Gauntlet

If a writer wishes to set before himself a great task, he needs to try writing the story of a genuinely happy person. The great preponderance of literature, film, or anything else that takes a human as its narrative subject, that manages to tell the story of a happy person manages only to portray her happiness as accidental. She is a mirror, a responsive medium. The circumstances shine upon her and she thereafter shines back. A boyfriend catches a flight, a long-lost brother dies and leaves his estate to her, she becomes the unlikely winner of a contest--all of these scenarios are easily pleasing. They refrain, however, from speaking to genuine happiness. If the flight departs without him, if the brother lives to see another ten years, or if the wheel spins slightly further--what then? Can we picture our protagonist happy? No; she continues to reside in the tepidness that was her state before the possibility of circumstantial salvation.

Why does the author, the director, or the other artist so often concern himself with only the accidental? Could it be because it is the simpler route? Could it be that a change in situation is all the imagination the ordinary audience can muster?

There is something maniacal about the implications of the preponderance of human stories that portray happiness. It suggests that all that is necessary to make a man unhappy is to give him a raggedy wardrobe and that to make him happy all one needs to do is give him a closet full of Italian suits. Is this the way the humanity works? Are we really just balloons adrift in the weather systems of the world?

Not all of us are, at least. There are some who we may consider genuinely one way or another. These people are essentially weatherproof. They have transcended to the utmost humanly possible the influences of accident. Unlike a mirror that returns what it receives, they are flames. They give something distinct from what they consume. They are transformative.

What makes it so difficult to capture genuine happiness? Since one is not born genuinely happy, one must become so. But, the chain of events cannot appear crucial. If they are, then we are back to mirror-life. The process is similar to making a marble statue. The great sculptors have explained the creation of their works as consequences of an unexpected process. The layman supposes the sculptors see themselves as forming the rock to the image. There is a slab or marble, the sculptor chips away, and makes the image appear that had been envisioned previously. The greats, though, claim the inverse. They form the image to the rock. There is a form trapped within the marble. Upon study of their material, they see it and release it. The creation does not return what it receives. Though raw, the material emanates a refined form. This is the mode of development of a genuinely happy person. They contain within them the principles for happiness--they need only be released. It is much easier for an accident to be put in rather than an essence to be taken out. A man can be made to appear happy, but a happy man is so whether he is seen or not.