Rohit's Realm

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August 12, 2009

A Crisis of Faith

True happiness, as I have discussed on this site ad nauseum over the years, is probably a concept that will elude me for the remainder of my futile existence. So much I have accepted. It would be curious, then, if in the midst of this eternal philosophical disquiet, I found a meaningful substitute for happiness in something so vacuous as to be embarrassing. And yet, that is exactly the place I find myself in today.

No, dear readers, I'm not talking about personal relationships assets (perish the thought!). It is, I am afraid, something far more plebeian than that: material possessions.

That statement raises a potential internal inconsistency that I must attend to immediately. On the one hand, I have rejected blind materialism as akin to self-delusion. On the other hand, I have embraced pursuit of success (loosely defined as money, cash, hoes) as an acceptable life purpose, as it were. I suppose on their face, those two assertions are irreconcilable but for the following premise: a life pursuit does not necessarily translate into intellectual contentment. Thus, I have no quibbles with someone who dedicates her life to pursuing capitalistic success (life is meaningless—getting rich is no better or worse of a goal than any other), so long as she retains sight of the effervescent glow of necessary futility that envelops all who live (though some more than others). The problems only occur when one attempts to conflate the two: pursuit of success can never be pursuit of contentment.

Imagine my disappointment, then, when I found myself doing precisely that, giddy as a school boy with a new toy, when I replaced my old 'berry with a fancy new one. So shiny! So fast! So cool! Could it be that money was, for once, buying happiness?

Consumed by self-loathing and contemplating ending it all, I decided some more analysis was necessary and suicide not appropriate (just yet). (Plus, jumping off my balcony would probably result in a traffic disaster and violate the cardinal rule of killing oneself: don't ruin other people's commute, asshole!)

After lots of deliberating, I am convinced my initial feelings of joy will soon give way to a more cautious perspective—say, when some malfunction makes me very angry with my new toy. And once the honeymoon period is over, I can again return to my dour equilibrium state, fully aware of the futility of life.

This disappointing episode, however, does raise a large issue, namely that this site has been exuding an ambiance of neutrality (if not downright happiness) recently. Of course, such platitudes only serve to lubricate the slippery slope down to the cesspool of foolish consumerism. I realize now that I have become complacent in the fight against false happiness. No more. Melancholy, here we come. I'm back, dear readers.


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