The People’s Republic of Happy Endings

Look how happy everyone in the People's Republic is!

Stories with meaningful endings are important. They fulfill a human need. Lest we despair, we need to believe that the routines, suffering, and sacrifices of life are worthwhile. We need to hope.

Unfortunately, the most pervasive narratives in our culture present a warped view of happy endings. Reality television is perhaps the most blatant example. In forty-five minute segments, the obese become trim, forensics teams solve baffling murders, and frumpy women develop both stylish wardrobes and improved self-esteem. Even though we all know that these shows are scripted and edited, our culture does not escape their influence. They echo formulae for success that seem to fit well with the optimism and democracy of the American spirit:

1. People can always solve their own problems if they want it passionately enough.
2. The path to success may be emotional, but it shouldn’t feel long.
3. The definition of a happy ending is getting what you desire.   

One problem with this recipe is that suddenly, it is everyone’s duty to fix their own problems and find happy endings. Why are you still fat if those folks on the show drop hundreds of pounds? Get with it! Desire it! Achieve it! It’s pretty much your American obligation. Society will fawn over you for 15 minutes once you do, but we’re kind of grossed-out until then. Unfortunately, we humans do not always get what we want, no matter how hard we try. Therefore, our narratives have created a situation in which, realistically, not everyone will have a happy ending, and yet it is everyone’s duty to do so. Perhaps this is why our culture has become so sensitive to words and phrases (such as “fat,”) that imply a failure to achieve.

(This is not an ad. It is an example).

Another problem with this message is the implication that if your success is meant to be, it comes quickly. The speed of your success is the new way to throw diviner's knucklebones and see if the gods are favoring your endeavor. Instead of teaching us to endure, this kind of narrative encourages us to drift from goal to goal in search of cheap results.

Worst of all, this recipe defines a good ending as the gratification of our own desires. It teaches us that we deserve to receive whatever we want (after only a brief effort), and subtly encourages us to use whatever means necessary to grab the happiness that we are all “supposed to have.” Ironically, most of the desires that we see fulfilled in reality T.V. are trivial.  This unfortunate attitude unravels the entire purpose of telling stories with good endings. If our goals in life are merely a series of minor successes along life’s path, they do not transcend us. They cannot provide hope that is bigger than our own feelings. They cannot comfort us when we fail or when we die.

We may feel that we are more intellectual, or more spiritual, or more sensible than the ordinary consumer of reality television, but we still belong to the same culture and pick up the same messages. It is important that we recognize the tyranny of this cultural message—we need not belong to the People’s Republic of Happy Endings. Unfortunately, many thinking individuals notice the silliness of our culture's addiction to cheap, happy endings, and conclude that happy endings don't exist. Such people write bleak books in which there is no meaning to anyone's lives. The only happy ending available in their stories is the protagonist's realization that he is unhappy and will remain so. This is why it is important to offer our culture a better, truer alternative.

Oddly enough, we will find greater happiness and joy if we recognize that we absolutely will fail in this life. Frequently. We won’t have enough passion and may have too much body fat. Yet all this failure does not rob our lives of meaning, because we are part of a far greater narrative than “Biggest Loser” or “What Not to Wear.” Lest we despair, we need stories that illustrate the true narrative that gives real hope. More on this in a future post.