A smile to the sad

Cynicism: "An inclination to believe that people are motivated purely by self-interest."

Not quite the definition I had expected. It must be the "purely" word which clouds the cynic in misery. I scratched my head. I couldn't think of anything I was doing not motivated purely by self-interest. I must have slipped. It demanded a think.

What exactly is self-interest?

Easy enough to answer - a curiosity and concern for oneself.

What is the outer limit of self-interest?

Not so easy - possessions, family, friends, lovers,... their perceptions of me (not sure if or where that fits in).

What is non-self-interest?

Is that a trick question?

Okay. What is an example of a personal motive which is not within self-interest?

Too convoluted, try again.

Is it possible that a personal motive can be outside of self-interest?

Make it simple.

Can a real person really have an unselfish motive?

The Lady: Aung San Suu Kyi. Her motive was to gain freedom from fear for the people of Burma. She saw it as a duty to them and to her father. It may have been personal but it wasn't selfish.

Uh-oh, duty is looking at me.

Duty: "A moral obligation or responsibility."

Yikes!

Moral: "Concerned with the principles of right and wrong behaviour" and not the same as legal or illegal behaviour.

I stopped writing. It was past midnight after all. I hoped to see things a little more clearly in the morning.

Cynicism has a sense of blindness to me, a limited vision, smoke-tinted spectacles, self-defeat, a melancholy prison. Duty was unexpectedly emerging as a key to escape. Wasn't there an alternative? Couldn't the duty thing be plan B?

Duties had always been imposed on me by those who new better. As a youngest child that meant everybody. With a determination which matched recrimination; I had avoided any duty I could. By nature I had an aversion to the adoption of values I hadn't worked out for myself.

While I had a rare weakness for the subject it was probably best to remain with it and explore a little further. If I could choose my own duty it may not be so bad. It was worth a thought. A personal, yet unselfish moral obligation: What could it be?

'Unselfish' implies giving rather than taking. "Be giving," that's one of the grave precepts. It couldn't really be money. I was poor in that respect. What little I did give had only a fraction of consequence to the receiver. What I did have was the inclination and the time, limited as it always is, to attempt writing as an art.

That reminded me; I wanted to describe Loi Kroh Road after noon, the two halves, one crowded in dim though comfortable shade, the other a wilderness in the full fairytale colour of direct sunlight, too hot. That impression, though, is best left to the visual artist; the painter and photographer.

The writer draws for the abstract senses, those that let the blind man see, the deaf man hear and the numb man feel; those that give the old man youth, the young man wisdom and, perhaps, even a smile to the sad.

That was a duty I could attempt. If I could succeed would be another story.