I am currently in the early pages of Simon Winchester’s The Map that Changed the World which will be my second work from him–the first being The Professor and the Madman outlining the birth of the Oxford English Dictionary.
With concerning frequency, I think about why an author felt compelled to write something. Why do I feel compelled to read it? Why do we feel compelled to do anything? Winchester brings this question to the forefront of my mind because the topics he covers (the first map, OED, knowledge, volcanoes…the list goes on) is so broad that I have to wonder, but why?
And to clarify, I ask “Why?” not in a way that sparks judgement but rather I ask “Why?” because I too am curious about the first map, OED, knowledge, volcanoes…should I go on? So the “Why?” that I ask has more to do with figuring out what is so similar between me and someone like Simon Winchester and less to do with finding out what the point is.
Still, the question of “well, what’s the point?” does rear its ugly head. I actually notice its haggard breathing and slobber in the corner, too. Or perhaps it’s a demon with one hand on my shoulder and its other hand masturbating to the sea-sickness I feel when asked “well, what’s the point?” My demon, who gets off on watching me flounder for meaning, licks his lips when someone comes in with a fancy title and says “yeah, but what is all this for?” At this point, my demon makes a gurgling noise and I feel a wet sticky substance on my back as I stutter and grasp for the words to convey that I truly just look to find fulfillment, reason, and knowledge, rather than utility.
I digress.
Another author that comes to mind is Bill Bryson. Literally author of a book entitled A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bryson has written across seemingly every topic from Shakespeare to Australia to the human body. And it is people like Winchester and Bryson who I think of when I am asked silly questions like “what’s the use?” The caveat, of course, is that Bryson and Winchester are successful authors who managed to break the barrier between having knowledge as a hobby and actually being able to make a living off of it. I, on the other hand, pretend to have knowledge and attempt to make it one of my hobbies, but do not make a living off of it. So, while Bryson and Winchester may be able to keep their empty-balled demon at bay, I am stuck with mine for the foreseeable future.
Would commodifying the things I find pleasure in make them have utility? When people think of Winchester and Bryson, do they think of success measured by the use of their knowledge because it has been commodified? It appears to me that Winchester and Bryson have a lust for knowledge and a skillset for conveying that knowledge that most people would agree to be very successful. So, would their efforts be considered futile if they were not as successful as they are? People like Winchester and Bryson, albeit who have probably received their faire share of criticism, are essentially above reproach by the people who ask “what’s the point?”
I’ve dedicated my life to my lust for knowledge because the act of knowing is something so fulfilling that everything else pales in comparison. So, this is the common thread that I’ve identified as being the meeting-ground for the three of us. The difference is Winchester and Bryson have done an exceptional job at taking that lust and making something out of it–finding a use for it. I’m simply lusting–no wonder there’s a demon on my back. So, while Winchester and Bryson and their works can be said to have value because of their use, my efforts are essentially futile and useless (by modern standards) because there is no utility and hence there is no value.
What could follow from this are the following: if there is value in something you are doing, you will feel fulfilled; if there is no value in what you are doing, you will not feel fulfilled; if there is utility, there is value, there is fulfillment; if there is no utility, there is no value, there is no fulfillment.
How can this be? Would this mean that Winchester and Bryson, up until their work had utility and thus value, did not feel fulfilled? Does the feeling of fulfillment only come when we’ve identified some use for our actions? Wouldn’t we have less things of use if this were the case? If people did not feel fulfilled until essentially the cumulation or success of their work, where the use and value lay, what would keep people motivated enough to see it through? Wouldn’t have Winchester and Bryson given up earlier on if this was the case?
More questions than answers, but I do think there is a flaw in this line of reasoning. Clearly, there must be something more than just utility that brings value. If value came only from utility, we would have so much less beauty and honestly just less everything in general. Cue the cliche: it’s about the journey.
Pleasure has a vast history that I do not feel well-qualified to talk about–this clearly makes me an expert. Nearly every great philosopher has discussed hedonism at some length and it seems like everyone has a different perspective. Even down to the categories of hedonism there is a discrepancy. The broad strokes are psychological hedonism, ethical hedonism, and egotistical hedonism. They range from being altruistic to self-absorbed but the main focus of all is the maximization of pleasure over pain. I don’t necessarily find myself in the hedonistic camp in any regard, but I do think it’s important to identify the difference between hedonism and what I do fall more in line with. Stage right: Aristotle.
Apart from the concept of pleasure and hedonism is Aristotle’s concept of eudaemonia. Though this may arguably incorporate a theory of pleasure into it, eudaemonia is a separate entity establishing itself more in line with virtue, fulfillment, flourishing, and the broad stroke of happiness, in short. I truly do not believe that Winchester and Bryson spend their time focusing on maximizing pleasure in the hedonistic sense. I do, however, believe that Winchester and Bryson have achieved an almost enlightened sense of fulfillment that Aristotle would define as contemplative and virtuous. To me, this is the ultimate state of being.
The enlightened state of being described above is more than just a fulfillment of a specific activity, it is a fulfillment of a human’s purpose. Aristotle writes that human beings have a purpose (rational activity) and fulfilling that purpose is the ultimate good. Engaging in rational thought is fulfilling, finishing whatever project the rational thinking takes you is thus a rewarding by product. The only mention of utility here is the fulfillment of a human’s purpose. Not the utility of the work.
Winchester and Bryson write across seemingly every topic because they are engaging in the excellent rational thinking that Aristotle defines as being good. The success or even the product of their works is not necessarily the good, rather it’s their actively engaging in it. All of these authors who just seem to care and lust are engaging in something excellent and soul-defining. The contemplative life is the virtuous life.
It’s almost comical that something that may be seen as one of the cardinal sins (sloth, lust) could really be one of the highest goods. Perhaps this really is not just sitting around, perhaps this is engaging in excellence. My demon’s grip has loosened.
Thus the “what’s the point?” question seems to miss its mark. There is no “point” really, rather it’s a continual iron-sharpening-iron engaging in the highest good and contemplating all of the things because that is what excellence is; that is what our purpose is. Dante said it best, we weren’t meant to live like brutes.
This is not a hedonist’s account of maximizing pleasure (if you think a writer or a thinker has ever reached a state of pleasure…you are mistaken). There is a nausea that accompanies the contemplative life, at least for me, and there is nothing pleasurable about it (though, admittedly, I do find peace when sat in a quiet, well-lit room with paper, pen, and a book). The nausea comes from the future: goals, timelines, titles. Faced with the inevitability that sometime someone will ask you what your plans are and it’s completely unacceptable to say “thinking.”
Perhaps the nausea is the lying that comes with this life. The masking of your true intentions to appease the crowd. The nausea is leading a double-life, one where a demon merely stalks you, and another where the demon gags and binds you. It’s rather dizzying.
Winchester and Bryson–did or do they still feel this nausea, too? Did their sea sickness drive them to success because finally they got so tired of masking? Or are they just better, more excellent, than the average contemplator?
It would be in our best interests to stop categorizing things as useful and useless. Maximizing efficiency and production should not always be the goal, though of course, there is a space for that and most things are good in moderation. And if that is something we can all agree on, there should be more space to engage in contemplation and seeing a thought all the way through. Whether that be in book-form like Winchester and Bryson or just in speech among trusted friends. Value is not inherently linked to utility because not everything that is valuable has utility. Something valuable may be something as simple as something fulfilling its purpose. That is just a function.
I refuse to live in greyscale in a world without people like Winchester and Bryson. I’d take sea sickness over product every single time. And I’ll continue to let my demon assault me if it means I can engage in something I consider the highest good. I’ll take my books and words over titles and authority every day.
Karly-1, Demon-9,837,359
Wolf Den Books 
Leave a comment