Dr. Seuss and Philosophy - Jacob M. Held [16]
“It could be worse.” This is a common response we’ve all heard from our parents and we all still often rely on. It could be worse. And surely this is true. It could always be worse than it presently is, until you’re dead. And then you’re dead, so why bother. So, yes, it can always be worse. But how is this supposed to help us deal with the pain we’re constantly feeling? In Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? Seuss offers this very answer to a complaining child. The boy, lovingly referred to as Duckie, has apparently been heard complaining about how rough his life is. A wise man sitting atop a cactus decides to set him straight.6 The wise man’s answer to the child’s incessant whining is simple: “I’m telling you, Duckie, some people are muchly, oh, ever so muchly, muchly more-more-more unlucky than you!” In fact, “You ought to be shouting, ‘How Lucky am I!’” (Lucky). And surely this is true. Duckie is much better off than those caught in traffic on Zayt Highway Eight and poor Herbie Hart, Ali Sard, or Mr. Bix, who all have considerable troubles to face. Duckie is far better off than Mr. Potter, the Hawtch-Hawtcher Bee-Watcher, Professor de Breeze, and all of the Brothers Ba-zoo. He has none of their problems, all of which would seem to make any Duckie might encounter pale in comparison. And so it is for all of us. For any trouble you might have, and it doesn’t matter how serious or grave it might be, we can come up with how either it could be worse or find an example of someone who is muchly more unlucky than you. But what does this do for you? Do you feel better because you’re not as bad off as someone else, or do you just recognize that everyone has it tough? This doesn’t seem too helpful. What kind of life is one built off of schadenfreude? Should our lives become meaningful because we either realize they’re not as bad as they could be, or, worse still, we take pleasure or comfort in knowing that others have it considerably worse? So what other response might we, or Dr. Seuss, offer?
In You’re Only Old Once! we’re offered another response: deal with it. In this book, we follow a poor sap who is supposed to represent the reader’s inevitable old age through the Golden Years Clinic. What we witness is the infliction of numerous tests and procedures that check everything from eyes to allergies. And what does our sap get for his troubles? “When at last we are sure you’ve been properly pilled, then a few paper forms must be properly filled so that you and your heirs may be properly billed” (Old). But it’s over now so you may leave, and be content, “you’re in pretty good shape for the shape you are in!” (Old).
In this tale, the proffered response to our trials and tribulations is a mix of the previous two: pain is temporary, you’ll get through it, and really it’s not that bad anyway. The doctor’s office is a perfect setting to teach this lesson. Doctors make us better, but we’re never done being made better. They can always find something wrong, something that needs poking, prodding, pilling, and billing. And each solution leads to further problems or just postpones the inevitable, insoluble problem of total body failure, death. So is the message that it’s all temporary and not really that bad supposed to make us feel better? Is life worth living, or is it like a trip to the doctor, something that for the most part can be tolerated until it’s over? Our poor sap has incurred enormous debts, been given a rigorous pill regimen, and sent on his way. But we know he’ll return to suffer it all again. Or maybe he won’t. His next trip might be to the morgue. Ultimately, the only cure to life is its end. As Socrates mentions in the Phaedo, on our deathbed perhaps our most fitting action would be to sacrifice a cock to Asclepius.7 But this attitude doesn’t redeem our lives, instead it tells us to bear with it, it’ll be over soon. Life is to