The Joys of Pessimism

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Silver Chair

“Puddleglum!" said Jill.  "You're a regular old humbug.  You sound as doleful as a funeral and I believe you're perfectly happy.  And you talk as if you were afraid of everything, when you're really as brave as - as a lion.” 

Puddleglum, the marsh-wiggle, is my favourite character in the whole of Narnia.  He’s my inspiration.  You see, I’m a recovering optimist.  And my addiction of trying to see the best in everyone and everything is one of my most deeply rooted strategies for avoiding pain.  The problem is, it doesn’t really work.  Although it does work in terms of gaining people’s approval, especially in the South of England.  They love a positive chap down there.  And I certainly gave them what they wanted, for a while!  Things are a little more Puddleglum up in Yorkshire, where I have been residing for most of my adult life.  There’s a different kind of joyfulness.  The joyful pessimism of Puddleglum.  I think folk are much happier here.  No wonder they call it ‘God’s own country’. Puddleglum would feel at home:

“And you must always remember there's one good thing about being trapped down here: it'll save funeral expenses.” 

In The Silver Chair Eustace and Jill are given the task of finding Rilian, the lost prince of Narnia.  Puddleglum is visited by two owls who ask him to be their helper and guide.  He agrees. 

"What is it?  Is the king dead?  Has an enemy landed in Narnia?  Is it a flood?  Or dragons?"

And he constantly expects disaster in nearly every situation, assuming the worst in everyone he meets.  Indeed, they would have found the Ruined City much faster and avoided nearly being cooked at Harfang had the children trusted his pessimistic denunciation of the first stranger they meet, who was in fact the evil Queen of Underland.

However, Puddleglum’s true heroics are shown when they find Rilian, imprisoned in in the enchanted Silver Chair.   In the attempted escape, the Queen of Underland casts a spell on Puddleglum, the children and Rillian.  The magic makes them believe that the Underland is the true world and that Narnia and Aslan are all fallacies.  But Puddleglum has a weapon.  He’s a pessimist!  And therefore, he has a stronger resistance to the magic.  Indeed, just as the spell is nearing completion, Puddleglum, in a fierce and brave gesture of doubt, roused himself and stomped out the queen’s magic fire, burning himself rather badly and ending the spell, proclaiming that, if the Queen was telling the truth and her dark kingdom was the only world, he would much rather live in the ‘imaginary’ world of Narnia and Aslan than her ‘black pit of a kingdom’:

“One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain.  "One word.  All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder.  I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it.  So I won't deny any of what you said.  But there's one more thing to be said, even so.  Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself.  Suppose we have.  Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones.  Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world.”

Puddleglum teaches me that pessimism isn’t negative or cynical.  Indeed, he shows me that there is much wisdom and joy in a healthy scepticism and doubt.  He reminds me of an equation I once came across when preparing to teach a philosophy lesson on Stoicism:

Happiness = reality [minus] expectations

The only variable we can influence here is our expectations.  Indeed, if our expectations are too high, we are in danger of many nasty blows.  We are less likely to exceed our expectations.  And if we meet them, so what, that’s what we expected.  If we fall short… oh dear!  Whereas, if we lower our expectations and prepare for the worst, and we are correct in our pessimism, well, we will be psychologically and practically prepared.  And if the worst doesn’t happen, even better, we will be living beyond our expectations!

The Stoics weren’t fans of optimism; it only lifts us up before the eventual fall.  They argued that our anxiety and anger are a result of our misplaced hope crashing into an unforeseen reality.  Our overly optimistic expectations of other people, work, relationships, projects, political systems, technology, and sporting teams leaves us emotionally lost at sea.  We cease to be captains of our souls.  Optimism involves surrendering our inner peace to external circumstance.  But if we truly looked at the world, and bravely faced the reality of failure, betrayal and misfortune, we wouldn’t be so easily shipwrecked.  Pessimism either prepares us for the worst, or positions us for a pleasant surprise.

Interestingly, the Stoic philosopher Seneca observed that wealthy people are much angrier.  Why?  Because money and power inflate expectations.  Seneca witnessed a Roman aristocrat at a party throw his servant into a pool of lamprey fish because he dropped a tray of crystal glasses.  Seneca concludes that the aristocrat was too optimistic; he clearly believed in a world where glasses simply don’t get smashed.

Seneca might calmly ask us when we get road-rage because of rush hour traffic or bad drivers: what did you expect?  Traffic and bad driving are predictable features of reality.  You’re too optimistic dear chap, he might add.  And do you know what else are predictable features of reality, (he might continue):  lying politicians, tired children, passive aggressive colleagues, error-prone referees, uninterested audiences, fallible spiritual teachers, poor wifi-connection, technical difficulties, train delays (unless you live in Switzerland), rain, people who are more successful than you, people who are more interesting than you, people who are generally just better than you, people who don’t like you, death, disease, bigots, adverts, and, of course, the unenthusiastic teenagers who don’t massively care about exploring the symbolic significance of the myth of Krishna!

The Stoics argue that we are angry and anxious because we are in some way surprised by the nature of reality.  But the reality is:  life isn’t easy.  The Buddha observed that The First Mark of Existence is Suffering.  And just in case we missed it, he taught us that The First Noble Truth is… Suffering. 

Puddleglum is no Buddhist.  He likes his alcohol too much, and let’s not forget the ‘fricasseed frogs and eel pie’.  But he understands that life is hard.  Things don’t go to plan.  There is injustice, infamy and bad luck.  But knowing that, and being psychologically prepared for the worst, gives him a resilience and joyfulness that is not dependent on things out of his control.  Puddleglum’s pessimism is a super power.  And paradoxically, his pessimism is quite optimistic.  In preparing for the worst, using humour and imagination, he creates an inner world that isn’t destroyed by the prospect of self-doubt and death.  His pessimism is life-affirming.  And I love him:

“I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it.  I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia.  So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland.  Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.”

Brilliant.