Options and Commitment

Say you were offered $100 million in exchange for never seeing a sunrise again. Many of us would say no. Yet, how many more sunrises are we really going to see? Twenty? Thirty? We’ve all seen sunrises. They’re okay. Worth millions of dollars a piece? Probably not. Still, the thought of never seeing a sunrise again is horrific. Nonetheless, tomorrow we will probably sleep and miss yet another one.

This fear of limitation is the heart of fear of commitment. The thought of the rest of our lives without certain opportunities is scary. Even when the opportunities are unlikely to be taken, we still dislike them being taken away. We like to keep options open as options represent hope, even if it is false hope.

This fear of limitation is immense. It reminds us of our shortcomings and our mortality. It reminds us of the ticking clock on our lives. This is why people that commit are considered tough.

How does one commit? How does one get a tattoo, get married or become a suicide bomber? How does one overcome all of that fear? Does the joy or principle of a commitment overcome the fear of limitation? Perhaps, but it is more likely something else.

The Japanese samurai had “Bushido,” the way of the warrior. It involved the virtues of rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor and loyalty. These virtues, despite being incredibly redundant, helped the warrior be a better fighter. By not thinking about self gain and self worth, the warrior could overcome the fear of death (the ultimate limitation) and enter battle without hesitation.

Zen Buddhism came to Japan and the samurai quickly adopted it. The world, including death, was an illusion. By not thinking at all, the samurai come become an even better fighter.

In the end, commitment isn’t about weighing choices and opting for limitation, it’s about not thinking at all. It is about putting the fear of limitation out of mind. This is why it is the young an rash who end up getting tatoos, dying in wars and eloping. Those who are thoughtful understand costs of actions. Those who are thoughtful certainly aren’t tough.

Not thinking isn’t necessarily a bad thing. This fear of limitation is just as irrational as the desire to commit. Putting it out of mind can be to ones advantage. We have to put death and fear of injury out of mind every time we leave the house. Additionally, there is nothing more pathetic than a 45-year-old who isn’t ready to get married.

Also, if someone offers you a $100 million to give up sunrises, you should probably take it.

The Irrelevance of Quenching

When I was 16, I read Siddhartha by Hesse and I hated it. Siddhartha first lives a life of fasting and pain, then a hedonistic life of pleasure and indulgence, then “finds enlightenment” as a ferryman who hangs out by a river. I found the “happily-ever-after” simple-life ending to be trite. After a couple months, I felt, he would get bored and start searching again for enlightenment.

I still stand by my13-year-old criticism. I felt the book wasn’t true to human nature for the simple reason that desires can never be quenched in the long term. This fact is one of central ideas of Buddhism. Human wants are infinite and the desire to fulfill them leads to pain. Hesse attempts to take the opposite approach- after living life and gaining experience, one will be able to eventually find enlightenment. After experiencing everything, one will be content with not experiencing anything anymore.

Hesse was a German and Western society assumes that oats can be sowed and that one can get something “out of their system.” We allow the young certain indulgences with the assumption that they will “settle down.” Any erratic action after the 20’s is called a “mid-life crisis” and is laughed at. In truth, though, people continue to drink, continue to have sex, continue to seek possessions and continue to want power. Juvenile desires remain into adulthood.

We assume that desires can be fulfilled in the long term because so many can be fulfilled in the short term. After sleeping, the desire of sleep is gone. After eating, the desire to eat is gone. After sex, the desire for sex is gone. But all of these are short-term desires. In the end, there is always another appetite.

Now, I am not saying that all desire is eternal. Many desires do eventually leave us, but they do not leave us from fulfilling them. At one time, I wanted a tattoo. I didn’t get one, but the desire left me anyway. Eventually one’s sex drive will be gone, but it has nothing to do with how much sex one gets.

My buddy, Panama, and I had come up with opposing theories on life and death. Mine, I realize, was Hesse-like and was flawed. I theorized that life was like an amusement park. If one had to leave at 8:30 am, one would be upset because they didn’t get to go on any rides. After a full day of fun, though, one would be exhausted and ready to leave (die). The analogy, though, is flawed as an amusement park is a short-term desire and cannot be applied to life. Real desire is long-term and regenerates.

Panama had the theory that eventually life is like being on a plane. Being on a plane is so boring, painful and unenjoyable, that one wishes the time wasn’t there at all. He theorized that eventually life reaches that level and one is okay with dying.

Panama’s theory, though, rests on the idea that desire and pain will increase in time. As an old person, one will desire all the things one has lost so much that it is overwhelming. In truth, though, many elderly stop caring about various desires and just accept their minds and bladders have gone.

Ironically, the elderly naturally end up in the Buddhist state of non-desire near the end of their life. Oddly, the achieve it not through leading a Spartan existence of denying desire like the Buddhist wants or through fulfilling desires like Hesse and Western society want. They just get there through time, regardless of how they live their lives.

-manship

There are a couple of words that use the suffix “manship.” “Manship” usually refers to the art or skill of an act. For instance, “workmanship” refers to how well a job is done and “sportsmanship” refers to how well one conforms to the rules and conventions (i.e. politeness) of a sport. It is the making the “how” of an act proper (whatever proper may be).

Oddly, “manship” does not necessarily refer to advancement or success in something. A good workman produces a product of the highest quality. But, labor and production is not solely about quality. Price and quantity are important factors. Putting too much labor into something would either increase the price of the product or decrease the profits of the company. For every excellently made product, there is a completely unmade product that could have been assembled with that extra time. Most of us don’t need one expensive finely crafted pens; several cheap BIC is preferable.

Similarly, sportsmanship does not mean advancement or success either. Adhering to rules, including other teammates and staying calm can make it harder to reach one’s objectives. Having a good sportsman on one’s team can be incredibly annoying when one truly wants to win.

But, for some reason, we like workmanship and sportsmanship. Despite the obvious advantages of doing things otherwise, seeing people live by a proper code is comforting. In fact, we really dislike the opposite. No one wants to play with a poor sport and no one wants to work with lazy person even if their poor “manship” doesn’t affect them. There is an irrational pride in good “manship” and shame in poor “manship.”

In 1950, a British author named Stephen Potter wrote a book called “Some Notes on Lifemanship.” It was a tongue-in-cheek guide on the proper way to live life. Since then, a few more less-ironic self-help books have borrowed the term “lifemanship.”

It is not surprising that the empty, yet endearing, “manship” code that applies to sports and work would also apply to life. We tend to like people who are conform to the basic norms of life. People with jobs, who want to marry and who want to have children are normal. The jobless, single and childless are kind of weird. We steer clear of lazy people, liars, complainers and the self-absorbed. People that are only interest in self-gain and do not care for their friends and family make us uncomfortable. Those who cooperate, adhere to many social norms and are polite are met with acceptance.

In fact, it’s more than just acceptance; it’s respect. “Manship” may simply be a generous and cooperative compliance to social norms. It may be just perseverance to conform to an arbitrary code, thus a display of strength. Like any art, it’s hard to define, but we know it when we see it. Whatever it is, we like it.

The Buying and Selling of Indulgences

In the 16th century, Martin Luther had had it with the Catholic Church. The Church was selling indulgences, which in effect, was a way to buy oneself into heaven. Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of Castle Church in Wittenberg and Protestantism was born.

In his 95th thesis, he wrote:

“And thus be confident of entering into heaven rather through many tribulations, than through the assurance of peace.”

Luther believed that being sinless and getting into heaven was hard work. There was not an easy way to achieve it and one certainly could not simply buy it. Now, I’m no Christian nor am I even a theist, but Luther’s point is a good one in that it can apply to a broader range of things in this world than just salvation. Almost all physical objects can be bought and sold, but abstract ideas and conditions are consistently not for sale.

In his 24th thesis, Luther wrote:

“The greater part of the people are deceived by that indiscriminate and highsounding promise of release from penalty.”

People can desire a number of abstract things. Some want happiness, while others want love. Some desire maturity and others intellectualism. Some want to feel moral and others want to be good parents. Some want to be artistically gifted and others want to have “refined taste.” And, many of us want all of these things. The thing is, these are very difficult things to achieve that each take a lifetime of constant struggle. They are illusive journeys rather than defined destinations. Deep down, everyone knows it, too.

Nonetheless, people still try to buy them. I know materialists who think that the latest and greatest objects will bring them fulfillment. I know couples who purchase things for each other and with each other, but do not really know or like each other. I know people who donate money out of guilt and I know parents who try to buy their children things to makeup for the fact that they are never around. I know legions of the pretentious who try to surround themselves with art, literature and music, but have never spent the time or effort to observe it and understand it. And I know grown children who think that buying certain objects and living a certain lifestyle will make them into responsible adults.

Luther believed every truly repentant Christian had a right to full remission of penalty and guilt, even without letters of pardon from the pope (thesis 36).

Hard work leads to true achievement of anything incorporeal and nothing else.