Happiness is not something that "drops into the mouth like a ripe fruit," but a mode of being arrived at through a specific way of engaging with one's surroundings. In his modern equivalent of a self-help book, Russell first diagnoses the myriad causes for unhappiness and then outlines his mental framework for joyful living. While his guide to happiness shows its age, particularly as it relates to women and their role in society, it's jam-packed with hard-hitting insights and written in an approachable way. Like Maugham, Russell is an author who I find very easy to resonate with and who I wish I had as a friend.
Russell's thesis is that fundamental happiness ultimately depends more than anything else upon zest. Described as a friendly interest in persons and things, zest is part of our natural make-up, but becomes increasingly difficult to retain as we age and adapt to the demands of civilized society—school, financial pressures, etc. Nonetheless, Russell argues one can work to maintain a sense of zest through purposeful work (provided not excessive in amount), a healthy dose of absorbing, impersonal interests (stamp collecting, as one example), and reciprocal, genuine affection (as opposed to the possessive or grasping sort).
A man with appropriate zest for life, Russell explains, is analogous to a man with a sound appetite before a meal. One shouldn't act as a gormandizer, seeking forgetfulness and oblivion through pleasure, nor as an invalid, taking as little nourishment as possible just to maintain strength. One should also avoid growing bored of their food—the equivalent of those who are devoid of enthusiasm and bear their unhappiness proudly, as a mark of wisdom. Rather, one should sit down before the feast of life with an appreciation for their meal and an ability to stop once they've had enough.
Amidst the "manifold spectacle of the world," Russell warns that we are all prone to the "malady of the introvert" who "turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within." While I agree with Russell that one should look beyond oneself to truly grasp and appreciate life's meaning, I don't believe gazing inward is necessarily a "malady." I hold that much enrichment can come from inward reflection, though perhaps Russell didn't intend to dispute this.
Of all the chapters in Russell's slim novel, I found the third chapter around competition most perceptive, especially as an American. Here he addresses men of business who could, if they desired, live on what they already have, but choose instead to fixate on competitive success as their main source of happiness. Rather than obtaining from money leisure or security, the worshiper of success aims for ostentation, splendor, and the outshining of those who have hitherto been his equals. "The businessman's religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the [suttee], he suffers the torment gladly," Russell writes. While success is one ingredient in happiness, Russell is right: it's too dearly purchased if all other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. For Americans to be happier, we must change our religion. We must formulate a more holistic understanding of success, one less dependent on pecuniary gain.
Happiness is not something that "drops into the mouth like a ripe fruit," but a mode of being arrived at through a specific way of engaging with one's surroundings. In his modern equivalent of a self-help book, Russell first diagnoses the myriad causes for unhappiness and then outlines his mental framework for joyful living. While his guide to happiness shows its age, particularly as it relates to women and their role in society, it's jam-packed with hard-hitting insights and written in an approachable way. Like Maugham, Russell is an author who I find very easy to resonate with and who I wish I had as a friend.
Russell's thesis is that fundamental happiness ultimately depends more than anything else upon zest. Described as a friendly interest in persons and things, zest is part of our natural make-up, but becomes increasingly difficult to retain as we age and adapt to the demands of civilized society—school, financial pressures, etc. Nonetheless, Russell argues one can work to maintain a sense of zest through purposeful work (provided not excessive in amount), a healthy dose of absorbing, impersonal interests (stamp collecting, as one example), and reciprocal, genuine affection (as opposed to the possessive or grasping sort).
A man with appropriate zest for life, Russell explains, is analogous to a man with a sound appetite before a meal. One shouldn't act as a gormandizer, seeking forgetfulness and oblivion through pleasure, nor as an invalid, taking as little nourishment as possible just to maintain strength. One should also avoid growing bored of their food—the equivalent of those who are devoid of enthusiasm and bear their unhappiness proudly, as a mark of wisdom. Rather, one should sit down before the feast of life with an appreciation for their meal and an ability to stop once they've had enough.
Amidst the "manifold spectacle of the world," Russell warns that we are all prone to the "malady of the introvert" who "turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within." While I agree with Russell that one should look beyond oneself to truly grasp and appreciate life's meaning, I don't believe gazing inward is necessarily a "malady." I hold that much enrichment can come from inward reflection, though perhaps Russell didn't intend to dispute this.
Of all the chapters in Russell's slim novel, I found the third chapter around competition most perceptive, especially as an American. Here he addresses men of business who could, if they desired, live on what they already have, but choose instead to fixate on competitive success as their main source of happiness. Rather than obtaining from money leisure or security, the worshiper of success aims for ostentation, splendor, and the outshining of those who have hitherto been his equals. "The businessman's religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the [suttee], he suffers the torment gladly," Russell writes. While success is one ingredient in happiness, Russell is right: it's too dearly purchased if all other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. For Americans to be happier, we must change our religion. We must formulate a more holistic understanding of success, one less dependent on pecuniary gain.
Happiness is not something that "drops into the mouth like a ripe fruit," but a mode of being arrived at through a specific way of engaging with one's surroundings. In his modern equivalent of a self-help book, Russell first diagnoses the myriad causes for unhappiness and then outlines his mental framework for joyful living. While his guide to happiness shows its age, particularly as it relates to women and their role in society, it's jam-packed with hard-hitting insights and written in an approachable way. Like Maugham, Russell is an author who I find very easy to resonate with and who I wish I had as a friend.
Russell's thesis is that fundamental happiness ultimately depends more than anything else upon zest. Described as a friendly interest in persons and things, zest is part of our natural make-up, but becomes increasingly difficult to retain as we age and adapt to the demands of civilized society—school, financial pressures, etc. Nonetheless, Russell argues one can work to maintain a sense of zest through purposeful work (provided not excessive in amount), a healthy dose of absorbing, impersonal interests (stamp collecting, as one example), and reciprocal, genuine affection (as opposed to the possessive or grasping sort).
A man with appropriate zest for life, Russell explains, is analogous to a man with a sound appetite before a meal. One shouldn't act as a gormandizer, seeking forgetfulness and oblivion through pleasure, nor as an invalid, taking as little nourishment as possible just to maintain strength. One should also avoid growing bored of their food—the equivalent of those who are devoid of enthusiasm and bear their unhappiness proudly, as a mark of wisdom. Rather, one should sit down before the feast of life with an appreciation for their meal and an ability to stop once they've had enough.
Amidst the "manifold spectacle of the world," Russell warns that we are all prone to the "malady of the introvert" who "turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within." While I agree with Russell that one should look beyond oneself to truly grasp and appreciate life's meaning, I don't believe gazing inward is necessarily a "malady." I hold that much enrichment can come from inward reflection, though perhaps Russell didn't intend to dispute this.
Of all the chapters in Russell's slim novel, I found the third chapter around competition most perceptive, especially as an American. Here he addresses men of business who could, if they desired, live on what they already have, but choose instead to fixate on competitive success as their main source of happiness. Rather than obtaining from money leisure or security, the worshiper of success aims for ostentation, splendor, and the outshining of those who have hitherto been his equals. "The businessman's religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the [suttee], he suffers the torment gladly," Russell writes. While success is one ingredient in happiness, Russell is right: it's too dearly purchased if all other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. For Americans to be happier, we must change our religion. We must formulate a more holistic understanding of success, one less dependent on pecuniary gain.
Happiness is not something that "drops into the mouth like a ripe fruit," but a mode of being arrived at through a specific way of engaging with one's surroundings. In his modern equivalent of a self-help book, Russell first diagnoses the myriad causes for unhappiness and then outlines his mental framework for joyful living. While his guide to happiness shows its age, particularly as it relates to women and their role in society, it's jam-packed with hard-hitting insights and written in an approachable way. Like Maugham, Russell is an author who I find very easy to resonate with and who I wish I had as a friend.
Russell's thesis is that fundamental happiness ultimately depends more than anything else upon zest. Described as a friendly interest in persons and things, zest is part of our natural make-up, but becomes increasingly difficult to retain as we age and adapt to the demands of civilized society—school, financial pressures, etc. Nonetheless, Russell argues one can work to maintain a sense of zest through purposeful work (provided not excessive in amount), a healthy dose of absorbing, impersonal interests (stamp collecting, as one example), and reciprocal, genuine affection (as opposed to the possessive or grasping sort).
A man with appropriate zest for life, Russell explains, is analogous to a man with a sound appetite before a meal. One shouldn't act as a gormandizer, seeking forgetfulness and oblivion through pleasure, nor as an invalid, taking as little nourishment as possible just to maintain strength. One should also avoid growing bored of their food—the equivalent of those who are devoid of enthusiasm and bear their unhappiness proudly, as a mark of wisdom. Rather, one should sit down before the feast of life with an appreciation for their meal and an ability to stop once they've had enough.
Amidst the "manifold spectacle of the world," Russell warns that we are all prone to the "malady of the introvert" who "turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within." While I agree with Russell that one should look beyond oneself to truly grasp and appreciate life's meaning, I don't believe gazing inward is necessarily a "malady." I hold that much enrichment can come from inward reflection, though perhaps Russell didn't intend to dispute this.
Of all the chapters in Russell's slim novel, I found the third chapter around competition most perceptive, especially as an American. Here he addresses men of business who could, if they desired, live on what they already have, but choose instead to fixate on competitive success as their main source of happiness. Rather than obtaining from money leisure or security, the worshiper of success aims for ostentation, splendor, and the outshining of those who have hitherto been his equals. "The businessman's religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the [suttee], he suffers the torment gladly," Russell writes. While success is one ingredient in happiness, Russell is right: it's too dearly purchased if all other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. For Americans to be happier, we must change our religion. We must formulate a more holistic understanding of success, one less dependent on pecuniary gain.
Happiness is not something that "drops into the mouth like a ripe fruit," but a mode of being arrived at through a specific way of engaging with one's surroundings. In his modern equivalent of a self-help book, Russell first diagnoses the myriad causes for unhappiness and then outlines his mental framework for joyful living. While his guide to happiness shows its age, particularly as it relates to women and their role in society, it's jam-packed with hard-hitting insights and written in an approachable way. Like Maugham, Russell is an author who I find very easy to resonate with and who I wish I had as a friend.
Russell's thesis is that fundamental happiness ultimately depends more than anything else upon zest. Described as a friendly interest in persons and things, zest is part of our natural make-up, but becomes increasingly difficult to retain as we age and adapt to the demands of civilized society—school, financial pressures, etc. Nonetheless, Russell argues one can work to maintain a sense of zest through purposeful work (provided not excessive in amount), a healthy dose of absorbing, impersonal interests (stamp collecting, as one example), and reciprocal, genuine affection (as opposed to the possessive or grasping sort).
A man with appropriate zest for life, Russell explains, is analogous to a man with a sound appetite before a meal. One shouldn't act as a gormandizer, seeking forgetfulness and oblivion through pleasure, nor as an invalid, taking as little nourishment as possible just to maintain strength. One should also avoid growing bored of their food—the equivalent of those who are devoid of enthusiasm and bear their unhappiness proudly, as a mark of wisdom. Rather, one should sit down before the feast of life with an appreciation for their meal and an ability to stop once they've had enough.
Amidst the "manifold spectacle of the world," Russell warns that we are all prone to the "malady of the introvert" who "turns away and gazes only upon the emptiness within." While I agree with Russell that one should look beyond oneself to truly grasp and appreciate life's meaning, I don't believe gazing inward is necessarily a "malady." I hold that much enrichment can come from inward reflection, though perhaps Russell didn't intend to dispute this.
Of all the chapters in Russell's slim novel, I found the third chapter around competition most perceptive, especially as an American. Here he addresses men of business who could, if they desired, live on what they already have, but choose instead to fixate on competitive success as their main source of happiness. Rather than obtaining from money leisure or security, the worshiper of success aims for ostentation, splendor, and the outshining of those who have hitherto been his equals. "The businessman's religion and glory demand that he should make much money; therefore, like the [suttee], he suffers the torment gladly," Russell writes. While success is one ingredient in happiness, Russell is right: it's too dearly purchased if all other ingredients have been sacrificed to obtain it. For Americans to be happier, we must change our religion. We must formulate a more holistic understanding of success, one less dependent on pecuniary gain.
