Sermon Archive
Happiness
Sermon preached by Ken Boyd at Holy Communion on 9 March 2003
Genesis 9.8-17 ; 1 Peter 3.18-22 ; Mark 1.9-15
'Can you recommend a good introduction to happiness?' I was asked last Thursday. It doesn't sound, perhaps, quite the most apt question just one day into Lent. But then the student who asked it wasn't seeking spiritual guidance. He had an essay to write on the subject; and what he wanted was a good introductory textbook on the philosophical concept of happiness. So to get him started I suggested some passages from Plato, Aristotle, and John Stuart Mill, which illustrate different ways in which ancient and modern philosophers have thought about it. But then I remembered another - Alain.
'Alain' was the pen name of Emile Chartier, an early 20th century French philosopher, who is probably best remembered today as the teacher of Simone Weil, the author of Waiting on God. But in his own day, Alain's works were widely read; and over the years he contributed several thousand short essays to French provincial newspapers. Around a hundred of these essays were later collected, published, and eventually translated, in a book whose English title is Happiness.
Happiness, Alain argues in these essays, is an art, a virtue, even an obligation. 'We must will to be happy, and work at it', he writes, because 'if we simply wait for happiness like something that is our due', we will probably become bored, irritable and unhappy, just like 'a child who has nothing to do'. Children playing, by contrast, are happy. Even if it is 'only a matter of moving about, of spinning a top, of running and shouting', they are happy because what they are doing, right away, is what they want to do. That is the beauty of a child who 'throws himself wholeheartedly into his games; he does not wait for someone to amuse him'.
It's the same with adults, Alain says. 'It is not difficult to be unhappy or discontented; all you have to do is sit down, like a prince waiting to be amused; this attitude of lying in wait and weighing happiness as if it were a commodity casts the grey shadow of boredom over everything'. 'Happiness is not like an object that you see in a shop window and decide to buy, pay for, and carry away'. Happiness is happiness only when you yourself actually have it; if you look for it out in the world, outside of yourself, nothing will ever have the appearance of happiness.
To be happy, in other words, requires will and effort: we need to be like the child who 'throws himself wholeheartedly into his games'. But let's not romanticise children, Alain warns: 'children's games, if they are without rules, turn into fights'. So while it 'is in freely chosen action that we are happy', it is also 'through the regulations we impose upon ourselves that we are happy'. through freely accepted discipline, whether in soccer or in the study of science. To the onlooker, especially one who waits for happiness to come to him as his due, these self-imposed constraints 'do not appear enjoyable, but disagreeable'. But when a person has freely chosen the activity, and freely accepted the discipline it requires, happiness 'is a reward that comes to those who have not looked for it'.
Happiness, then, does not come to those who think that the world owes it to them, or wait for the world to bring it to them. Nevertheless 'it is impossible to be happy if one does not have the desire to be happy': one 'must will one's happiness, and create it'. Creating happiness, Alain argues, is an art; and the first rule of this art is 'never to talk to others about one's own misfortunes, present or past' complaining can only sadden others 'For sadness is like something poisonous; one can like it, but it can only be harmful to us'.
It's not just about avoiding harm however. We have, Alain claims, a positive 'obligation toward others to be happy'. Because 'unhappiness, boredom and despair are in the air we all breathe', we must be immensely grateful to those who share with us the happiness they have achieved by overcoming their own unhappiness, boredom and despair. Happiness - 'the happiness one conquers for oneself - is the most beautiful and the most generous gift one can give'. 'It is very true that we ought to think of the happiness of others' Alain remarks; 'but it is not often enough said that the best thing we can do for those who love us is to be happy ourselves'.
Alain wrote much more about happiness, but perhaps I've said enough to give a flavour of it. Those who knew him, I should add, reported that he practised what he preached. 'When old and severely crippled with arthritis', he said 'with the serene confidence that characterised him, "There is a way of singing which shows that one is not afraid, and which reassures the world of men."' Alain's work has been described as 'an act of faith in the human spirit'. But all that I've just quoted from his writings, could equally be described as an extended commentary on six short words of Jesus in this morning's gospel - 'repent, and believe in the gospel'. For the repentance Jesus calls for here is not some gloomy feeling of guilt, or the complaining and sadness about ourselves that, as Alain says, can be a poisonous self-indulgence. What Jesus tells us, rather, is to turn away from all that, and believe in the gospel - the good news that we do not need to be dragged down by our own or one another's faults and failings, because these human faults and failings are not the last word on life. The last word on life - or more properly the next to last word - is not about faults or failings, but forgiveness - our forgiveness of one another, grounded in God's forgiveness of us. And forgiveness properly is not the last, but the next to last word, because the last word is happiness - 'the happiness one conquers for oneself', the happiness that God created us to enjoy.
Alain wrote about happiness in terms mostly of everyday analogies and references to classical myths, but made little or no mention of God. That he was able to do this, and yet at the same time to express wisdom that comes so very close to that of the gospel, perhaps should not surprise us. If the good news is true, it is true for all who discover it in their lives, regardless of what they say on their lips. It is not when we have the gospel words on our lips that we understand and are happy. It is when we understand and are happy, because we have discovered the meaning of those words in our lives, that they come to our lips in due season and with proper reticence. With proper reticence: because if the good news is true, what it really costs God to make it true for us - 'love's endeavour, love's expense, love's agony' - is hidden from us by God's mercy, until we are strong enough to see it transfigured in glory.
For the present, then, our task is to discover the good news in our everyday lives, by overcoming the sadness it is so easy to fall into, and being generous in our happiness. But talking about happiness, of course, may not seem very relevant precisely at a time like the present, when our society is deeply divided by conflicting convictions about the fearful consequences either of threatening, or of not threatening, war against Iraq. We will all have our own views on this subject, and I am not here going to comment on the arguments one way or the other. But let me end by referring again to something Alain wrote, in this case about what may or not be a precedent for current events. In his opinion, Alain said, 'the evils of 1914 resulted from all the important men being surprised; consequently they were overcome by fear. When a man is afraid, he is not very far from anger; irritation follows agitation'. But then he suggested a homely analogy.
When a baby cries and refuses to be consoled, his nurse often makes the most ingenious suppositions about his character and his likes and dislikes. She even resorts to heredity for explanations, and can already recognise the father in his son. These attempts at psychology continue until the nurse discovers the pin, the real cause of the trouble.
The evils of 1914, Alain wrote, 'resulted from all the important men being surprised; consequently they were overcome by fear'. But then, in the light of his homely analogy, he went on to write, 'never say that [such] men are wicked; never say that they are of such and such a character. Look for the pin.'
Such advice, I suspect, is what we all need to hear at present. Many people now resort to psychological explanations, or strident denunciations, of those to whose pro- or anti-war policies they are opposed. Many too, and not only 'important men', may be arguing or acting out of fear. But where is the pin, the real cause of the trouble? It's not easy to find, if your vision is clouded by fear or anger, irritation and agitation. It's only when we calm down, that we discover it. Fear and anger prevent us seeing other people and their actions with clarity and understanding. How far any nation or society can be freed from fear and anger, and come to see others with greater clarity and understanding, of course, is a moot point. But nations and societies are made up of people, and each has a voice. So whatever happens on the world scene in the next few months, perhaps the best thing each of us can contribute to peace and justice, to security and reconciliation, and to God's will being done on earth as it is in heaven, is to will and work at happiness as our Lenten discipline. So: 'repent, and believe the good news'; for the good news is that you can.
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