Depression and philosophy.

Why are depressed philosophers so good at what they do?

Or do we read philosophy mostly when we are depressed and the thoughts of other depressed, but much smarter folks, seem to resonate with us?

Or is there really something like pathos (Urdu describes this better as "दर्द") instead of a made-up emotional state we prefer our poets and philosophers to be in for them to create beautiful thoughts and emotions?

Do we have no use of philosophy for the joyous?

Or do we not need philosophy when we are happy?

Why are the Epicureans and the Cārvākans so few? Why is a Democritus not quoted (do we even know many sayings of his?) as often as say, an Aristotle? Why are there no hedonistic saints (maybe there are, and the question then is why don't we know them better?)? Why are animism and pantheism seen as unevolved as compared to, say Abrahamic religions with sin & atonement, hardship & suffering, and pain & sacrifice? Why is Kamasutra not as popular as the Bible? Why, even those who claim they have millions of Gods to choose from, and actually choose a fun-loving, mouse-riding, pot-bellied, all-forgiving one with a good appetite and an elephant head to celebrate 10 days of singing and dancing and feasting in a festival of joy, food, light, music, theatre, and colour, seem to think that something small, something insignificant, and something completely human and mortal may, nay will, offend this absolutely cute-as-a-button God of good beginnings and obstructionless events?

Why, I ask, can we not enjoy ourselves without the pinprick of guilt or the knife slash of righteous indignation?

No, this is not a rant against any specific philosophy or religion or ideology or spiritual movement. It is just me wondering why we are so unhappy all the time and why we seem to think that all genius must somehow have a dark, painful secret, a past, and a soulful, sad side to it, like expecting every silver lining to have a dark cloud by default.

Why don't we just sometimes accept, or even entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, one need not be constantly unhappy to be considered clever?

Or maybe there is a point in there somewhere that as humans, we are indeed happier when we are not.

I know, that sounds complicated. Yes, it is. If it were easy, it won't be much fun now, would it?

P.S: No, I am not happy. I am absolutely fucking depressed. No, don't try to cheer me up. It won't work. I only wrote this post because I saw Ricky Gervais's 'After Life' on Netflix last night and thought it resonated on several levels with how I have been feeling for so long that I have forgotten what it is to not feel that way. So, go away.