The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little. — Mark Twain
This week I tried (and failed) to put some semblance of order into the things I’m enjoying these days, look a quick look into my checkered past, and sat back for a few minutes of good old-fashioned Americana.
It seems like we pessimists in the United States will be rewarded today or tomorrow with further confirmation of the correctness of their temperament, one of those occasions on which being right is no cause for celebration. Nonetheless, we’re ready for it, and there lies the value of cynicism. Let it not lead us to paralysis, however. As another great sage, Walt Kelly, put it in 1953, a time perhaps as politically and culturally dark as our own:
Traces of nobility, gentleness and courage persist in all people, do what we will to stamp out the trend. So, too, do those characteristics which are ugly. It is just unfortunate that in the clumsy hands of a cartoonist all traits become ridiculous, leading to a certain amount of self-conscious expostulation and the desire to join battle. There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand. Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tinny blasts on tiny trumpets, we shall meet the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us. Forward!
Forward indeed. Instead of paralysis, this pessimism will lead me today to Cafe Katja, where I raise a toast to the philosophy that has served me well lo these many years and share a few mordant jokes with the crew there. (And, since one of my children is joining me for an hour or so of Friday non-alcoholic cheer, sharpen the philosophical legacy.) Prost!