Grief in the Greater Scheme of Things

How F. Scott Fitzgerald and an Executed Philosopher Arrived at the Same Conclusion about Happiness

Arriving in the wealthy enclave of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, readers of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “This Side of Paradise” are greeted by a young Amory Blaine. Handsome, intelligent, and unapologetically narcissistic, Fitzgerald goes to work creating one of the Lost Generation’s most interesting and troubled characters. As Amory journeys through prep school, university, the war, and eventual demise, he views his personality as a building under construction. Possessing an inherently malleable framework, Amory allows literature, experiences at school and work, and his relationships to add and subtract components to what he sees as his sense of self.

As his convoluted personality rises in contradiction and complexity, he is overcome by a sense of disillusion and listlessness. Ironically, or perhaps rightfully so, it is the loss of his wealth, his system of belief, and close relationships, that save him from utter self-destruction. Fitzgerald’s illustration of Amory’s rise, fall, and eventual redemption captures one of the core tenants of the human experience. That immense loss and suffering often serve as the impetus for a beneficial restructuring of beliefs. It is often the case that those who understand this concept are afforded the unique ability to manipulate hardship into gain. They are the ones who can see the intricate interplay between suffering and joy that pervades all stages of life.

After departing from a brief stint as a copywriter for an advertising agency, Amory is left depressed and alone in New York City. It is as though the weight of the world has all crashed down upon him at once. Now acclimated to the fact that his father had squandered the family wealth on “several unfortunate gambles in oil,” he struggles to come to terms with the fact that he is a member of the financially insolvent masses that he detests. For someone to whom wealth still comprises a large part of one’s self-worth, Amory copes by living in denial of his financial woes. This strategy proves unsuccessful when the love of his life, Rosalind, rejects him for a wealthier man. Hoping to find solace in his mentor and confidant, Monsignor Darcy, Amory waits for the Monsignor to arrive back from a trip to Philadelphia. What arrives instead is a brief telegram informing Amory that Monsignor Darcy has died.

Alone and despairing, the full gravity of the situation has shaken Amory to his core. His ego fully defeated, Amory begins to walk back to his alma mater, in hopes of recovering some semblance of his old self. During the trip, Amory hitches a ride from a Rolls Royce that is passing by. The ensuing debate with the owner of the car provides Fitzgerald ample opportunity to demonstrate Amory’s full dive into a realm of psychological turmoil and philosophical confusion. Amory launches into a defense of socialism, critiquing the current system where, “the richest man gets the most beautiful girl if he wants her, where the artist without an income has to sell his talents to a button manufacturer.” Yet, moments later, he finds himself questioning whether he believes, “all that socialist patter,” as the man in the car puts it.

Finally arriving at Princeton, Amory is taken aback by the towers and spires that arouse joyful memories from his college days. The contrast between then and now leads him to take a moral inventory. With Monsignor Darcy gone, Amory, who once found a fledgling consolation in the Catholic Church, proclaims that there is no longer a God in his heart. He once had hope for the future, yet now he contemplates how the new generations will grow up to find a world devoid of inspiration; all of its wars fought, and all of the possibility of success ravaged. The final blow is once again dealt by the painful memory of Rosalind, which reminds him of how badly love could hurt him. Now, Amory can go longer explore further. He reaches up to the sky and arrives at the dramatic conclusion, “I know myself, but that is all.”

This exultation, “I know myself, but that is all,” is reminiscent of the conclusion that another man arrived at centuries before Amory. In 524 AD, the Neoplatonist philosopher Boethius found himself in a forlorn state similar to Amory’s. After a dispute at a council meeting, Boethius was accused of treason and sentenced to death. As he lay in his prison cell, Boethius contemplated all that he had lost. He had been stripped of his family, wealth, influence, and power. Boethius thought himself to be the most unfortunate man in the world until he conjures an abstraction of Lady Philosophy and begins to have a conversation. The resulting dialogue leads to what many believe to be Boethius’s greatest work, “The Consolation of Philosophy,” in which he comes to a critical conclusion.

While talking with Lady Philosophy, Boethius begins to realize the impermanence of wealth and fortune. In fact, the only source of happiness in this world comes from the one possession that Boethius still owns, the only thing that cannot be taken away from him, his mind. Or, as Amory would describe it, his “self.” This is a testament as old as time and the idea that happiness grows from within is ubiquitous among nearly all cultures and religions. But, what makes the stories of the lives of Amory and Boethius so compelling is that it took immense tragedy and sorrow to come to such a conclusion themselves. Whether or not Amory realized this remains unclear. However, Boethius certainly did, as Lady Philosophy tells him that, “no man can ever truly be secure until he has been forsaken by Fortune.”

Humans are in a constant flux between getting things and losing them. If psychology has taught us anything it is that loss burdens us much more than gain elevates us. Taking lessons from the trials of Amory and Boethius may help incorporate an important aspect of a growth mindset into our psyches. By working to view loss as an essential step to understanding ourselves, we can turn pain and grief into the steppingstones towards greater self-awareness. Judging by how a majority of people today live their lives, this action is certainly easier said than done.

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