The Misattribution of Relief

A Reflection from the Beyond Material Salvation Series

When we are hungry it is not for food but for nutrients.

This is why people can be both obese and malnourished at the same time.

When we are thirsty we do not need liquid, we need hydration.

Alcohol may quench our thirst, but it does not hydrate us. It does the opposite.

Hunger and thirst are sensations the body gives when it is in need. We have the ability to blunt those physical signals and provide relief from their experience, but this does not mean that we have resolved the issue those sensations were signalling.

Relief does not equal restoration.

In fact, sometimes it does the opposite.

Sometimes we satisfy the sensation while deepening the condition that caused it.

When we are thirsty we can choose to drink water, thereby hydrating, or we can choose to drink something sweet which does the opposite. Given the consumer culture we live in, and the advertisements that work on us incessantly, many people choose the sugary drink over water because it tastes better, and the feeling of thirst goes away just the same.

Of course, the sugar further dehydrates the body, creating a deeper sensation of thirst. And that new thirst is satisfied the same way — with more sugar, and more dehydration.

Thus, the cure becomes the disease.

The body provides the signal.

But it does not determine the response.

Our responses are shaped not just by the body, but by the culture we live in and the people with whom we associate.

It is tempting to explain our poor choices through circumstances beyond our control:

There are no healthy alternatives near my work.

I’m too exhausted to cook.

Healthy food tastes bad.

Groceries are too expensive.

These pressures are real. But when they become the full explanation, something else is lost.

Agency.

Because while the signal is not chosen, the response still is.

Too often we let our emotions pivot our better judgment. We choose feeling good now over feeling better later.

And when we make that bargain, we know — deep down we know — that we are setting ourselves up to feel worse.

We know this because we feel worse today than we did last year.

And it is exhausting to be doing our best and continually feeling our worst.

It is no wonder that we choose immediate relief over delayed restoration.

This is the whole problem:

we suffer by avoiding suffering.

This is the whole solution:

we correct our misattribution of relief.

Life is suffering.

Not catastrophic suffering — not abuse or tragedy — but something quieter and more constant.

Wants.

Needs.

And limited resources.

Relief is not found in satisfying every desire.

It is found in understanding them.

The sensation itself is not the problem.

It is the signal.

That sensation of thirst is life, not the satisfaction of it.

To pay attention to the signal is to understand something about the present. It reflects the past. And how we respond to it shapes the future.

But we live in a culture that teaches something different.

We are taught that discomfort is failure.

That satisfaction is the goal.

That relief should be immediate.

This is Material Salvation.

The belief that what we feel can be resolved through what we acquire.

That image is inclusion.

That life is about feeling good, not doing good.

Material Salvation offers relief from the deeper question: How should I live?

Its answer is simple:

More.

And when there is not enough money to sustain that answer, another tool is introduced.

Consumer debt.

Enjoy now.

Pay later.

Hedonism becomes the philosophy: eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

But tomorrow we do not die.

We wake with interest payable on the debts of yesterday.

Consumer debt is an inversion of the natural order:

Today’s labour belongs to yesterday’s consumption, instead of yesterday’s labour sustaining today’s life.

This is the fruit of the misattribution of relief.

But the story does not begin there.

Because the desire for relief does not arise in a vacuum.

It is shaped by what we see.

By what we admire.

By what we believe we are meant to become.

We do not only respond to hunger and thirst.

We respond to comparison.

To the quiet pressure of distance between who we are and who we believe we should be.

And when that distance feels too great, and the path toward it too long, relief becomes more appealing than transformation.

So we reach for what is available.

Not to become —

but to appear.

Not to restore —

but to relieve.

And in doing so, we deepen the very condition we were trying to escape.

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