Happiness Hypothesis I approached Jonathan Haidt's book The Happiness Hypothesis with the same sort of hubris that I tend to exhibit when someone asks me if I like a work of art. I am quite confident that I can point to art that I like, while being less consistently able to tell why I like or don't like a work of art. Similarly, I have been quite confident of my ability to describe what appears to make me happy and, further, I believe that I have rather unerringly sought what seems to make me happy. But a reading of Haidt's book made the ground shift under my life tenets much the same as wet beach sand gives way -- where standing still for any length of time, I find that little pools of water have mysteriously appeared under my toes and heels. Where did the solid footing of the hard wet sand go? Eventually, I must admit that sand is sand, wet or dry, and it never makes a good foundation. The same can be said for our fondest...
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