Honoré de Balzac, French novelist of the nineteenth century and author of the vast Human Comedy, once wrote that 'disappointments measure how great our hopes once were'. His numerous works often illustrate this very point, from the young provincial going to the big city with dreams of being a literary sensation (Lost Illusions) to the young law student witnessing the greed and depravity of those surrounding him in the heart of Bourbon Restoration Paris in which social climbing through deceit and marriage is the only way to become successful (Père Goriot).
In addition to disappointment, there is the theme of disillusionment, the finding out that things are not what they seem and the little of the world that is black and white reveal only a removed prison from the gray that evolves and warps and undermines one's perception of the world. The idea that there is no place to stand in this world, that wherever we are is prone to change, erosion and the this too shall pass of Biblical implication is the only constant. The platitude that the only guarantee is there are no guarantees has offered little comfort but remains a nagging truth.
Balzac was an early influence on my ideas and how I regarded the world. I read his novels in my late teens and early twenties and though I have not returned to his works, I still feel his stories resonate in my own life. And it's not that I experience perennial disillusionment or constant disappointment, it's just for every endeavour relying upon hope and expectation there is a balance. Balzac's characters recover and learn and though bruised and sullied, corrupted they persevere despite the emptiness they encounter in the world of humankind, an emptiness made stronger with its institutions of marriage, bureaucracy and church.
Though they don't succeed at first, they find their appropriate paths and depending on their character sink or rise though its often a question of perception. In our world, money, a house, time to travel and kids are the accoutrements of success and the hope for them a solemn reminder of how much of our lives is determined by what others expect of us.
For these so-called successes often act as weights and in the instance of the individual who makes money he or she is often chained to his or her work (once I overheard a cell phone conversation in which a middle-aged man, most likely a business man said "You know Tom, it's how it is. You have money and there's no time but if you have time, than you probably don't have money").
And yes, there's the model home, a house to be envied but time isn't kind and with all its passing reveals new repairs that need to be made and remodeling that need to be undertaken. Our lives are tormented by fashion and trends - we are afraid of being left behind, being outdated.
Travel is good but as Stoic philosopher Seneca once noted there is no escape from who you are despite where you are (or to put in succinctly in the words of Mr. Brady in the film adaptation, "Wherever you go, there you are").
And as for children, I routinely encounter young mothers who long for an hour of free time. They have their little ones and take special pride in their role as parents but there is a sadness hidden in the creases below their eyes. They dreamed of becoming a mother, their mothers asked them when they would become mothers and suddenly, they are and their other, more personal dreams have been placed aside.
And this is where I wander into philosophy when I ask what is the difference between what we dream and what we expect? And by dreaming, not what we do every night but what we strive for or believe is the rightful place we are meant for.
There is the dream of having money and the expectation of what it will bring. The dream is fulfilled and sadly, there is no time.
The dream of a new house but the happy house owner recovers from the honeymoon of ownership excitement and the expectation becomes a new bill to pay, a mortgage hanging over one's head like the sword of Damocles.
Travel to escape but there is the weariness of travel and the longing to stay in the places we believe are more beautiful than ours.
The dream of children, the longing to see our blood and lineage carried on, the joy and miracle of child birth but then the duality of expectation ensues. The new parent is expected to raise the child and the expectation of being fulfilled never arises.
Perhaps this is why I side with pessimist philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer and writers like Honoré de Balzac. We begin naive but then it's only a matter of time before we realize that all we want has no meaning and will not bring us complete happiness. Shards of happiness and excitement are scattered here and there but desire has only taken us to the next desire and the satisfaction of one thing leads us to a newer void, a new hunger to satiate.
Perhaps this is why I hate listening to the radio because music is only a brief distraction from the constant barrage of advertisements. There is no serenity it the voices that try to remind us we are not anything until we buy this or that product (and god do I despise the numerous radio disc jockies with their over-the-top enthusiasm for things crass and useless like clubs you have to go to and concerts you should attend... fuck off...)
For Schopenhauer, resignation from the will, the driver behind all desire is the only answer. For other thinkers like Plato and Aristotle, living the good life, a life free of akrasia (i.e. not being able to control of command yourself) is the best solution. If the desire is deadly or painful, don't fulfill it and be happy with your decision to detach yourself from the dark yearning.
And I do believe perception is a large part of attaining happiness. For myself, I think happiness is a fleeting event in one's emotions. Disillusionment follows when we believe happiness should be our constant state. There is the climax of a reward or a gift. A wedding is a day of happiness but it's only one day. The birth of a child or a promotion is a cause for celebration and feeling elated and high only lasts for so long before diapers need changing and more hours need to be put in at the office.
We are happy but then we come back down. And being down where we usually are isn't a bad thing. Inspired by my mother, I have come to believe that melancholy is our default state of being. But here I must stress, I don't completely associate melancholy with depression. I would argue that melancholy has a spectrum ranging from just below joy - that place in our minds and emotions where things need to be done and the quiet resignation of accepting the work and upkeep is paramount to persevering - to the sadness and disquiet one might experience when one is alone and there is no respite from the solemn thoughts of life, death and the perennial passing of time.
There is no drug to heal the melancholy because we need it, it is very the home we return to after fooling around with happiness and joy. There is a contentment to melancholy, a pleasantness along with a gravitas. The fact that we push ourselves to smile is a sign of senility and sickness. A smile is a commodity of the customer service industry and I tire of the belief that it is necessary to help sell products based on the idea that it will ease one's mind and heart when there is no ease.
It is wonderful to dream but equally wonderful to bless the melancholy of daily life (and again, think of the spectrum of melancholy and not its traditional association with depression and down-ness). The beauty of dreaming is kind so long as we don't expect it to fulfill voids or hungers or nullify the perennial state of our getting-by in life. A dream that doesn't come to light is not a failure. Dreams aren't always successes in one's heart. I think we make up these expectations that something awaits us and will relieve us of this burden of being human. The damage of disappointments and disillusionment is a result of the ridiculous expectations we place on being alive.
We are all meant to die. It's the way it is. Being dead won't hurt but life will be over. Whatever dreams we had won't matter and the expectations will finally be purged. I feel the key to making life good is enjoying the melancholy, finding peace in the aftermath of happiness. I distrust happiness not because it lies but because we lie to ourselves about its importance. The only hope we should have is seeing how petty our illusions and beliefs about life are. Whatever is grandiose should be immediately distrusted.
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