"Princess Marya had two passions and therefore two joys."

Yesterday, when I came across this statement in War and Peace, it stopped me cold. Wait, I thought. Of course. Of course. But why is it that I hardly ever think of passion simply as joy?

It is so easy to look at someone else's preoccupations--a crazy obsession with cutting every tiny stick into firewood, or growing enough vegetables for twenty when there are only two people in the household, or shopping without needing anything--as wasteful and absurd. The self-righteous me grumbles, These people should care about something important/reasonable . . . which is to say: they should care about the things I care about. Yet "Princess Marya had two passions and therefore two joys." It is such a plain reminder. 

For here is the rest of the scene:

The health and character of Prince Nikolai Andreevich Bolkonsky, during that last year after his son's departure, declined considerably. He became still more irritable than before, and all the outbursts of his groundless wrath fell mainly upon [his daughter] Princess Marya. He seemed to seek out all her sorest spots so as to torment her morally as cruelly as possible. Princess Marya had two passions and therefore two joys: her nephew Nikolushka and religion--and the two were the favorite topics of the prince's attacks and mockery. Whatever the talk was about, he always brought the conversation down to the superstitions of old maids or to the pampering and spoiling of children.

The prince is a complicated character, an intelligent, intolerable old man who adores his family but is unable to tell them so. Instead, he lashes into pettiness. His daughter is cowed and subservient to him, yet she has a secure inner life. She does not second-guess her passions. On one level, she is victimized by him. On the other, she is entirely free of him.

Perhaps this is what my passions allow me: a clarity within the muddle of my life. This is what I love. Perhaps joy is as simple as that.

Who am I to be self-righteous about yours?