The Nature of Justice

https://unsplash.com/photos/PbN_Gl_ZoMk

Social justice. Environmental justice. Distributive justice. Procedural justice. The list goes on. Justice is a term that we hear often, but that many of us probably don't often enough take the time to ponder. What exactly is justice and, more importantly, what does it mean in practical terms for each of us as people and as citizens?

When you hear the term "social justice," undoubtedly your mind goes to social issues. For instance, the Black Lives Matter movement or ensuring equality of opportunity and equal treatment in the workplace. The term "environmental justice" likely conjures up notions of protecting the environment from human degradation, but also of recognizing that the route of a highway corridor through a city, inconsistent zoning laws, and unequal access to outdoor spaces can represent matters of justice. "Distributive justice" refers to the distribution of resources, which in modern times typically concerns issues such as determining what amounts to fair taxation, to what purpose tax money should be allocated, and how to treat corporations relative to the individual. The term "procedural justice" refers to equal treatment under our officially codified operating procedures, including in legal matters, but also in the perceived fairness of the system as a whole.

This is hardly an exhaustive list of the applications of justice, but it at least provides a starting point for our examination. Matters of justice are difficult to adjudicate because the persons or entities involved rarely share the same perspective. For example, should there be hard and fast rules, such as the justice of the many taking precedence over the justice of the individual? Or should we evaluate scenarios on a case by case basis? This approach may seem ideal, but in a society of many millions of individuals all with distinct interests, it is certainly impractical. Likely, as with so many things in life, the answer lies somewhere in between.

To seek out that (admittedly incomplete and elusive) answer, we will examine three common schools of thought which have developed to provide guidance in determining what constitutes justice. For a more thorough and in-depth treatment of this topic, I recommend checking out Justice: What's the Right Thing to Do? by Michael Sandel. Ideas from Mr. Sandel's book will act as our guide.

1. Utilitarian Justice
   
   We begin with the notion of utility, first popularized by Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. Utility maintains that humans, and human societies, should approach justice in a calculating manner. Whatever decision or action results in the greatest good (or least harm) for the greatest number of people should be the logical choice. At the individual level, we are no longer concerned with the greatest number of people, but rather with the greatest amount of pleasure derived from a decision or activity.
   
   This approach is generally straightforward, provided one knows what one wants, or whether the greatest amount of good for society can be reasonably estimated. These assumptions are rarely the case, however, and the result is conundrums that the concept of utility is ill-prepared to deal with. For instance, the utilitarian notion of choosing that which will result in the greatest pleasure for ourselves does not distinguish between levels of choices or activities, which is to say, the virtue of the thing in question. Furthermore, utilitarianism concerns itself with deserts rather than the experience. If two people do the same job and make the same money, proponents of utilitarianism are satisfied. Never mind that the second person is miserable doing the job while the first loves it. And never mind whether one of them is more satisfied by their income than the other.
   
   It is my sense that utilitarianism seeks to remove morality from the question and distill decision making at the individual and societal levels to an equation of that which results in the greatest pleasure or good. Mind you, that's good with a lowercase "g" and not capital "G" Good. It is good in that it provides pleasure or does not harm, but it is not necessarily (though is not exclusive from) Good that promotes virtue or values. 
   
   
2. Freedom of Choice
   
   A second notion of justice is that of freedom of choice, which has gained adherents in the modern political sphere. In his book, Sandel uses as an example of freedom of choice the modern arguments put forth by (often political) proponents of marriage equality (abortion is another such example provided). In essence, justice in this case is represented by the freedom of the individuals to marry whom they choose, and neither society nor individuals should be allowed to interfere.
   
   Sandel notes that this approach, like that of utilitarianism, sometimes results in the removal of the morality of the question and simply makes it a matter of personal liberty. It is appealing because it allows for a certain detachment: society does not have to grapple with matters of collectively-defined virtue, we simply make our own choices freely insofar as they do not encroach on the rights of others. Leave well enough alone, as it were.
   
   Often times, however, this approach fails precisely because it does not engage individuals on an emotional level. It is my sense that we do not want a society where people merely tolerate the choices of others, while maintaining a bitter resentment regarding said choices. Instead, it seems worth striving for a society in which people can understand and respect one another's choices alongside the act of tolerance. 
   
   
3. Purpose
   
   The third notion of justice that we will examine here is that of purpose, which is to say, the idea of promoting virtue while reasoning about the common good. This injects notions of morality and emotion back into the question. It is necessarily messier than the prior two ideas, but the result is also more satisfying.
   
   At the heart of this notion of justice is Aristotle's idea of telos, or the purpose of a thing, individual, society, or instrument. For instance, according to the idea of telos, the best violins in the world should go to the best violin players, rather than to the nobility, those who can afford the highest price, those who know the right people, etc. In order for the violin to fulfill its purpose, it must be played by the best violinists.
   
   Telos forces us to grapple with what it is that we want justice to represent and promote. Under this ideology, justice is not merely an abstract or indifferent concept. Justice becomes a system of behavior and results whereby we promote behaviors in individuals and societies that we collectively desire. This borders on the notion of justice as fairness expounded by John Rawls, which posits that society should be fair and the individual free, thus "resolving the tensions between the ideas of freedom and equality." In this sense, we must provide justification for our notions of justice, which forces us to think long and hard about why one choice outweighs another.

In Justice: What's the Right Thing to Do?, Sandel presents the third notion of justice as his preferred method, and I must agree. To remove notions of fairness, however difficult to define for a given case, is to distill out the human element of justice. Justice cannot be an equation, as with utilitarianism, nor can it be wholly impartial and indifferent, as with freedom of choice. In order to promote virtue in individuals and society, we must grapple with difficult questions of fairness, what it is that makes for a just society, and what it is to live a good life.

Thoreau #3, or The Perennial Source of Our Life

 

We continue our series on Thoreau with an examination of space. In Thoreau's mind, as we shall see, space is about so much more than just the physical distance that separates us.

"This whole earth which we inhabit is but a point in space; How far apart, think you, dwell the two most distant inhabitants of yonder star, the breadth of whose disk cannot be appreciated by our instruments? Why should I feel lonely? Is not our planet in the Milky Way? This which you put seems to me not to be the most important question. What sort of space is that which separates a man from his fellows and makes him solitary? I have found that no exertion of the legs can bring two minds nearer to one another. What do we want most to dwell near to?... to the perennial source of our life, whence in all our experience we have found that to issue, as the willow stands near the water and sends its roots out in that direction."

A point in space, and we are but the merest of dots upon that point. Feeling insignificant? Good, you well should. The notion of this series would not be appropriate if I made this all about you or me. Take heart, though, for while every single one of us is insignificant, that is hardly to say that we lack purpose. Let’s begin, however, with said insignificance. 

Before the time of the Greek astronomer Aristarchus, it was widely accepted that the Earth was at the center of the Universe. Even after Aristarchus formulated his theory which placed the Sun at the center of the Universe, it seems evident that few chose to fall in line with his thinking. The theory would not gain a wider audience until the 16th century, nearly 1800 years later, when Copernicus published his heliocentric theory. This is just as well, as he, too, turned out to be incorrect. 

As it turns out, it is impossible to know where the center of the Universe is. Because of the great distances involved, it takes light an immense amount of time to travel to an observer on Earth from the edges of space, many millions and billions of years, in fact. The Universe is widely thought to be 13.8 billion years old, which is to say, we have been able to observe light coming from a distance of 13.8 billion light years away. This is the observable Universe. 

Ironically, to an observer on Earth, Earth will always appear to be at or near the center of the observable Universe, due to the fact that light will be traveling to said observer from all directions at relatively the same speed, thus illuminating a comparable distance. The Universe is constantly expanding; according to some theories it is expanding faster than the speed of light in places, breaking the widely accepted cosmic speed limit. If this is true, there is light from some parts of the Universe that will never reach us here on Earth, no matter how long the Universe remains in existence. How’s that for insignificance? There are parts of the Universe that will never even be revealed to us here on this point in space.

Despite the immense scales of the Universe, both time and space, Thoreau’s question of human separation is still a valid one. In fact, the separation Thoreau speaks of has nothing to do with distance. For indeed, there should be nothing that can truly separate two hearts or minds set upon each other. As clichéd as it may be, Thoreau is not just talking about physical proximity or intellectual interaction here; he is also talking about love. “The perennial source of our life,” as Thoreau puts it, is referring to faith in something greater than ourselves. A higher power, if you will.

Whether Thoreau was referring to faith in what we call God, or something else, is unclear. He was, after all, a transcendentalist, believing more in ascertaining the truth of the world around him than in divining it from a preacher’s sermon or a deity. It seems more likely that Thoreau was loosely a Deist, in the vein of Thomas Jefferson, believing in the existence of some Creative Being, but rejecting some central tenets of Christianity, including the notion of the Holy Trinity or interventions in our world by said Being. Whatever greater Being Thoreau did believe in, for it seems evident that he believed in something greater than himself, he felt a strong desire to draw closer to his god. For simplicity, I will refer to this something greater as God for the remainder of this post.

What does drawing closer to God look like? For Thoreau, to draw closer to God meant to immerse himself more fully in God’s creation, that is, the natural world.  This is the notion that Thoreau is speaking to in his opening lines of Walden when he talks of “front[ing] only the essential facts of life.” The essential facts of life are spiritual.

People these days will often espouse how they would rather spend money on experiences than on material goods. If faced with a limited budget, for instance, a couple planning to be married may skimp on the cost of an engagement ring and the wedding in order to honeymoon in a better location or for a longer period of time. Or, at least, that’s the going narrative. Whether or not these same people follow through on these claims when faced with the decision is unknown and difficult to quantify. Society, after all, has expectations, and a ring or wedding ceremony is a very visible way for a couple to assert their place in society. 

Goods purchased, or even experiences had, when undertaken in order to produce the most visibility rather than for the experiences themselves, are of the world, and for that reason Thoreau would have been less taken with them. When I say “of this world,” I am speaking of those things that are impressed upon us as things which we should pursue by society, our cultures, the media, et cetera. While I don’t think that Thoreau would necessarily condemn anyone who pursues those things set before us by the world, such as wealth, colloquial success, or status, he would nevertheless caution individuals against setting their sights on these things at the expense of appreciating the true purpose of existence.

And that true purpose, in short, is to experience life to its fullest. Purpose is found in developing and nurturing relationships with other people; in rising early to watch the sun rise, your dog of ten years, grey in the muzzle, taking it more slowly, yet still reaching the hilltop in time to watch that orange orb crest over the distant mist; in staying up late to watch the constellations chase each other across the indigo night sky, assuming you’ve found a sky of sufficient darkness these days; in making somebody’s day by smiling or saying hello as you pass, offering a glint of hope in what might otherwise be a tough go of it. 

I could go on, but I think the picture is clear. These are the experiences, the human versions of the tree sending its roots in search of water. We seek God when we seek to live out our purpose, and subsequently find a deeper relationship with all of existence. We find the "perennial source of our life" when we live amidst and in harmony with Nature, as well as with our fellow man. Distance, then, occurs only as we allow it.

Thoreau #2, or Respecting What is Inevitable

For those who don’t know, shame on you. Also, for those who don’t know, I will give Mr. Thoreau a brief introduction before launching into his grand insights into the meaning of life.

Henry David Thoreau was born in 1817 and died in 1862, both having occurred in Concord, Massachusetts. It seems only fitting, then, that his foray into the wilderness should have taken him no more than a few miles from home to the shores of Walden Pond, a glaciated kettle lake with no waterway flowing into or out of the lake. Though he constructed his own cabin in the woods surrounding Walden Pond in 1845 and lived alone whilst he remained there, he was by no means friendless or a hermit. For Thoreau, "wilderness" was more a state of mind than it was a physical location. 

The very land on which he planted his roots was owned by his good friend and mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson. This is commemorated in the modern-day park by the Emerson-Thoreau Amble which can be hiked around the western side of the park, near where Thoreau’s cabin once stood. As an aside, for those wishing to learn more about Thoreau’s influences, take a gander at Self-Reliance by the inimitable Mr. Emerson.

Thoreau would end up spending two years, two months, and two days living on the shores of Walden Pond, after which he produced that most famous work of his, Walden; or, Life in the Woods. In the post below and in the posts that follow, I will take you through the quotes from said book that resonated most with me; quotes that reveal not only the fruits of self-discovery that Thoreau enjoyed living in the woods, but also his insights into humanity and why life is worth living.

**********

"If we respected only what is inevitable and has a right to be, music and poetry would resound along the streets. When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence, that petty fears and petty pleasures are but the shadow of the reality."

I forewent reprinting Thoreau’s opening lines here for two reasons: firstly, because we have already examined them lightly in the introduction; secondly, because they are merely a mission statement, though an eloquently crafted one. Those opening sentences merely inform us of why Thoreau did what he did. The quote above and the quotes to follow will deal more with what he found once he was in the woods.

So, where to begin? Before moving into discussion of music and poetry – yes, I know, everyone loves poetry – I want to unpack what Thoreau means by those things that are "inevitable" in life. And while they, too, seem inevitable, he is not talking about taxes. I cannot rule out that he may be talking about death, though, if only tangentially. But I’ll come back to that.

He is, first and foremost, addressing those things that demand our respect. Things that are beautiful, lasting, moving, and profound. As the character Sean O’Connell says in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, adapted from the short story by James Thurber, “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.”  And yet we give them our attention anyway, precisely because of their beauty. In the film, Sean is talking about the magnificently graceful, powerful snow leopard while on location to try to photograph one. This is not the superficial, surface level beauty of a glamor model; rather, it is the beauty of Venus, shining pale yellow in the night sky, a true model of beauty. This is the beauty recognized in a well-crafted sentence, or the beauty of a fine painting. Not a painting that is priceless because some famous artist of the past happened to have painted it; rather, a painting that bores into your soul when you look upon it, that causes you to ask questions about life, that draws forth your emotions and makes you ask “Why?” 

When you break it all down, things that are "inevitable" – in the sense that Thoreau is talking about – are the things that matter. And what truly matters to humanity is surprisingly constant through the ages. True, we must satisfy our physical needs through proper sustenance, hydration, and care; this is unchanging. These are practical matters driven by practical needs. Things that matter to us, those that are driven by our values and morals, are similarly unchanging. 

Humans value our relationships with other humans. This is inevitable. It is also beautiful. Short of artificially constructing a setup in which you live in complete isolation, a feat in which the practical act of survival would be difficult enough, every person on this planet will have consistent interactions with other human beings at varying levels. Thoreau would have known this fact better than most. While he managed to make a go of it largely living off the work of his own hands for a couple of years in the countryside, by his own account he made semi-regular trips to town to socialize and also received frequent visitors to his humble cabin. 

While Thoreau certainly may have been familiar with loneliness and boredom (the man dedicates several pages of his memoir to describing the working habits of ants), isolation would have remained a foreign concept to him, and as I said before, to any of us. To get a better picture of isolation, one would have to look to the exploits of Dick Proenneke, a former carpenter who retired to the Alaskan wilderness and spent 30 years living alone in a cabin of his own construction. Even so, it is a stretch to think that Proenneke lived in complete isolation.

When the Twin Lakes area where Proenneke had constructed his cabin was designated as Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, Proenneke quickly became a favorite among the park staff as well as with park visitors. Though he likely spent his winters in near isolation in the harsh Alaskan wilderness, it is clear that Proenneke had occasional visitors during the warmer seasons. Visitors appreciated Proenneke, as evidenced by the number of publications in which people describe their interactions with him, and it seems natural to conclude that Proenneke likewise cherished these relationships and interactions. 

Proenneke passed away in 2003, having left Alaska five years previously to live out his remaining years with his brother. I am extrapolating here, but Proenneke, like Thoreau, likely saw the inevitability of death not as something to be feared, but as something to prepare for. Proenneke left his beloved wilderness in order to live out his years alongside his brother, opting for the meaning that such relationships provided over the inherent contentment he undoubtedly felt in the woods. The wilderness would pass away, inevitably, as all things do, and perhaps Proenneke knew this. Perhaps he felt he was better suited for the next phase of life by the serenity found through relationships, rather than by desperately clinging to a solitary existence in the wilderness.

Human interaction and mutual reliance, in one form or another, is inevitable, and is, in fact, a form of music and poetry. The clamor, the worries, the busyness of everyday life, these are the things Thoreau cautions as “but the shadow of reality.” Nevertheless, when one steps back and takes a moment to breathe it all in, to see the big picture, one can appreciate the beauty of all of humanity interacting together in this great game of life. It becomes “but the shadow of reality” only once we have chosen to focus our attention on these things that trip us up. 

These hang ups will inevitably come, but being able to hear and appreciate the music and poetry of life is simply a matter of focus. Will you choose to focus on the irritants, the externals that you cannot control? Or will you simply deal with those as you must, choosing instead not to lose sight of the beauty inherent in all of life’s aspects? Will you listen for God’s voice, the voice of the Universe? It is only when we are, as Thoreau says, “unhurried and wise,” that we can listen properly.

Let’s envision a scenario. You are an engineer, headed to a bid meeting with a client to meet with contractors looking to bid on a construction job. As the engineer, you have developed a plan for the project, carefully designed over many hours to the constraints imposed by the project schedule and budget. Upon arrival, the contractors quickly propose an alternative option to your design. The client, quickly forgetting budget limitations, is taken with the idea and hops on board with the contractors, leaving you to defend the path that you took and explain why you seemingly overlooked this other alternative. 

Being conscientious, you attempt to explain why you did not design according to the contractors’ admittedly good suggestion without placing blame on the client for the inadequate budget. It is not advisable to place blame on the client, even if that’s exactly where it belongs. Instead, you explain that the plan proposed by the contractors would require extensive rework on the existing infrastructure in order to make the plan work, hoping that the budget implications are clear to all present. Apparently, they are not. 

The contractors continue arguing for the alternate option, the client won’t make a decision on the spot, and you are left to try to convince the room at large that the original plan is still the best option, but to no avail. The project gets tabled and is never built. You are now out many hours of design time, careful thought, and planning for a project that will never come to fruition, and have just been thrown under the bus by your client. How will you respond?

Option A, the petty fears option, would have you obsess over how you could have approached the project differently, of how you could have convinced the others in the room of the adequacy of your design. You would go back to your hotel room and aimlessly wonder how things could have gone better, and worry fruitlessly over potential ramifications back in the office. Option B, the unhurried and wise option – the deliberate option – reminds you that the only thing that you can control is your reaction to the situation. Certainly, you can learn from it. Certainly, you can be better prepared the next time around. Certainly, you should not let it ruin your month, week, or even your day. 

Do not let such concerns linger. The worries of our daily lives pass more quickly than the sands of time, and yet we tend to let them dominate our thoughts. Let the shadows pass unheeded, and instead focus on those permanent and beautiful things, those things that make our whole existence worthwhile. 

Thoreau #1, or An Introduction to Meaning

https://www.walden.org/what-we-do/library/thoreau/

It's about time we came round to the patron saint behind the idea of Deliberately Aimless: Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau was a man who ambled through town, the woods, over hill and over dale, for hours at a time, in search of space to think and freedom to commune with nature. Fortunately for us, he put many of his thoughts to paper, and we can thus dive in and examine them in detail through a series of posts, and see what Mr. Thoreau has to teach us.

I started this series because I wished to think critically, to ponder not only but especially the difficult questions, and see if I could not develop a sound philosophy, and not, when all was done, discover that I had never been tested.

You may well recognize the structure of the above sentence. It is, of course, based on the opening statement made by Thoreau in his profound memoir Walden; or, Life in the Woods. The original reads thus:

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

What Thoreau was searching for in the 1845 woods of Massachusetts is the same thing that many of us are still searching for today. That is to say, he was searching for meaning. Now there are various themes that will surround the word “meaning,” naturally charged as it is. Several of these include purpose, self-reliance, relationships – no, those two are not contradictory – achievement, wisdom. The list goes on and will likely vary from person to person. This series won't be a panacea for finding meaning in your life. 

Now a logical primer question would be to ask whether Thoreau in fact found meaning during his sojourn in the woods. That is a question that only Thoreau himself is capable of answering, but he does so throughout the course of Walden. In the posts that will follow in the coming weeks, I will demonstrate the ways in which Thoreau found meaning in his life, with special emphasis on some of the themes mentioned above. This exercise necessarily involves a lot of my own interpretation. Let's call it viewing Thoreau through a deistic lens.

Thoreau certainly experienced self-reliance, in the form of growing his own food and building his own cabin to live in. That much is obvious. And while some contend that his stay in the woods was far from isolated, in part because of his semi-frequent visitors and the railroad than ran within a half-mile of his cabin, I will contend that that is immaterial. Thoreau did not attempt to hide the fact that he regularly made visits to town nor that he had visitors. And regardless, the presence of others certainly does not diminish the meaning which he was seeking, it undoubtedly enhanced it. 

In this blog series, all kidding aside, I do hope to demonstrate the elements of a meaningful life through an examination of the life philosophies from but one of history’s great thinkers. My approach will be to present and evaluate direct quotes from Walden; or, Life in the Woods. From these quotes, I will weave a narrative, the common threads being philosophy, character, principle, and reverence, key ingredients of a meaningful life.

By no means is this intended to be a recipe, whereby you can follow a set of steps and live a fulfilled life. It is merely meant to be an examination of the prevailing life philosophy of Thoreau, an illustration of a life well lived. Though actions speak loudest, words are important, too. Whether or not Thoreau was always true to the standards and ethics that he espoused is not the point. The point lies in striving to reach those standards, in developing a sound moral philosophy and attempting to maintain it, while all around us the world tries to force us into a misstep or to fit the typical mold.

Finally, I also hope to demonstrate that philosophy, transcendentalism, and deep thought don’t have to be boring. Increasingly it seems that the world has less time for matters of substance, preferring instead to be entertained, looking always for the trivial, the summary, the path of least resistance. Indeed, perhaps our lives have become too easy, lacking tangible danger, self-exertion, even strong emotion. There’s no need to take the path less traveled because the path of least resistance is just so darn easy; why would we need to deviate from it, let alone want to?

Life is easy. You may well scoff at that statement and think I am off my rocker. Let me explain. When I say that life is easy, I’m talking about the general day to day necessities of life. In order to remain alive, all that is required of us really is to provide our bodies with sustenance, usually gotten from the money we’ve earned at a job. This job, distinguished or otherwise, likely requires only that we clear certain hurdles and maintain a median level of competence and effort. If a job begins to demand too much of us, fairly or not, we can get another one. Beyond sustenance and income, we need sleep in order to recharge our bodies and minds. Sleep is generally free and easy to come by. And there you have it, life is easy in our modern world.

But that’s not the type of life I want to talk about. Maintaining your life, staying alive, may be easy enough, but actually living may be less so. These days, all too often when in conversation with friends I find myself quoting from movies or referencing television shows, as though having watched them is the most relatable thing that I’ve done recently. It makes me sad. Not that having some baseline level of knowledge of popular culture is itself a bad thing; rather, that these are the things we choose to talk about. Once again we err on the side of the trivial rather than seeking true depth. 

Now I’m biased in that I have a love for the outdoors, hence a blog series based on quotes from a hermit transcendentalist, but that should not make my high regard for the restorative powers of nature any less legitimate. Nature, in my own limited experience, is the one place where we can feel truly alive. 

When you stand in the desert and feel the sand pelting your bare legs as it is driven by the perpetual afternoon wind; when the driving rain forces you to pack up your book and race from the lakeside to seek shelter in a park outhouse, before continuing on through mosquito infested portages to where you had parked; when you watch the sun cast its warm morning glow against the limestone bluffs from a kayak, and pray that your eyesight is never taken from you lest you miss the beauty of creation, only to return later in the day with a peeling sunburn; when you return from a January trail run and can’t feel your fingers for the next half hour, but head out the next day to do it all over again; these are the things that humble us, but don’t debase us. In some cases, nature brings us to our knees; it brings us to our most basic relationship: that of an organism valiantly, or so we’d hope, making its way in the world. We are base, but not humiliated.

There is an important distinction between humility and humiliation. I will present the case that humility is the key to a life well lived. This does not mean, however, that we become overly passive. A vigorous life and a humble life are not at odds. Again, base, but not debased. With that in mind, the posts in weeks to come will dive into Mr. Thoreau's philosophy, our resident transcendentalist guide.

Book Release of "Nor the Moon by Night"

 

This is not a typical post, but rather an announcement of some exciting news. My novel, which I began work on in August 2017, has finally been published! As I wrote in my acknowledgments, I wrote a story because I felt like I had a story to tell. A story that is, hopefully, one worth reading. See my recent interview regarding the novel here.

The narrative follows a protagonist in his mid-twenties who is adrift following the loss of his parents. In the intervening years, he has allowed several important relationships in his life to fall to tatters as he sought to find bliss via adventure. Nor the Moon by Night is the story of his journey to heal old wounds and nurture new relationships – as well as new ways of understanding his place in the world – as he seeks to find that which makes for a meaningful life.

I hope that this story speaks not only to the ethos here at Deliberately Aimless, but that it speaks to all those who may come across the book and dare to read it. It is my hope that it can also speak to the pathos of any prospective audience seeking to find direction – for this book might not re-invent the wheel where the notion of finding meaning in life is concerned, but then perhaps the wheel doesn't need re-inventing. It just needs someone to set it spinning.

Get the book on Amazon or Barnes & Noble!

A Brief History of Questions

https://unsplash.com/photos/eodA_8CTOFo

→Introduction

Mr. Hawking comes oh so close to connecting the dots in his book A Brief History of Time, but seems to narrowly miss in the end. To many readers I have just uttered blasphemy and overstepped my bounds, but allow me to explain myself. I don't claim to understand the science he puts forth. What may separate us commoners, though, is our willingness to admit when we simply don't understand something, which Hawking seems unable to do. He at least asks the right question, which is more than can be said for most who attempt to voyage through this particular rabbit hole. And what is that rabbit hole, you might well ask? It is the all-consuming question of “Why?” If we are honest with ourselves, we find that this is in fact the only question really worth asking, and perhaps the only question that doesn’t have a tidy answer.

Perhaps you’re still in the dark; let me explain. “Why?” questions the meaning and purpose of our very existence. By this point in history, ample scientific theory explains how we came to be, providing a quite convincing timeline to answer that question.

 

It is widely understood that carbon is the basic building block of life. Humans have a not insignificant carbon content, though it may be disguised via various molecular connections with other elements forming compounds in our chemical makeup. Every living thing has some level of carbon content. You’ve likely heard that the carbon that allows for our existence came from the stars, ergo, we really are composed of star dust. This is perhaps not entirely accurate, though not necessarily inaccurate, either. Sort of imbues our existence with a special significance off the bat, no? These stars, in turn, received their makeup from the material generated at the purported beginning of the Universe, the Big Bang. It is ironic, then, that a carbon compound, carbon dioxide, is proving to be a thorny issue for the planet, but that’s a discussion for another time.

It is widely accepted that life has grown increasingly complex and sophisticated over billions of years through the process of evolution. We could dive into Darwin’s theory of natural selection, the idea of random mutations, and so forth, but I think you get the idea. These theories all explain the question of how we came to exist. Yet none of them even touch the surface of why we exist. That’s what I want to tackle in this brief article using Hawking's timeless book as our guide.

→The Thorny Notion of Providence

I will now proceed to the question of God – as I inevitably must – and seeing as it comes up so much throughout Hawking's own work and must therefore have a prominent role in this analysis. Those of us who are of a spiritual nature – which is to say, all of us, in some form or another – generally believe that our purpose is derived from God (whatever divinity, higher power, being, or mystery you may believe in), and that God imbued meaning in all of Creation. In so believing, we don’t have to look far to find meaning in the world around us. While I don’t expect that a mere article will convince you of this if you don’t already believe it to be true, I do want to examine the false dichotomy in which science and spirituality are always placed when examining this question. I believe the two fit quite well together, and are not diametrically opposed as they are often made out to be.

For instance, I see no incongruity between the scientific description of the origin of the Universe and the Creation story presented in the Bible, so long as that story is rightly understood to be an allegory or metaphor. It seems perfectly logical that God (or, again, some higher power or being) set in motion the Universe that we see today by making use of the mechanisms that we are only now coming to describe with physics. It also seems odd to me that scientists look at proofs of evolution, and conclude that that must necessarily mean that there is no God. It seems only natural that evolution is yet another mechanism which God used to achieve Creation.

Hawking unfortunately borders on such egotistical boundaries as thinking that increasingly accurate scientific theories somehow preclude the existence of God. And he isn’t alone in this line of thinking, as Carl Sagan says as much in his introduction for the book. I have a great deal of respect for both Mr. Hawking and Mr. Sagan and their innumerable contributions to science. Unfortunately, I think they lack a similar respect for the ideas of a person of faith. Or perhaps they don’t understand that which they claim to be false, as each tries to put God (and even transcendentalism – that is, seeing divinity in everything) in a box, as though the divine were finite and subject to the same physical laws that limit humanity. 

Following is Sagan’s closing line of the introduction: “And this makes all the more unexpected the conclusion of the effort, at least so far: a universe with no edge in space, no beginning or end in time, and nothing for a Creator to do.” Such hubris! Considering a notion of divinity that is limitless, without beginning or end itself, I don’t know how Mr. Sagan can conclude that the Universe must be independent of any greater force simply because it appears to have no definite beginning.

→A Description of the Universe

Following the introduction, Hawking provides a fairly dense description of the Universe as we currently understand it to function. He describes the contributions of various scientists and mathematicians through the ages and the various theories they developed which advanced the state of the science. We are treated to a discussion of the theory of relativity, the relationship between space and time, and an introduction to elementary particles. Hawking even at one point describes such things as virtual particles.¹ As an aside, while I am perfectly willing to accept the existence of such particles, it is ironic that Hawking is so willing to accept a particle which cannot be detected, yet is at best ambivalent, at worst dismissive, of the notion of God.

After introducing us to the general workings of the Universe, Hawking then leads a discussion on black holes. It is a fascinating discussion, though most of what is “known” is theoretical, and to some degree speculative. Owing to the infinite gravity found within black holes, it would be nigh impossible to directly record data at or within the event horizon, let alone to transmit this data back into space. As Hawking puts it, “One could well say of the event horizon what the poet Dante said of the entrance to Hell: ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here.’”²

Having thoroughly described the inner workings of black holes, Hawking proceeds to the most important section of the book, as he writes at length on “The Origin and Fate of the Universe.” Hawking proceeds with a questioning of why we should be able to understand the Universe as it is now, but not necessarily be able to apprehend its initial state or "boundary conditions" or the reason that it was so. Lacking a satisfactory answer, he concludes that, due to the anthropic principle, "We see the universe the way it is because we exist."³ 

Throughout the discussion of the origin of the Universe, Hawking makes allowances for the existence of an omnipotent being only when all other avenues have been exhausted, and seems to confuse the notion of improbability with impossibility. For instance, given that we don't know the boundary conditions at the start point of the Universe, it makes sense to ask whether the Universe even had a beginning. If it has no beginning, perhaps it also has no end. In the words of Hawking, "...it would simply be. What place, then, for a creator?" And my question to Mr. Hawking is this: Is this not a description of the divine itself?

→Time Itself

Following this, Hawking proceeds with a fascinating discussion of "The Arrow of Time." For instance, the no boundary (or, at least, unknown boundary) conditions described above imply that the Universe might very well be in continual cycles of expansion and contraction. It stands to wonder why humanity should appear in the expansion phase rather than the contraction phase.⁴ 

Hawking demonstrates that intelligent life can only occur during the expanding phase of the Universe because of the strength of the arrow of thermodynamic time. Intelligent life relies on principles of order and disorder, for instance, in how humans consume food and convert it to energy. This is an example of using energy to create order from chaos. We thus could not exist in a contracting state in which the thermodynamic arrow is either in reverse or when the Universe is already in a state of complete disorder.

A state of complete disorder roughly approximates where we end our quest for the answer to the question "Why?" if we do not allow for the existence of something greater than ourselves. It seems that Hawking knows this to be true, but can't quite allow himself to state it plainly. Hawking allows that many things are uncertain, as described by the Uncertainty Principle in quantum mechanics, which states that we can only observe either the position or direction of an elementary particle, and that the very act of observation will change the result. 

Perhaps uncertainty is God in Hawking's reckoning. Hawking best sums it up when he writes, "The usual approach of science of constructing a mathematical model cannot answer the questions of why there should be a universe for the model to describe."⁵ Indeed, a model cannot describe why the thing which it attempts to describe should exist at all. We must allow for a little mystery. We must allow that we simply do not know.

Footnotes

¹ Chapter 5 of A Brief History of Time

² Chapter 6 of A Brief History of Time

³ Chapter 8 of A Brief History of Time

⁴ Chapter 9 of A Brief History of Time

⁵ Conclusion of A Brief History of Time

The Elusiveness of Bliss

https://unsplash.com/photos/-N0YnyNweJQ

I recently re-read a fabulous book by Eric Weiner titled The Geography of Bliss. The first time I read it was in preparation for a summer program at Cambridge in 2012, and I felt that it was worth revisiting, particularly in our troubled cultural moment, when bliss seems so difficult to come by. 

Weiner takes us on a journey both within and without to examine various cultures and what it is that makes them happy. Or, barring happiness, what it is that makes them miserable. Told with remarkable wit, it is an honest foray into the often fruitless search for happiness. As is by now well known, simply wondering whether we are happy can make us unhappy. Anything that takes us out of the moment can lead to unhappiness. It is for this reason, I surmise, that Weiner chose the word bliss rather than happiness in his title. 

In my estimation, bliss exists somewhere between happiness and joy. It is not as fragile or fleeting as happiness, but neither does it require quite the same sense of quiet contentment that we often associate with joy. I would liken bliss to a state of flow (that wonderful concept explored by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi): that blissful unawareness that is achieved by being aware of and immersed in where you are and what you are doing – let's call it a sort of mindful happiness. 

With this definition in mind, let's take a brief look at the places that Weiner visits in his book and my interpretations of his main conclusions from each.

1. The Netherlands
   
   In the Netherlands, Weiner tells us – after smoking some hash for "research purposes" – it is a combination of freedom and permissibility that contributes to the nation's relatively high levels of happiness: the Netherlands checks in at number five globally on the 2019 list of the world's happiest nations. But it is not mere permissibility that leads to happiness. It is a sort of structured permissibility without judgment. Even in the Netherlands, too much of a good thing is still too much.
   
   
2. Switzerland
   
   Switzerland checks in at number six on the 2019 global happiness list, just behind the Netherlands. It is also the second stop for Weiner on his grand tour. He is quick to note that the perception of Switzerland as a clean and well-functioning nation is spot on. Switzerland is also a little boring, but perhaps that's why it lends itself to being a happy place. For the Swiss, Weiner notes, it is a combination of structure, rules, and trust that produce a happy society. Everyone knows how to behave, neighbors know what to expect from neighbors, and one does not seek to inspire envy in others. Everything has its place, including indulgence in a little chocolate now and again.
   
   
3. Bhutan
   
   Bhutan is the first of Weiner's stops that misses out on the top ten of the 2019 global happiness index. It is also, perhaps, the place that inspires one the most of all the places to which he travels. For the Bhutanese, attentiveness, deliberateness, and, once again, trust, contribute to a happy society. Things move slower in Bhutan. Weiner notes the lack of infrastructure we are accustomed to in the West. But in Bhutan, this is not a lack, it is a freedom. A freedom to slow down and actually practice deliberateness, not just espouse its positives as we Americans so often do without ever testing it out. Perhaps trust comes easier in a smaller nation, but its recurrence as a cornerstone of happiness seems to be an indication of something worthwhile. 
   
   
4. Qatar
   
   The nation of Qatar is an outlier. It is a nouveau riche nation doing its utmost to purchase a culture. "We are revising ourselves through our...cultural development," said Qatar's chief art buyer. Call it revision or creation, Weiner does not seem impressed with the effect. In his estimation, money buys leisure, but not necessarily bliss. As has been noted by so many researchers, money on its own does not lead to happiness. In fact, tying self-worth to money even hampers happiness.
   
   
5. Iceland
   
   Iceland checks in at number four on the 2019 global happiness index, the highest of the nations that Weiner visited. In Iceland, Weiner jokes, the people are drinkers, but happy drinkers. But Icelandic happiness goes beyond enjoying a good drink. Weiner informs us that it is a combination of imagination and cultural inventiveness, with ample room to fail and try again, that contributes in large part to the bliss of the nation. It is this inventiveness that also leads to valuing generalization over specialization, a rarer thing in the modern world, but that seems to point to a more well-rounded society. In Iceland, the focus is on learning more about more, not excessively more about less and less. It is a sort of moderation through unbounded exploration that we could all learn from.
   
   
6. Moldova
   
   Weiner's brief visit to the country of Moldova, which consistently ranks near the bottom of world happiness indices, reveals what happiness is not. In Moldova, we learn that happiness is elsewhere. It's a sort of grass is greener approach, but in this case, the grass really does seem to be greener in any direction outside of Moldova. We are introduced to lovely people there, though, who teach us that we are hardwired for altruism, even, and perhaps especially, in difficult or less than ideal circumstances. To take this idea further, we should avoid envy resolutely, as envy of our neighbors makes us less likely to want to help them. This seems to be a symptom that we are seeing play out in current US politics.
   
   
7. Thailand
   
   In Thailand, we basically find the antithesis of the prevailing mindset that drives America. Weiner writes that Thailand taught him to make things fun and to take the long view, especially in light of the belief in re-incarnation. Do not take yourself too seriously, for if it is not fun, at least on some level, then what is the point?
   
   
8. Great Britain
   
   Great Britain is another of those places that Weiner does not find to be particularly happy at face value. With that in mind, he advises us that happiness is a matter of how you choose to see things. Re-framing is important in most aspects of life, especially regarding work and career, but Great Britain teaches us that it can also be important in how we view ourselves and where we came from.
   
   
9. India
   
   In India, where Weiner served as a foreign correspondent for NPR for a time, he instructs us to allow and embrace contradictions, embrace uncertainty and imperfections, and allow for an ad hoc experience of life. Again, all things that we in America find difficult to do. As Weiner notes in his book, the contradictions of India may be best summed up by a Mark Twain quote in which he wrote, "Every life [in India] is sacred, except human life." Perhaps this stems from a wide belief, like Thailand, in re-incarnation. Perhaps, though, it's just a further invitation to accept the contradictions and absurdities that are inevitably encountered in life.
   
   
10.  America
    
    Weiner ends his journey with a review of America and what makes its citizens tick. According to Weiner, it is willpower, gumption, and prosperity that underlies the American drive for happiness. Much of this is ultimately empty, though. How much prosperity is enough? More. We are a  society hell-bent on seeking money, when what would really make us happy – and the research bears this out – is seeking time and connection with others.

No single place has the perfect formula for happiness. Happiness is, after all, fleeting. Again, perhaps this is why Weiner chose to use the word bliss in his title. There are lessons worth taking from each of the nations that Weiner visited. The ones that seem to recur, though, are an emphasis on connection, trust, and time – all of which require a certain deliberateness on our part. Deliberateness is certainly a concept we can get behind here at Deliberately Aimless.