"Even now in the present darkness and madness of all thought on the great question of the social condition, it is not impossible that man, the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortuitous conditions may be happy." Edgar Allen Poe
In my utilitarianist moments, I think that I am - for reasons of mathematic balance and equation - entitled to some kind of happiness. In fact, to a huge, injustifiably big dose of happiness. Which is ridiculous, of course. Life, as I learned today, couldn't really care less about your own, personal, maybe even selfish aspirations and hopes.
Maybe this is the most fatal myth capitalist ideology brought forward and anchored in people's minds: the possibility of personal happiness (granted, in capitalistic terms happiness comes down to maximal consumer capability, but still - it is some sort of personal happiness). And not only do we think personal happiness is possible (and that consequently, we're somewhat entitled to it), but moreover, capitalism says (but as I learned today: capitalism might not be a system... be that as it may, in any case, capitalism doesn't "say" anything... I should stop anthropologizing things): it is you who can build your own fortune (and this is wonderfully condensed in proverbs such as "Everyone is the architect of their own future" or "Everybody forges their own destiny"). When you think about it, it seems one of the most audacious and insolite and unlikely claims: for centuries and centuries in the existence of mankind and human societies, happiness in this world wasn't something that people would ever think they deserve or were entitled to (mainly because of religion and it's promise of happiness in the world to come).
When you think of Greek tragedy, it constitutes the complete opposite of the capitalist promise of happiness: Not only is it about unhappiness - even more: tragedy -, but it is about you yourself being the forger of your own unhappiness. Whether they do it willingly or not, the heros of Greek tragedy put themselves into the huge mess they're in. Remember Oedipus? tough luck that the stranger you slaughter turns out to be your father, and the woman you marry your own mother. In terms of maximalization of unhappiness, he did a pretty good job.
In my utilitarianist moments, I think that I am - for reasons of mathematic balance and equation - entitled to some kind of happiness. In fact, to a huge, injustifiably big dose of happiness. Which is ridiculous, of course. Life, as I learned today, couldn't really care less about your own, personal, maybe even selfish aspirations and hopes.
Maybe this is the most fatal myth capitalist ideology brought forward and anchored in people's minds: the possibility of personal happiness (granted, in capitalistic terms happiness comes down to maximal consumer capability, but still - it is some sort of personal happiness). And not only do we think personal happiness is possible (and that consequently, we're somewhat entitled to it), but moreover, capitalism says (but as I learned today: capitalism might not be a system... be that as it may, in any case, capitalism doesn't "say" anything... I should stop anthropologizing things): it is you who can build your own fortune (and this is wonderfully condensed in proverbs such as "Everyone is the architect of their own future" or "Everybody forges their own destiny"). When you think about it, it seems one of the most audacious and insolite and unlikely claims: for centuries and centuries in the existence of mankind and human societies, happiness in this world wasn't something that people would ever think they deserve or were entitled to (mainly because of religion and it's promise of happiness in the world to come).
When you think of Greek tragedy, it constitutes the complete opposite of the capitalist promise of happiness: Not only is it about unhappiness - even more: tragedy -, but it is about you yourself being the forger of your own unhappiness. Whether they do it willingly or not, the heros of Greek tragedy put themselves into the huge mess they're in. Remember Oedipus? tough luck that the stranger you slaughter turns out to be your father, and the woman you marry your own mother. In terms of maximalization of unhappiness, he did a pretty good job.
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