Blog Feed

In his lecture Existentialism Is a Humanism, Sartre makes a strong argument for existentialism and describes how when we make a decision we are making it for all of mankind, not just for ourselves. In light of this, he defines three terms, anguish, abandonment, and despair as groundwork for the human condition.

Existentialism is built upon the principle that existence precedes essence. This means that humans don’t have an innate essence, or as Sartre puts it, “man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world — and defines himself afterwards” (Sartre, 4). With no God to guide us, no innate essence, and no innate meaning, we are left to create these things for ourselves. This leads to what Sartre refers to as the anguish of freedom.

This anguish humans experience comes from the inescapable responsibility of  the freedom of choice that we all hold. It may seem enough of a burden to be responsible for ourselves, but Sartre takes this much further, arguing that when we make choices for ourselves they are choices for all of mankind, because we are affirming that the choice made is a good one. “When a man commits himself to anything, fully realizing that he is not only choosing what he will be, but is thereby at the same time a legislator deciding for the whole of mankind — in such a moment man cannot escape from the sense of complete and profound responsibility” (Sartre, 6) This only strengthens the responsibility we have and therefore anguish we feel.

To make the burden of choice heavier, Sartre defines the existentialist belief in what he calls abandonment. This abandonment comes from an atheist perspective that there is no God, no divine intelligible world, and therefore no a priori good, or no objective good independent of human experience. There is no absolute and objective criteria for which we can base our ethics. For Sartre there is no determinism, that is to say there are no external events that are responsible for our choices. We cannot use our human nature nor values set by God to justify or excuse our behavior because according to existentialism neither exist. This is why Sartre says, “man is condemned to be free” (Sartre, 8). We are alone, and we alone are fully responsible.

The last expression Sartre describes is what he calls despair. In this, he is referring to the fact that we can only rely on ourselves, and are limited by our wills and the natural probabilities which make our wills possible. We cannot rely on others to see our actions through or carry out our wills because they too are beings with the burden of freedom. To this point Sartre says, “I cannot count upon men whom I do not know, I cannot base my confidence upon human goodness or upon man’s interest in the good of society, seeing that man is free and that there is no human nature which I can take as foundational” (Sartre, 11). Yet this does not relinquish us from our responsibility to act. We must act, Sartre says, but we must act in our despair, without hopes or expectation. We must commit ourselves to what we believe is best, and then act upon that commitment.

I find the points Sartre brings up in this lecture to be quite honorable. I can see a lot of benefit in doing as he says; that “one ought always to ask oneself what would happen if everyone did as one is doing” (Sartre, 6). I can see many ways in which this could benefit individuals and society as a whole. In my late teens I forfeited a lot of my time to irresponsible drug use. If before taking something, especially something with nearly all negative effects, I had stopped to really ask myself, “what would happen if everyone did what I was doing?” it seems I probably wouldn’t have done it. I would’ve taken better care of my own body, and I wouldn’t have been yet another person who put out into the world the idea that reckless drug use is okay. This is the best example I could come up with because there are so many people, most notably artists, rappers, and musicians, who openly use dangerous drugs and while it is debatable how bad it is for an individual to do occasionally, we directly see how much it causes others, mostly teenagers, to think it’s safe. Then we get a rise in teenage drug use, addiction, and overdose. If everyone were to think of how their own decisions impact the decisions of others, we would have less of these issues and also become a more compassionate society.

While I do think it is an honorable stance to take, I don’t see this as an absolute that should be applied to every choice we make. We make countless decisions every day and many are completely harmless. It would be pointless to consider “what if everyone did just as I am doing” for every decision. For example: say I’ve worked for many years at the same company, decided to take vacation time, and my boss approves it. That is a good decision for me because it gives me time to relax and reset, which will in turn make me more productive when I go back to work. But if I make my decision by considering “what if everyone took vacation time just as I am” I would have to choose not to go, because it would be incredibly problematic if everyone decided to take time off work. But I know realistically everyone isn’t going to just as I am doing, and it’s better for me as an individual and employee if I take the vacation time. It would be pointless, a little harmful even, to consider in this circumstance “what if everyone did just as I am doing”.

I find the point Sartre brings up to be interesting and valuable in many, but not all, scenarios. There are no absolutes in this world, no generic moral principle or question we can apply to every choice in life that will lead us to make the best one. I believe one of the points Sartre was trying to make through the claim that we choose for all mankind even when we make personal choices, is that in our anguish, abandonment, and despair, with no God and no innate essence to guide us, we should simply do our best to be thoughtful about the decisions we make and the effect they could have on the world around us.

(1092)

We are about eight weeks into “stay at home orders” and I am still struggling to settle into this reality. I didn’t want to write on this blog prompt, but then again I am struggling to write or focus on anything at all during this time. I am feeling depressed, isolated, overly anxious, and generally bitter. I am tired all the time now, a common symptom of depression and always the first one that hits me, but also a symptom of being stuck at home with nothing to do (other than the school work that gives me anxiety to think about.) But I figured, just maybe, if I can write on this and force myself to face it, it may make it just a little easier to start getting other things done.

Reading the excerpts from Camus’ The Plague hit almost too close to home. The first part that got to me was how no one in the town of Oran could accept the severity of what was coming.

“Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world; yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky.” (Camus, 1)

I would love to say that I was better than that, but it wouldn’t be the case. Before everything shut down but the virus was being recognized as a real concern and a part of the daily conversation, I talked about it with friends and coworkers, about the severity and the possible devastating reality we could be looking at. Yet in my head I always told myself, “yeah but it can’t really be that bad, right?” In the days that followed, school was shut down, next my workplace, and one by one my therapist office, yoga studio, psychiatrist office, etc. were all closed. Coffee shops weren’t fully closed, but my ability to sit and work on homework in a public place as I had always done was banned. The next two or three weeks were somewhat of a blur. I honestly can’t say I remember a single thing I did those first few weeks at home (other than beat all of Crash Bandicoot 1 on playstation). What I do remember is that even though it had become an undeniably, pervasively serious problem, part of my brain simply couldn’t let go of the thought that in a few days I would wake up and hear on the news that we beat the Coronavirus. That I would finish out the semester at school, that I would go back to work, that I could see my friends again. Even when I rationally knew that wasn’t the case, part of my brain couldn’t accept it.

“A pestilence isn’t a thing made to man’s measure; therefore we tell ourselves that pestilence is a mere bogy of the mind, a bad dream that will pass away.” (Camus, 1)

Although we have the privilege of technology that has kept me at least somewhat connected to my friends and loved ones, Camus’ description of how the people of Oran began to feel and act in isolation is all too relatable. The last time I saw my closest group of friends was the day after my friend Devyn’s 22nd birthday. We went shopping and hung out for a few hours, but I decided to leave early to go be with my partner and his friends, and I didn’t feel too guilty about it because they were all going to be home for at least a few weeks and I knew I’d see them again soon. I never would have left if I had known it was the last time I’d see them for months. Camus talks about how hard it was for husbands and wives and lovers. I am so lucky to live with my incredibly supportive partner and to not be going through this alone, but it’s that group of friends that keeps me feeling whole, happy, and sane. I feel like I have been separated from not just one but five lovers. As did the people of Oran, I’ve taken up going on walks around town, but in them always find myself caught up in the memories of before.

“For in their aimless walks they kept on coming back to the same streets and usually, owing to the smallness of the town, these were streets in which, in happier days, they had walked with those who now were absent.” (Camus, 5)

What’s been most interesting to me in the midst of this pandemic, which Camus address in The Plague, is that we together are all feeling this collective feeling of loneliness.

“A feeling normally as individual as the ache of separation from those one loves suddenly became a feeling in which all shared…” (Camus, 3)

My parents, who despite doing their best could never fully grasp the depths of my mental illness, are missing their friends, their work, and their community just as I am missing mine. I am more bitter than many I hear talking about what we will collectively learn from this pandemic. I don’t think it’s going to shift the powers that be, or change our healthcare system drastically, or make us look inward in self reflection in such a deep and powerful way that it will change how we function as a society. The one thing I do hope, is that this collective feeling of loneliness will make us ever so slightly more compassionate towards each other moving forward.

Now, what I would like to draw attention to is how hard it is for those who struggle with mental illness during a pandemic. It may sound dark, but the needs of individuals are not and cannot be taken into account in a time like this. What matters is that the society gets through this as quickly as possible with as little devastation possible.

“…it was impossible to take individual cases of hardship into account. It might indeed be said that the first effect of this brutal visitation was to compel our townspeople to act as if they had no feelings as individuals” (Camus, 4)

The fact that I need to go to therapy, struggle immensely with the demands of online schooling, require human connection to stay healthy, and deteriorate emotionally with the loss of my normal routines and coping mechanisms is not and should not be the concern of the society. I blame no one for the issues I am experiencing, but that still doesn’t make this any easier. I am lucky to be able to see my parents and live with my loving partner, each of whom are there to support me through this. Still, I can’t help but think of all the people with similar issues to mine who don’t have that privilege. Mental illness by it’s very nature makes those who suffer it feel alone and isolated. Adding actual isolation to that has been and will continue to be deeply damaging to individuals.

I had intended to end this blog on some note of hopefulness or positivity but that is simply not how I am feeling right now. I hope but do not fully believe we will see something positive come out of this pandemic. I can’t even think of what that would be while we’re still in the midst of all this darkness. All I can do for myself and my loved ones is keep taking one day at a time, and trying when I can to do the little things that support my mental wellbeing.

“And then we realized that the separation was destined to continue, we had no choice but to come to terms with the days ahead.” (Camus, 5)

(1260)

It seems to be the sensible, easy route to call Friedrich Nietzsche a nihilist. Nihilism is a belief that life has no inherent meaning, and it therefore rejects traditional moral principles. Nietzsche certainly adheres to these beliefs, but he steers away from nihilism by proposing ideas about how we can create our own meaning in a meaningless world, better ourselves, and create our own moral code.

Nietzsche believes that the origins of traditional moral values such as justice actually lie in self-preservation and whatever is most beneficial to the individual. “Each [individual] surrenders to the other what the other wants and receives in turn its own desire (Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, 92)” Over time, he believes, we have forgotten this origin of justice and falsely come to believe justice is unegotistical. Nietzsche also describes in Human, All Too Human, the power dynamics of a society and the origins of what is viewed as good and bad. He claims what is deemed as “good” is what is advantageous for the powerful in a society and what is “bad” is what is hurtful to the powerful. These beliefs are his basis for rejecting conventional moral principles. We have wrongly assumed through years of societal conditioning that things such as justice and goodness are objective, that they are universally known and therefore the people who do “wrong” in a society should be punished. Nietzsche offers an alternative view, that there is no objective morality, and therefore however we act we are always right to do so.

To fill the void the absence of God created and steer away from nihilism Nietzsche proposes the idea of the Overman, which is essentially the ideal human that we all should strive to become. The Overman is psychologically strong, he is not controlled by the herd, he establishes his own moral code, and he brings his own meaning to a meaningless world. For Nietzsche, religion is a meaningless distraction from the real world. “The Overman shall be the meaning of the earth! I beg of you my brothers, remain true to the earth, and believe not those who speak to you of otherworldly hopes! (Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra)” What “matters” is focusing on the world we are in and the life we are living rather than concerning ourselves with some potential afterlife. As the ideal human, the Overman is concerned with this world and this world only.

I like some of the ideas Nietzsche offers. I agree that concerning oneself with an afterlife is a distraction, and that what is most important is the life we are currently living. I also find his views of power structures and good and bad to be fairly accurate and certainly in line with what we see in our own country. That being said, I don’t necessarily see these problems as a reasonable justification for rejecting all conventional moral principles. Even though I am not religious and do not believe in God, I come from a Platonic background in philosophy, and lean more towards the idea that there are some kind of objective morals we should strive for. I also find a problem with the idea that individuals should create their own morals. If there are no objective morals and we all define our own morality everyone’s sense of morality would be different; there would be no single code with which we could base laws off of and the world would be even more chaotic. This idea doesn’t acknowledge the vast differences in individuals and cultures. It’s idealistic to assume that even if everyone became perfect “Overmen” all of our morals would be the same.

(604)

“Double Indemnity” is a classic 40’s film noir that sets the tone for the whole genre. The film is about Walter Neff, an insurance salesman and a married woman who seemingly fall in love, and for love and money kill the woman’s husband. But as the movie unfolds, it becomes clear this is much more than a dark love story where two soulmates murder a bad man in order to be together. We learn towards the end of the film that Phyllis Deitrichson, the lead woman and classic femme fatale, never loved Walter at all but was merely bored, selfish, and amoral, craving more money and power than she could ever achieve in her marriage (especially in the 40’s). She played Walter, probably knowing that being an insurance man he’d know better than anyone how to kill her husband, make it look like an accident, and get money out of the insurance company. Yet all does not go according to plan when Walter’s boss and friend Keyes takes an interest in the case. Keyes is the film’s living embodiment of justice and following the rules, and as soon as he senses something isn’t quite right in the Deitrichson case, Walter knows they are in trouble. From spending time with Phyllis’s step daughter he learns more about Phyllis and begins doubting her. It is insinuated that Phyllis killed her husband’s previous wife to be with him, and now has gotten Walter to kill her husband to get the insurance money. His doubts are solidified when Keyes is sure he has found the man that helped her commit the murder of her husband; not Walter, but rather her step daughter’s ex-boyfriend Nino who has been seen meeting Phyllis at her house night after night. Walter clearly feels betrayed and angry, and by this point any sense of right and wrong he may have had is out the window. He goes to Phyllis’s house, tells her he knows everything and that he’ll be off the hook because Keyes already believes she and Nino killed her husband. But Phyllis shoots him, he gets the gun from her, and kills her. 

Nihilism is the rejection of all religious and moral principles in belief that there is no meaning in life. “Double Indemnity” is the perfect nihilistic film. The two main characters reject all conventional moral principles in order to get what they want. For Walter it’s money and lust, for Phyllis, it’s money and power. For Walter, it seems as if he struggles against braking conventional morals. He is angry the first time he guesses that Phyllis wants to kill her husband for money, he says he’d never do such a thing and storms out. But eventually his attachment to what’s right and wrong fades and he agrees to help her. Phyllis on the other hand seems to be a nihilist from the start. Although she doesn’t explicitly say it, we can presume from that first scene with her that she doesn’t care for her husband, she plays to Walter’s lust and uses him to get what she wants.

Fate is another important theme of the film; right at the beginning we see Walter, clutching his coat to cover his wound, make his way to his office in the middle of the night, and begin recording a confession of all the wrong he has done. This sets up the theme of fate, because there is no hope that it could end well. His fate is already sealed from the first scene. The two desperately try to escape their fate but by the end Walter has come to know and accept it. It’s like Keyes tells him, “they’ve committed a murder, and it’s not like taking a trolley ride together where they can get off at different stops. They’re stuck with each other and they’ve got to ride all the way to the end of the line and it’s a one-way trip and the last stop is the cemetery.” They’re fate was sealed the minute they agreed to kill Mr. Deitrichson, or arguably, the minute they met. Walter’s paranoia grows as the movie progresses because he is starting to understand there is no other way it could end. This is why he kills her at the end of the movie. Certainly anger and revenge play a role in it, but he knows even if the frame of Phyllis and Nino works, his fate will still catch up with him. While her shot at him left him badly wounded and not dead, it is still that shot that prevented him from escaping to Mexico and causes him to collapse on the floor of his office. Her shot killed him, and he killed her. Keyes was right; they were stuck on that trolley, and the last stop was the cemetery.

(802)

In the Myth of Sisyphus, Camus uses Sisyphus as an allegory to show that one can find happiness in acknowledgement of the absurd. Sisyphus was a mortal man who upset the gods by “stealing their secrets” and becoming too involved in their affairs; making deals with Esopus and putting Death in chains. For his faults he was condemned to a torturous punishment in the underworld. Thus is the absurdity of the myth of Sisyphus; he must push a rock up a hill day in and day out, watch it fall, and push it back up again. Camus speaks beautifully to this absurdity. Highlighting the incredible struggle Sisyphus faces; “…one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands”(Camus 1). That hits home in a place any human can feel. He continues, “Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward the lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain” (Camus 1). There is no end to that repetitive motion, the physical pain; yet Camus does not present this as a sad or hopeless story. Rather for Camus, Sisyphus is, at least in that pause on the top of the hill, “superior to his fate” (Camus 1). Yes, Sisyphus’ lucidity makes his fate tragic. But Camus says that crushing truths perish in their being acknowledged. Sisyphus knows his fate. This can bring sorrow, but it can also bring joy. Master of his irreversible fate, we should imagine Sisyphus as happy.

My rock is the mundanity of life, hand in hand with the battle of my mental health. It’s getting out of bed every day, brushing my teeth, going to school, going to work, sitting in traffic, doing homework, cooking, cleaning, doing dishes, and so on and so on. It’s going to therapy, keeping a journal, taking medications, getting off medications, getting better, and falling back down again. My relationship to that rock is complicated. It’s not easy. Some days the mundane seems too much to handle, and many days I wish I never have to get out of bed. In my darkest times I often didn’t get out of bed. But as it turned out, that rock was in my head too. It is waking consciousness. It’s the battle to do everyday and even when you do nothing, the internal dialogue that makes you feel guilty for doing nothing. But that is life. Life is getting up every day to push that same rock up that same hill and watching it fall down. So why is it that we don’t give up? Camus says poetically, “That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness”(Camus 1) No one is happy every minute of everyday, but we keep going for that moment of peace, that moment of clarity where we know with our whole being that this existence is our choice; that we are choosing to be strong, choosing to go on, and choosing to accept our fate. 

I can imagine Sisyphus as happy because I continue to strive for happiness pushing my rock, and some days I am happy. Some days in my hour of consciousness, I see the whole mess of reality as so strikingly beautiful. In these times, I am like Sisyphus, “he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock”(Camus 1). I watch many of the people around me who have hard lives and grueling jobs continue to find happiness within every day. That is life; finding happiness, or at least some peace, within the absurdity of our fate. We long to be stronger than our rock.

(637)