Resisting the Sirens

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There are occasions on these pages where you'll see an internal debate take shape. Generally it starts with an exasperated rant as the pendulum reaches its apex. What the fuck is all this about, and why, seems to be the general tenor of the outburst. What was accepted previously is now questioned, and the whole basis of my lifestyle is scrutinised.

It may seem a little bi-polar, but in fact despite the occasional sharp tone the process is reasonably measured, and follows a familiar pattern. I rant and then I settle, recognising that in the rant there are some kernels of insight worth following up. By now I am completely calm, the frustration that led to the rant now burnt out in much the same way as a match momentarily fizzles when first struck.

I turn my mind to the issue. As much as I think it through I feel a kind of truth in my gut. This is what I feel, now, how do I justify it? As it turns out that is rarely difficult. Step by step I develop an answer, an explanation more correctly, building a bridge then between what I think and what I feel. What then?

If there is anything untoward about the process it is that it must be repeated again and again. Much as I would like to settle on the one true way and stick to it I know that's not who I am. Besides, is there one true way? All my life I have veered between two poles, from indulgent excess to high minded asceticism. It may seem more sensible to average them out and travel down the middle road, but that seems not to be my style - and I'm glad of it. I'm not a man of wild extremes - there is always a mind watching, ticking over - but I think these extremes are necessary to my development as a human being, to my perception of the world and ultimately, perhaps, to my art.

As of last night my stomach has turned against the sensual, Rabelaisian lifestyle I have been indulging in lately. My 'self' looks in another direction, turning from the obvious pleasures of the flesh and the senses to the pleasures of the mind. There is nothing inherently wrong in enjoying good food and wine at fine restaurants; nothing wrong in partying with my friends; and not necessarily bad to aspire to nice things, a shiny new car, a flash flat screen TV - yet now I can look past these things and realise it is not enough.

I believe in living fully, and in the ideal life that would be giving every sense and inclination an equal go. I would enjoy all the good things in the right perspective, whilst equally following the lead my mind takes, searching, exploring, looking to understand. As I write this I wonder if I have been a little harsh on myself - I don't ever seem to disavow that need for enquiry no matter how self-indulgent I become, and yet I know I am not wrong. The balance is thrown out, I live out of kilter.

There are two Roman schools of philosophy that I have long felt some kinship to: the epicurean and the stoic. Their labels are revealing. I have a great affinity to the epicurean lifestyle, to the good things that life provides. I believe they should be enjoyed, even in my most stoic moments. In fact that is what prevents me from describing myself as a stoic. I see little sense in renouncing what is good in the service of a rigorous philosophy, yet I see a lot of the stoic in me, in how I view the world, in what I believe. I am neither, or both, and see the difference between them that being an epicurean is a way of life, while to be a stoic is a way of being.

And so we come to last night and this morning. Last night I ranted. I thought about it overnight. This morning I have concluded. There was much in the wild thoughts I flung out that had some merit. I am not about to live on a commune or to renounce anything, yet the thrust of my rant was revealing. In a superficial way you could say that Mammon had me in her thrall for a while, in how I lived, in what I desired. This is not the first time (nor likely the last). Deep down I knew there was something not right. This was not who I wanted to be. I had fallen into a groove like on a record and like on a record I would go round and round without getting anywhere unless I made a change.

As I say, I'm not about to change my life radically, though I am happy to live more quietly for a while. More to the point I want to live closer to what is true to me. I have to question my motives and return to what is right for me as a human being. It is very easy to be seduced by the call of the Sirens: this is what you can be, this is what you should be. I have heard their song and found myself drifting towards them. Vanity and ambition are fine in small parts, but they should never be the overweening purpose of your existence. There is more, and much more inside than out to be discovered if we close our ears to the Siren's call.

What is right for me can only be decided by me, not by society or peer group pressure or heady ambition; and only by looking deep inside myself can I recognise the truth. This is what I've failed to do: I look too shallowly. Ultimately there is a deeper and more substantial meaning to all of our lives that if we are true to leads to happiness. I know that makes me sound like a Pollyanna, but I believe it to be true. The trick is to recognise that meaning, and to stay close to it - the toughest challenge of all.