Muriel Barbery wrote in ‘The Elegance of the Hedgehog’, “There is always the easy way out, although I am loath to use it. I have no children, I do not watch television and I do not believe in God – all paths taken by mortals to make their lives easier. Children help us to defer the painful task of confronting ourselves, and grandchildren take over from them. Television distracts us from the onerous necessity of finding projects to construct in the vacuity of our frivolous lives: by beguiling our eyes, television releases our mind from the great work of making meaning. Finally, God appeases our animal fears and the unbearable prospect that some day all our pleasures will cease. Thus, as I have neither future nor progeny nor pixels to deaden the cosmic awareness of absurdity, and in the certainty of the end and the anticipation of the void, I believe I can affirm that I have not chosen the easy path.”
Why did this passage grab me? For me, God does far more than ‘appease our animal fears’. I also am not convinced that faith in God makes my life ‘easier’; ask any of the saints and they will assure you that their life could have been profoundly easier, and their deaths generally postponed somewhat, had they been content to express no opinion on God. But I do agree that television ‘releases our mind from … making meaning’. Socrates wrote, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living’: but these days, who has time to examine their life?
And fundamentally life must be absurd, meaningless, pointless, if it is just about birth, procreation and death. Why do we mow the lawns or dust the house? The job needs doing again shortly after it is done the first time. But (and this is very important) if we know we have guests coming it is both a social convention and an inner desire to make our home look tidy and welcoming. If I am hemmed in by children and dirty nappies and suffering from lack of sleep then the onus should be on my visitor to pitch in and help; but for most of us, doing these things for our guests offers them a small gift of beauty: the biological miracle of a mown lawn like a living carpet; flowers in a vase, fresh baking and a cup of tea. These are pleasurable in themselves but far more pleasurable when shared with a guest.
For everybody loves a new-mown lawn; washed windows; a clear floor. But to do this for our own satisfaction risks the label of absurdity; can I not just learn ‘to be content in all things’, and not be distressed by a dirty room or disappointed that my ‘lawn’ is a weedy, shaggy mess? Well, yes, I could learn those things; but why should I ask my guests to learn this?
So if my life (and that of my guests) can be enriched by simple acts of hospitality: am I not already close to that most fundamental of life’s truths: there is a meaning in life, and it is to love God and love your neighbour as yourself?
Why did this passage grab me? For me, God does far more than ‘appease our animal fears’. I also am not convinced that faith in God makes my life ‘easier’; ask any of the saints and they will assure you that their life could have been profoundly easier, and their deaths generally postponed somewhat, had they been content to express no opinion on God. But I do agree that television ‘releases our mind from … making meaning’. Socrates wrote, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living’: but these days, who has time to examine their life?
And fundamentally life must be absurd, meaningless, pointless, if it is just about birth, procreation and death. Why do we mow the lawns or dust the house? The job needs doing again shortly after it is done the first time. But (and this is very important) if we know we have guests coming it is both a social convention and an inner desire to make our home look tidy and welcoming. If I am hemmed in by children and dirty nappies and suffering from lack of sleep then the onus should be on my visitor to pitch in and help; but for most of us, doing these things for our guests offers them a small gift of beauty: the biological miracle of a mown lawn like a living carpet; flowers in a vase, fresh baking and a cup of tea. These are pleasurable in themselves but far more pleasurable when shared with a guest.
For everybody loves a new-mown lawn; washed windows; a clear floor. But to do this for our own satisfaction risks the label of absurdity; can I not just learn ‘to be content in all things’, and not be distressed by a dirty room or disappointed that my ‘lawn’ is a weedy, shaggy mess? Well, yes, I could learn those things; but why should I ask my guests to learn this?
So if my life (and that of my guests) can be enriched by simple acts of hospitality: am I not already close to that most fundamental of life’s truths: there is a meaning in life, and it is to love God and love your neighbour as yourself?