As time sneaks up on us all, there is a question about Mr. Webster’s definition of compromise. He suggests that it is a settlement of differences by arbitration or by consent reached by mutual concessions. Now if it were all that easy, I’d say fine. Let’s raise the children in your faith of Buddhism and in exchange, I’ll ask to move the family to Oregon. That is a real quid pro quo.
But in the real world of personal health, there is no settlement by an outside arbitrator. Nor is there consent reached by mutual concession. There is no quid pro quo. As life goes on we give up – not by design – one function of the body after another.
In the final analysis, perhaps the hearing just disappears. Or the eye sight, once famed as with an eagle, takes a turn for the worse. And maybe the teeth go. Or, it may be more serious. The point is that no one voluntarily deals away his faculties; it is taken from him. This is a new element of compromise. It is something beyond Mr. Webster’s definition.
Perhaps, we might say that an individual has two arms. Somewhere, he may lose one of them, leaving him to deal with the world in a one armed fashion. In the sense we are discussing, he is left with a compromise. The compromise is that he does the best he can with what he’s got left. It is not a matter of consent reached by mutual concessions. With two eyes, the same situation applies as it does in all the other organs where there is a duplicate faculty. The owner of those organs must make do with what is left. Again it’s a matter of compromise. The owner may feel that such a compromise is about the best he may take out of the situation. It’s not a quid pro quo. It’s not something for something. On the contrary, it is something for nothing.
Ah, but holding on and making the best of what we have left is what counts. If that is a compromise, as I believe it to be, I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it, Mr. Webster to the contrary not withstanding.
The foregoing is not a melancholy assessment of life sometime after the post formative years. It is intended to be an aphorism – a concise statement of principle. No less; no more. Only an aphorism.
E. E. Carr
December 29, 1997
Essay #9 (Old Format)
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The first of many more essays to come about the troubles and inconveniences of aging. Admittedly, it sounds like a drag. I wonder if he had anything particular in mind when he was writing this one. More of his age-related essays can be found here.