Americans are famous for believing in self-help books. Starting with Benjamin Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac of 1733, we have been publishing and buying them at a great rate ever since. Walk into a bookstore and you will find shelves full of advice adapted to every stage and condition of life.

Self-help, however, turns out to be something of a misnomer. Actually, it’s other people wanting to help you. All sorts of people are ready with counsel, flying in the face of mankind’s almost universal experience: no one really welcomes advice from anyone else about how they should live their own life.

And yet the books sell. Can one suspect the lurking presence of masochism, self-torture, which drives us to heed the imperatives that figure largely in such volumes? Something in us, after all, wants to be told what to do.  

But is there not often something patronizing about advising people who have reached 80, 90, or 100 on the subject of how to live? If they have been successful enough at this kind of longevity, perhaps they have been doing something right.

Al Franken, a leading comedian on the current scene, has also got into the act. But he, at least, has fixed his tongue firmly in his cheek. Most recently, he has authored “Oh, the Things I know!: A Guide To Success Or, Failing That, Happiness,” a 2002 book, newly in paperback, that satirizes the self-help genre.

I confess mixed feelings about “100 Tips For Healthy Aging,” a new manual from the Hebrew Rehabilitation Center For Aged, just published in celebration of its 100th birthday. The tips are more than the word suggests. They all begin with imperative verbs, driven words such as “Get” (8 mentions), “Have” (6), and “Protect” (3).

After some 70 years of doing it on my own, do I need to be told “Snack Well?” Or “Wear properly fitting shoes?” Or must those who have them be instructed: “Spend time with your grandchildren or great-grandchildren?”

However, for fear of seeming overly curmudgeonly, let me single out some creative injunctions that do not offend the sensibilities of even purists like me. Here, too, I would prefer exhortation rather than imperatives but these commands have enough merit to make me forgive their style.

“Maintain a sense of humor about life,” the folks at Hebrew Rehab tell us.  In this column, that’s what I am trying to do. As you can see, however, it’s by no means easy to pull off. And isn’t this virtue something you either have or don’t have and will find it impossible to manufacture?

At least, we are not told: “Have a nice day.” To that I might have replied, “Excuse me but I have other plans.”

“Listen to or make music,” they order us.  Bravo!, except they have never heard me play the piano, or, even worse, sing. However, I do believe in listening to the pros and continue to take delight in opera, a dubious habit contracted in my early teenage years.

Under the heading “mental stimulation,” our Hebrew Rehab friends tell us “Keep a journal,” and “Write your memoirs.” Perhaps they should have added a caveat “Take Care Who You Show Them To,” advice that I have been known to violate, to my continuing chagrin.

Another injunction that grabbed my interest is “Pursue spiritual meaning in your life.” Amen, I say, Amen. But I have been running after spiritual meaning for years without having yet caught up with it.

Of course, catching up with spiritual meaning may be worse than pursuing it. As the monk who was rumored to have become enlightened replied when asked how he felt: “Just as miserable as ever.”

Though it belongs in my banal class, the instruction “Wear your seat belt” can at least claim the virtue of simplicity. I need no convincing of its value but, again, must we, who never fail to do it, be told what to do?

This Poor Richard prefers some of the imperatives in Roger Rosenblatt’s 2000 book “Rules For Aging.” For example, he urges: “Do not attempt to improve anyone, especially when you know it will help.” When what Rosenblatt calls the muse of improvement whispers in your ear, he succinctly tells you what to do: “Swat it.”

Now you know what a misanthrope I can be, a guy who can look quizzically at an excellent booklet, full of prudent advice, much of it based on solid research, and tested by experience. And it comes, to boot, from an institution that enjoys an international reputation for its fine tradition of care.

So “100 Tips” is a brochure that you, a person of sound judgment, may well want to have. It will cost five dollars, plus a shipping and handling charge. You can find out how to get it by calling (617) 363-8385 or by emailing
This e-mail address is being protected from spambots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it
.

Richard Griffin