I say all
this, by the way, to avoid a repetition of the 2009 incident in which de Botton
wrote,
“I will hate you until the day I die,” to a New York Times critic, who had been
less than kind about a book de Botton had written.
In fact, I
have liked all of the de Botton talks that I have seen on YouTube—he does have a
razor-sharp mind, but who, graduating with a double-starred first from Caius
College, Cambridge, wouldn’t?
There was
the talk
on atheism 2.0. The old version of atheism only established one thing: there is
no god. OK—but what about the good things that religion brought us? A sense of
community—there are times when a congregation carries a grief-stricken
parishioner through dark times. Or what about morality? Yes, you can argue that
a person shouldn’t need god to be moral; as well, many atheists are moral. But
the church, ideally, was or is a constant, drumming force for reminding us to
be living a moral life. And I liked what de Botton said about religion’s view
on art: it is completely not art for art’s sake. It is strictly
utilitarian; the purpose of art is to elicit emotion and teach lessons. That’s
why you have that depiction of Christ on the cross, or the last supper, or
Moses parting the Red Sea. It’s there for a reason.
I followed
him through the lecture,
“A kinder, gentler, philosophy of success.” Interesting, there, what he had to
say about meritocracy,
which he, in general, favors. Who couldn’t—it’s the belief that anyone, with
enough work, can get what he deserves. That’s great in the case of Obama, but
what about me? Iguanas
has sold maybe six copies, so am I a dud? Do I deserve my failure?
De Botton
says no—remember Mathew
24:13? “The race is not given to the swift nor the strong but he who
endures to the end?” (Franny may be channeling me, or I her, but shouldn’t it
be “him who endures?”) OK—that wasn’t actually his point, on rereading Mathew.
De Botton thinks that despite all of our efforts, the playing field will never
be entirely level. And he should know—his father was a seriously rich guy,
though not, apparently, a terribly supportive one. My father was middle class
but supportive—so who had the better deal? The thing is that in both cases it
makes a difference, and neither he nor I had any say in the matter.
Then of
course I had to listen to his talk about “How to think more about sex.” I mean,
what guy wouldn’t? And that, finally, led me to Barbara Ehrenreich,
whose book Smile or Die; How Positive Thinking Fooled America and the World.
I had liked the book, and could especially relate to it, since I had been
through about 94 doses of quite concentrated positive thinking in my seven
years at Wal-Mart. We had a monthly meeting, a regular feature of which was the
motivational speaker. One particular speaker was a charming old lady who had to
be lugged up to the stage because the cancer treatment was still affecting her
but. not to worry, because the world was getting.., and here she broke into song…
Mejor,
mejor, mejor!
Yes, her
world was getting better, better, better—sing it, group! Sing it, everybody!
Put your heart in your mouths and a smile on your face and beam your positive
attitude into the radiant white light! Let’s hear it again!
We sang it
again.
And even
though it’s Monday, and it rained all weekend, and the housework never did get
done—we’re alive, we’ve got jobs, we’ve got our families, and every day we can
be sure that we are getting…
She put her
ear to the microphone….
I loved all
that stuff. Well, most of it. There was a day, in those months when I spent
waiting for the ax to fall, when I came upon the in-house motivational speaker,
Milton, filling up buckets of water before a Human Resources meeting. And no,
he wasn’t the kind of guy who mops floors.
I could
bear it no more; the meeting was mandatory and I skipped it.
Which may
be why I’m not there.
Ehrenreich
states that the main reason people are canned is because of their bad attitude,
and asking skeptical questions about everybody’s great idea—hey, let’s give
mortgages to people with lousy credit and then bundle ‘em up and sell ‘em off
(sorry, the mortgages, not the people)—was a classic example of negativity.
It’s not, of course; it’s a critical part of an organization. There’s a place
for the people who refused to be swayed by the latest craziness.
Well, de
Botton has started The School of Life; here’s
Wikipedia on the subject:
The
School of Life is a
social enterprise founded in 2008 and based in a small shop in Central
London. The School
offers a variety of programmes and services concerned with how to live wisely
and well, addressing such questions as why work is often unfulfilling, why
relationships can be so challenging, why it is ever harder to stay calm and
what one could do to try to change the world for the better.[1] The School also offers psychotherapy and
bibliotherapy services and runs a small shop which has been described as 'an
apothecary for the mind'.[2]
Wow—what a
seriously good idea! Oh, and what do atheistic you do when you’re in London on
a Sunday morning? Here’s the answer:
On Sunday
mornings The School of Life hosts secular sermons in which cultural figures are
invited to give their opinion about 'what values we should live by today'.[7] These theatrical events are usually held at
Conway Hall in London. Past preachers have included Tom Hodgkinson on Loving
Your Neighbour, Geoff Dyer on Punctuality, Sam Roddick on Seduction and Alain
de Botton on Pessimism.[8] The Financial
Times described the sermons as being 'hedged about with all sorts of ironic
paraphernalia, designed to reassure the trendy young audience that they are not
about to be harangued by a religious zealot'.[9]
Oh, and
that bibliotherapy up there? Here’s the answer:
The School of Life offers a literary
consultation service it calls bibliotherapy.[10]
For a fee, people are able to meet with a bibliotherapist who will talk to them
about their reading habits and 'prescribe' books which relate to their
interests or concerns. The School of Life's bibliotherapists include the
novelist Susan Elderkin.
Confession:
I completely screwed up my last goal, which was to tell everybody in the world
by midnight, 31 December 2012, that they could have a good, peaceful,
spiritually charged death in their home at the hour (or thereabouts) of their
choosing.
I fucked up.
Alain, can
I come give a sermon?
