If I had a pound for every existential crisis I ever had...
Does money even matter?
I write this post whilst in the midst of yet another bout of existential depression. I think it all started when I read the works of Richard Dawkins and it hit home, even though I intuitively knew this already, that human beings are a simple accident of evolution. I personally exist by absolute random chance (metaphorically rather than pure mathematically).
Trying to hold two opposing thoughts in my brain/mind (Descartesian dualism kicks in about now), that we are an accident of evolution and we should fill our lives with base pleasures, (Epicurus anyone?); and, 'Better Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied' (Bentham/Mill and the whole utilitarian movement; J.S.Mill's autobiography is a good starting point).
I am inclined to ask opinions of both Hume and Durkheim to render a convincing yay or nay to why anyone that questions life would willing want to extend their lives.
Is it fatigue, retiring at 2am (by force of will) and rising at 6am (by force of the nagging internal voice pushing me to continue the process of trying to push existentialism out by working on more challenging areas of the thought process).
Perhaps this is what it means to 'enjoy' intellectual pursuits; the need to constantly question if your life, what you do, has any value whatsoever. Questioning why we pursue intellectualism when a dose of popular literature and T.V. can provide our brains with the intellectual equivalent of popcorn, empty calories but what a buzz!
I see no cure for existential depression, my personal brand of Nihilism. Certainly being 'drugged up' would play havoc with the old intellectual pursuits, with absolutely no guarantee of switching off a brain that is permanently wired and stocked up with an addiction to high caffeine hot coffee on tap!
So if suicide is not the answer, neither medicated response and I can't enjoy the simple pleasures of life anymore, even though my duality does try, maybe it would be best to embrace absolutely and feed the higher side, whilst trying to starve the lower.
Easier said than done in a world of 24/7 media and one in which when you try to have a conversation, if it's anything more than the latest news report people look at you like you're an alien.
Reading. Studies are starting to show reading can alleviate mental disorder, at least the mild depression side of it. Reading for me is my time, a place where the world is locked out, if only while your eyes are scanning the pages. A place of perfect meditation.
So why am I happy I suffer from existential depression? Because it reminds me I am alive. It reminds me that out of all the randomness of this universe, it picked me to live, to learn, to write, to answer question from the curious seeking my knowledge, my collected wisdom, seeking answers to deep questions like "What's the point?" and instead of answering I leave them puzzling over even deeper questions, but knowing this will help them resolve their own path in life and hopefully spiral them on to intellectual pursuits.
I need my existential depression to remind myself of how far I have came from being a 'John Barleycorn' to my present state of affairs. a work in progress, maybe not a Jack London but...
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