How much information is enough and is there such a thing as too much? Is there a point at which you know enough that you could confront even death itself? No, I suppose not. Because, ultimately, to die well is to live well, and to live well is to know how to interact with the real, with the immediate.
Anyone who spent at least half an afternoon once in their lives pondering over the routine, the usual, can tell you that it very quickly dissolves into something close to absurdity, but not quite, because you are left with not even that much of a satisfaction. The world sold you on rationalization over experience. Is this why we are so apathetic? Is this why every genuine show of emotion leaves us feeling as if it were somehow synthetic? We must rationalize them away!
So then, if our identity cannot be cultivated through community or family, I suppose, we shall buy it. We shall dress and we shall consume, and in that most profound wisdom of ours, we shall find identity. Individuality is real, but only in the name, for we know about each other, based on things we wear. Mass-produce identity and mass-produce culture, that way we know how to play the game and never cease the torture.