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hadeanstars's review against another edition
2.0
There is a consistent thread running through much of the new age spiritualism of our times, it is most easily rendered apparent through the understanding of the dichotomy between the head and the heart, the measurable of rational science and the immeasurable of non-rational wisdom; I have more than a passing familiarity with both; and I know in which direction I find the greater value. The debate polarises even the lowliest and most benighted thinkers, so of course it became especially interesting to me after reading Bertrand Russell’s classic of philosophical thinking: “The Conquest of Happiness”, because he makes a direct reference – albeit unintentionally – when he deconstructs the concept of Byronic Unhappiness. Ironically, Russell argues entirely from the head against the Byronic heart. When I first read the discussion – which I will summarise forthwith – I was initially sympathetic to Russell’s argument; but then, after walking ten miles by the sea and thinking it through, I am far less enamoured and I feel quite comfortable with declaring for Byron at this point.
Here is the argument. Russell claims that Byronic Unhappiness is propounded in the great man’s poetry, in the underlying angst of it which seems to suggest that “all is futility”, in the sense that people toil throughout the long days of their lives and in the end, it all comes to nought; thus – according to Byron, implicitly at least – the enlightened man understands this futility innately and is thus filled with a great yearning discontent, a void that cannot be filled – and here I am adding, because I feel that Byron would have understood this – by normal means. Russell argues though that this in itself does not make life an exercise in futility (and again, I don’t believe that even Byron would have drawn this conclusion, I actually think that Russell’s argument was based upon a false, or at least somewhat shaky premise) because there is still a practical point to things, yes, you may toil your whole life to procure material gain and then you can pass those results of your toil onto your children; the world goes on, all is as it should be and (crucially) there is no requirement to feel this existential angst as a result.
I think though that Russell has missed the point. Byron, surpassing the limiting strictures of the logical mind has entered into the numinous state; his angst is an end in itself, it is a feeling-toned experience of life that is its own justification; Byron lived (and died) in a near ongoing state of reverential ecstasy; he was the world’s first, and the archetypal birthing point of the rock star.
There is a story that tells of how Byron with the poet Shelley (and Shelley’s future wife Mary), spent a “wet, ungenial summer” at the home of his personal physician, John William Polidori in Switzerland, at the Villa Diodati by Lake Geneva. In that short, difficult time, Polidori wrote The Vampyre after being inspired by a tale of Byron’s making, the first example of the entire vampire genre; while Mary Shelley began the story that was eventually to become Frankenstein, while Byron himself composed the first fleeting thoughts which were to become his never fully-realised magnum opus: Don Juan.
Quite frankly, when one reads of such moments in time, Russell, and his theories, can get stuffed. Bertrand Russell for his own part is probably best known for his collaboration with Alfred Whitehead on Principia Mathematica (which has an alarmingly Newtonian ring to it), an attempt to prove that rational logic could answer the profound; I have not read it (nor shall I, I am no great mathematician), but detractors will tell you that it presupposes a prosaic universe, one that is intrinsically passionless and therefore by definition, does not require any grand Byronic tradition. Put simply, it appears that Russell, through a trick of fate that divested him of subjectively experiencing any great and raging emotional force, did not need to answer to such a condition. Russell went on to achieve another form of immortality, and it seems that each of these men became figureheads for their respective movements, Byron for the feeling man, and Russell for the thinking one, Russell, very much a man of his time has won out, and we live in a singularly rational age, and are undoubtedly the poorer for it. A pox on his philosophy (I say with only the gentlest malice), because neither he nor Byron for that matter, can escape the damning indictment of their individual natures. This (of course) is why there is an inevitable and inescapable realisation awaiting any person who has a view to discover meaning in this life; it is the blind watchmaker in reverse…
Here is the argument. Russell claims that Byronic Unhappiness is propounded in the great man’s poetry, in the underlying angst of it which seems to suggest that “all is futility”, in the sense that people toil throughout the long days of their lives and in the end, it all comes to nought; thus – according to Byron, implicitly at least – the enlightened man understands this futility innately and is thus filled with a great yearning discontent, a void that cannot be filled – and here I am adding, because I feel that Byron would have understood this – by normal means. Russell argues though that this in itself does not make life an exercise in futility (and again, I don’t believe that even Byron would have drawn this conclusion, I actually think that Russell’s argument was based upon a false, or at least somewhat shaky premise) because there is still a practical point to things, yes, you may toil your whole life to procure material gain and then you can pass those results of your toil onto your children; the world goes on, all is as it should be and (crucially) there is no requirement to feel this existential angst as a result.
I think though that Russell has missed the point. Byron, surpassing the limiting strictures of the logical mind has entered into the numinous state; his angst is an end in itself, it is a feeling-toned experience of life that is its own justification; Byron lived (and died) in a near ongoing state of reverential ecstasy; he was the world’s first, and the archetypal birthing point of the rock star.
There is a story that tells of how Byron with the poet Shelley (and Shelley’s future wife Mary), spent a “wet, ungenial summer” at the home of his personal physician, John William Polidori in Switzerland, at the Villa Diodati by Lake Geneva. In that short, difficult time, Polidori wrote The Vampyre after being inspired by a tale of Byron’s making, the first example of the entire vampire genre; while Mary Shelley began the story that was eventually to become Frankenstein, while Byron himself composed the first fleeting thoughts which were to become his never fully-realised magnum opus: Don Juan.
Quite frankly, when one reads of such moments in time, Russell, and his theories, can get stuffed. Bertrand Russell for his own part is probably best known for his collaboration with Alfred Whitehead on Principia Mathematica (which has an alarmingly Newtonian ring to it), an attempt to prove that rational logic could answer the profound; I have not read it (nor shall I, I am no great mathematician), but detractors will tell you that it presupposes a prosaic universe, one that is intrinsically passionless and therefore by definition, does not require any grand Byronic tradition. Put simply, it appears that Russell, through a trick of fate that divested him of subjectively experiencing any great and raging emotional force, did not need to answer to such a condition. Russell went on to achieve another form of immortality, and it seems that each of these men became figureheads for their respective movements, Byron for the feeling man, and Russell for the thinking one, Russell, very much a man of his time has won out, and we live in a singularly rational age, and are undoubtedly the poorer for it. A pox on his philosophy (I say with only the gentlest malice), because neither he nor Byron for that matter, can escape the damning indictment of their individual natures. This (of course) is why there is an inevitable and inescapable realisation awaiting any person who has a view to discover meaning in this life; it is the blind watchmaker in reverse…
mariaayoub's review against another edition
5.0
This is THE book. The book that I wish I had read when I was younger. Bertrand has an awesome ability to turn hazy thoughts about happiness and conflicting behavior that intermittingly plague most people and distill them into blazingly clear notions and maxims. I found myself often stopping to relish certain paragraphs over and over again for their ostensibly obvious and yet not fully-realized rationality, as if to cement the knowledge the same way he advocates for emphatic, deliberate concentration on facts if you were to instill them into your subconscious. It was a little bit disheartening to read how the state of affairs regarding the propagation of infantile moral conducts during childhood still the same 100 years later.
skbledsoe's review against another edition
4.0
Not one of Russel's better books, but he does give me a lot to think about.
gabrielinhell's review against another edition
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
4.25
inkandinsights's review against another edition
4.0
I was hospitalized for a short while.
I used the time to listen to this as an audiobook. Not only was it a welcome distraction but it also helped open my eyes to new insights about happiness.
Written in 1930, this book still holds some valid advice for our generation on how to conquer happiness.
After listening to this audiobook, I realize that happiness is not an inborn talent or an inherent trait, but an individual achievement.
I liked how the author structured the book. He has handpicked each element that has an influence on human happiness and has dissected it with deep analysis.
Although the male-dominating tone of “he”, “him”, etc. seems a little annoying, it can be justified by that period's prevailing norms of gender quality and style of writing.
Ignoring that minor flaw, the subject matter, otherwise, is eye-opening and sheds new light on their simple mechanisms of happiness.
Like all books, these books have extraordinary sections and some boring sections. Anyway, it was a good experience listening to this audiobook.
The reader, who had a pleasant voice and an excellent reading style elevated the experience.
I used the time to listen to this as an audiobook. Not only was it a welcome distraction but it also helped open my eyes to new insights about happiness.
Written in 1930, this book still holds some valid advice for our generation on how to conquer happiness.
After listening to this audiobook, I realize that happiness is not an inborn talent or an inherent trait, but an individual achievement.
I liked how the author structured the book. He has handpicked each element that has an influence on human happiness and has dissected it with deep analysis.
Although the male-dominating tone of “he”, “him”, etc. seems a little annoying, it can be justified by that period's prevailing norms of gender quality and style of writing.
Ignoring that minor flaw, the subject matter, otherwise, is eye-opening and sheds new light on their simple mechanisms of happiness.
Like all books, these books have extraordinary sections and some boring sections. Anyway, it was a good experience listening to this audiobook.
The reader, who had a pleasant voice and an excellent reading style elevated the experience.
junyan's review against another edition
2.0
2.5/5 Russell himself did not let go of his prejudices, and some of his arguments and corresponding evidence were even contradictory.
He believes that it is paranoid to regard competition and show off as the main theme of life, and that the psychology of competition has been poured into the field of reading. He also judged that American women only read modern novels with mediocre aptitude, and there are few famous books. So, regardless of the real reading aesthetics of American women, in order to make themselves an intellect in the eyes of others, reading books which selves do not enjoy are exactly the "reading for the purpose of showing off" that Russell lamented in the previous article.
Is it a matter of translation and typesetting, or that Russell is not clear about his expression and is not firm in his views? I’m so confused and feel wasting my time.
He believes that it is paranoid to regard competition and show off as the main theme of life, and that the psychology of competition has been poured into the field of reading. He also judged that American women only read modern novels with mediocre aptitude, and there are few famous books. So, regardless of the real reading aesthetics of American women, in order to make themselves an intellect in the eyes of others, reading books which selves do not enjoy are exactly the "reading for the purpose of showing off" that Russell lamented in the previous article.
Is it a matter of translation and typesetting, or that Russell is not clear about his expression and is not firm in his views? I’m so confused and feel wasting my time.
thaisgobbi's review against another edition
informative
reflective
slow-paced
3.25
It was very philosophy heavy so it made it a much slower and heavier read. But definitely insightful