong, and we head back to the hole again, more convinced than ever that life is horrible, that we are somehow not up to its challenges, and that we’re best off curled up in an even tighter ball than before.
Behind many of these stories lies fear. Fear that has been taught, fear that has been learnt by trauma. To break out of their cycle, we need to conquer fear. Saying ‘yes’ to life is an act of courage. Taking an active role, seizing control of our destiny – this can be scary stuff, if you’ve been brought up to believe (or have convinced yourself) that that is not what ‘you’ do.
Saying yes is not a one-off act, either. If we’ve spent forty (or however many) years listening to negative voices in our ears telling us our ideas are stupid or our plans won’t work or we’re ugly or whatever stuff these voices have been chucking at us, one little act of defiance isn’t going to make them go away. The great religious traditions enjoin daily contact with the divine through prayer or meditation. Saying ‘yes’ takes time and practice.
So it’s something of a war of attrition. But the victories, small at first, are sweet. Life rewards those who say yes to it. Not necessarily with money, but with cheerfulness, understanding and fun: saying yes is a lot more enjoyable than hiding in the burrow, even when the negative voices are still yammering in your ear. As time goes by, you come to know, ever deeper, that those voices are wrong and that you are right to go boldly and joyfully out into the world. Just as the negative mindset can set up a vicious circle, the positive one can set up a virtuous circle.
Literature hasn’t always agreed with this. Or rather it has often portrayed the battle as just too bloody hard. There’s a long string of great writers from Aeschylus through Hardy to Kafka and Greene who seem to preach ‘keep your head beneath the parapet, sunshine…’ But of course, there’s a comic tradition that teaches otherwise – I always go back to Shakespeare’s comedies for a healthy dose of ‘yes-saying’. I want my novels to be firmly in this latter camp, portraying characters who have difficulties saying ‘yes’ – there are powerful forces in their lives pushing them towards despair, violence, cruelty (etc.) – but who get there in the end. This isn’t very ‘modernist’, but so much the worse for modernism. The battle to say yes to life, and to live that out, every day, is one worthy of a writer’s – and a reader’s – attention and passion.
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