It’s been 248 years since Jefferson penned the famous words: “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” as the touchstone of the kind of human society to which he aspired, both in general and for his country. The revolutionary energy of the Enlightenment (“bliss it was in that dawn to be alive,” Wordsworth said) has long faded; worn out by time and circumstance. Still, as a species, we have made some considerable strides towards that goal, albeit with real costs and some backtracking along the way.
Despite American Exceptionalism and the visions of the 19C, there is no guarantee of progress; no right to assume that things will get better. Improvements in technology and the vast expansion of economic elites around the world have made this deep truth too easy to forget. Our “Western” culture, its epistemology still baked-in from the glory years of the later 20C has fixated upon what is likely a peak (at least for a while) of that grand experience. We have forgotten or dismissed the work, pain, expenditures, and fragility that accompanied this “progress.”
The happiness which Jefferson challenged us to pursue is not to be conflated with luxury, or even comfort, much less “fun.” Along with myriad other terms, the idea of “happiness” seems to have been diluted and emptied of its texture. It certainly has little to do with pleasure or painlessness or the sating of appetite. Yet so much of our culture is focused on delivering pleasure (for those with the resources) or dreaming of it (for those who lack). Rather, we might be better off describing Jefferson’s “happiness” as “virtue,” for that is what he had in mind. It‘s a goal resonates with consideration, commitment, and contentment.
I had a friend from college (since passed) who, from time to time, would tell me: “I just want to be happy.” He was, in all the conventional ways, “successful.” But he wasn’t happy and he couldn’t figure out why. If I had been able at the time to ask him what he meant by “happiness,” and what parts of his life helped him get more of that, I would have been glad to do so. I’m not sure he had the self-grounding to really wrestle with all that and figure out what to do. (I’m not sure that twenty years later, I do.)
It takes work and attention, even (especially) if I don’t lean on those who have thought usefully about how to achieve this goal. Jefferson did. He had the luxury of wealth and education and the support of an elite culture which spoke this language rather than just the mechanics of wealth and the fetishes of consumption which passes for sophistication today. Many (not just the elites of his era) could also speak this language, sometimes from philosophy, sometimes from religion. It was enough that it was possible to speak of the “pursuit of happiness” and have it mean something serious.
I recently finished reading Vassily Grossman’s novels (“Stalingrad” and “Life and Fate”) set in the Soviet Union in WWII. It wasn’t all that long ago. His characters faced the brutal desolation of the war amid the Russian winter, some in battle, some in Nazi concentration camps, some in Soviet prisons, and some in civilian life. Life was hard. It wasn’t all that long ago. Life is hard and no less brutal for many today, both here in the US and in many places around the world. Many have no bandwidth for anything beyond survival. Those of us that do seem to have forgotten that we therefore have the opportunity (obligation?) to spend some time and attention on figuring out this “happiness” thing.
Jefferson’s Declaratory phrase is prefaced with the idea that we have the “right” to this life/liberty/pursuit of happiness thing—as if they are entitlements. Well, the “rights” might be entitlements, at least vis-à-vis society and the forms and legalities of the state. But the achievement of them is no right; it is an opportunity. Indeed, Jefferson did not say we have a right to happiness, but merely to its pursuit.
And, what are we to pursue? Benjamin Franklin (who was also on that drafting committee in Philadelphia) shared Jefferson’s concerns and hopes (and his reading list). For him, the components of the happiness to be pursued consisted of Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity, and Humility. All internal. All free. The goal of organized society was to enable people to have the space (moral and economic) to work on being virtuous.
Individuals thus not only had the duty to respect others’ space for such a pursuit, but, as citizens, to contribute to the support of such a society. The idea of participatory democracy was thus to be mutually reinforcing with this sense of virtue. Allowing monarchy and other forms of dominating government were an abandonment of the responsibility—the self-responsibility—of governing oneself. There was, in other words, no distinction between one’s duties to oneself and one’s responsibilities as a member of society and humanity.
We’ve been at it for almost a quarter of a millennium. The United States, as it were, remains unparalleled in history; so much so that there is no basis to say whether we’re making a “good” or “bad” job of this audacious project and certainly no way to know whether or how we will carry forward what Jefferson, Franklin, and the rest started.
Much could be said about the Founders’ flaws. The best of them would not deny their presence. But for us to focus on them is a distraction; they (and all others in the world then and now) are too easy a set of targets, so it is natural that we gravitate towards criticism rather than a mirror. Happiness lies not in saving the world, or even “these United States.” Neither America’s “Greatness,” nor mine, was on Franklin’s list. The only real work—the only effective pursuit of happiness—lies much closer to home.
Despite American Exceptionalism and the visions of the 19C, there is no guarantee of progress; no right to assume that things will get better. Improvements in technology and the vast expansion of economic elites around the world have made this deep truth too easy to forget. Our “Western” culture, its epistemology still baked-in from the glory years of the later 20C has fixated upon what is likely a peak (at least for a while) of that grand experience. We have forgotten or dismissed the work, pain, expenditures, and fragility that accompanied this “progress.”
The happiness which Jefferson challenged us to pursue is not to be conflated with luxury, or even comfort, much less “fun.” Along with myriad other terms, the idea of “happiness” seems to have been diluted and emptied of its texture. It certainly has little to do with pleasure or painlessness or the sating of appetite. Yet so much of our culture is focused on delivering pleasure (for those with the resources) or dreaming of it (for those who lack). Rather, we might be better off describing Jefferson’s “happiness” as “virtue,” for that is what he had in mind. It‘s a goal resonates with consideration, commitment, and contentment.
I had a friend from college (since passed) who, from time to time, would tell me: “I just want to be happy.” He was, in all the conventional ways, “successful.” But he wasn’t happy and he couldn’t figure out why. If I had been able at the time to ask him what he meant by “happiness,” and what parts of his life helped him get more of that, I would have been glad to do so. I’m not sure he had the self-grounding to really wrestle with all that and figure out what to do. (I’m not sure that twenty years later, I do.)
It takes work and attention, even (especially) if I don’t lean on those who have thought usefully about how to achieve this goal. Jefferson did. He had the luxury of wealth and education and the support of an elite culture which spoke this language rather than just the mechanics of wealth and the fetishes of consumption which passes for sophistication today. Many (not just the elites of his era) could also speak this language, sometimes from philosophy, sometimes from religion. It was enough that it was possible to speak of the “pursuit of happiness” and have it mean something serious.
I recently finished reading Vassily Grossman’s novels (“Stalingrad” and “Life and Fate”) set in the Soviet Union in WWII. It wasn’t all that long ago. His characters faced the brutal desolation of the war amid the Russian winter, some in battle, some in Nazi concentration camps, some in Soviet prisons, and some in civilian life. Life was hard. It wasn’t all that long ago. Life is hard and no less brutal for many today, both here in the US and in many places around the world. Many have no bandwidth for anything beyond survival. Those of us that do seem to have forgotten that we therefore have the opportunity (obligation?) to spend some time and attention on figuring out this “happiness” thing.
Jefferson’s Declaratory phrase is prefaced with the idea that we have the “right” to this life/liberty/pursuit of happiness thing—as if they are entitlements. Well, the “rights” might be entitlements, at least vis-à-vis society and the forms and legalities of the state. But the achievement of them is no right; it is an opportunity. Indeed, Jefferson did not say we have a right to happiness, but merely to its pursuit.
And, what are we to pursue? Benjamin Franklin (who was also on that drafting committee in Philadelphia) shared Jefferson’s concerns and hopes (and his reading list). For him, the components of the happiness to be pursued consisted of Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity, and Humility. All internal. All free. The goal of organized society was to enable people to have the space (moral and economic) to work on being virtuous.
Individuals thus not only had the duty to respect others’ space for such a pursuit, but, as citizens, to contribute to the support of such a society. The idea of participatory democracy was thus to be mutually reinforcing with this sense of virtue. Allowing monarchy and other forms of dominating government were an abandonment of the responsibility—the self-responsibility—of governing oneself. There was, in other words, no distinction between one’s duties to oneself and one’s responsibilities as a member of society and humanity.
We’ve been at it for almost a quarter of a millennium. The United States, as it were, remains unparalleled in history; so much so that there is no basis to say whether we’re making a “good” or “bad” job of this audacious project and certainly no way to know whether or how we will carry forward what Jefferson, Franklin, and the rest started.
Much could be said about the Founders’ flaws. The best of them would not deny their presence. But for us to focus on them is a distraction; they (and all others in the world then and now) are too easy a set of targets, so it is natural that we gravitate towards criticism rather than a mirror. Happiness lies not in saving the world, or even “these United States.” Neither America’s “Greatness,” nor mine, was on Franklin’s list. The only real work—the only effective pursuit of happiness—lies much closer to home.
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