You took the trouble to read the entirety of the essay and you wrote a thoughtful analysis and comment on it. I appreciate that.
I’ll try to offer you a thoughtful response, worthy of your attention, soon. This could even deserve another essay, but I’ll try to be succinct.
Thanks for your insights, again.
I do like Camus.
And in synch with how he helped you with illness.
…how would he characterize the miracles , though.
Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable. If in order to elude the anxious question: “What would life be?” one must, like the donkey, feed on the roses of illusion, then the absurd mind, rather than resigning itself to falsehood, prefers to adopt fearlessly Kierkegaard’s reply: “despair.” Everything considered, a determined soul will always manage.
[…]
From the evening breeze to this hand on my shoulder, everything has its truth. Consciousness illuminates it by paying attention to it. Consciousness does not form the object of its understanding, it merely focuses, it is the act of attention, and, to borrow a Bergsonian image, it resembles the projector that suddenly focuses on an image. The difference is that there is no scenario, but a successive and incoherent illustration. In that magic lantern all the pictures are privileged. Consciousness suspends in experience the objects of its attention. Through its miracle it isolates them. Henceforth they are beyond all judgments. This is the “intention” that characterizes consciousness. But the word does not imply any idea of finality; it is taken in its sense of “direction”: its only value is topographical.
Another person’s sexuality was only a “problem” for me when I was at school and it was important to stay in with the crowd. Then I grew up. Part of that was hearing two sides of the issue and being asked by a teacher in class if i thought people had a choice in their sexuality.
The simple fact of my own puberity: one day I woke up with an erection thinking about girls - before girls were just odd creatures that did not play boys’ games. Suddently they were these wonderful objects of attraction.
NO, sexuality is not a choice. It’s not up to me the impose my “norm” onto others.
I was 12. I did not need cancer to tell me that.
Agreed totally and the way I found it? Try comparing Kafka with the author of mythyfus. In my next blog in wanna write.
Hi Bob,
once again thanks for taking your time to actually read and offer profound insight about this humble essay I’ve written. If I was looking for anything when I signed up in this forum, it was exactly that: constructive dialogue rather than mere polemics. If we cannot find a way to build a bridge, to establish valid communication with the “other”, the “others”, then our existence is truly a despairing and futile endeavor, and we could all, validly and legitimately, succumb to utter despair.
Even more, as truly befitting an experienced guy with a deeper, thorough comprehension of things, you choose to try and find a conciliation between yours and what is apparently an entirely divergent worldview. You don’t choose the easy path of the denier, you try to make my words make sense to you, integrating them within your own experience, your own lived and living Weltanschauung. That’s all I could expect from a true philosopher [what I myself am not], from a man capable of seeing not only things, but through things, not only words, but through words, and is also, and manly, capable of connecting a stranger anonymous guy’s words with what can only be his own personal experiences in life, not arbitrary, generalizing or nihilistic theorization.
I had promised you I’d be succint, but sorry, I get easily long-winded, I like this whole “trip” within the “world of ideas” as much as you do, thinking as an end-in-itself, but, more importantly, as an exercise in trying to make sense, to give some color, some unifying image to this unrelenting, chaotic and indifferent universe around us.
As I wrote in my text, I needed both Stirner and Camus for specific reasons. I needed to find both at a specific time of my life to give thorough significance to their words, so as to work as an “echo” to what I can only describe as ultimate wisdom, true sagesse in life, but also, mostly, as the two worldviews which resonate the most intimately with how I deal and perceive the world within and without me.
Stirner gave me the deepest insight of all: everything starts with and depends on me. The “world” was not here [for me] before I was born. The “world” won’t be here [for me] after I die. Even when accepting [and I don’t] theories on ressurrection, reincarnation, immortality of our soul, our Wesen, the question remais: it wasn’t me who was here before, it won’t be me who will be here afterwards. Because Stirner got it brilliantly right: me is a temporary being limited to a very specific body, a very specific period in time, and me is a process which only has sense when understood with reference to my real life experiences, with this body whose hands are serving me to write this right now, and not resorting to some hypothetical notion of what I might have been in an [for me] incomprehensible past life.
But such a view leads one to egoism and individualism, and could lead also to isolationism and even solipsism.
That’s the one thing many [including Camus] criticizes in Stirner: the danger of solipsism. Only I exist, the others are phantoms in my head. This is a common misunderstanding of the Stirnerian worldview, made popular by Karl Marx in his critique on Stirner. But Stirner never denies the existence of others, and of the world outside the I, never sees such things as mere creations of the individual. Nope, the individual discovers himself existing in opposition to what exists around him. In opposition or, should I say, in contrast. The others are a contrast to me, they are everything I am not, as I am everything none of them are, none of them could ever be. This very limited [insignificant] worm whose only assets in life are an individual body and an individual consciousness is, also the creator, the builder of all concepts, all systems, all notions, from the Satyagraha to veganism. This insignificant mortal creature who can be killed by an insect, a bacteria, is the one creature who created, who creates, the whole universe around him, as far as conceptualizations of the universe are involved. But it’s not that simple, of course, and there’s where society, the “others”, come into play. There’s the whole collection of concepts inherited by each of us, ingrained in each of our brains, so that if the subject chooses to, simply, “let go” and embrace the ideas those around him defend and justify, he’s right, he’s accepted, he’s irrefutable.
So early on, even when the individual gains full understanding of his peculiar nature, of the depth of his solitude, the problem of “society” appears before his face. Ok, I have a mind and a body of my own. I can think for myself and I even can come to the conclusion that all things others around me believe are ludicrous. But what can I do, what do I do about these “others”? I need them. I need them for food, for protection, for love, for understanding. I need them so that this cold universe around me doesn’t look like something so empty, so vast, so much space for nothing. But Stirner has little to offer me in regard to this problem, as he has no prescriptions to offer, no guide for life.
Therefore, I needed to find Camus too, I needed to find someone who helped me establish my feet on the ground, to protect myself from solipsism, from egomania, and one who allowed my existence with these “others” who serve as my limitation, my complement, my fellow men, and here this term is used genuinely, not lightly.
I couldn’t thrown away Stirner’s perception of the I even if I wanted, it’s far too deep for me. But Camus brings a good counterbalance.
It’s like one says: remember you’re, first and foremost, a unique individual, and the other brings this complement: but don’t forget that the “others” are out there, and you need to find a way to deal, tolerate and even help them, if you can, since that will be most beneficial for you too.
The man reason I “chose” these two was because neither offers me a collection of shoulds. Neither tells me I’m forced to do this or that [except, in the case of Camus, he seems to embrace the notion that solidarity must be a human virtue, almost a should], for both I’m free, neither thrive on fanaticism, on imposing truth on others, they are two guys with whom you could, theoretically, have a dialogue, trying to find conciliation rather than imposition, convergence rather than blind acceptance, understanding rather than ignorance.
I think my perception of things, my “philosophy” is very clear to you, as you have summarized it perfectly.
Now, you offer, and could not not to, a “however”, and I thank you for this “however”, as I couldn’t analyze my own views on life without the aid of contrasts, divergence, or, simply, the possibility of a broader understanding that may be escaping me at the moment.
Your “however” is steeped into your personal experience in life with mysticism, with your own fight to overcome the I in favor of a broader concept, a more unifying concept, that seems, or aims, to give life a much more fulfilling sense of significance.
I respect your view and I must say, I could never ever have nothing against it, as it’s not a destructive or nihilistic concept, which thrives on the idea, or the desire, to deny or annihilate others, but, rather, it’s an all-encompassing philosophy born out of deep reflection, and can only be seen as acceptable when one sees it makes the people who defend it more tolerant, open-minded, fully conversational.
You do not come to the point of labelling the ego an illusion, you rather say it’s part of a bigger thing. And attaching oneself to it is like choosing to contemplate just a tiny bit of the bigger picture, like one who reads Lawrence’s books just for the sex in it. The precise point on which we started to converse in this forum is mysticism, and the mystical experience, as a process, according to you, to look for integration, for deeper knowledge beyond the superficial appearance of things.
And this reminds me of my early experience with reading both Sigmund Freud and Carl G. Jung, who remain among my favorite authors to this very day. Freud, the cold-blooded scientist who wanted nothing but the cruel facts of life. Jung, the passionate man, trying to understand life, to understand others, but, mostly, trying to understand himself through others.
I noticed early on one side of me identified deeply with Freud, the other with Jung. I perceived Freud was much more objective, down-to-earth, a really enquiring scientific mind. Jung, on the other hand, was more passionate, he was almost an artist in the guise of a psychologist, he loved passion, he loved the whole universe of human feelings, he fell in love with his own patients, he was contradictory to the bone, and, therefore, more “human” than cold-blooded Freud.
I still remember reading Jung’s Erinnerungen, Träume, Gedanken, and gaining a deeper insight into his mind, in how he himself didn’t have a complete grasp, a complete understanding of his own mind, albeit being, theoretically, a doctor of souls. I don’t recall exact passages in the text, but I remember clearly Jung’s general conclusion about his past life was one of confusion, how he ultimately failed to integrate his mystical view on life with his own science, with his own practice, and how Freud, whom he described as a friend, a father, and lamented that they had inevitably to go their own ways in life, was the more centered, the more balanced one, because he didn’t fall into contradiction, he was what he affirmed to be, whereas Jung was easy prey to doing something and preaching the exact opposite.
Why? Because, maybe, he wanted, he aspired to, a deeper understanding of things which was not easy even for a mind like his to comprehend. Like an artist, he intuited passion, love, faith, the whole religious experience, are things which point to a broader perspective than mere cause and effect science could ever hope to fathom. And therefore he welcomes all the irrational side of human life that a guy like Freud seems to reject in himself. For an artist, such a perception is priceless, almost inevitable.
No surprise it’s your perception, then.
But you must understand that
my intention is not to offer consolation to myself. My intention is to situate myself in an [apparently] atheistic universe, an universe either uncreated or abandoned by “the divine”.
Because, what appears to me “out there” is an endless amount of nothingness, with some material bodies scattered here and there, one of whose is this little dog-eat-dog planet we call “home”.
You see everywhere around you elements of the divine. You see everywhere some indication all of this cannot have been created in vain. While I’d concur that there can possibly be an explanation that escapes me at this right moment, and which defies all my eyes can perceive, it’s questionable whether such explanation could significantly alter the roles we end up playing in the bigger scheme of things.
You also say
which doesn’t specifically contradict my ideas, I also see people and things as interconnected, my pain is the joy of my neighbor, my poverty is his wealth, but inter-being itself [=the “social”] is not sufficient to give me a sense of purpose, a sense of fulfillment. Because the “others”, necessary as they may be to ensure my survival, are also obstacles, limitations, they constrain me, they limit me, they can even annihilate me if I don’t take care. The possibly better option is always conciliate, of course, give everything its due, there’s a place for individuality, there’s a place for the “social”, for “others”, but your Weltanschauung tends obviously to lead to an over-valuation of one over the other. What you search through the I is the connection to the we, to the other, and you think this is necessary to avoid alienation, deep alienation, which may entail a lot of negative consequences, including suicide.
Not in my case. I’m dealing every day with the consequences of isolationist thinking, I don’t fully separate myself from others, my being here is an example of a search for communion of some sort, what I don’t, and can’t give up on, is the individualistic stance.
Not only because embracing the “all” rather than the “Unique” is a compromise, a compromise you are comfortable with, of course, but, mostly, because the “Unique” is what appears to me as the safest road to sanity till my very last day on earth, accepting my separation from others, in the body, in the mind, seeing this as what allows me to indulge in the most precious of all things- creation.
For creation is not possible collectively, not in any significant sense to me. “We exist individually, we live socially” means- the part of me which belongs to the “others” is the most irrelevant one, the mechanical one, but I recognize its importance, it’s the one part necessary to ensure survival at the most basic. But the other side, the individual, is the part of me which gets indignant, which challenges established notions, which gets dissatisfied, which searches for options, which searches for different ways, and, mainly, is the part of me which creates.
You, as a creator, are unique. You can’t share your creation with your wife [your most intimate bond], you can’t say she created your work with you. If she had written it, your books would be quite different. Nope, that’s your creation, your perception, your reinterpretation of things. And that’s why it’s valuable, that’s why it’s even worth the trouble to read.
I must also add, you say suffering serves a purpose, that is a view which leads to conformism and determinism, which is anathema to my worldview which values freedom and possibilities. That the world is cruel and full of suffering is unquestionable. But, as Camus, I don’t see how all this suffering could be seen as a means to an end, human or divine. For living beings don’t want suffering, they run from it like the plague. Suffering is caused by the power of some men over others. It doesn’t have another purpose other than showing “might makes right”, ie, you need power to be in the right, not to suffer. I may be misunderstanding what you mean though, because it’s clear that you
have a deeper understanding of things that is conciliating, and that doesn’t put up or validate the suffering of others, rather accept them. Your panentheism is a high concept, not your average run-of-the-mill theism, you see God within and without, you see God as a concept to give significance to all, as an escape from the inevitable and most obvious weak spot of existentialism- the meaninglessness of everything.
Your concept is rooted in your own personal mystical experience and is therefore unalienable and also untrasferable to me. You cannot “communicate” panentheism to me, I cannot inherit it from you. I could only look at the world and deduce, myself, that God is the one notion that is lacking to make the entire human experience gain some significance.
I can’t embrace such a notion, it’s not offensively absurd to my ears, but I can’t fully embrace it because I don’t see what’s the difference between seeing the universe as indifferent or seeing it as the ulterior manifestation of God. I know you go beyond mere pantheism, but you’re not that far from it. In each case, our destiny remains the same, our “lot” in life remains the same, it’s still the same dog-eat-dog world and the same bellum omnium contra omnes, it’s only that, now, all the noise, all the suffering, all the passion, gain a deeper meaning.
It makes total sense to you and I see why you need such a view to make your life [and let’s be frank, the inevitably approaching old age] more tolerable and satisfying. It’s a VISION though. A way to look at things. The vision you choose, the vision you embrace. But as you can see, not for all.
Can’t say if I want some mystery to remain [“just WHAT is this all about?” or if I’m just stubborn and full of myself. But I don’t want such a compromise right now with notions I don’t fully embrace. My current worldview is pretty much satisfying to me at this moment in my life.
Who knows how I’ll be feeling when I reach your age?
Once again, thanks for your thoughtful insights and sorry for the long reply.
I must confess that I haven’t always been so conciliatory. I dislike seeing people try to overrun those they deem weaker, less intelligent or less articulate than themselves. I am also very protective of those in my care, a fact that has surprised some individuals in the past. I usually try to begin that way and, as in your case, when it works out, I’m happy.
As I mentioned previously, by situating your need for their ideas at a specific time in your life, you show that for you, philosophy is not merely theoretical, but also practical and emotional. Its relevance is frequently influenced by your personal experiences and context. You also recognise that placing the individual ego (Einzige) at the centre of all meaning and value can lead to egoism and individualism, and potentially even solipsism.
I assumed that we all saw the self as defined in contrast to others and the world. However, it is clear that there is a distinction to be made. Buddhists and mystics, for example, tend to see the self as an illusion or as fundamentally interconnected with all things rather than as something defined by contrast. However, Stirner’s ego seems to emerge in relation to everything it is supposedly not, which is an important drawing of boundaries. This needn’t negate that it is arbitrary and only helps sort out our perspective. There is a mindfulness practice that requires that we only do one thing at a time and be attentive to that one thing. It is quite difficult.
I have always disliked the absurdity and grandeur of human existence that I saw in the pomposity with which some people see themselves. In contrast, many others are desperately trying to reach a shore. Watching some people inflate themselves and seek meaning, or even ‘immortality’, through ego, legacy or achievement requires them to ignore the inherent absurdity of our condition. Those who are less pompous are often acutely aware of life’s instability and struggle to find solid ground. However, I feel that for these people, meaning or security lies in the company of familiar people rather than in a philosophical idea.
This is a necessary addition to the first perspective, which makes me wonder why borders or boundaries have become important to you. There was a time when I was so committed to my work that my wife warned me that I couldn’t give myself wholly to it, and that she was also there. This was an important realisation, making me aware of my limitations and my commitment to my wife. The truth was that I was close to burnout. Something like that could be a reason for your struggling with both perceptions.
My summary may be accurate, but I find myself haunted by a persistent question: Why? My fascination has always been with people’s motivations—what truly drives us. This curiosity has taught me, perhaps more than anything else, that we are inseparable from the world around us. It may seem intrusive, but I invite you to reflect on your own reasons. Why was it so important to compare these two perspectives? What need or gap were you hoping to address? For me, the absence of guiding ‘shoulds’ feels somehow insufficient, though perhaps that’s just my own bias.
Consider this: our brains are already hardwired to impose boundaries on reality, even though, at a fundamental level, those boundaries are illusory. Some stroke survivors have described a world without clear separations—a gentle blending of objects rather than sharp distinctions. Interestingly, Leonardo da Vinci was among the first artists to capture this subtle merging, deliberately avoiding stark lines between forms. Perhaps, then, our philosophical urge to draw contrasts is itself an attempt to overcome an indistinctness that we sense but cannot fully define.
I hope you perceive my question above in the same way. Recently, a friend asked me about what I thought about a discussion that Iain McGilchrist had with Jordan Peterson, and I thought initially that McGilchrist is precisely the person Peterson needs to contain him. The conversation touched on death and loss and my friend asked if I could say something to the question “What’s the point of it all?” I wrote this:
“I watched the videos that you suggested at Jenny Connected. I think that the subject of death and the meaning of life is easy to talk about when you are not facing an existential situation, but once the loss has occurred, there is no talking. You need to rest in the awareness that everything is becoming and was never the “thing” we thought it to be. In this case, the person we love is not just that, but an ongoing process that has been a part of our lives but has now entered into a new stage.
This means that our gratitude for having had the relationship, in which both were transformed and mutually influenced, is the meaning of that experience. The feeling of loss is the result of the idea that we held that person and the feeling of possession. But we don’t possess anyone but link up for a period of time that has a beginning and an end. If gratitude can come out of that rather than a feeling of loss, or even of being cheated, then that is meaning (or the point of it all) as I understand it.
I hope that my experience when my wife dies will be like the end of a beautiful symphony, which I reach with tears in my eyes because of the way she moved me in so many ways. It is overwhelming and the final crescendo sounds with a “No!” in my mind, because I know it is over, but the memory is so fulfilling. Themes of that symphony will continue to sound in my memories, stirring the emotions I originally felt, but I hope I can meet them with the gratitude I feel at having her at my side.
It may be that I am too seasoned in such topics for my thoughts to be easily accepted by others, but I feel that such an approach could help people in mourning, and I have expressed the idea at the funerals of my parents. Some people thanked me, but I noticed that some people struggled. As I said, when the symphony of a life ends that has moved us so much, there is a sadness, but hopefully gratitude as well.”
I hope that my last comments show why that integration process, the search of another perspective, is so important. Life is bigger than our categorisations, our words, our knowledge or what we hold in our hands. It is a walk along the narrow line between chaos and order, between symphony and discordance, and yet both are necessary. We live in a mixture of light and shadow and a painting comes alive not just from the colours applied, but from the interplay of light and shadow. Without darkness, light has no definition; without light, darkness has no relief. Together, they create depth and meaning.
In nature, the cycle of growth and decay is fundamental. A forest flourishes with new life, but fallen leaves and dead trees nourish the soil, making way for future growth. Life thrives in the balance between emergence and dissolution. That is why human emotion is a tapestry woven from both joy and sorrow. Our happiest moments are often more profound because we know loss and pain. Sorrow carves out space in our hearts, making room for greater joy.
True freedom is not the absence of all constraints, but the ability to choose within boundaries. Responsibility gives our freedom purpose and direction, just as freedom gives responsibility meaning. We are each unique, with our own perspectives and strengths. Yet, we find meaning and support in community. Our individuality flourishes within the context of connection, and community is enriched by the diversity of its members.
Returning to what I just said, knowledge seems to provide us with certainty, but curiosity and creativity spring from the unknown. We navigate life by embracing both what we know and the mysteries that remain. Life, in its fullness, is not about choosing one side over the other, but about learning to walk the line—finding beauty, meaning, and growth in the tension between opposites. Jung’s Erinnerungen, Träume, Gedanken fascinated me too.
“In our ordinary way of thinking, things must be established before there can be relationships, and so this about-turn should seem paradoxical; but as I shall explain, paradox very often represents a conflict between the different ‘takes’ afforded by the two hemispheres. However, we must also be prepared to find that, as Niels Bohr recognised, whereas trivial truths manifestly exclude their opposites, the most profound truths do not. This is itself a version of the realisation that what applies at the local level does not necessarily apply in the same way at the global level. The failure to observe this principle underlies some of the current misconceptions of both science and philosophy.”
McGilchrist, Iain. The Matter With Things: Our Brains, Our Delusions and the Unmaking of the World (p. 16). Perspectiva Press.
“Alienation as we find it in modern society is almost total… Man has created a world of man-made things as it never existed before. He has constructed a complicated social machine to administer the technical machine he built. The more powerful and gigantic the forces are which he unleashes, the more powerless he feels himself as a human being. He is owned by his creations, and has lost ownership of himself.” Erich Fromm
In Haben oder Sein, the first book of his I read in German, Fromm discusses how the dominance of the “having” mode in modern capitalist society leads to alienation, anxiety, and a loss of authentic human connections.
“The less you are and the less you express of your life—the more you have and the greater is your alienated life.”
Fromm argues that when people focus on possession and consumption, they become disconnected from themselves, others, and the world, resulting in profound alienation. My attempt with my stories is to find back to being rather than having, which is where consolation and comfort is to be gained. Not without opposites but incorporating them.
I am always re-creating, co-creating, imitating, even if what I think seems original. The act of creation is rarely, if ever, completely original—it’s a process of weaving together influences, experiences, and fragments from the world around us. Author Austin Kleon, in his book Steal Like an Artist, writes: “Every new idea is just a mashup or a remix of one or more previous ideas.” Creativity is often about recombining existing elements in new ways.
We are always in dialogue with the nature we are part of, but also with culture, and other people. Even when we feel alone in our creative work, we are responding to, and shaped by, countless influences. When we are re-creating, co-creating, or imitating, we are participating in the timeless, communal dance of human creativity. And in doing so, we inevitably add something new—ourselves.
That is what is impressive about McGilchrist’s thoughts on religion too. He, like me, doesn’t believe in an omniscient, omnipotent, immutable God, but a presence in the universe that is pure ‘becoming’, of which we are a part, reaching out, investigating, probing, learning. We could stand on the shoulders of those before us and thereby make leaps, but each generation tends insist on making their own mistakes, which means that progress is often two steps forward, one step back (sometimes two or three backwards).
Of course, my limited ability to express myself affects the way I present my initial idea, but I can draw on shared experiences to help with that. The process going on inside me is indeed isolated from what others can see (‘Die Gedanken sind frei’), but we have an amazing ability to empathise with and connect to others, especially those diverse artists who understand how to evoke that feeling.
Suffering isn’t always caused by oppressors; it is always caused by confrontation. When we are confronted with the opposite of what we want or hope for, we suffer. However, it is by realising our mutual desire to define the world by clinging to impermanent things and learning to detach that we can use suffering as a means to learn.
Buddhism teaches that suffering (dukkha) arises from attachment and desire. By recognising the impermanence of all things, we can learn to let go and find peace. Stoicism, on the other hand, suggests that suffering does not come from events themselves, but from our judgements and expectations about them. Suffering, then, becomes not merely something to be avoided, but a potential teacher. When we encounter the limits of our desires or the impermanence of what we cling to, we are invited to reflect, grow and cultivate wisdom. Detachment is not indifference, but rather a deeper engagement with life that recognises the beauty and transience of all things.
It is, as you say, not easy to fully grasp ideas that arise from another’s mind—especially when our own experiences may be fundamentally different or even contradictory. That is precisely why the concepts I discuss often appear in varied forms when expressed by others. My perspective is inherently limited by my personal experience, and so my ideas can never be exhaustive. No single individual can encompass ultimate truth.
Instead, we each search for truths—truths that are shaped and nuanced by our unique circumstances, by the times we live in, and by the events that shape us. Truth, in this sense, is not a solitary possession but a collective mosaic: it is the sum of all the truths we discover together. This is why the metaphor of humanity coming together to share stories of how we each arrived at our understanding is so powerful and profound. It reminds us that our individual narratives, woven together, create a richer and more complete tapestry of meaning.
Of course, you’re right, it is a vision. But visions are what make human beings special. Your experience is special and a part of the cosmic mosaic or tapestry and I have enjoyed listening to your version of reality.
Another post full of well thought out reasoning and some great insights.
I was thinking if I would respond it point by point. Instead, I’ll add another reflection. Through it, I’ll try to answer your question:
in a way that might be not only satisfactory to me [and to you] but to other people who might happen to read this essay in the future.
I was watching a Western movie yesterday, I mean, a John Wayne type of Western, and what I felt by the end of the movie can only be described as a harrowing emptiness in my stomach. Emptiness. A sensation that follows me wherever I go, that assails me in the most unpredictable moments. Why did that movie in particular “activate” the emptiness in my stomach? Why, because the message of that movie, if there was one, is that the ultimate reality of life on this earth is nihilism. That nothing here is worth shit. That we are here to kill, and to be killed, in any arbitrary fashion and for whatever arbitrary motive fate decries for us. All the characters in the movie are destined to be killed violently, arbitrarily, and in a way that their whole motivation in life, for being alive, seems implausible- why are they even fighting for life instead of simply killing themselves? Someone will come, sooner or later, and kill them for some dollars. For water. Or for no reason at all. The movie reminded me of the most depressing movie I had ever watched in my life: Scarface (1983) with Al Pacino. In this story, there’s only one factor that unites all the characters in the plot: death. The overwhelming presence of death. Everybody here is “destined”, doomed to die tragically, violently. Everyone involved somehow with the “hero” has a target on the forehead. The only thing he can bring to anyone is death, and the movie ends in a horrible scene where literally everyone dies horribly. That flick gave me a big intellectual indigestion and left me wondering what’s even the point of it being made when its general message is one of such ultimate despondency.
But then it occurred to me that this is the world I live in, the movie directors weren’t trying to sell me some dystopian misrepresentations of reality, all of those things, those killings, have occured countless times in the past and are still ocurring right now, somewhere.
What is the personal, individual parallel to nihilism? Despair. Nihilism in the individual mind, in the flesh, translates as despair. The utter absence of hope or expectation. An organic inability to cling to life, a transfiguration of life where all we have left are its corruption, its destruction, a psychotic desire to make all life disappear.
I have lived in my life forever threatened by the ghost of despair, though, fortunately, never actually falling to the bottoms of depression. But the ghost of despair has always been there, since losing my father, early on in life, being always socially inadequate, being a loner and a natural “loser” by nature.
Despair has always been there, in the deepest recesses of my mind, “you gotta give up sooner or later”, “one day too much will be too much”, etc, except, the threats from the darkest corners of my mind never materialized in what would be their natural consequence.
So I went on. I became an adult, I overcame my “teenage angst” and even my social inadequacy [I’d rather say I chose to embrace it], I came to the realization that to pose as a victim would fit me as little as giving up on life entirely. I was not a victim. I was a conscious individual who had [an almost] perfect understanding of everything he did in life. I realized early on the human potential for freedom. Without even knowing the old free will debate, I already knew it’s ridiculous to pretend humans have no degree of freedom. I knew what I did, I REPENTED for a lot of things I did as a teenager, and by repenting I would think twice before doing such niaserie again.
What I realized though, as a fully independent individual, financially and mentally independent, is not only that the emptiness was still there, somehow, but that the old despair was still hiding somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to come to the surface.
And what is the nature of this despair? I did not believe in God, the devil, punishment post mortem. Why despair, if nothing will happen after death, and death may come at any moment, freeing me from all the inconveniences of life, small and big?
You might understand that, Bob.
That despair is the one thing you run from by embracing your all-encompassing worldview. We only interpret it in our own peculiar way. Through companionship and a general tolerant attitude towards life, you’ve learned to subdue it almost completely. It’s hard to imagine you having a fit of discouragement. In my case, however, I did not find a tool against despair in another person, but in myself.
I discovered the secret to overcome despair, and therefore nihilism, in my own mind, in my own spirit.
By thinking about this world- how little life is worth in it, for what stupid reasons life can be taken from us at any given moment, I have come to the realization that succumbing to despair just makes things worse. I already have men out there, able to hate me for no reason at all, who spend their whole times making their own minds sick for the pleasure of destruction, of embracing nihilism. They are their worst enemies, they end up destroying their own sanity simply because hating, or destroying, others gives them a temporary pleasure. So I already have these hate-mongers to care about, and to add up, I have the problems of personal health, of how to secure myself and keep a marginally decent level of life for me and my family, I have the problem of sanity, mental sanity, how to keep my mind balanced, how to avoid mind corrosion through stupidity, extremism, scapegoating. How to keep my mind sane for the longest time, to avoid dying like a vegetable, incapable of even feeding myself. And if I add to all this, which are the occupations of an average sane man, also despair, nihilism, nothing is worth it, nothing is worth shit, what will I have, what will I do with myself?
So, contrary to what some might deduce, my reaction against nihilism and despair doesn’t come from some darkened religious corner in my mind, but from my existentialist standpoint, where my well-being in the now and in the immediate future is my number one concern.
What Stirner and Camus gave me were means of verbalizing ideas that were already crystallized in my mind, but needed to find a convenient means of expression. And they’re so impeccably spot on that it’s almost like they had written their books for myself, for a guy like me to find some use for them.
So, why? Well, because I need to protect my mind from despair and nihilism, from what threatens to destroy it, from the feeling of uselessness, that I am noone, that I’m worth nothing, for whatever reason someone chooses to stigmatize me. Because I do not believe and will never believe in God or in an after-life, so I must needs make everything I can from this little and short life I have here, in such a way that it’s all worthwhile, not for others, but for me, not in a hypothetical future, but right now, and in every moment.
Most of all, despite all the darkness and sadness in this dog-eat-dog world, I don’t want to be unhappy, I don’t want to be always dissatisfied, because such an attitude is a forethought of nihilism, and nihilism, ie, despair, just makes things even worse than they already are naturally.
Emptiness, the sensation of emptiness, will always be there. Adulthood begins by accepting this fact and moving ahead, even if dissatisfaction is waiting for us at every corner.
I wanted to add something to this. One of the most salient character details that stood out to me about Tony Montana, was his unusual self-awareness of his own impulse towards self-destruction. Despite him being a vulgar barbaric degenerate, he still had a redeeming intelligent degree of awareness to still know and understand, that he was a barbaric degenerate. This awareness, unique as it was for someone of his primitive nature, also was a driving force of immense self-loathing for him, which qualified into self-destructive behavior. His death was a suicide. He had the foresight to see the pretension in people(his “bad guy” speech in the restaurant) and thus the empty meaninglessness in his own endeavors for wealth and power. No amount of wealth and power or cocaine could fill the existential void in him or alleviate the emptiness he knew and felt in himself. As darkly comedic as it was portrayed in the film, there were parts of him that were caring and civil. Such as his expressed desire to want children, or to care for a wife, or to vehemently rebuke and take out the assassin from killing an “innocent” family with children. The stirrings of some form of life-affirmation existed in him, but the emptiness won out in the end. A self with no identity is ultimately a dead body waiting to be buried.
When it comes to nihilism, it’s roots are in spiritual awareness. Most average people are lucky enough not to be cursed with it, and live in blissful ignorance, like children.
There’s his relation to his mother too, which would, so I thought at first, be a factor in his “redemption”, till I understood there was no possible redemption for him.
Anyway, the movie is too depressing even according to the standards of mafia movies and Pacino’s cinematography. In such films, generally there’s at least one character that’s “redeemable”. In Scarface there is none. So it’s an exercise in nihilism.
Yes, but you can choose your attitude towards it even not being a child. I’m pretty aware of the absurdity and the meaninglessness of the universe, I simply choose to focus on things I can do something about.