In an online discussion among people who are talking about the benefits and limits of pastoral counseling, I wrote a bit -- in response to his comments on Renaissance periods and people -- about how I saw the Good Life ....
*****************************************************************************
Renaissance ... to me .... refers to a period of time when in spite of the previous dousing of the Creative Pagan Fires by the Church, the intellectual and artistic and literate communities were able to rekindle those creative embers .... I don't know when Renaissance came to be used adjectivally to refer to someone who indulges a multiplicity of interests. So let me confess: I don't read much fiction, I don't care to learn but a few other than dead languages, feel about the hard Sciences ("Vulture whose wings are dull realities") kinda like Poe did, and am more familiar with Dr. Mercury's lyric about "pain is so close to pleasure" than with the Trio Sonatas.
I use in my own thinking a notion of the Good Life as fourfold:
(1) An ability to cherish the inner workings and relationships of others, particularly near and dear;
(2) An ability to be playful which I consider a corollary of (1);
(3) A recognition of one's wishes, a willingness to put them into the crucible of whether they're harmful to self or others, and then a capacity to act on them if and -- generally speaking -- only if they're not harmful; &
(4) Aristotle's measure of virtue ... the interest in doing battle with the horror that the Good Life involves choosing often between two conflicting Goods or two conflicting Bads and rarely is so simple as choosing between a Good and a Bad (as Deuteronomy and much of religion and ethical codes offer as a simplistic model).
Betimes, I add, as separate from (1):
(5) Being on time to greet the visitors to my office.
I hope these visitors who seek me out regain their interest in the quotidian ... in how ball-cock valves and flushmeters work in indoor plumbing .... in how their lover's vulnerability (hurts?) is far more interesting than their defenses (how they protect against hurts ... eg, with anger or withdrawal) .... and in watching the baby tomato, this time of year, grow inside that little flower on the vine.
I served lunch yesterday to my wife of 49 years, two of my kids (38 and 48) and three of my grandspawn and Gunther Dog and Pretty Girl Freud the Cat ... life's a fucking miracle.
**************************************************************************
Today, M & I get to drive our Sweet Fifteen Year Old Grandchild to a Summer Program for nerdy kids. What a thrill it's been to watch her grow into precisely one of those people who still fascinates about so much. 100 miles out and 100 miles back with tears and joy.
It starts in adolescence ... if I'm lucky, such fascinating about the everyday continues for much of the Last Quarter.
I use in my own thinking a notion of the Good Life as fourfold:
(1) An ability to cherish the inner workings and relationships of others, particularly near and dear;
(2) An ability to be playful which I consider a corollary of (1);
(3) A recognition of one's wishes, a willingness to put them into the crucible of whether they're harmful to self or others, and then a capacity to act on them if and -- generally speaking -- only if they're not harmful; &
(4) Aristotle's measure of virtue ... the interest in doing battle with the horror that the Good Life involves choosing often between two conflicting Goods or two conflicting Bads and rarely is so simple as choosing between a Good and a Bad (as Deuteronomy and much of religion and ethical codes offer as a simplistic model).
Betimes, I add, as separate from (1):
(5) Being on time to greet the visitors to my office.
I hope these visitors who seek me out regain their interest in the quotidian ... in how ball-cock valves and flushmeters work in indoor plumbing .... in how their lover's vulnerability (hurts?) is far more interesting than their defenses (how they protect against hurts ... eg, with anger or withdrawal) .... and in watching the baby tomato, this time of year, grow inside that little flower on the vine.
I served lunch yesterday to my wife of 49 years, two of my kids (38 and 48) and three of my grandspawn and Gunther Dog and Pretty Girl Freud the Cat ... life's a fucking miracle.