People seem to find suffering deep. Serious writings explore the experiences of all manner of misfortunes, and the nuances of trauma and torment involved. It’s hard to write an essay about a really good holiday that seems as profound as an essay about a really unjust abuse. A dark past can be plumbed for all manner of meaning, whereas a slew of happy years is boring and empty, unless perhaps they are too happy and suggest something dark below the surface. (More thoughts in the vicinity of this here.)
I wonder if one day suffering will be so avoidable that the myriad hurts of present-day existence will seem to future people like the problem of excrement getting on everything. Presumably a real issue in 1100 AD, but now irrelevant, unrelatable, decidedly not fascinating or in need of deep analysis.
Some types of suffering, like chronic pain exacerbated by a shitty repetitive .annual labor job, have never gotten much attention. I think that's like the mundane happiness you describe.
Literature lingers on complex emotional suffering, I think, because it's actually more interesting by virtue of being complex but understandable with effort.
It is like a mind tied in complex knots, partly connected to the structure of the world.
I think there are complex joys as well, and literature can have as much fun with those.
I think we focus on suffering because it benefits from our negativity bias, and it seems more virtuous to spend our time understanding suffering than joy.
I think a careful unwrapping of the complexity of a joyful experience, like attending a party and interacting with people in ways they individually appreciate, or the beauty and strangeness of the walk in your other post, ultimately hold just as much interest and virtue, once we don't need to deal with so much shit.
People seem to find suffering deep. Serious writings explore the experiences of all manner of misfortunes, and the nuances of trauma and torment involved. It’s hard to write an essay about a really good holiday that seems as profound as an essay about a really unjust abuse. A dark past can be plumbed for all manner of meaning, whereas a slew of happy years is boring and empty, unless perhaps they are too happy and suggest something dark below the surface. (More thoughts in the vicinity of this here.)
I wonder if one day suffering will be so avoidable that the myriad hurts of present-day existence will seem to future people like the problem of excrement getting on everything. Presumably a real issue in 1100 AD, but now irrelevant, unrelatable, decidedly not fascinating or in need of deep analysis.