I join my friend Dan for a cigar pretty regularly. If it’s a nice day we’ll go out behind his house and sit in the Adirondack chairs he has in the garden. Dan smokes a lot of cigars and is a bit of an aficionado, certainly more than I am. He usually has a selection to choose from and a recommendation to make. There is a bit of an art to even casual cigar smoking, such as we do: choosing the cigar by examining size, strength, and condition; preparing the cigar by removing the band and deciding how to cut the end (straight or V-cut); above all lighting it evenly, turning it in the flame until the end glows a consistent, cheerful cherry red. These are things to be done with ritual, celebratory deliberation. A cigar is an experience. It may not lead to ultimate enlightenment but it is certainly an aid to reflective thought or, when shared with others, to deep discussion.
Cigars are also really unhealthy. My dentist has talked to me about this more than once during those little lifestyle chats we usually have before he starts an exam. Cigar smoking can cause cancer, especially in the mouth, throat, and oesophagus (less so in the lungs as you don’t inhale when cigar smoking); gum disease, heart disease, tooth loss, infertility, brain damage. They can cause offence. In the case of my dentist, even the idea that somebody, somewhere might be smoking is likely to cause him offence. He is a big man, my dentist, and when he is looming over me in the chair I sometimes think that smoking might also have some short term if not immediate adverse health effects.
Dan is not a terribly healthy guy. He’s definitely experienced brain damage as well as sight loss. His eyesight is so poor, in fact, that he uses a white cane to get around. This is not because of his cigar smoking though, it’s because of an accident he had years ago that he is still recovering from. The accident changed Dan’s life dramatically; from one day to the next he went from independence and a busy and rewarding career to being a partially sighted recovering invalid. Smoking cigars is one of the few things from his former life he is still able to do, and he loves it. All of his many friends agree that the benefits far outweigh the risks.
Join Britain’s most civilised publication.
Challenge the consensus. Access rigorous analysis.
How important is physical health? The fact is that none of us are perfect physically, or mentally, or spiritually, even in the prime of life. We’re flawed, broken, falling apart. One of the few things we can be certain about in life is that it is finite, it’s going to end, the machinery is going to completely break down at some point. My point here is not to argue in favour of unhealthy lifestyles. It’s important to keep fit, and sharp, and eat vitamins, to remain free of addictions. The body has an end date, though — it is going to quit one day, no matter how hard we try to delay it.
Society is obsessed by the idea of health. One reason for this might be the perception that we are generally less healthy than previous generations; flabby, obese, addicted to vapes, suffering from allergies and intolerances, becoming increasingly mentally frail. There is something in this argument but it fails to convince me fully. A more convincing reason might be that increasing secularisation and the corresponding lack of purpose means that more and more people are finding meaning in the pursuit of physical health. Death is scary. If this life is all I have it makes sense to seek it out as long as possible, stop my body from ageing by following the guidance of health gurus. Eat more carrots.
Although I’m not a farmer, I live on a farm, and a few years ago, I inherited a worn-out rototiller tractor. The tiller part didn’t work anymore but the engine and transmission ran absolutely fine. My sons and I spent a few hours hitching it up to a heavy-duty wagon and since then this contraption has become the family work horse. The driver sits on the wagon and steers the tiller handles. In 3rd gear it goes about 10 miles per hour. The tractor gets used for hauling soil, compost, firewood, and tools. We’ve loaded it up with food, tents, and sleeping bags and taken it off in the woods to go camping. The boys occasionally just fire it up and go roaring around the farm without any obvious purpose.
The tractor has also provided us with a lot of hands-on learning. Almost everything on it has broken at least once. So far, we have replaced the starting mechanism and the carburettor. We’ve spent hours troubleshooting electrical faults, changed the oil, patched inner tubes, replaced tires. Various bits have broken and have needed welding back in place. Most of the time it works, though. For a worn-out machine it is in pretty good health, but the more we use it the sooner will come the day when something goes irretrievably wrong; the engine seizes or the transmission fails.
In a quote about the meaning of life I’ve often read to my kids, George Bernard Shaw comments, “I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live.” It’s a little ironic for me to quote him in this piece — the man was an atheist and a complete health fanatic (didn’t touch red meat, alcohol, tobacco, tea, or coffee), but the sentiment is one I completely agree with. The outstanding question for me, for all of us I guess, is used up for what?
A longer life is not necessarily a more fulfilled one
On my pre-breakfast run this past January I put a foot in a pothole and splatted all over the road. It was about 6 in the morning, pitch black in moderate fog and my tiny headlight wasn’t strong enough to pick up the hazard. Things could have been worse, nothing much wrong beyond a handful of scrapes and a twisted ankle. I managed to hobble home alright. My wife Olivia, a fairly outspoken woman, was torn between sympathy and fury. “You’re an idiot,” she said,”‘If you are going to run in the dark, at least get a proper headlamp.” I’ve promised to get one. I will get one in fact, but I might not always use it. Too much artificial light destroys the experience. There is something absolutely magical about running in the dark, seeing the shapes of the scots pines against a background of stars or sheep on a frosty field distinct in the moonlight.
I suppose what I’m arguing for here and what seems to be missing for so many people is an uncomplicated zest for life. This doesn’t mean unbridled hedonism or search for adrenaline highs, but it also most certainly doesn’t mean some sort of flat, wet, risk averse existence. If you think about it, almost every pleasure is something that would cause a health adviser to tut; drinking alcohol, eating chips, horse riding, sitting out in the sunshine. A longer life is not necessarily a more fulfilled one.
Life has a way of throwing monkey wrenches in the works. Everyone has troubles to deal with, dark nights of the soul, mountains to conquer. I think my friend Dan would agree that one of his largest mountains, one of his greatest achievements continues to be getting up each morning, accepting his situation, and being thankful for everything. Including cigars.
