I’m a peasant when it comes to art, music, literature appreciation. Enjoy the surface appeal and history, not involved in different meanings. One exception was reading The Inferno as an adolescent.

Dante, of course, makes the punishments in Hell fit the crimes. But the deeper reveal is that the punishment is the crime. Angry people are consumed by their anger. Nice idea.

That has limits. People who hurt people and society need to be disciplined and controlled regardless of their internal angst. The meek must fight for their rights here on Earth and not depend too much on eventual justice after death.

But as a day-to-day salve, hoping people stew in their own juices has psychic merit. For example, that idiot in the tailgating car may be developing ulcers. The wealthy constantly waste precious barren hours of their limited existence to preserving and displaying their gold. At least, it is a comfort to believe so.

True or not, fables can help us get through the varied theaters of life. A great deal of philosophic thought is devoted to little else. At certain times, in certain situations, believing that nastiness rebounds karmically on the annoying person can make me smile.

Perhaps were I a deeper thinker, more such tools would be available to me. But alas I am a small geezer of little brain, and obliviously I bumble on through Hundred Acre Wood.

In the long run, everyone dies. In the extremely long run, the universe becomes cold dark nothingness. In historic perspective,each of us is an irrelevant hostage to fate. Each of us in our own moments feels immortal, eternal, omniscient, and everything.

Those who ponder the world beyond themselves have come up with many grand ideas. It is all illusion, it is all real, it is simply preparation for what may come, it is random chaos, it is directed by destiny. The one commonality to all the viewpoints is that none seem verifiable by logic, experiment, or even common sense. But each construction also has its charms to help us through our difficult days.

Most of us, who must live in society, are extremely adaptable. No matter what our internal beliefs, we easily get along, usually by “doing what the Romans do.” Dealing with how to get dinner or enjoy a friendship is far more important right now than the fate of the entire world in hundreds of years, or the universe in its billions.

When we meet those who cannot be changed, we are either entranced or horrified. If they speak well we can be, at least momentarily, swayed to their vision. Such sermons from the true believer are difficult to resist. We respect certainty and seek the security of truly knowing the meaning of it all.

Unfortunately, in historic terms, most such orators have been driven by ignorance or derangement. Equally unfortunately, we are rarely granted time to gain perspective that such is the case.

For most of humankind’s history, being well-fed, warm, and secure was a blessing devoutly to be wished. We all appreciate the small happinesses of our lives, even if we argue about which of them are more important. There is no doubt that a personal philosophy rooted in satisifed happiness begins with an appreciation of those often unnoticed states.

Concentrating on the small enhances our feeling of control, but does limit our possibility. Nobody ever had grand accomplishments by staying safely in bed eating donuts. On the other hand, grand accomplishments always arrive wrapped in complexity and riddled with contradictions.

Equally, it is not fair to claim that small comforts lead to common good. Selfish personal preoccupations may be evil in the extreme to those around us or to society in general. There are historic examples enough of mass-murdering madmen who were kind to the children and cats they encountered locally. And of sadists who found joy in inflicting suffering on others.

Ah, but I do not consider myself such a madman. Anyway, I try to start each day being grateful for all the little things easily taken for granted. Such as eyesight, or electricity, or books, or just about anything nearby. Happy in such contemplations, I can minimize my annoyance at all the worrisome larger issues.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy. And that is at least a fine way to start each morning.

Wisdom is often portrayed as an old man sitting quietly in a silent subdued setting. Plato in his grove, a monk under a tree, a guru on a mountain top, a professor in a boring lecture hall. Somehow, also, when asked a question they always give exactly the same advice.

Life won’t cooperate. Sometimes we are calm, sometimes angry. If angry we can fight or walk away. Sometimes it is right to walk, sometimes best to fight. The truly wise know what is appropriate each time, but it is never the same.

Myths and holy books which endure contain massive contradictions: “love thy neighbor but sometimes you must kill them all”. Fanatics seize on one phrase, ignoring others. The wise seek to find which response is appropriate for current conditions.

The wise one maintains a massive set of mental templates. These are not simple and not singular, but complex and numerous. The wise select from a vast pallet of possibilities _ wisdom is being able to (usually) make the right choice.

So no easy simple command _ nor even 10 _ from a bearded prophet on a mountainside. Even there, always exceptions. And too often, different from Monday to Tuesday or hour to hour.

Is being truly wise impossible? Sometimes, I think so

Right-to-life propaganda presents all stages of human fetal development from egg to live birth as a standard image of a cute innocent infant, cuddly as a puppy. The only thing missing is floppy ears.

Real gestation, of course, is a lot uglier, squishier, and fraught with issues. All of which are conveniently ignored. But I wish to ask, why are all “future people” sacred? Certainly real people never were in our species past, filled with slaves and war and murder and plague and famine.

The fact is all cute cuddly infants do not grow up to be cute cuddly adults, nor even happy robust supportive citizens. Most would agree that the world would have been better off had some old-time dictators, mass murderers, and evil geniuses never been born. Perhaps the less civil among us could do without a lot of current criminals, lying internet personalities, megalomaniac rulers, and scheming billionaires or politicians. And me, I’m not so sure about you…

Humans are not turtles or fish, laying millions of eggs in hopes that a few survive by chance. Babies require nurture or they may grow into monsters. And current civilization certainly has not yet figured out how to provide guaranteed nurture.

In spite of mythology, most poor people once used offspring as helpers and near slaves, most of the historic wealthy farmed progeny out to teachers and boarding schools. The middle class nurturing nest is a modern invention, and rarely achieved.

The unborn, in fact, are a lot more frightening than the undead.

For most of my adult life, I have avoided gyms. Never cared much about upper body building, would rather walk in nature. I prided myself on buying the clothing necessary to go out in any weather, and I was religious about getting outside on work lunch breaks.

But – well at 75 some indoor routines seem to work. The local Y is cheery, well lit, comfortable, nearby, convenient. Usable even in really bad weather. I can get there, through a short intense workout, and back in an hour or so.

Of course everyone says it is good to exercise. Our evolutionary origins demand it, studies prove it, just common sense.

Ah, but how much and what kind is enough? There, things become unglued, not only at the gym either. Walking a half hour or so can escalate into marathons. Weight workouts graduate toward tons. I see grim people, forcing more and more until they are stopped by body or mind. 

As in much of our culture, the evil is obsession. I use the gym but only to a point. I love to walk, but try to adjust to limits. I continue to believe that stretching and pushing towards the infinite perfect is ridiculous.

Sound mind in sound body. Period. Stop.

Two Italian scientists have just won a prize for proving with “vigorous statistical study” that luck is more important than hard work or talent in how successful a person is. To me this seems a lot like proving that people who urinate when they have a full bladder are more comfortable afterwards than those that don’t. We all know it – but has it been rigorously studied?

It would come as no surprise to classic Greeks who saw protagonists driven by fate, or to Calvinists who thought all was predestined by God, or to aristocrats and kings who believed the Mandate of Heaven let them justify anything they might do.

The real problem, of course, is that the modern world has swallowed the mythology of meritocracy hook line and sinker. Cream rises, the best rule, the most deserving become rich. And the less discussed other side of the coin, which is that any poverty or failures are entirely your own fault.

This has a corrosive effect on social relations. Those who have done well feel they have worked harder or smarter than everyone else and smugly congratulate themselves while insulating their lives from the rest of society. Those who have not succeeded in spite of hard work and talent feel that someone somewhere has cheated them of their legitimate triumph.

Can a study change this? Of course not. But one should always be willing to consider that “there but for the grace of God go I.”

In the long run nothing is normal. Even in the moment it is only a pleasant useful illusion that allows us to smooth out the chaotic flow of infinite events.

I am as guilty as anyone, of course. And in the short run it is often applicable and helpful. But I know how things change. When I was much younger I needed diapers and could not speak. In the future I may be so again. But right now it is normal for me to use bathrooms and talk too much.

Trying to apply normal to concepts is even more tenuous. What is normal climate or geological drift, or species distribution? What is normal hawk behavior? Most of the time such uses of normal become so encrusted with exceptions that they hardly serve a valid purpose. I do know it is absolutely insane to set any normal as a goal. We can never “get back to normal.” We can never “make things more normal.” It is a vapid politicized slogan promising fog and smoke.

Most people crave a certain level of security and stability, especially in routine daily life. Finding that things tend to repeat in certain ways most of the time becomes what we consider normal. And we are often upset when that inevitably changes.

Normal in our frantic existence is never normal for long.

We can remember the past to help us modify present behavior to control results in the future. This is obviously a successful survival tool, very well developed in human brains. But it can also be used wrongly.

If I ate something that made me sick, I should have enough sense not to eat the same thing again. And so on for many events which occur repetitively throughout our lives. Useful and no problem except that sometimes our memories and evaluations may be incorrect.

But another type of memory is more destructive if used too much. I will label this the “Helen of Troy” memory, well documented in classic Greek drama. “Gee,” says Priam gazing at the ruins of Troy, “if I had never abducted Helen none of this would have happened.” In American terms, of course, it is the coulda woulda shoulda syndrome. All this does is fuel an often destructive narrative as a victim of circumstance about failures in the present. And it is relatively useless in any objective way, although it might help our mental state.

The past is gone. I may be offered the same food again. But Priam will never again be a rich young prince tempted to abduct a beautiful young bride from a vengeful old husband.

You may claim “”well at least we can learn from his error” which is of course the purpose of literature. But from our own memories, rarely if ever is this very useful.

An out-of-the-box reading would be that Socrates nibbles away at problems, while Plato goes for grand all-encompassing solutions. I much prefer nibbles, not only aesthetically, but also because they apply in real life and all conditions.

Questioning every little thing can be paralyzing, of course, but it is often useful. “Why should I do this?” “Why are things this way?” Honest questions with honest answers allow us to deal with all the unique and contradictory problems of life, messy though they may be

But questioning everything as part of a forced logical trail to a predetermined ideal answer is fatiguing and often useless. “Why_because” ends up in a swamp of exceptions _ “nobody should be killed _ except…” is typical. And the answer is often wrong and useless except for reinforcing obsessive unthinking behavior and standards

Much better to take small bites. The universe and its ways and the future itself are unknowable and mostly obscure. Much of the vast sweep of such issues are irrelevant to how I eat breakfast. But it is also always useful to question what you are having for breakfast and why, even if only for a moment.

So hooray for nibbles, which, unfortunately, have fallen out of favor in this era of grand internet conspiracy theories.