How Sad Should We Be?

Not a day goes by when I don’t ask myself, having read/watched/heard the news, what right do I have to be happy? Or, even putting happiness aside, what right do I have to enjoy whatever small pleasures come my way? Given the unprecedented amounts of misery on the planet, is it uncaring of me to take pleasure in being able to adjust precisely the temperature of my shower, not to mention the delicious sensation of stepping onto a heated floor (we’re having a chilly spring here in Vermont) while I wrap myself in a freshly laundered towel?

I see in my mind the dusty, rubble-strewn streets of Gaza, and I think about how scarce clean water for drinking, let alone for showering, must be there. It’s a chilly spring in Ukraine, too, but there are few functioning water heaters there, not to mention heated floors and fluffy towels. Heaven knows that the present administration’s economic policies are wreaking havoc on my finances, but while the future looks uncertain, I still have food in the fridge, a roof over my head, and no enemy drones flying over it. And because I am only human, after a few minutes thoughts of Gaza and Ukraine and frightened immigrants and floods and fires fade from my mind, and are replaced with worries about Truffle (how can I help him to be comfortable around strangers?), my overflowing inbox (am I neglecting something urgent that needs attention?), and a feeling of satisfaction seeing that, overnight, the geranium that I have tended indoors through the winter has put out a flower bud.

I suspect that I am not alone in feeling this quandary: just how happy is a good person supposed to be when so many are in distress? In the continuum from masochism to hard-heartedness, where exactly should our emotions stand? A disciple once asked the Dalai Lama how much one should grieve for the suffering of others, and his answer was, only as much as is useful. I take this to mean, don’t let grief paralyze you and keep you from taking whatever action you can to diminish that suffering; recharge your batteries with whatever makes you happy, and then go out and do some act of kindness. But given what I’m seeing in the people around me lately, I worry that the danger goes beyond mere paralysis. Our health, both mental and physical, is being compromised by our obsessive focus on the troubles of humanity, the universe, and everything.

Alas, the Dalai Lama’s answer is expressed in relative terms. I would love it if he had said, grieve for the suffering of others thirty minutes (or three hours) a day, and no more. But instead he left it to us to determine how much grieving is useful, and how much is simply a waste of emotional resources. That determination is not an easy one to make. It varies with each of us, and it varies day by day.

Perching uncomfortably on the sharp edge between martyrdom and cynicism, knowing that we are bound to fall on one side or the other, but getting up again and again for as long as we need to requires self-awareness, clarity of mind, and purity of purpose. Discerning how much empathy and compassion is useful is one of the most difficult moral tasks of our times.

I hardly ever get it right. For the moment, I’m attempting the feat of keeping in mind both the pleasure of the warm shower and the lack of water in war zones, the feeling of safety under my roof and those who live in terror day and night.  But where my blooming geranium is concerned, I give myself up to pleasure entirely, and pretend that all is well with the world.