There’s something very out of balance about the winter holiday season. Perhaps it’s that so many people start obsessing about it even before Halloween. Perhaps it’s the commercial overkill. Perhaps it’s that so much of what used to be a time of family togetherness is now a time of forced good cheer. These times of ours are truly the Age of Koyaanisqatsi. “Koyaanisqatsi” (koy-ahn-iss-khát-see) is a Hopi word that means “life out of balance.”
It’s long been obvious to the more sensitive canaries in our collective coal mine that something is seriously skewed in the way we go about living. Then again, if our society and our lives weren’t so out of balance, there might not be such a strong interest in the pursuit of wellness. For this, I add my own personal thanks to the season’s spirit because it means I get to write about wellness during a season epitomizing excess and life out of balance. Wellness won’t be easily attained when balance and moderation are in short supply.
Many folks complain the Christmas season in America has become an exercise in “out-of-balance-ness.” Most people in my small world have come to dread the first half of winter solely because it leads to Christmas. Commercialization of the holiday began long ago in this country but progressed at a relatively moderate rate of change up until the past two or three decades. Within the span of my lifetime, Christmas has morphed from a time of feasting, resting, religious affirmation and family giving (of moderate gifts) into a mostly commercial orgy of conspicuous consumer excess. People stress for months about giving and receiving numerous and/or expensive presents, accelerate their already frenetic pace to accommodate their holiday obligations and deepen their credit debt, then stress about paying down that debt over most of the subsequent year. To accommodate an orgy of giving during this officially sanctioned season, the rest of the year is dedicated to the opposite of generosity to pay the bill. And we repeat the cycle every winter. Who doesn’t heave a vast sigh of relief come New Year’s Day and the closing bell on yet another holiday season?
The North Bay pleasure principle
In contrast to our national standard of holiday excess are the special North Bay culture and climate, which promise a life of pleasurable pursuits. Certainly, the main goal of most people I know who migrated to the Bay Area during the 1960s and 1970s was the pursuit of a more pleasure-oriented and hedonistic life than what was the norm throughout much of the rest of America at the time. Indeed, entire sectors of our local economy sprang forth from this vision of an epicurean life. These include the growth of our wine industry, spas and resorts, gyms and personal athletic endeavors including yoga salons, a large health care sector and much more. Almost in tandem, probably out of a realization that one can’t enjoy the good life if one doesn’t have one’s health, there arose a preoccupation with gaining and maintaining an optimum level of wellness.
Where did the idea of a link between pleasure and wellness come from? It wasn’t born in the Bay Area during the 1960s. It’s actually a very ancient idea that dates back to the founder of the “epicurean” life and philosophy—and a philosophy it is, one that’s an apt metaphor for life in Wine Country as we would like it to be.
Epicurus was a philosopher who lived in ancient Greece during the classic era, around 475 to 350 B.C. He was a contemporary of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, and his life spanned the transition from Athens’ pinnacle under Pericles to the early years of Alexander the Great. Epicurus promoted the idea that pleasure was mankind’s best and highest pursuit, but he never advocated wallowing in physical and sensual excess. He held that happiness could only come about by practicing moderation in all things. He argued pleasure can best be gained by living in accord with prudence, temperance, courage and justice, as well as by making friends. He observed that many people believe virtue or faith or love is supreme in the universe. But he also observed that each of these, when taken to its extreme, becomes perverse, stability is lost and this can lead to madness of mind and spirit. With madness comes pain and fear, and all hope of pleasure is lost.
“For who can doubt that pleasure is the only goal of a reasoned and orderly life? Especially the pleasure derived from a calm and orderly soul, one forged in meditation. There is no fault which contemplation and logic cannot repair, leaving quietude and peace.” (From “The Meditations of Epicurus the Sage” circa 400 B.C.)
Unfortunately, the term “epicurean” has long been widely misunderstood and derided. Most often, it’s used to describe people who are excessively devoted to pleasures of the flesh (especially when it comes to food and wine). There’s something about the mere mention of pleasure that affects some people like waving a red flag at a bull. It sets them off on a self-righteous tirade about duty and deferment of gratification for higher purposes—as though pleasure and social and personal responsibility are mutually exclusive. This misconception is about as far from the teachings of Epicurus as it could possibly be.
The historical truth is, Epicurus advocated a balanced and moderate approach to life, the reward of which was frequent—moderate—pleasure. In effect, he was outlining the kind of life balance that’s a prerequisite to an optimal state of wellness.
Pleasure as a signpost
Through the ages, critics who have attacked and derided Epicurus’ philosophy have been guilty of mistaking his advocacy of pleasure as a hedonistic goal in and of itself. In fact, Epicurus taught pleasure was a desirable by-product of doing things the right way, of leading a virtuous life. He recognized the feeling of pleasure as a signal we’re doing something right, that we’re engaged in something that’s inherently good for us. Hence, the Epicurean idea of pleasure is truly one that extends far beyond mere bodily sensations or gross intoxication. It involves training oneself to be more aware of life’s smaller and more subtle pleasures because they’re sensory and emotional indicators of what’s working well in our lives.
It’s all too human to focus on sexual and chemical excesses when thinking about pleasure. As poorly educated in the classics as we Americans tend to be, we visualize gluttonous Roman orgies (as scripted by Hollywood) as examples of the Epicurean life. In truth, Epicurus was a simple and decidedly frugal Greek who lived in an age that extolled the basic values of ethical living while cultivating an enhanced sense of the pleasures of life—hundreds of years before anyone heard of the Romans.
Epicureanism ranges far beyond mere sex, gluttony and drunkenness. Legend has it that Epicurus once asked young Alexander of Macedon, (neé “The Great”) while the young lad was still under Aristotle’s tutelage, what he thought of as a great pleasure. Like many fraternity boys of this modern age, Alexander replied getting really drunk fit that definition. Asked to name a very small pleasure, he sarcastically replied getting a word correct on a spelling test. Challenged to describe the process of getting drunk, Alexander related the steps of drinking lots of wine and getting drunk, drinking more wine and getting drunker and drinking even more wine then throwing up. Asked if throwing up was pleasurable, he had to confess it was not. The next steps of crapulousness were described in glowing terms of drinking more, falling down and laughing a lot, throwing up again, then getting in a fight with your friends, getting beaten up, crawling home and having a huge hangover the next day.
Challenged by Epicurus to tally the good versus the bad of drunkenness, Alexander admitted a big drunk added up to most of a day of pain, embarrassment and misery. Then Epicurus asked Alexander what happened when he spelled a word right. Answer: “You get a little pleasure and then go on to the next word. Spell that right, get a little pleasure and go on to the next, and the next, and the next.” Swooping in for the metaphorical kill, Epicurus triumphantly observed that the big pleasure of getting drunk provided 15 hours of misery to three of pleasure while a spelling test—or similar accomplishment—could provide a potentially limitless amount of pleasure…a little bit at a time.
Although not everyone might derive pleasure from a spelling test like young Alexander the Great, the point of this Epicurean dialog is that we can attain small and moderate pleasures throughout our lives by living right, doing good works and spending time with friends. The pleasure of these things comes from leading a virtuous and balanced life. Pleasure without the downside of excess is the sensory evidence—the signal—that you’re on the virtuous path. What better way to know if you’re headed in the right direction as you fumble your way toward wellness?
And what better guide could there be for approaching our silly season of excess. Instead of shopping until you drop, enjoy a glass or two of a very nice Pinot along with a meal lovingly prepared for or by people you care about (in modest portions) and exchange just a few modest gifts that have been thoughtfully selected for each recipient (including the kids). Quality over quantity. Feelings of pleasure in the selecting, buying, wrapping, giving and receiving will be your best guide that you’re doing the right things for your needs, feelings and health at each moment. Maybe it makes more sense for you to escape from those who would bludgeon you with their own dedication to excess. What an excellent time to pack light and split for a timeshare in Sun Valley, a bed and breakfast in Hanalei or to Canyon Ranch for that big wellness check-up and health-promoting jump start. Or even just spend a long weekend at Sonoma Mission Inn or drive up the coast to Mendocino to meditate on the fog and the waves.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Feliz Navidad, Happy Kwanzaa and have a happy and (moderately) pleasurable high holiday!
