Death, Family, and Love. Michael H. Mitias
or even in heaven, because it is not and cannot be a goal. It is not a clearly defined concept or ideal. No two human beings, philosophers, scientists, or theologians, have agreed on its nature, existence, or even desirability. But suppose it is or can be a goal, then where, when, and under what conditions can it be attained by any particular individual who lives in a certain place and historical epoch? Can you say that you are happy when you are young, in the middle of your life, or at its end? Does it signify some type of reward we receive when we retire after forty years of work? But what is the use of such a reward if we have already reached the end of our lives?”
“If happiness is a meaningful goal, it should permeate and energize every action we perform in our lives. We should be able to feel it amid adversities. You should not confuse happiness with pleasure. The first is a permanent possession, the second is a temporary feeling; the first is an achievement, the second is produced by physical or psychological influence; the first is indifferent to pain, the second shies away from pain; the first aims at the good in itself, the second aims at the good of the individual. But the more important fact you should remember is that happiness cannot be provided by any person, organization, or agency, regardless of the nature of its power; it is a personal achievement. You may give me pastries, knowledge, food, smiles, shelter, or a job, and you may create the conditions for me to be successful, but you cannot give me happiness. Moreover, happiness is not a special kind of experience in any particular circumstance, and we cannot be happy at a preconceived time like now, a little later, today, tomorrow, or sometime in the future. A happy person is always happy. It is challenging to identify happiness as it relates to a specific experience.”
“Happiness is a spiritual state or orientation. It emerges from the way our lives are lived, and the way of life that leads to the emergence of this spiritual state is a good life, the kind of life that is founded in the values of truth, beauty, and goodness, such as justice, friendship, honesty, courage, serving others, compassion, mercy, grandeur, wisdom, and grace, to mention just a few values. Happy people do not know that they are happy: they are happy. They know that they should pursue the good, the beautiful, and the true in their daily lives, regardless of whether it is in the sphere of work, family, school, government, or any other domain! Does the scientist in their laboratory, the artist in their studio, the social reformer among the poor, the sick, the disenfranchised, and the oppressed, the archaeologist at a historical site, the teacher in the classroom, or the farmer in the field—yes, do these and millions of other people worry, or even think, of their happiness when they are in the midst of their work? Happy people are service-minded people, not happiness-minded people. They feel good, have inner peace, and experience a sense of fulfillment when they accomplish an important task, one that promotes the good of society, a particular person, or a group of persons.”
“As a spiritual state, happiness is a gift of goodness. This gift is not a reward but a natural emanation of good action. However, it is not an ordinary emanation, mainly because by its very essence, it is a living flame, a thrust of life, of light, the kind that illuminates the meaning of being and especially humanity. I liken the human being to a tree that produces life-enhancing fruits. Doesn’t the artist experience a deep feeling of satisfaction, of delight, of pride, of inner growth, in short, of joy, when they stand before a painting they have just completed successfully? Don’t they frown upon the anxiety, the fears, the frustration, the pain they experienced while working on it? What is pain to joy, to the feeling of inner growth—of being, of being-in-growth? Suppose we ask the artist—” But Dr. Athenaion could not complete her sentence because the bell rang. Although she stopped the lecture, the students did not leave their chairs. Their eyes lingered on the face of their professor as if to say, “Continue!”
“We shall continue this discussion next Monday,” Dr. Athenaion said in a subdued voice, “but not now because the Dean recently instructed the faculty to stop their lectures at the end of the hour. He does not want students to be late for their subsequent classes. I wish you a pleasant and productive weekend.”
The purpose of the preceding excerpt from Dr. Athenaion’s lecture, dear reader, was simply to give you an idea about the kind of person and thinker she was, and the reason that prompted those three soft knocks at the door of her apartment that Sunday morning!
As I mentioned earlier, Dr. Athenaion was in the heat of a creative act when those three knocks disrupted a meditation she was having on Hegel’s conception of “ethical society” and the extent to which this conception can form the basis for an effective and practical social reform program under which a society governed by technocrats can thrive as a community of human individuals. Dr. Athenaion was stranded between two equally strong obligations when those knocks disrupted the thread of her meditation: the obligation to pursue her meditation on the possibility of a human society governed by technocrats, which is a supremely valuable undertaking, and the obligation to respond to the caller who might be a student or a neighbor in need of urgent assistance, which is also supremely valuable. It took her a few seconds to extricate herself from the conflict created by these two obligations only because the knocks persisted, culminating in three more knocks. She decided to respond to the caller. She argued that she could reflect again on the Hegelian conception of an ethical society, but she could not repair the harm she might cause to a needy friend, student, or person if she declined to open the door.
Without hesitation, Dr. Athenaion placed her pen on the desk and sprinted to her bedroom. She stopped for a moment before the mirror of her dresser. She eyed her disheveled hair and promptly rolled it into a knot at the back of her head. She pulled a long robe over her short pajamas, smoothed her rumpled eyebrows, and dashed to the door. She peered through the peephole to ascertain the identity of the caller. A young man was standing on the other side of the door. He was neither a neighbor nor one of her students. Nevertheless, she opened the door without faltering only because she always acted from an innocent heart and mind and because the caller might be one of her older students.
A strikingly handsome young man greeted Dr. Athenaion’s eyes when she opened the door. He was slim and tall with hazel eyes beneath thick eyebrows. His upper lip was graced with a neatly trimmed mustache, while his head was covered with a panoply of black hair. He was dressed in a white sweater, light brown trousers, and brown shoes. Although he was a flame of youth, it was difficult to estimate his age. But one could conjecture that he was in his mid-thirties. It seemed to Dr. Athenaion that he was a kind of Don Juan. She was about to smile because she never expected to meet such a character in her life. And yet, such a character was standing before her on her doorstep as a real human being. Her immediate impulse was to examine his complexion and bodily gestures because she was curious to know the kind of character he was. Yet, to her disappointment, he did not reveal any kind of character trait, physical or mental. He struck her more as a figure who has just stepped out of a painting created by Norma Rockwell than a person who typically walks the streets of social life.
Dr. Athenaion was a kind, genial, and generous woman. She ordinarily welcomed her visitors into her apartment spontaneously without questioning their intensions or asking about the purpose of their visit, but that morning, and for a mysterious reason she could not decipher, she could not welcome the exceedingly good-looking man into her apartment. She felt an urgent desire to know his identity and the purpose of his call first. But unfortunately, both his identity and the purpose of his call were hidden behind his elegant appearance. Her ignorance of his identity, especially the fact that she had never seen a Don Juan on the campus of Union College or anywhere in Jackson, intensified her curiosity and created a feeling of awkwardness in her mind. She hesitated; she could neither dismiss him, for she had no justifiable reason to do so nor welcome him, for she could not admit a person into her apartment without knowing their identity or intentions. The caller noticed her awkwardness and felt her hesitation. His blank, almost impassive expression, which was a factor in instigating her reluctance, suddenly changed into a pleasant countenance. It seemed as if his face, which was beautiful by any measure of beauty, was abruptly aglow with an effusion of a special kind of radiance. A seductive smile surged from the midst of that radiance, and in a friendly voice, he said, “Dr. Athenaion, you are well known for your hospitality and especially for your generous heart. There is no reason for denying me the honor of a short visit with the most distinguished teacher, scholar, social servant, and one of the finest citizens of the city of Jackson.” Astonished, and for a moment