What does a child choose, when asked if they would like an ice cream, or peace of mind?”

The question comes from the gnomic, serene, unrufflable teacher in a yoga/personal development course I’m in the middle of. (I’m in one of those “I’ll try anything” moods, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, etc etc etc.) “The ice cream” murmur the class, kindly. “Yes, the ice cream, because a child lives in the moment and doesn’t know what it’s like not to have peace of mind.”
The point about these moral fables is that we always know the point that is being made, but we need to hear them in the right frame of mind to let the implications sink in. At some stage, post-childhood, we have to stop choosing ice cream. In order to settle into some sort of settled maturity, the pursuit of pleasure has to be let go of.
I balk a little at the romanticisation of the innocent untroubled child. In fact, I feel out of place, as I often do in the middle of any gathering of spiritually-minded people; perhaps it’s the rebel queer punk in me. Of course it could also be something to do with the fact that we have been told, while attending the course, that we shouldn’t smoke, drink caffeine or alcohol, or eat meat. As a result, I am the Antichrist.
It’s not the first time I’ve encountered the simplicity of Oriental teachings, but in the run up to another Irish Christmas, the contrast could not be greater between the philosophy of twinkly-eyed angst-free asceticism, and the drunken consumerist gluttony that our main religious festival now represents. Ever since I saw the first Christmas TV ad (on October 21st, I noted it down in horror) I’ve been aware of a sense of dull impotence, resistance being futile: I am supposed to buy something in order to be part of Christmas. I am supposed to buy into the rituals of excess. Happiness is to be obtained by things, by presents, by toys, by alcohol and cholesterol. The Irish top the league of European binge drinkers, and it’s no surprise – it’s part of our pleasure-orientated culture. There is no palatable philosophical or moral discourse that young people can engage in to tackle this mushrooming problem, to engage with it intellectually; everyone’s doing it, but no one is reflecting on it. The roots of social problems such as alcohol and drug abuse are emotional and philosophical, as much as economic – yes, you will find poverty strips people of hope the world over, and without hope people do desperate things – but in Ireland there is a ferocious collective attachment to the buzz of alcohol and other drugs that is very difficult to challenge. It is the buzz of gratification, of getting one’s desires met – but as any Eastern mystic will tell you, that road leads nowhere. I wonder how bad it has to get in Ireland before we begin to think differently about how we raise our children, what moral framework we offer them to choose their poisons.
All I remember from my childhood in the weeks coming up to Christmas was hearing the constant refrain from adults: “What’s Santa getting you?” As a means of ensuring that children get worked up to the point of hysteria about their desires, it couldn’t be more sophisticated. Although of course kids are a delight when they’ve got a present they’ve long wanted, something really useful and fun like a bicycle, these days it’s a long list of presents in most households, from mobile phones to Wiis to trainers to Playstations, all outrageously expensive and expertly marketed, all designed to give the buzz of gratification.
There is, however, something perverse about the vicarious pleasure that adults get from witnessing the present-opening on Christmas morning – having groomed the child for weeks that they will feel ecstatic when they receive their gifts, we need to see the climax of all that indoctrination, to make sure we’ve got the mix right for them, enough sugar for the rush, enough excitement for the buzz.
When children learn that there is no Santa, there is of course disappointment, but only the illusion that a big fat bearded man came down the chimney with their presents has been shattered; the illusion that big packages will still bring ecstasy remains firmly in place, and stays with us right through into adulthood. Until the ecstasy fades, and more and more gratification is needed to reach the same high, and then the emptiness sets in. Then, if you are lucky, you realise something is missing.
In the meantime, enjoy it while it lasts. Happy Christmas.