Goracio and Witness — On Happiness and the Mesolithic Soul
Witness: Goracio, people often say life is about the pursuit of happiness. Do you believe that?
Goracio: I do not. For some of us, the word “happiness” doesn’t exist—not in any meaningful way. It’s not a term I use. Not a question I chase. So this conversation… it will be external to me. As it always has been.
Witness: Still, it’s everywhere. People chase it through wealth, status, even substances. Some say happiness is a yacht, a line of cocaine, or a plane full of models.
Goracio: That’s the extreme materialist view. A life reduced to dosage and display. We won’t linger there. Let’s speak instead of what happiness might mean—if it means anything at all.
Witness: Then where do we begin?
Goracio: With the Mesolithic hunter. Before agriculture, before cities. A person who lived lightly, worked little, and knew the forest like a sibling. That, I suspect, is closer to happiness than any luxury suite.
Witness: But others say happiness is social recognition. Status. Degrees. Possessions. The hierarchy.
Goracio: Ah, the mirage. In Papua New Guinea, tribal leaders pass necklaces and cups in ritual cycles. You never own them—you just hold them, pay dearly, and pass them on. Prestige without possession.
Witness: So happiness was borrowed. Like prestige.
Goracio: Exactly. And somewhere, someone controls the cycle. Just as the dollar became a global standard—once enforced with violence, now accepted with resignation.
Witness: So happiness is imposed?
Goracio: Often. Pierre Bourdieu called these systems “fields”—arenas where dominant groups impose their values and hierarchies. They define what counts as success, what should be desired. It’s not just economics—it’s cultural colonization.
Witness: Even in literature, some lived differently. Pushkin?
Goracio: Better still—Chaucer. In his Kentish retreat, he lived closer to the Mesolithic rhythm than to the modern grind. He hunted, he wrote, he watched the seasons turn. That’s the life we call happy—not because it dazzles, but because it fits.
Witness: Then what’s the difference between level of life and quality of life?
Goracio: Level is display. A plane, a penthouse, a parade. Quality is freedom. Time to lift a barbell. Time to walk in the woods. Time to love without performance.
Witness: So the billionaire who can’t sleep, who grovels before officials, has level—but no quality.
Goracio: Precisely. Seneca said it best: “The part of life we really live is small. The rest is merely time.” So, quality is mastery of time. Not its monetization.
Witness: And the hunters of Bakhta?
Goracio: Russian trappers in the Siberian Taiga. They hunt sable, build boats, and breathe frost. Their lives echo the Mesolithic—autonomous, rhythmic, and quiet.
Witness: Are there others like them?
Goracio: Yes. Arctic hunter-gatherers—the Inuit, the Sámi—living in small groups, mastering the cold, moving with the seasons. Their lives are sparse to the eye trained by capitalism. But full to the soul trained by silence.
Witness: So happiness is not a pursuit. It’s a return.
Goracio: To the Mesolithic. To autonomy. To nature. That is the life we call happy. Not because it dazzles—but because it fits.
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