The perennial question: “If everything that we own today is to be left behind, what truly belongs to us?”

There is a Shakespearean tragedy unfolding in the modern world. Whereas humans have become incomparably wealthy, with nearly double the life spans compared to their ancestors a mere few centuries ago, the quotient of happiness, instead of increasing proportionally, is decreasing. Even with fuller stomachs and automated lives, the poverty of wealth is on display.

We live in a world where success is measured in material terms: net worth, market value, asset portfolios, etc. Success is photographed, filtered, admired, and spread across the virtual world, but the glitter blinds the observers to what is happening underneath that shining exterior. The basic equation combining happiness with wealth is fundamentally wrong.

The universal fact that has remained unchanged since the inception of life is that death follows every birth. No matter the billions owned or the portfolios on Wall Street, everything remains behind once the final gasp leaves the body. And as soon as one dies, titles change, ownership transforms, and, in certain cases, the wealth left behind becomes the cancer that decimates the inheritors.

Qin Shi Huang first ruled as King of Qin from 247 BCE–221 BCE and then as the first Emperor of a unified China from 221 BCE–210 BCE. He built one of the biggest empires of that era and sought immortality through alchemy. He filled his court with alchemists, hermeticists, occultists, and esoteric practitioners to achieve a deathless life. Ironically, the mercury elixirs that he consumed may have led to his early death at the age of 49.

The Terracotta Army, a vast collection of life-sized clay soldiers, horses, and chariots, was built to protect the emperor in the afterlife. But philosophically, is it not a monument of fear rather than fulfilment? History and archaeology proclaim the fact: wealth extends comfort. It does not and cannot extend existence.

In our world today, society believes that happiness lies at the end of acquisition. Earn more. Upgrade more. Own more. And you will be happy. But a close look at the state of happiness turns this conception upside down.

Take Japan. It is a modern miracle that from the ruins of World War II, and having experienced two atomic attacks, Japan arose like a phoenix and is currently the fourth-largest economy by nominal GDP in the world. It has one of the highest life expectancies, extreme technological advancement, a robust social system, and safety. But despite its prosperity, it has struggled with persistently high suicide rates and the phenomenon of social withdrawal. Economic riches have not safeguarded the Japanese against despair.

And it is not limited to Japan only. Robert D. Putnam’s seminal book, Bowling Alone, documents the increase in loneliness even as technology and wealth have affected lives. Similarly, Julianne Holt-Lunstad has quantified the health risks of loneliness and social isolation, calling it a “loneliness epidemic” despite the quantum jump in material well-being.

Thus, if wealth were the ultimate reality, the richest societies would have been the happiest. But they are not.

Psychologists have coined the term “hedonic treadmill” to describe this epicurean trap. When wealth increases, expectations rise. Once they are met, what once seemed luxurious becomes normal. The quest for the next level takes over. Bank balances just become a series of zeroes. The evolution from a motorcycle to a Suzuki Alto, to a Corolla, to an SUV, to a Mercedes-Benz becomes a senseless journey without any real meaning. And the relationships lost along the way become the truly meaningful casualties.

Just look at a child. He laughs at the oddest things, without any care for their value. And it is a universal phenomenon, irrespective of the chance of birth. But as a child grows, the capitalist world takes over. Happiness becomes synonymous with the price of toys, iPads and branded clothes. Genuine laughter becomes a relic of the past and, as he ages, he becomes a prisoner of his desires and wants, slaughtering his most precious commodity—his inner child—in the name of the god of wealth.

This poverty of wealth was recognised by thinkers long ago. Nirvana is a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire nor sense of self. It is achieved by relinquishment rather than accumulation. It signifies the spiritual paradox: freedom lies in needing less rather than more.

The Stoic philosopher, Marcus Aurelius, wrote in his Meditations that dissolution is the end of everyone. Impermanence is the ultimate reality. When we ignore mortality, we make wealth our end-all. When we remember it, priorities change.

Every religion has highlighted a single ethical truth: wealth is a trust, not a throne. In Islam, the Holy Qur’an clearly stipulates that “To Allah belongs whatever is in the heavens and the Earth.” Christianity echoes this as a total loss to a person who, in his quest for wealth, loses his soul. Buddhist thought defines relinquishment as the cornerstone of Buddhism.

Today’s titans also recognise the inherent paucity of wealth. Bill Gates, Warren Buffett, and many other billionaires have pledged the bulk of their fortunes to philanthropy, intrinsically upholding the fact that legacy is not a measure of wealth but rather of contribution.

In the end, the most profound wealth may consist not of what we hold, but of what we can let go of without fear. That is the prosperity no market can price, and no mortality can erase.

The graveyard is the ultimate audit. It records what we accumulated. And what we left behind.

Aamir Zulfiqar KhanThe writer is a senior public policy expert who has served as Inspector General of Police, Punjab, Islamabad and National Highway & Motorways Police. He can be reached at amzkhan.lhr@gmail.com

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