Diversion
"If man were happy, the less diverted the happier he would be, like the Saints and God."--"Yes, but is not happiness the ability to be amused by diversion?"--"No, because that comes from elsewhere and from outside, and thus it is dependent, and subject to be disturbed by a thousand accidents, which causes inevitable distress."
Despite these miseries, he wants to be happy, wants only to be happy, and cannot want not to be so. But how will he go about it? The best way would be to render himself immortal, but since he cannot do this, he has decided to prevent himself from thinking about it.
As men have not been able to cure death, wretchedness, ignorance, they have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about these things.
I feel that I might not have existed, for my self consists in my thoughts. Thus I, who think, would not have existed, if my mother had been killed before I had been given life. Therefore, I am not a necessary being. I am also neither eternal nor infinite. But I quite see that there is in a nature a necessary, eternal, and infinite being.
Diversion
When I have thought about the various activities of men, the dangers and pains they face at court or in war, which give rise to so many quarrels, passions, bold and often bad ventures, etc., I have often said that man's unhappiness arises from one thing alone: that he cannot remain quietly in his room. A man who has enough to live on would not go to sea or lay a siege, if he knew how to enjoy staying at home. Men would never buy commissions in the army at such expense, unless they found it unbearable not to leave town. They would not seek conversation and the entertainment of games, except that they do not enjoy staying at home. Etc.
But, upon further consideration, after finding the cause of all our unhappiness, I wanted to discover the reason for it and discovered a truly cogent one in the natural unhappiness of our weak and mortal condition, so wretched that nothing can console us when we think about it closely.
Whatever situation we assume for ourselves, with all the goods that can belong to us, royalty is the finest position in the world. However, let us imagine a king with all the advantages pertaining to his rank. If he is without diversion, left to ponder and reflect on what he is, this languishing felicity will not sustain him. He will necessarily come to think about the threats facing him, revolts that may occur, and, in the end, inevitable death and disease. As a result, if he is without what is called diversion, he is unhappy, even unhappier than the least of his subjects playing and diverting himself.
That is why play and the conversation of women, war, and high offices are so sought after. Not that in fact they bring happiness, or that we imagine true bliss to consist in money won at games or in the hares that are hunted; we would not accept these if they were given to us. We do not seek that easy and peaceful life that allows us to think about our unhappy condition, nor the dangers of war, nor the burdens of office, but the bustle that turns out thoughts away and diverts us.--Reason why we prefer the hunt to the kill.
That is why men so love noise and activity. That is why jail is such a horrible punishment. That is why the pleasure of solitude is incomprehensible. In fact, the greatest source of happiness in being a king is that people constantly try to divert him and to procure for him every kind of pleasure. The king is surrounded by people who think only of diverting the king and of preventing him from thinking about himself. For, though he is king, he is unhappy if he thinks about himself.
This is all men have been able to devise to make themselves happy. Those who philosophize about it, and who think people are quite unreasonable to spend a whole day chasing a hare they would not have bought, scarcely know our nature. The hare does not save us from the sight of death and the miseries distracting us, but the hunt does.
A. And thus, when we reproach them for seeking so eagerly something that cannot satisfy them, their proper reply, if they thought it through, should be that they sought only a violent and vigorous occupation that turned them away from thinking about themselves, and therefore chose an alluring object to charm and strongly attract them. This would leave their opponents without a reply. But they do not reply in this way because they do not know themselves. They do not know that it is the hunt and not the kill that they seek. They imagine that, if they reached their goal, they would then enjoy resting and would not feel the insatiable nature of cupidity. They sincerely believe they seek rest and in fact seek only activity. They have a secret instinct to seek external diversion and occupation, coming from their feeling of constant wretchedness. And they have another secret instinct, a remnant of the greatness of our original nature, telling them that happiness resides only in rest and not in tumultuous activity. From these two contrary instincts they form a confused plan, hidden in the depths of their soul, leading them to seek rest through activity. They always think that the satisfaction they are missing will come to them once they overcome the difficulties they are facing and can open the door to rest.
All our life passes in this way. We seek rest in a struggle against some obstacles. And when we have overcome these, rest proves unbearable because of the boredom it produces. We have to escape from it and beg for excitement. For we think either of our miseries or of those threatening us. And even if we should feel safe enough from all sides, boredom of its own accord would not fail to rise from the depths of our heart, where it is naturally rooted, and to fill our mind with poison.
The advice given to Pyrrhus, to take the rest he was seeking with so much effort, was not without difficulty.
Dancing: you have to think about where to put your feet.
A gentleman sincerely believes that hunting is a great sport and a regal sport, but his huntsman is not of this opinion.
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B. Thus man is so unhappy that he would be bored even if he had no cause for boredom out of his own temperament. And he is so empty that, though he has a thousand reasons for boredom, the least thing, such as pushing a billiard ball with a cue, is enough to amuse him.
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C. But, you will say, what is his object in all this? To brag to his friends the next day that he played better than somebody else. In the same way, others sweat in their rooms to show the learned they have solved a problem in algebra that had not as yet been solved. Many more expose themselves to extreme danger (just as foolishly, in my opinion) to brag afterward that they have captured a town. Others kill themselves observing all these things, not to become wiser, but just to show that they know them; and these are the most foolish of the bunch, because they are foolish knowingly, while one can think the others would no longer be so if they had the knowledge.
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A man lives his life free from boredom, playing every day for a small amount. Give him every morning the money he can win that day, on the condition that he does not play: you make him unhappy. You may say perhaps that he seeks the entertainment of play and not the winnings. Make him, then, play for nothing. He will not get excited about it and will be bored. It is not, therefore, only the amusement he seeks. A weak and passionless amusement will bore him. He must get excited about it and trick himself into imagining that he would be happy to win what he would not accept on the condition of not playing. He must fashion for himself an object of passion to excite his desire, his anger, his fear for the fashioned object, like children who become frightened by the face they have darkened.
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How does it happen that this man who lost his only son a few months ago and who, bothered by lawsuits and quarrels, was so troubled this morning, now no longer thinks of them? Do not be surprised. He is quite busy looking for the path taken by the boar his dogs have been pursuing so avidly for the last six hours. He needs nothing more. However full of sadness a man may be, if you can prevail upon him to take up some diversion, he is happy for that time. And however happy he may be, he will soon be sad and wretched if he is not diverted and occupied by some passion or amusement that prevents boredom from overcoming him. Without diversion there is no joy. With diversion there is no sadness. This also constitutes the happiness of persons of high rank, in that they have a number of people to divert them and the power to maintain themselves in this state.
D. Consider this: what is it to be superintendent, chancellor, prime minister, but to have a position in which a great number of people come each morning from every quarter, so as not to leave any of them an hour a day when they can think about themselves? And when they are in disgrace and sent back to their country houses, where they lack neither wealth nor servants to cater to their needs, they do not fail to be wretched and desolate, because no one prevents them from thinking about themselves.
Diversion
Is not royal dignity sufficiently great in itself to make its possessor happy by the mere sight of what he is? Must he be diverted from this thought like ordinary people? I quite see that it makes a man happy to be diverted from thinking about his domestic woes by filling his thoughts with the concern to dance well. But will it be the same with a king, and will he be happier in the pursuit of these idle amusements than in considering his greatness? And what more satisfactory object could be presented to his mind? Would it not spoil his delight to occupy his soul with the thought of how to adjust his steps to the rhythm of a tune, or how to place a bar skillfully, instead of leaving him to enjoy quietly the contemplation of the majestic glory surrounding him? Let us test this. Let us leave a king all alone to reflect on himself at his leisure, without anything to satisfy his senses, without any care in his mind, without company, and we will see that a king without diversion is a man full of miseries. So this is carefully avoided: there never fail to be a great number of people near the retinues of kings, people who see to it that diversion follows the kings' affairs of state, watching over their leisure to supply them with pleasures and games, so that they have no empty moments. In other words, they are surrounded by people who take wonderful care to insure that the king is not alone and able to think about himself, knowing well that he will be miserable, though he is king, if he does think about it
In all this I am not talking of Christian kings as Christians, but only as kings.
Diversion
Death is easier to bear without thinking about it than the thought of death without danger.
Diversion
From childhood men are entrusted with the care of their honor, their property, their friends, and even with the property and honor of their friends. They are burdened with duties, the study of languages, and exercises. And they are made to understand that they cannot be happy unless their health, their honor, their fortune, and those of their friends are in good shape, and that they will become unhappy if anything is lacking. So, they are given cares and duties that torment them from the break of day. This, you will say, is a strange way to make them happy. Could we do anything more to make them miserable? Indeed, what could we do? Were we to relieve them of all these cares, they would then see themselves and think about what they are, where they came from, where they are going. So, it is not possible to occupy and divert them too much. This is why, after we have set up so many duties for them, if they have any time for relaxation, we advise them to use it on diversion and play and always to keep fully occupied.
How hollow and full of garbage is the heart of man.
this is part of the reason why we fail so easily at communion with God, and prayer.
i'm upset at myself that i haven't updated regularly; i badly need to learn commitment. the lab is closing now.
