To satisfy and to gratify are often used interchangeably, but they have totally different meanings. To satisfy, or to be satisfied, refers to a variety of human needs that periodically demand to be met and satiated in order to be eased. The need for food, water, sleep, space, companionship, alleviation of pain, or protection from the elements are only a few of the most obvious. Until such needs are met, we are dissatisfied. These needs may increase or diminish, but they never disappear.
The most common response to satisfaction occurs when the person believes he has had enough — enough food, enough water, enough sleep, and so on. This is where another problem presents itself. As one philosopher put it: We never know what’s enough until we know what’s more than enough. This means that what’s enough is defined by excess. And the gap between excess and enough not only permits rationalization but also allows external forces to fill in the gap.
Suppose, for example, that you own a car. It is serviceable, paid for, and adequate to meet your needs. Then one afternoon, you are attracted to another car that suddenly makes your car look old and has features that your car lacks. Gradually, you feel yourself becoming possessed by a desire for a new car, which you do not really need. It will cost more money than you actually have, but you see it as indispensable. In brief, you will be compromised by the subtle greed of excess to acquire what you believe you need.
In a capitalistic system such as ours that relies on sales and profit to endure and function, advertising in all its seductive forms will be there to convince you that you should want more than you have or need. And this is why — capitalistically speaking — the definition of enough is always more than enough. Wanting a new car that you really do not need is but a lowly example. Multiply such an impulse by millions in a market economy, and you have the essence of a dissatisfied society perpetually in search of excess.
Gratification, on the other hand, differs from satisfaction in that it is more a matter of quality than quantity. A person who experiences gratitude for a gift or an action done for his sake has a heightened feeling of self-worth. Even observing such an act between total strangers can give him the same feeling. This is why gratification is more a matter of the spirit than a matter of appetite.
A society based only on satisfying needs is not a society of “give and take” but one of “take” alone. Any act of gratification shows there is more to life than acquisition, sales, profit and abundance. These are merely the results of natural demands. The spiritual nature of gratification makes it sufficient unto itself. Its unique nature makes it unrepeatable but unforgettable. The most convincing proof of this is evident in the following examples.
In 1964, the quarterback for the University of Notre Dame was John Huarte. As a senior, he was nominated with two other finalists for the Heisman Trophy. On the evening of the event, the three finalists were sitting on stage when an official came to the microphone and announced, “The winner of this year’s Heisman Trophy is John Huarte of Notre Dame.” After hearing his name announced, Huarte quietly left the stage and walked to an aisle in the audience where his mother and father were seated.
He kissed his mother, then kissed his father, before returning to the stage to thank the judges and Coach Ara Parseghian and his teammates, and offer his congratulations to his fellow finalists. While watching this on a television screen, I told myself that if I had a daughter, I would want her to marry a man like that. I shared in part as a third party what Huarte’s parents must have felt, and I still have the same feeling every time I think of it. Gratitude has that shareable quality; it transcends self-satisfaction.
This example is closer to home. My neighbor Tom has a wife and three sons. Knowing that I had been advised not to shovel and lift snow (especially wet snow that has the weight of wet sand), Tom appointed himself the shoveler. After the first snow — without my asking — he shoveled a three-inch snowfall from my entry walk and driveway. I prepared to go out to thank him until I saw that he must have left for work and that his son was putting the finishing touches on what was left of the snow. I thanked him and had some money in my hand to give him, when he said, “My father told us never to expect or accept anything after we help somebody.” I not only felt gratitude but total admiration then — and ever since — for Tom as a father.
A final example occurred when I was introducing the actor-reciter Alexander Scourby to an audience. Famous for recordings of books and plays (from the King James version of the Bible to plays of Shakespeare), Scourby attracted a large number of students from the Pittsburgh School for the Blind. They knew of him because of his numerous recordings in the school’s library. After his stage presentation, all of the blind students formed a line to meet him backstage, where they edged close enough to touch his beard (and he allowed them). I asked them why they did that, and one of them said, “Because he is our book.” That one remark opened up for me a previously unknown world of appreciation and gratitude, and I can’t forget it even if I try.
A fourth example illustrates how gratification can be generated by and in time owed to an entire group. In the 1960s, Duquesne University was facing a financial crisis that placed in doubt its ability to continue to exist and function as an educational institution. Duquesne’s president at the time was Father Henry J. McAnulty, a man respected and revered by faculty and students. He scheduled a meeting with faculty and students in the Mills Auditorium in Rockwell Hall, in which he described with candor what the university was facing. He said that the only alternatives were to initiate a campaign for substantial and immediate financial aid from foundations and from the Duquesne alumni.
This was followed by a protracted question-and-answer period, until the precariousness of the situation was clear to all. Finally, one student suggested that there was a third alternative: the student body. With a student named Patrick Joyce as its president, the Third Alternative began raising money by telephone, going from door to door, selling tickets for raffles and, by their example, encouraging small and large businesses and foundations to participate. By the end of their brief campaign, they had raised more than $223,000.
That effort still stands as a national model of the saving of a university by its students. Without it, Duquesne University would have closed by 1970. Instead, the Third Alternative stands as an inspiring model of how a student body’s love for a university defied the odds. That historical moment cannot help but edify all those who learn of it.
These four examples speak for themselves. Each creates not only a sense of gratitude but of communion, both of which are ends in themselves. They certainly provide a more humane basis for human society than that created by the competitive lust for nothing but satisfaction. All animals are capable of nothing but that. Man is not only capable of but should aspire to much more than that.
Samuel Hazo is the author of poetry, fiction, essays, various works of translation and four plays. Governor Robert Casey named him Pennsylvania’s first State Poet 1993. He served until 2003. From his first book, through the National Book Award finalist “Once for the Last Bandit,” to his newest poems, he explores themes of mortality and love, passion and art, courage and grace. samuelhazoauthor.com
