I think experience of loss is needed for situational awareness of what is missing in one's responses. As a lover, a parent, and a worker in an industry, I have had to stop doing some things or abandon the role.

I recognize that I am a slow learner in many ways. Slowing down reactions has helped me a lot. Not saying what first comes to mind. Waiting creates a strange space where you and others don't know what will happen next. It is not a skill that is mastered but grudgingly accepted. I have met a good number who are better at it than me. Some of that is probably from being of a different disposition. Some of that is the application of a strategy.

I don't think we ever get to sort that out.

By the way, it is strange that there is no "axiology" section on the forum, because this section of philosophy is probably looking for answers to such questions. I know some practices that can be grouped into three approaches.


1. Practice of attention — training to see, что уже есть (Buddhism, phenomenology, awareness, Gurdjieff).

2. Practice gratitude — active recognition of values ​​(Christianity, psychology, partly stoicism).

3. The practice of thinking about death and the transition — to strengthen the presence without plunging into fear (Sufism, Stoicism, partly Heidegger).

I think this field of knowledge goes beyond theoretical philosophy and is a more practical field. Maybe someone knows other approaches?

It often seems we only realize the true value of something after it's lost. But is there a way to consciously experience gratitude, recognition, and sober appreciation without having to go through loss? — Astorre

Love of life. Ja sagen! (F.N.) Listening to music. Dancing. Wu wei. Platonic love. Lasting friendship. Gardening ...

awareness — Astorre

The actual 'you' is the Awareness that observes the happenings in the play that is going on; you are not your thoughts.

Alan Watts explains:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiZ2WAy0pxY&t=434s

There are the "Four Thoughts" one reflects on before Lojong practice in Tibetan Buddhism.

There is first reflection on the preciousness and extreme rarity of human birth. This motivates us not to waste our time to practice Dharma.

Next is dwelling on the idea that everything is transient; death is certain, the time of death uncertain. We might die today, and we shall surely die sometime not so long from now.

And this leads to dwelling on karma and the defects of samsara, which in turn leads us to take refuge in the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha) and Bodhicitta, as well as recognizing the grounding of all transience in emptiness.

But this is very similar in ways to Christian practice, although it diverges in the metaphysical contemplation.

Catholics use ACTS to guide prayer:

Adoration (of the Holy Trinity, the Theotokos, angelic hosts, saints, but of course only worship of the Father, Son, and Holt Spirit).

Contrition: the acknowledgement of sins and all the ways we fall short and "miss the mark" of Christlike life and love.

Thanksgiving: the one you're mentioning, which is now contextualized.

Supplication: directed at the good of ourselves and others

Dwelling on death and the impermanence of all things is likewise very common as a recommended practice for meditation ("meditation" in tradition Christianity being much like the common modern usage of "contemplation," focusing on pondering a particular subject, while Christian "contemplation" is much more like Buddhist "meditation;' I have no idea how these terms flipped).

Since you come from a background, I'm sure your familiar with the motif of portraits of Orthodox monks in their monastery's ossuaries where they are sitting contemplating the skulls of their deceased brothers (or sisters I suppose) by the light of the alter. Some Catholic saints are also often depicted with a skull for similar reasons. I have heard of Eastern monks even sleeping in their own eventual caskets as a meditation on death.

This all helps to focus on what "really matters," and what one ought to be thankful for. I think the repeated practice and conscious effort is probably more important than the exact form. Adoration leads to thanksgiving, since by contrast it shows how little lesser goods matter, while illuminating the infinite plentitude man is called to participate in through theosis. There is even a focus on attaining a view of non-duality in some Christian praxis, as you see in Meister Eckhart and even Dante's Divine Comedy, although this is a bigger focus in Hinduism.

I recall some similar motifs in Hindu practice as well.

There have been varying attempts to "secularize" these. I think the temptation with secularization is to drift into therapeuticization, the reduction of practice to an instrumental lever for self-assessed "well-being." For example, if dwelling on death bums you out, or actually makes you less likely to "strive to achieve your goals" or less motivated for the "daily grind" (which it well might, that tends to be one of the explicit goals of this practice) then arguably it is running counter to the therapeutic goal (although maybe only in the short term). The issue of prioritizing ends looms large here. Dwelling on death might be therapeutic, but it depends on the ends. Is being thankful a proper end or only useful instrumentally?

Also, in an exclusive humanist frame, death is simply the end, and worldly goods the measure of all goods. I find it hard to see how virtue doesn't end up instrumentalized here, unless perhaps a premium is put on freedom, and freedom is conceived of as requiring the virtues (but even then, we might ask, why is freedom good?). A greater appreciation of current goods seems easy to justify here, but a justification and embrace of suffering seems more difficult (not that it can't exist, e.g., Nietzsche's amor fati).

In modern framings, philosophy and psychology are normally quarantined from "spirituality." Hence, the challenge for a strictly "philosophical" sort of exercise in the modern sense will be that of exclusive humanism. Exclusive humanism doesn't necessarily rule out these moves, but they have to "cash out" in the sorts of goods it recognizes, and if a taste for the "spiritual" is a function of private preferences, then they will be something more like a hobby unless they can be justified ethically or instrumentally, whereas in the contexts mentioned they already have a firm justification.

Are there any methods, practices, or approaches that truly help a person appreciate what they already have — Astorre

I wish - sign me up.

I like @180 Proof answer - dancing. Just force yourself to act joyous, listening to a favorite jam, and gratitude and laughter follow.

It’s why arts education from children on up is so important - that is the gravy or icing on top that forces gratitude.

But doing good for others is the best way to experience gratitude, I think. When you show real charity, you are always humbled by how much you receive from it. You can never do enough charity, and that makes you realize how blessed you are. You might think you get guilty since you can never do enough, but if you are really open to things, you are grateful saving the whole world isn’t your responsibility.

So I think gratitude follows mostly from doing, not from learning.

And gratitude can be a basis for a relationship with God and the transcendent and the eternal - when there is no one left to thank and you still feel such great gratitude, God can show up.

I like 180 Proof answer - dancing. Just force yourself to act joyous, listening to a favorite jam, and gratitude and laughter follow. — Fire Ologist

:up:

. Maybe someone knows other approaches? — Astorre

There’s repentance. I don’t mean this in a religious sense, but as re-construal. The best way to appreciate anything in our life is to refresh its meaning for us. Simple attention won’t do this. Stare at anything long enough and it disappears. We must always re-construe in order to retain relevance. The world is amenable to an indefinite variety of ways we can make sense of it. When one is feeling bored, stuck in a rut, despondent or riddled with guilt for not appreciating others, the best route to gratitude is to take up audacity , re-invention and experimentation. Treat the self as a work of art in continual state of re-creation. Appreciate what you have through re-enchantment, and re-enchant through transformation.

It seems that you have turned away from your question about loss that I responded to.

That is not a complaint but an opportunity to ask you how the two subjects introduced are connected.

It often seems we only realize the true value of something after it's lost. But is there a way to consciously experience gratitude, recognition, and sober appreciation without having to go through loss? — Astorre

There are situations where loss does not have to be experienced to appreciate the value of life itself. Blissful ignorance is one. There were isolated people who lived their lives contently without experiencing significant losses. Or the "losses" they experienced is part of living a life -- old age, passing away, illness.

I think losses don't always teach us to appreciate life more. Humility is much more the way to feel gratitude. We look at the awesome world and realize we're just a small part of it, and we're okay with it.

Even successful rat race, which is not a loss, rather a very busy life in pursuit of material wealth can be an instrument to retreat back to simplicity and appreciate the simple things in life.

The idea wasn't to avoid answering the question, but rather to expand the discussion. The topic arose from my observation that people often both undervalue and overvalue what they already have. In the first case, regret follows the loss, while in the second case, relief (but again, regret over lost time) sets in. I played the role of a "German idealist" of yesteryear, asking whether it was possible to accurately assess what was already "given" to avoid these pitfalls. I cited approaches I knew. In a sense, these approaches help value what is given, but they lack the precision that would likely be of interest to utilitarians. Another question: is it even possible to accurately assess what is given?

For example, in business, there are several assessment techniques: financial valuation of assets (e.g., market value, liquidation value); human resource valuation (assessment of competencies and potential, and replacement cost); Intangible asset valuation (financial performance, brand strength); intellectual property valuation; SWOT analysis of resources (identifying strengths and weaknesses, understanding their applicability in the current environment); VRIO analysis (Value, Rarity, and Imitability (difficult to copy)); efficiency analysis. All these techniques, while somewhat costly, pay off handsomely in the long run.

And the most important question that arises in this regard: Do people need to make this most accurate assessment of what they already have in their daily lives, or is it easier to simply live life as it comes?

Reading your comments, I, as usual, begin to criticize myself for a certain superficiality, since you always very aptly develop your position on the topic of religion, in which you are clearly a great expert.

Since you come from a background, I'm sure your familiar with the motif of portraits of Orthodox monks in their monastery's ossuaries where they are sitting contemplating the skulls of their deceased brothers (or sisters I suppose) by the light of the alter. Some Catholic saints are also often depicted with a skull for similar reasons. I have heard of Eastern monks even sleeping in their own eventual caskets as a meditation on death. — Count Timothy von Icarus

Frankly, before I joined this forum, before I delved into the topic of dualism (body and soul) in Christianity and wrote a short essay on it (you may remember), I was somewhat skeptical of this skull worship. This practice seemed strange to me, since I assumed the soul had already left the body long ago, somewhere else—what was the point of cultivating these bones? However, after realizing that Christianity was previously more about monism and the resurrection of the whole person, these practices began to make sense to me. And as we've discovered, Orthodoxy has preserved this monism and veneration of the body (although few priests today understand this).

Thanksgiving: the one you're mentioning, which is now contextualized. — Count Timothy von Icarus

I agree. Christian "Thanksgiving" cannot be taken out of context and viewed as a standalone tool. It may have some effect, but the content itself will certainly be missing. Taking "Thanksgiving" out of Christianity and calling it the key is very reminiscent of a "success coach" and his attempts to offer five simple steps to achieving harmony and prosperity.

Do you think any attempt at simplification is impossible and will be empty, or is some systematization possible to convey the idea without delving into it?

There’s repentance. I don’t mean this in a religious sense, but as re-construal. The best way to appreciate anything in our life is to refresh its meaning for us. Simple attention won’t do this. Stare at anything long enough and it disappears. We must always re-construe in order to retain relevance. — Joshs

I had one positive experience in my personal life that allowed me to truly appreciate this approach. While married, I fell in love with another woman. I was faced with the choice of leaving my family and choosing this woman, or weaning myself off of my feelings for her (it's a shame dialectic isn't possible here). Essentially, at that time, I completely analyzed and rethought all my values—family, children, etc. As a result, I strengthened my initial position, realized how truly valuable they were, and chose family. Fortunately, women gave me the opportunity to make an informed choice, and my wife accepted me (by the way, I didn't have any physical affairs).

I remember that period in my life, which lasted about a year, well. My values ​​were tested in practice. I became convinced of them. But again, all this became possible only on the brink of loss.

Thus, this method is connected with assessing oneself not as the center of existence, but rather with experiencing gratitude simply for the fact that we exist and that something in the world operates not by our will, but according to its own laws—and yet harmoniously; seeing meaning and beauty in simplicity, in the natural flow of time, in limitations, and not only in exceptional experiences.

If I may express it briefly: The Method of Humbly Presence is a conscious way to appreciate life without loss, accepting oneself not as the center of the world, but as its natural part. Through the rejection of egocentrism, gratitude, sobriety of perception, and the ability to rejoice in the simple are born.



This review can be summarized as follows:

The method of active gratitude is a path to gratitude through action: dance, creativity, good deeds. Not reflection, but living experience—especially compassion—leads to humility and an awareness of how much has been given.

I did not mean to make my question a rebuttal to your statement. Your reply is interesting. I won't try to respond to the whole of it now but will address a portion of it.

I have worked in construction for decades as a foreman or a project manager. The attempt to reduce the different factors to a set of calculations has long been at odds with how successful collaboration happens in real time. Everything I have worked on so far has been a messy collision of those incompatible approaches. I used to think of it as a kind of cultural war. It is that but other things as well. Those other things are not easily placed in frank juxtaposition.

In our area, builders like to repeat: "It was smooth on paper, but they forgot about the ravines." This phrase perfectly expresses the essence of any idealistic approach to understanding human activity. Attempts to accurately structure, describe, or predict people's behavior tend to face a reality that is invariably richer, more complex, and more controversial than any scheme.

Reality has many levels, contexts and accidents that defy complete theoretical coverage. In this sense, any model that claims to be universal inevitably tests the limits of its applicability, especially in the field of humanitarian knowledge. This is often seen as a critique of the excess belief in causal rigor and scientific accuracy characteristic of positivist thinking.

Nevertheless, a person has always been characterized by the desire to transform observations into knowledge, and knowledge into a system capable of prediction. So what we call science was born. And although humanitarian disciplines are often criticized for the lack of strict formalization, they certainly have a certain predictive power. Let not in the form of rigid algorithms, but in the form of landmarks that allow you to think within the framework of probabilities, trends and meanings.

The search for consistency, even if it is conditional and incomplete, remains intellectually fruitful. It allows not so much to predict the future with accuracy as to set the direction of thought and action in a complex and multidimensional reality.

I would like to repeat my question:

And the most important question that arises in this regard: Do people need to make this most accurate assessment of what they already have in their daily lives, or is it easier to simply live life as it comes? — Astorre

The role and value of analysis is at a shifting border with other means of other learning methods.

My set of skills are a motley bunch. Most have come from learning from mistakes (thus my original comment about losses), many have come from repeating some things that I never got quite right and never will, some are methods that are rule bound and should just be accepted. I learned all of that mostly in service to others. I have met artists who work a different way. A pretty big fork in the road. I only have my fork.

It won't answer your question but I will observe the following:

I employ a method of work at home that would get me fired at a real job. Oh, wait, I have been fired for that. Analysis is not a thing by itself but happens in the context of working with other people. It is how I learned to be analytical by myself. Ultimately, that becomes another method of work. With the right eyes, you can see who is doing that or not in real time on a job site.

Back to other people. If it is three, the division suddenly introduces what being alone does not require. If is a hundred, you have entered a different space. But you are still there, trying to connect the missing dots.

I see my little boat floating in the Gaant chart.

If I may express it briefly: The Method of Humbly Presence is a conscious way to appreciate life without loss, accepting oneself not as the center of the world, but as its natural part. Through the rejection of egocentrism, gratitude, sobriety of perception, and the ability to rejoice in the simple are born. — Astorre

Well said.

Are there any methods, practices, or approaches that truly help a person appreciate what they already have — their health, relationships, freedom, knowledge, opportunities, the people around them?

It often seems we only realize the true value of something after it's lost. But is there a way to consciously experience gratitude, recognition, and sober appreciation without having to go through loss?

I'd be very interested to hear both your personal reflections and any perspectives you're familiar with — whether philosophical, religious, psychological, or otherwise. — Astorre

For one, I am skeptical about such practices. Does Donald Trump write a gratitude journal? Successful, important people don't seem like the types who would do such things, because it seems to me that it is precisely because they take for granted what they have (wealth, health, power, etc.) and because they feel entitled to it and demand it from life that they have it in the first place. They don't beg life; they take from it.

Secondly, all such practices that I can think of are somehow religious in nature. As such, it won't be possible to carry out those practices meaningfully unless one is actually a member of the religion from which they originate, because those practices are only intelligible in the metaphysical context provided by said religion.

I remember that period in my life, which lasted about a year, well. My values ​​were tested in practice. I became convinced of them. But again, all this became possible only on the brink of loss. — Astorre

Whether you were in fact on the "brink of loss" is a matter of interpretation.
It's also possible to conceive of the situation in another way, for example: You had been on the brink of loss all along. Prior to having feelings for that other woman, you weren't fully committed to your wife and family to begin with, and this lack of committment (perhaps unknown even) is what made the emotional straying possible at all.

My point is that just because we have something in physical proximity doesn't mean it's ours or that we're committed to it. If we can't naturally, spontaneously feel happy about it, or can't be "grateful" for it, we probably didn't want it in the first place.

Which is why I think that "the practice of gratitude" that is so popularized nowadays is so often contrived, forced. Because so many things in life we have and have obtained by the principle, “We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like.” So naturally we can't be grateful for them. While losing them just vaguely but painfully reminds us that we obtained by said principle.

I was somewhat skeptical of this skull worship. — Astorre

The skull is just a practical reminder, usually of (one's) mortality.

I would like to repeat my question:

And the most important question that arises in this regard: Do people need to make this most accurate assessment of what they already have in their daily lives, or is it easier to simply live life as it comes?
— Astorre — Astorre

The way the question is formulated, it looks like moralizing. "Do people need" ... Who are we to tell others how to live their lives ...

Very good, thanks for the feedback. Honestly, I wanted to hear opinions like these because they broaden the discussion. Thank you for your input.

So:

For one, I am skeptical about such practices. Does Donald Trump write a gratitude journal? Successful, important people don't seem like the types who would do such things, because it seems to me that it is precisely because they take for granted what they have (wealth, health, power, etc.) and because they feel entitled to it and demand it from life that they have it in the first place. They don't beg life; they take from it. — baker

Who is Donald Trump—and why should the way he conducts his affairs matter to me? Why should his lifestyle or mindset be my guide? And, most importantly, why should "success" even determine my value system or level of happiness? Just because it's accepted—because that's the dominant discourse?

Let's say someone chooses the path of wealth, influence, and external recognition—a path that essentially echoes the Calvinist paradigm: if you're successful, you're chosen by God, therefore you're worthy. But does this make a person truly happy? And will you really, by giving up many human qualities for the sake of "success," necessarily achieve it?

Here's an empirical example: South Korea. A society where success is cultivated from childhood. A child studies from dawn to dusk, deprived of spontaneous joy, then studies to the bone at university, then works beyond their limits to pay the rent and bills. And here it is, the long-awaited result: you have the ghost of a chance to have one child (you can't afford more). Society is objectively "successful," but look at the birth rate, the burnout rate, and the suicide rate.

I'm not saying this path is inherently wrong—but the task of philosophy, it seems to me, is not to give instructions on "how to live," but to offer a different perspective. To question the obvious. And to help people see value where it's usually not sought—not only in victories, but in the very fact of being.

Secondly, all such practices that I can think of are somehow religious in nature. As such, it won't be possible to carry out those practices meaningfully unless one is actually a member of the religion from which they originate, because those practices are only intelligible in the metaphysical context provided by said religion. — baker

It's always connected to religion, metaphysical, and therefore imprecise. It sounds very much in the spirit of a positivist approach. And yes, I have nothing to argue or prove here. However, I did ask this question above:

Christian "Thanksgiving" cannot be taken out of context and viewed as a standalone tool. It may have some effect, but the content itself will certainly be missing. Taking "Thanksgiving" out of Christianity and calling it the key is very reminiscent of a "success coach" and his attempts to offer five simple steps to achieving harmony and prosperity.

Do you think any attempt at simplification is impossible and will be empty, or is some systematization possible to convey the idea without delving into it? — Astorre

Let's say a person is not religious, rational, focuses on verifiable judgments, and demands precise answers to precise questions. What can be offered to such a person? Is it necessary for them to first accept a religious or metaphysical worldview in order to begin to appreciate what they already have? Or can philosophy offer approaches that allow this to be done outside of a religious context?

Do you need to "value" anything at all if you're not religious? Or is it enough to simply live without asking such questions? These are the main questions of this topic for me. If you can answer these questions, I would be grateful.

Whether you were in fact on the "brink of loss" is a matter of interpretation.
It's also possible to conceive of the situation in another way, for example: You had been on the brink of loss all along. Prior to having feelings for that other woman, you weren't fully committed to your wife and family to begin with, and this lack of committment (perhaps unknown even) is what made the emotional straying possible at all. — baker

You can interpret it this way, or you can interpret it another way: you could say that "my head doesn't turn left without a reason." However, that's exactly how I felt and that's exactly how I interpreted the experience. It's neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong. But this was a review of my experience. I don't recommend turning this approach into a practice.

We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like.” — baker

An interesting expression. I don't envy people who live by such principles. How do you see a solution to this problem?

The way the question is formulated, it looks like moralizing. "Do people need" ... Who are we to tell others how to live their lives ... — baker

Perhaps, indeed, my formulation sounded like an attempt to answer for others, but my intention was different—not moralizing, but exploratory. The question "Should people..." is not a directive, but an attempt to understand: does a person have an existential need to evaluate their own life, or is it perfectly acceptable to live without engaging in this reflective labor?

If Socrates had been accused of moralizing for such questions, he would likely have merely smiled. After all, his famous line, "The unreflected life is not worth living," is precisely the assertion that it is human nature, and perhaps even necessary, to stop from time to time and reflect on how we live.

In the 20th century, existentialists also did not propose universal "oughts," but viewed freedom of choice and the recognition of the absurd as important components of the human experience. In "The Myth of Sisyphus," Camus wrote something like this: "To live is to question."

So my question is non-directive. Not "should" or "shouldn't," but rather: what changes in our lives when we evaluate them? And is it possible to learn to appreciate them without loss and catastrophe?

You might find the chapter "The Sage and the World" in Pierre Hadot's Philosophy as a Way of Life interesting as it gets at this topic, not just thankfulness for what we have, but a fuller appreciation of all things. As William Blake puts it:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

I have also always loved this quote from the great Jewish Platonist Philo of Alexandria, with which he starts the next essay:

“Every person – whether Greek or Barbarian – who is in training for wisdom, leading a blameless, irreproachable life, chooses neither to commit injustice nor return it unto others, but to avoid the company of busybodies, and hold in contempt the places where they spend their time – courts, councils, marketplaces, assemblies – in short, every kind of meeting or reunion of thoughtless people. As their goal is a life of peace and serenity, they contemplate nature and everything found within her: they attentively explore the earth, the sea, the air, the sky, and every nature found therein. In thought, they accompany the moon, the sun, and the rotations of the other stars, whether fixed or wandering. Their bodies remain on earth, but they give wings to their souls, so that, rising into the ether, they may observe the powers which dwell there, as is fitting for those who have truly become citizens of the world. Such people consider the whole world as their city, and its citizens are the companions of wisdom; they have received their civic rights from virtue, which has been entrusted with presiding over the universal commonwealth. Thus, filled with every excellence, they are accustomed no longer to take account of physical discomforts or exterior evils, and they train themselves to be indifferent to indifferent things; they are armed against both pleasures and desires, and, in short, they always strive to keep themselves above passions … they do not give in under the blows of fate, because they have calculated its attacks in advance (for foresight makes easier to bear even the most difficult of the things that happen against our will; since then the mind no longer supposes what happens to be strange and novel, but its perception of them is dulled, as if it had to do with old and worn-out things). It is obvious that people such as these, who find their joy in virtue, celebrate a festival their whole life long. To be sure, there is only a small number of such people; they are like embers of wisdom kept smouldering in our cities, so that virtue may not be altogether snuffed out and disappear from our race. But if only people everywhere felt the same way as this small number, and became as nature meant for them to be: blameless, irreproachable, and lovers of wisdom, rejoicing in the beautiful just because it is beautiful, and considering that there is no other good besides it … then our cities would be brimful of happiness. They would know nothing of the things that cause grief and fear, but would be so filled with the causes of joy and well-being that there would be no single moment in which they would not lead a life full of joyful laughter; indeed, the whole cycle of the year would be a festival for them."

On the Special Laws, 2, 44-48

All of life a festival indeed! ("Citizens of the world" reminds me of Hegel's "being at home in the world"). I think part of this is that it is easier to appreciate what is when one is no longer striving for what is not yet, nor competing for what Dante calls "goods that diminish when shared" (physical goods, but also honors, status, etc.)

I find Saint Maximos the Confessor's "threefold path" compelling here. It focuses first on the practice and cultivation of the virtues (practical philosophy), moves to deciphering and understanding the Logos through the world (natural philosophy/physics, but in a contemplative sense), and finally to "contemplation" proper (as "theology" in its original sense, the mystical experience).

I always appreciate it when you frequently cite Orthodox Fathers in response to my posts. To my shame, despite my affiliation with the Orthodox Church, after reading your texts, I discover gaps in my knowledge...

The ideas of Maximus the Confessor seem to "ring in the voice" of any Orthodox Father, even if I speak with him personally. But familiarity with the source always allows one to grasp them more deeply.

In Orthodoxy, there are four fasts per year, plus some additional fasts. And they are quite strict. For example, my brother, who is a consistent adherent of Orthodox teaching, becomes so exhausted during Lent that his hands lose blood, his skin turns pale, and he becomes almost withered.

This is the first part of the path proposed by Maximus the Confessor and the Orthodox Church as a whole. I am quite skeptical about this practice. Not necessarily because it is incredibly difficult, but for other reasons. Here's what I write about this in my work:

It's important to distinguish between change and becoming. Bodily changes are possible without being: physical labor, fatigue, or illness transform the body, but do not necessarily lead to becoming. We distinguish between becoming—everything that exists in the flow of change—and being as the act of maintaining a boundary in the direction of transcendence. Becoming requires not just movement, but a conscious effort to maintain meaning in change. The body becomes a frozen bodily limit when its changes occur without the will to overcome, like a person who repeats routine work for years without caring for the body. Such a body may lose weight, gain muscle mass, or become ill as it adapts, but without the conscious participation of the subject, these changes do not lead to being. The bodily limit becomes the loss of conscious effort, leading to formation without transcendence.
In Christian asceticism or Buddhist practices, the bodily limit is often interpreted as an obstacle on the path to the higher. Through fasting, hermitage, or asceticism, the body is diminished so that the spirit can find freedom. Our analysis, based on a phenomenological approach to becoming, rethinks these practices.

Unlike Merleau-Ponty, for whom the body is the center of perception, we emphasize it as a field of consciously shifting boundaries in the act of being. The paradox of asceticism is that the renunciation of the body makes it a point of tension, a field for testing the limits of containment. However, if fasting or abstinence become a habitual rite, the boundary is fixed, and the body loses being.

The body is not an obstacle, but a possible center of becoming. Fasting or restraint can be an act of maintaining a boundary if the subject experiences them as a movement in becoming. But where the goal is the disappearance of the body, a withdrawal from being occurs. We do not oppose traditions, but distinguish: where the body is redeemed or abolished, being fades; where it is transformed through a conscious shift of boundary, being lives. The body's limit is not only illness or aging, but also the loss of the body's capacity to serve as a vessel for becoming. We are not limited to the human body alone. By "body" here we understand any embodiment of the subject—biological, social, institutional, even symbolic. Where form becomes the locus of being, it can also become its limit.
We assert: the body is the limit and condition of being, but only until it solidifies into form.
When the subject—be it an individual, a community, or a system—ceases to see the body as a possibility and begins to reproduce only inertia, the body loses its being, becoming a mere shell of existence.
Bodily becoming is not an automatic change, but a striving for self-transcendence. Even degradation does not abolish movement, but, having lost awareness, it turns it into a dead end. A body that indulges in passions without consciousness accumulates changes—toxins, disorder—but does not manifest conscious becoming. It remains a change, but no longer being.

For one, I am skeptical about such practices. Does Donald Trump write a gratitude journal? Successful, important people don't seem like the types who would do such things, because it seems to me that it is precisely because they take for granted what they have (wealth, health, power, etc.) and because they feel entitled to it and demand it from life that they have it in the first place. They don't beg life; they take from it.
— baker

Who is Donald Trump—and why should the way he conducts his affairs matter to me? Why should his lifestyle or mindset be my guide? And, most importantly, why should "success" even determine my value system or level of happiness? Just because it's accepted—because that's the dominant discourse? — Astorre

As long as your socioeconomic situation is good enough, or at least tolerable enough, you don't (have to) worry about such things.

Let's say someone chooses the path of wealth, influence, and external recognition—a path that essentially echoes the Calvinist paradigm: if you're successful, you're chosen by God, therefore you're worthy. But does this make a person truly happy? And will you really, by giving up many human qualities for the sake of "success," necessarily achieve it?

Socioeconomic success is not guaranteed, regardless of one's effort. But we have no choice but to pursue it. However, as noted above, if one's socioeconomic situation is good enough, or at least tolerable enough, and such that one doesn't have to work until exhaustion just to get by, then one will not feel a pull to think about these things more deliberately.

Here's an empirical example: South Korea. A society where success is cultivated from childhood. A child studies from dawn to dusk, deprived of spontaneous joy, then studies to the bone at university, then works beyond their limits to pay the rent and bills. And here it is, the long-awaited result: you have the ghost of a chance to have one child (you can't afford more). Society is objectively "successful," but look at the birth rate, the burnout rate, and the suicide rate.

Of course. But don't let the external appearance of wealth and prosperity distract you. People in South Korea are in a situation as precarious as the people living in slums in some godforsaken country. The relative difficulty of earning a living is similar in both scenarios, even though they seem completely different at first glance.

I'm not saying this path is inherently wrong—but the task of philosophy, it seems to me, is not to give instructions on "how to live," but to offer a different perspective. To question the obvious. And to help people see value where it's usually not sought—not only in victories, but in the very fact of being.

Being cold and hungry and exhausted tends to put things into perspective.

Secondly, all such practices that I can think of are somehow religious in nature. As such, it won't be possible to carry out those practices meaningfully unless one is actually a member of the religion from which they originate, because those practices are only intelligible in the metaphysical context provided by said religion.
— baker

It's always connected to religion, metaphysical, and therefore imprecise.

It's not that it's imprecise; it's that it's decontextualized. As you note later:

Christian "Thanksgiving" cannot be taken out of context and viewed as a standalone tool. It may have some effect, but the content itself will certainly be missing. Taking "Thanksgiving" out of Christianity and calling it the key is very reminiscent of a "success coach" and his attempts to offer five simple steps to achieving harmony and prosperity.

Do you think any attempt at simplification is impossible and will be empty, or is some systematization possible to convey the idea without delving into it?
— Astorre

Yes to the first and no to the second.

Let's say a person is not religious, rational, focuses on verifiable judgments, and demands precise answers to precise questions.

What can be offered to such a person?

Why would anyone offer them (or anyone else, for that matter) anything to begin with?

Do you plan to offer a self-help seminar, eh?

Is it necessary for them to first accept a religious or metaphysical worldview in order to begin to appreciate what they already have?

I imagine that such people either already appreciate what they have, or they don't care about appreciating it anyway.

Or can philosophy offer approaches that allow this to be done outside of a religious context?

No.

Ironically, some years ago, I had a brief exchange with a psychologist who writes a blog about gratitude. I asked him how to express gratitude for things like a sunny day or that there wasn't an earthquake, given that there is no person whom one could thank for that. His reply was that I'm trolling him!! I tried to explain a bit, but it didn't help much. He insisted that studies show that expressing gratitude improves one's wellbeing, and that this was what matters. He concluded that my question was philosophical, not psychological, and reiterated that I was trolling him. (That taught me to keep a special distance to psychologists.)

I find it quite bizarre how he strictly separated between psychology and philosophy. And especially how flat and shallow he apparently thought that human experience of gratitude is.

Do you need to "value" anything at all if you're not religious?

I think that people who are not religious do value things. But they seem to evaluate them in a different context than religious people do. Which is why, from the perspective of the religious, it seems that the non-religious don't value things.

Or is it enough to simply live without asking such questions?

Enough for whom, by whose standards?

We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like.”
— baker

An interesting expression. I don't envy people who live by such principles. How do you see a solution to this problem? — Astorre

Possibly by finally accepting that as a culture and society, we are no more "advanced" or "civilized" than in the times of feudalism, and before that. Except that now, life is brutish, nasty, and long.

Perhaps, indeed, my formulation sounded like an attempt to answer for others, but my intention was different—not moralizing, but exploratory. The question "Should people..." is not a directive, but an attempt to understand: does a person have an existential need to evaluate their own life, or is it perfectly acceptable to live without engaging in this reflective labor? — Astorre

Some people seem to do just fine even without such reflections.
But I don't think this is a matter of individual choice. Sometimes, for some people things really work out so well, with such ease, with so little effort on their part.

(Do you speak German? I remember a nice passage from Thomas Mann on this topic.)

So my question is non-directive. Not "should" or "shouldn't," but rather: what changes in our lives when we evaluate them? And is it possible to learn to appreciate them without loss and catastrophe?

I'm interested in this too. Back in college, we had an exam in youth literature, so I had to read some books for children and the youth. It struck me especially how books for children, somewhere up to age 10, were so intensely ideological. There were books with full page illustrations and those large letters and they were teaching children capitalist and individualist values! Ayn Rand for beginners!

I wasn't raised that way and I can't imagine what it must be like to be raised that way. But some people apparently are.

I partake in no religious or philosophical practice, although we all undoubtedly absorb elements of these through culture. I am frequently grateful: for clean water, heating, food, for living without earthquakes, fires, floods, for my (so far) robust physical health, and for any material comforts I have. In this I include other people and my nation. I don’t take too much for granted and can readily see how one's situation can swiftly deteriorate. This gratitude was perhaps shaped by my upbringing: my parents survived the Nazi menace, and I heard stories growing up. No doubt everyone has their own view on what constitutes proper gratitude, and whether any form of spirituality or thought system needs to be part of its expression. I tend to think that leisure and some comfort can be necessary for some of us to feel gratitude. However, I have also heard gratitude expressed by marginalized groups, such as those experiencing homelessness.