“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” This is the most famous opening line of any novel. It’s from “Pride and Prejudice,” of course, by the matchless Jane Austen.
I’d like to turn it into the language of self-help literature:
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a New Year’s resolution, in order to be kept, must be an attainable goal.” Every counselor worth their salt preaches this, not only at the turn of the year but in every goal-making moment.
It’s also a truth sure as shootin’ that unattainable resolutions fly off like litter out of unsecured trash from a pickup bed just a hundred feet from the recycling center. Just like bags, wrappers, and french fry cups splayed out on the sides of exit ramps (you know where), unkept resolutions, still displayed in journals and on refrigerator doors, stare bleakly at us with persistent reproach.
The difference between a resolution and a decision is like the difference between a policy statement and an item on today’s to-do checklist. Governments and corporations make policy statements. But regular people? It seems unnatural, maybe even inhumane, thing to do.
It is a far better thing to break down big tasks into smaller, more do-able jobs. Big decisions are a lot less tense if they are divided up into a chain of smaller ones. If you want to get fancy and make yourself a flow chart, go right ahead.
But no matter what your preferred style is, it is generally a good thing to make molehills out of mountains, not the other way around.
The main difficulty with unattainable resolutions is that we keep making them, every year. Why do we do this?
Let’s open the hood of the resolution-making machine and see what’s going on. There’s a reason why this engine keeps running. What’s the fuel that keeps that fire going?
In a word, desire.
Hmmmm. Let’s check this theory. The most common resolution has to do with exercise and weight loss: “I hereby resolve to lose ten pounds a month, and I therefore will run five miles a day on my elliptical and do twenty reps on my rowing machine every morning. Plus, I will replace my burger intake with celery.”
Upon reflection, it’s pretty clear that under this resolution, which is obviously doomed to a quick demise, is a simple desire. As in, “I want to be healthier and I want to look better.” Not at the level of Lionel Messi. But definitely somewhere in between the World Cup champion and Cousin Eddie.
There’s nothing wrong with such desire. It’s when desire becomes iron law that things get messed up. It’s one thing to say “I want to be more like Lionel.” It’s quite another to promise yourself “I will become like Lionel – so in 2023 I resolve to eat celery and run five miles a day.”
There are obviously bad desires in the world. But there may not be so many as we think. Most people for most of the time are motivated by good desires. Maybe they get distorted and they get derailed by the mean end of fortune’s stick – but at bottom there is usually a desire for the good.
If you look deep enough and look far enough, all desires – even the nasty rotten ones – can be traced back to a primordial desire for the Good. Plato and Aristotle said this. Later on, in the first century, Philo and Justin Martyr identified the Good as God Himself. And two centuries later, my favorite saint – Gregory of Nyssa – proposed two most intriguing ideas:
The first point is that bad desire and bad behavior happen out of a distortion of knowledge of the Good.
The second is even a wilder proposition: If anyone ever sees God the Ultimate Good – or if one ever comes to know Him as He really is, then one cannot help but to love Him. And that is true for one’s fellow human being: if you ever come to know him or her as they really are, without the masks and the costumes, then they are no longer just the “other.” They are your neighbor as they always were. They are brother and sister. They are, essentially, friend.
At the points of extremity – like at the Great Feasts, or especially when faced with one’s mortality – all the disguises fall away. The number of enemies quickly subtract toward zero.
This is a handy method for making attainable New Year’s Resolutions. It’s helpful for steering a good passage through conflict. Consider two opposing parties of protesters, lined up on opposite sides of the street. Ask yourself: “What do those guys over there ultimately want?” Looking under the surface of slogans and banners and shallow partisan opinion, what is the deepest eternal desire? Is it possible at the Beginning and the End, the desire is the same? For real goodness, for real life, for the real God?
Sure, that essential desire often gets distorted and detoured into bad existential application, even bad resolutions. But maybe, just maybe, if we get to know each other better, and listen to each other’s real stories, we can recognize a neighbor, even a friend.
After all, that is precisely why God Himself called us “friend.” He reached out over a much wider, much deeper divide, a much higher wall of enmity.
And that simple fact should make all the difference.
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