The Solemn Duty of Joy.
I'm standing at the kitchen window, waiting for the kettle to boil, looking out through a grey drizzle at slate roofs and chimneys. One aggressive seagull chases another off his perch, with a flap or two and a glide, another rooftop is reached.
And all around me, out of sight, people are hurting, people are suffering, people are homeless, starving dying, killing. Over on other threads, an argument, an attack, a defence.
I cannot do the sums, and those who think they can do the sums usually come up with a negative answer. They call this world the Vale of Tears, and themselves pessimists and anti-natalists. Not doing the sums, I cannot dispute their result, and it seems to me that it would be invidious to write off pain against pleasure, especially someone else's.
I'm looking at the greyness of slate and cloud and gull, I'm looking at the aggression at every moment of nature, and the poverty and ugliness of the manmade rooftop desert, and making the best of it. Seeing the perfect line of the gull's flight, hearing the subtle silence behind the chuckling kettle, noticing the silver beads running along the washing-line. The best I can do, the best I can make of it, is that at this moment, this life, this dissatisfaction, this waiting, is joyful - I want to be here. Add this moment to the plus-side in your dismal calculation.
And all around me, out of sight, people are hurting, people are suffering, people are homeless, starving dying, killing. Over on other threads, an argument, an attack, a defence.
I cannot do the sums, and those who think they can do the sums usually come up with a negative answer. They call this world the Vale of Tears, and themselves pessimists and anti-natalists. Not doing the sums, I cannot dispute their result, and it seems to me that it would be invidious to write off pain against pleasure, especially someone else's.
I'm looking at the greyness of slate and cloud and gull, I'm looking at the aggression at every moment of nature, and the poverty and ugliness of the manmade rooftop desert, and making the best of it. Seeing the perfect line of the gull's flight, hearing the subtle silence behind the chuckling kettle, noticing the silver beads running along the washing-line. The best I can do, the best I can make of it, is that at this moment, this life, this dissatisfaction, this waiting, is joyful - I want to be here. Add this moment to the plus-side in your dismal calculation.
Comments (53)
I gladly drink the bitter cup, and in relation to other threads that are current, if it is my place to foresee and mourn the ending of civilisation, the ending of mankind, the ending of life on Earth even; to witness some, and imagine some, and experience some of the horror and pain of that multiple ending, then my duty and my joy is to embrace it all, and refuse the blindfold as our folly receives its inevitable payment.
I put it here in philosophy of religion, because it is faith beyond reason and beyond the frivolity of mere fact. 'Take, eat, this is my flesh.' Will you measure these truths with a human device? What value has that? Eat, or eat not; there is nothing to argue about.
I enjoyed reading your OP; clearly a sensitive reflection - why would you doubt that ?
It reminded me of a Christian outlook and a book written by C.S. Lewis ' Surprised by Joy'.
From
https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/877675-surprised-by-joy-the-shape-of-my-early-life:
" I have been emboldened to write of it because I notice that a man seldom mentions what he had supposed to be his most idiosyncratic sensations without receiving from at least one (often more) of those present the reply, 'What! Have you felt that too? I always thought I was the only one.”
? C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life
Strange how we can think we are the only ones to experience a tingle when a piece of music or a singer hits the right notes. If asked 'What did you think of that ?' during the interval it is easy to say 'Beautiful' but how often can we find the words to share the raw experience of joy, or awe.
Same with mourning a loss. From wiki:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surprised_by_Joy
Surprised by Joy is an allusion to William Wordsworth's poem, "Surprised By Joy — Impatient As The Wind", relating an incident when Wordsworth forgot the death of his beloved daughter:[citation needed]
Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind —
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss? — That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
----------
And, of course, the mention of Wordsworth brings to mind that host of golden daffodils.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Wandered_Lonely_as_a_Cloud
"...Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance..."
Your OP similarly reflecting lines of sight flashing in the moment:
"Seeing the perfect line of the gull's flight, hearing the subtle silence behind the chuckling kettle, noticing the silver beads running along the washing-line. The best I can do, the best I can make of it, is that at this moment, this life, this dissatisfaction, this waiting, is joyful - I want to be here. Add this moment to the plus-side in your dismal calculation."
Beautiful.
[quote="unenlightened;262669"I ]put it here in philosophy of religion, because it is faith beyond reason and beyond the frivolity of mere fact. [/quote]
It is appropriately placed, even if I lost my religious joy some time ago.
We can all experience the awesome wonder. If we but look. No duty required.
Thanks for bringing some thoughtful joy...
I don't get it.
Excellent choice. I just think of spreadsheets and traffic. It doesn't give me joy.
Quoting unenlightened
What are you asking?
That was joy? I shudder to think what pain is. The best that was was a method for enduring pain.
Real joy derives from feeling a sense of purpose beyond the sounds of the tea kettle and the fluttering of the birds outside.
You are not listening.
Here's what I heard:
Quoting unenlightened
You describe coping, not joy.
For me, yes. Thoughtful joy. Perhaps I am on the same wavelength...having been accused of being a killjoy elsewhere by a different kind of joy rider.
Unenlightened's words spoke to me. Others might dance to another tune...c'est la vie.
You're not listening to me telling you you're not listening. Listen to me telling you I'm not depressed, not coping, but joyful, and stop telling me what what I say must mean I feel.
Ah well. Sometimes people see what they want to see...and disregard the rest.
Simon and Garfunkel - the Boxer
I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
And if you just look at the words, you might find something indicative of nihilistic lack of meaning. And how very far from the truth that would be. Listen to the passion of the music, and find the depth of significance in its not mattering.
And I can't start on the boundless love I have for everything we were. I can only breathe it in and out.
-- a frank that was, and so will always have been.
Fine. You're jubilant.
You're still not listening.
:sparkle: :pray:
You can only tell me that my words don't accurately reflect what you're feeling, but not that I'm not listening because you don't know what I'm actually doing. It's sort of like if someone says things that sound depressing, but then they tell me they're not depressed, then I have to believe they're not depressed and not impose my interpretations on them.
Anyway, this whole thread is getting touchy feely like everyone is going to start hugging each other and having this feeling of closeness and unity. I mean, everyone but me because I don't listen. Either that or I refuse to listen because it seems so missing the point. My enlightenment is just different I suppose. I see the divine in the actual divine I guess as opposed to a kitty cat jumping on a child's lap, or whatever.
People who are listening do not talk about my feelings, but about their own.
Quoting Hanover
That is mockery. Such disrespect is uncalled for and objectionable. I am talking about the death of my mother, my sister, my first wife, as my personal experience of bereavement, and you liken it some sentimental trash of your own imagining. You have no idea, absolutely none.
What is the point that it seems to be missing ?
What do you mean by 'enlightenment' ?
What is the 'divine' ? What is the difference between the 'actual' divine as opposed to...what...the joy that can be found by ordinary mortals ? Even as they cope with life in general.
What is wrong with having a 'sense of closeness and unity' - even if such manifested itself...and why wouldn't you feel included...or is it that you reject it. For your own personal reasons...
Yeah, well I had no way of knowing you were talking about such profound loss, so I couldn't have been mocking you unless I actually knew that. So you have no idea, absolutely none, of what I'm talking about. I'm not talking about sentimental trash. I'm talking about the divine, but you're not listening.
As to my initial assessment that you are depressed, I find it hard to relent because nothing you've said suggests otherwise. I can only said that your thoughts are depressing and reference coping, but whatever. It's not clear that the OP had much point anyway. It certainly didn't ask any question that I can decipher. The best I can decipher is that we're to validate your feelings and tell you the beauty of your prose, but if we don't, we're being disrespectful.
But everyone else did.
Fair questions.
The OP was poetic, and obviously subject to interpretation. As we are to learn, it references deep loss suffered by the author. Had it specifically referenced such loss, the only appropriate response would be to express condolences, but it wasn't. Based upon that, I'm not even sure what we ought be talking about here, but this is what I brought to the table, as it were.
I simply see the divine in God. That's where I see it. Sure, I see it in all the objects of creation, but I don't see God as creation. The closeness and unity you reference is a beautiful thing I admit, but it's just another aspect of God, and not God. As I've noted, I don't know where to take this because I don't see it as philosophy or even philosophy or religion, but as a personal expression of faith. You have every right to tell me it makes no sense and it's just my way of interpreting meaning and the world.
I guess my question is what is the question we're to be answering in this thread?
Unless you provided the factual basis elsewhere, I don't know how they could have. Their responses certainly didn't reference it, nor did they offer condolences, which would have been appropriate given what you've now said.
But, to the extent I missed the factual basis you've since provided, please provide a cite to where it was clarified to me but missed. Otherwise, the best you can say is that I failed to decipher your poetry, which is true.
Yes. you have no idea what I am talking about, as I have already pointed out to you and yet you feel entitled to litter the thread with criticisms and cod psychoanalysis on the basis of your incomprehension, and repeating them when they have been explicitly denied.
Quoting HanoverQuoting unenlightened
But no, you refuse. You add it to the minus side.
Quoting unenlightened
What is so hard to understand? Bereavement is the loss of a loved one. I'm not interested in anyone's condolences, that is just the continuation of your ignorant insults. I speak personally to keep things close to the ground, and you use my openness as a weapon, but you miss the target, because I am not particularly self-concerned.
[quote="unenlightened;262775"]What is so hard to understand? [quote]
What is the question within the OP that you wish answered?
Agreed.
Here's my burnt offering:
What is the night if not a cartwheel
on the frenzied bust of day?
A shape scraped from concrete longings
To stay the execution, stay
And bright stars belie the coming bloom
of sun you say
but I’ll fling my surface ’pon
the moon and bounce
thereon before
a blink of dawn’s amber
play, sing my song
along
the Milky Way
the night is a cartwheel
on the frenzied bust of day
Would you want to feel nothing at the death of a loved one? What I think I want to reconcile in a more general way, is a profound awareness of suffering, and a profound sense of the value of life. I personally, and of course intermittently, feel an obligation to savour the depth of each experience, in honour of (I'm sorry, it sounds extravagant) all those lives too hard or too short to have enough such moments.
Well, I guess you know that not everything that is poetic gives specific references.
There is no need to express condolence. It is a tool to explore, in this case 'joy' in relation to religion. Seen as a 'solemn duty'. But not by me and others who question 'why a duty?'.There is no specific question as such in the OP. Why would one be necessary to start a philosophical discussion ?
From wiki:
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophical_poets
" A philosophical poet is an author or scholar who employs poetic devices, styles, or forms to explore subjects common to the field of philosophy. Their writing often addresses questions related to the meaning of life, the nature of being (ontology), theories of knowledge and knowing (epistemology), principles of beauty (aesthetics), first principles of things (metaphysics) or the existence of God. Some may make broad philosophical inquires and engage with diverse philosophical topics throughout their poetry, while others may concentrate within one branch of philosophical poetry. For example, Dante is considered by some to be both a philosophical poet, in a general sense, as well as a metaphysical poet."
Quoting Hanover
Having read the wiki article, do you understand better why it can be both - an expression of faith and a question of philosophy ?
It Isn't so hard to understand. Even if the words sound depressing to you, this is not necessarily indicative of a writer being depressed. The realistic view from the window, even if painted in hues of grey, can still bring joy to the experiencer. Even if the costs and benefits of life experience, including pessimistic philosophy forum rants, are difficult to weigh up, in the moment there is a joy.
"The best I can do, the best I can make of it, is that at this moment, this life, this dissatisfaction, this waiting, is joyful - I want to be here. Add this moment to the plus-side in your dismal calculation."
No matter what the world holds in store, there is a faith - possibly like your sense of the divine - that makes everything all right.
Which seems right on topic.
[quote=Canticle of the Sun and Moon, St. Francis]Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing. To you, alone, Most High, do they belong. No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.
Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.
Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them, precious and beautiful.
Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.
Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.
Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.
Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.
Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.
Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Happy those she finds doing your most holy will. The second death can do no harm to them.[/quote]
The prayer is saturated with appreciation of life, but when it comes to death; the only thing which is glorious about it is the continuation of life into the eternal. If you read it closely, you'll find that despite the prayer being aimed at evoking sublimity of nature it actually describes nature in broadly utilitarian terms. Giving sustenance, light, food and so on. The utility of death is only grasped with reference to the afterlife in Heaven and comes with an inbuilt threat for the wicked.
But all nature is a moment of the divine, from the stillbirth to the earthquake. One wonders why St. Francis of Assisi would rather us not see the just hand of God in the slaughter and misery of the believer as well as the wicked. We just don't have the stomach to speak of appreciation for death by starvation in the same breath as the transcendent beauty of a waterfall or sunrise.
Perhaps the only way to appreciate disaster is sorrow. The loving hand of God guides the rapist as well as the mother, the earthquake and the builder; for Him there is no distinction between the sacred and the profane, for nature makes no such distinction for itself.
Can you expand on this at all? Is that really their distinction - the believer and the wicked?
Quoting fdrake
I have to stay in that sorrow; the loving guidance of God, is a place I cannot reach, or cannot own, or cannot acknowledge, or cannot afford to share so widely.
They probably don't have it nowadays, seeing the devil and hell as more symbolic/discursive/institutional or allegorical as is usual for most people. It's there in there prayer though, 'woe to those who die in mortal sin!', and they are an old Catholic offshoot.
It seems to me that the death of the nonbeliever is less relished now than it was.
I'm glad to hear it. The current pope does not read God that way at least, and I certainly don't think He's concerned about His fanbase particularly, such that being a fan makes you non-wicked. In the light of world-wide Catholic sex scandals, that is surely untenable?
I'm sure there are people that think it's tenable. I don't.
I don't really want to get into a discussion of contemporary religious practice, all the use I see in prayers and theology here is to try and get at the sense of reverence we might need to cultivate towards disaster, and the problems associated with it. I may as well have used the Face of Glory Hindu myth.
Will respond better tomorrow or Sunday.
Thanks.
'Real joy' sounds a bit like a 'true scotsman'. I think both un's and your descriptions fit within the generally understood concept of joy.
Bring it in, big guy. You know you want a big com-pu-ter hug!
You have slept in the Sun
Longer than the sphinx, and are none the wiser for it.
Come in. And I thought a shadow fell across the door
But it was only her come to ask once more
If I was coming in, and not to hurry in case I wasn’t.
There is indeed a wonderful dark humour in the story of the Face of Glory, like a good fairytale.and yet something of me is antagonistic to making that connection. One aspect is that the universalising becomes eternal and depersonalised So the head that cannot consume itself remains, somehow forever surviving like Sisyphus. It seems extravagant - Sisyphus would roll his boulder a few times or many, and then weaken and it would roll over him like a gravestone. The severed head does not survive.
And then there is what I see as the religious danger - to overdramatise again - of devil worship. To rejoice in death and destruction is to make an inversion in the order of things. I will hold to this; that it is life that has virtue and vice, and death has nothing, it is only the edge of life, and has no meaning or power of its own. Accept, but never praise or worship.
You have it exactly, there, for me. A vastness of meaning sensed in an old man dozing in the sun. It is always the beauty of that smallness the intensity of the mundane that I seek - because there's a lot of it - let's not hurry to be dead, let's not reject sunshine on aching bones in favour of eternity.
Whence, I cannot say. It seems enfolded into the fabric of creation. The lack, I think, comes from childhood trauma, from a lack of love, from a child that has to survive without care, and then cannot care in turn. It comes from the sins of the fathers and mothers, falling on the children having to grow up and unable to grow up. It comes from the inability to cry by way of a missing shoulder.
Cannot see the sky
Is this the prize
For having learned how not to cry?’
~ Jackson Browne
(‘Dad rock’, said my son, dismissively, when I played it again recently.)