Schopenhauer said that a sense of humor is the only thing ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ in a human being, but Iโm beginning to suspect that my own โpreciousโ sense of humor may constitute one of the deepest layers of my illusory, ๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ข๐๐ก๐๐ personal self. I say this because of the feelings of consolation and substantiation (as a human ego) that it precariously provides. When my ego has been completely overwhelmed and eclipsed by more reality than it can withstand, I felt โ psychologically โ much like a deer or antelope must feel when overtaken by the lion: a kind of submission to imminent annihilation. In such ordeals, the โpersonal I-senseโ is momentarily vaporized. There is no consoling โ or ironizing โ sense of humor evident in such fateful moments, which have (mercifully) been rare, if unforgettable. If my body survives these dress rehearsals of personal extinction, my former faith in the durability and reality status of my personal ego has nonetheless been seriously ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐ ๐ค๐๐กโ. If it was cobbled together and constructed from available materials to begin with, all it takes is a very strong gust to unravel and scatter this makeshift creature to the winds. An untied scarecrow reduced to clumps of straw.
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A โsense of humorโ up against such disintegrative force is โ dare I say? โ ๐๐๐ข๐โ๐๐๐๐, as in โlaughed off the stage.โ Have I successfully exposed my own sense of humor for what it essentially is? The frail, fragile, foredoomed personal ego โwhistling in the darkโ after itโs had a terrifying taste of this ever-present, surrounding darkness? And isnโt so much of our humor intended to calm and lighten the hearts of ๐๐กโ๐๐๐ who are even less likely to recover their chastened wits after such a blast from beyond the ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐?
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I would not be so presumptuous as to claim that ๐๐๐กโ๐๐๐ of who/what we presently are survives our physical death โ but I feel reasonably certain it will not be the personal ego. What else is there, you ask? For some of you, there will be a โsomething elseโ in the mix, while others will draw a blank. But perhaps this โsomething elseโ cannot be stirred to life before the simulated death of the personal ego. A paradox.
