Optimistic Nihilism

by David Landers

  But on the other hand, I can see the position of the person whose existence is already established on the earth, that is, the mother. If the state of her affairs is such that the baby seriously threatens the quality of her life—which in turn will endanger the quality of the child’s life—I can be flexible.

  But damn it, then I waffle back to the other side as I consider the more dysfunctional, miserable kids I evaluate for juvenile probation departments. Many of them are precisely the ones whom liberals (like me) are talking about when we argue how life can be so rough for an unwanted baby and her family.

  And now I feel disgusting for even typing that, having made even the vaguest of suggestions that one of those kids shouldn’t exist. That kid’s life is just as valuable, in my reflexive opinion, as the perfectly well-adjusted honor-roll cheerleader prom queen.

  So, I don’t know where I stand on abortion. I hope I never have to face it directly, but if I do, I promise I’ll do more soul-searching than I ever have before.

  For a tangential but worthwhile aside, Schopenhauer’s position on bearing children was comically depressing, but intensely provocative:

  If children were brought into the world by an act of pure reason alone, would the human race continue to exist? Would not a man rather have so much sympathy with the coming generation as to spare it the burden of existence? or at any rate not take it upon himself to impose that burden upon it in cold blood.7

  Ironically, the nihilist may be so ridiculously open-minded and respectful of life that he actually has reservations about creating it. He appreciates the responsibility, not being shortsighted by his own selfish needs. Notice how so many people who consider becoming a parent assert “I want to have a baby,” suggesting that the experience isn’t really for the baby, it’s for the person having it. When they do have children, they often devote their lives to molding them into their own images, as if they were on a desperate mission to prolong their own lives. On the contrary, we nihilists frame the prospect of procreation into a relatively selfless proposition: “Should I create a life that necessarily has to exist but ultimately face annihilation?”

  We talked earlier about how we individuals are reluctant to change, even during those times in which evidence is accumulating to indicate that we’ve been wrong all along. Societies experience a similar inertia, a commitment to the status quo from which they do not like to veer. Just as with the individual, societal changes are unsettling because in order to change we have to admit that we’ve been wrong up until the point of change.

  Criminal justice examples are readily accessible. For instance, if we were to decisively abolish capital punishment, what would it mean for the thousands of people we’ve already executed up to this point? That’s a tough apology to make, that now we see the light, and we’re sorry we didn’t just sentence you to life imprisonment instead. We’re especially sorry because we’ve been pretty sure all along that capital punishment doesn’t even deter crime, and we have known for sure that life imprisonment is cheaper for taxpayers to fund. Yeah, I’m afraid that capital punishment has been more about vengeance than anything else … the ultimate irony of it all being that, in practice, we find that vengeance is not as satisfying as we expected, at least in the long run.

  Similarly, the American criminal justice system will eventually have to acknowledge that it has unnecessarily damaged, if not ruined, thousands of lives because of its long-standing hysteria about marijuana. We legitimate mental health professionals (and I suspect most police who work the street and are as intimately familiar with the issue as anyone) know that it’s alcohol, not marijuana, that destroys families and kills. But even as this truth becomes apparent, our society can’t simply adjust. We’re a bit addicted to our past, having been so stubbornly blinded by, among other things, Beckerarian assurances of security, such as tradition and culture, as misguided as they can be.

  A society, like an individual, is more authentic and healthy when it is less defensive and more comfortable with change. Societies should also engage ethical dilemmas and proceed deliberately, as opposed to reflexively deferring to the status quo.

  Imagine if the cigarette had not yet been invented but was now being presented to us in the 21st century, in a nation without any smokers. We’re being told that smoking is really enjoyable and will move billions of dollars through the economy, but the catch is that they’re highly addictive and even deadly, so much so that they will kill over 480,000 people a year in the U.S. alone—approximately one in five of all our annual deaths.8 What would we do with such a proposition? We’d laugh our own asses off while kicking the salesman’s through the door.

  Thinking through such examples, we begin to get the sense that this nation under God doesn’t care deeply about human life. If we did, cigarettes would have been banished years ago, firmly and sure. Instead, we’re willing to forfeit countless lives (and strain our medical care system into stagnation) because we don’t want to offend the addicts by removing a liberty that they’ve already had for so long. And as easy as it is to pick on the United States, the rest of the able world is just as guilty. If the United Nations really cared for its fellows, it would not tolerate, as it has, the myriad ethnic cleansing efforts that have occurred under its watch, which are too numerous to discuss here.

  If Americans were truly humanitarian, our national budget would look a lot different than it does today. I never would have imagined throughout most of my life that I would ever disparage NASA, but now, as a nihilistic realist, I can’t help but feel frustrated with the institution. Perhaps the best way to put it is like this: If I personally had one trillion dollars to spend, I wouldn’t explore space; I would commit that money to ambitious, progressive projects right here on Earth, such as education and criminal justice. I’d fund research that is directly and unambiguously devoted to improving human life, such as harnessing renewable energy resources or perhaps even converting rising sea levels to potable water. Don’t get me wrong: I love outer space as much as anyone, but I’d be happy to marvel at it right here from where I’m standing (just as most of the rest of people throughout history have) if, for example, social services for chronically mentally ill homeless people on this planet could be served better. It’s gonna sound dramatic no matter how I say this, but here it goes: We shouldn’t be exploring other worlds until we can feed this one. Dramatic, but how could we possibly argue otherwise? Just imagine trying to explain to some starving, shoeless kid who lives in a tin shack why the mars rover is worth it. The scene sounds like a bit from a standup comedy routine, and might be comical, if it wasn’t such an accurate depiction of how insensitive our society can be.

  Australian moral philosopher Peter Singer:

  It is obscene that people are spending thousands of dollars on a handbag or a pair of shoes when there are a billion people in the world who are living on less than a [U.S.] dollar a day … What should I be spending my money on and what does that say about me, about my priorities [when I spend it on “luxuries and frivolities”] … ? The ultimate ethical question is: How are you going to live your life? And the answer that Western culture often seems to give is: Consume a lot, buy a lot, and seek your own pleasure.9

  And we shouldn’t forget that many of the objects of our gluttony are bestowed upon us through the suffering of others, like little girls working in sweatshops in Southeast Asia or wherever.

  The punchline is that we all know that consumption is ultimately unfulfilling anyway, and we’ve known it for eons. Peter presents the ancient Greek notion of “the paradox of hedonism”: The more we pursue pleasure, the more it seems to retreat. But,

  if instead you do something else that you think is worthwhile, perhaps something that is ethically important, then you find that you get a satisfaction in doing it, and then that’s not only the more enjoyable thing to do, but of course also the more meaningful and fulfilling thing to do.10

  The sentiment is such a common one that it comes across as trite, cliché. However—as is oft
en the case with the obvious—we agree with the sentiment but we don’t live it. We smile and say “How nice” and pretend to appreciate it, but we don’t actually allow it to guide our behavior, at least significantly. It’s way too easy to rationalize the status quo as acceptable because so many are in on it. Plus, we have this mind-boggling sense of entitlement simply because we were born here instead of there, now instead of then.

  We can better appreciate our greed if we consider all of the people who have ever lived on Earth, currently or in the past. Compared to the vast, vast majority of them, we Americans—even many of us who either can’t or simply refuse to live gluttonously—still live like kings. Speaking for my modest self, I have a climate-controlled, carpeted space whose roof doesn’t leak. I have ready access to as much clean water as I could possibly consume. I have more clothes than I can even store properly and I wear all sorts of highly functional shoes. Some of my daily concerns include how to make all of my food fit in the refrigerator, or what I will do today to exercise. That’s right: My life is so luxurious that I have to figure out ways not to rest but to burn calories, otherwise I’ll gain too much weight, risk diabetes, and go a little stir crazy.

  I’m not even sure if it’s a choice anymore. I simply can’t disregard the suffering of others who don’t have my things by chalking it up to some dynamic of a god that I can’t comprehend. I do appreciate the suffering of those others, and I hurt for them. Definitely, the very least I’m going to do is not be gluttonous when they can’t; it’s simply the principle of the matter. You’ll never catch me owning a fancy car, living in an extravagant house, or wearing expensive jewelry.

  But I’m gonna do more than not be gluttonous. I’m also gonna donate some of my money to charity as well, money that would otherwise be wasted on junk in a futile effort to bring me happiness. And I’m gonna keep thinking about what else I can do. Whatever it is, I’m confident it’s going to be more productive than prayer.

  * * *

  1 Hostile critics will reflexively focus on the substance use problems Justin has had since joining the NFL. If that’s your reaction, you should examine yourself: You may be splitting, that is, unable to reconcile both the good and the negative traits in a person (as discussed previously in chapter 6).

  2 Upper Branch Productions (Producer) & Timonen, J. (Director). (2009). The four horsemen. Richard Dawkins Foundation for Reason & Science. You can watch the two episodes for free at https://richarddawkins.net/

  3 God is Not Great, p. 266.

  4 Hofmann, W., Wisneski, D. C., Brandt, M. J., & Skitka, L. J. (2014). Morality in everyday life. Science, 345, 1340-1343.

  5 Denton, R. (Producer & Director). (2004). The Atheism Tapes (Colin McGinn episode). [Television documentary miniseries]. UK: British Broadcasting Corporation.

  6 Zuckerman, P. (2015, January 14). How secular family values stack up. Los Angeles Times. Retrieved from http://www.latimes.com/opinion/op-ed/la-oe-0115-zuckerman-secular-parenting-20150115-story.html

  7 Schopenhauer, A. (2008). On the sufferings of the world. In E. D. Klemke & S. M. Cahn (Eds.), The meaning of life: A reader (3rd ed., p. 47). New York: Oxford University Press.

  8 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2014, November 20). Smoking and tobacco use - Fast facts. Retrieved from http://www.cdc.gov/tobacco/data_statistics/fact_sheets/fast_facts/

  9 Taylor, A. (Ed.). (2009). Examined life: Excursions with contemporary thinkers (pp. 63, 62, 85). New York: The New Press.

  10 Ibid., p. 85.

  CHAPTER 11

  Monster-Jam Epiphany, or When Cameras Took Over the World

  To a disciple who begged for wisdom

  the Master said, “Try this out: Close

  your eyes and see yourself and every

  living being thrown off the top of

  a precipice. Each time you cling to

  something to stop yourself from falling,

  understand that it is falling, too …”

  — Anthony de Mello, One Minute Wisdom

  WHILE ON INTERNSHIP at Arkansas State Hospital, I was able to check an item off my bucket list when my friend Charlee and I went to the Monster Truck rally in Little Rock. I’m not a true Monster Truck fan; we went for the adventure, you know, to experience something far outside our true interests. To be rude, we were looking for a freak show. That said, part of me secretly expected to enjoy the trucks as well. Grave Digger would be there!

  As far as the freak show was concerned, I was slightly disappointed. Instead of outrageously wasted, mulletted Free Birds, the arena was mostly filled with fairly average-looking families. The silver lining being that we no longer had to worry about being assaulted, which had been a concern in the back of my mind earlier. And the only beer poured on us was our own. No kidding, we had to restrain ourselves not to become conspicuous!

  Now, the trucks were not so disappointing; neither of us had a chance to hide our excitement once it started. The noise was gloriously loud, even alarming, but just under the threshold of discomfort or pain. And there was this wonderful smell that I had never experienced before. It’s hard to describe, but I can smell it right now in retrospect. It was mostly of spent fuel, I presume, but there was also a hint of oil, grease, and some other sort of metal experience that was a little more like a taste than a smell. It must have been the exhaust, because it hit us like a freight train right after the first full-throttle. You know you’re really at a show when you can taste it. Even GWAR doesn’t have a taste.

  However, I’m afraid the sound, smell, and taste were more impressive than the visuals. Some of the jumps and car crushings definitely moved me, but our show was mud-free. Apparently, Alltel Arena isn’t down with mud. Figures. But ultimately, it would be okay: To fill the void left by the lack of mud, there was funnel cake, cotton candy, and abundant brewskis. We made do.

  Indeed, unexpectedly, the most captivating visual had nothing to do with the trucks, nor was it the antics of a fellow patron. As I was trying to watch the scene unfold through my camera viewfinder, Chuck tapped me on the shoulder and had me put my camera down. She had this look of amazement on her face, like she just saw a ghost (a friendly ghost). She’s like, “Dude, check it out,” and directs my gaze away from the floor and into the crowd beyond, and sure enough it was astonishing, even more so than the awesome truck currently doin’ doughnuts.

  All of the previously darkened crowd area was now lit up with camera flashbulbs, the density of which I had never seen before or since. It was like getting a free fireworks show, but one where the technician accidentally pushed the wrong button and sent everything up at once. And it lasted for a while. And then kept going. It was really surreal.

  The punchlines are several. First, had Chuck not been there to drag my attention from my own viewfinder, I never would have noticed the fascinating scene, which, as awesome as Gravedigger was, was the most memorable moment of the whole night.

  Second, as we all should know by now, these pictures suck! Not only was I missing the spectacle of flashbulbs, I was missing them for a picture that was doomed to compromise the reality of the less interesting scene at the time!

  Third, all the other photo-addicts were missing the more captivating scene as well—but providing the captivating scene while doing so—and only getting crappy pictures to show for it!

  The moral of this story: We’ve become addicted to picture taking, largely in a desperate attempt to cling to passing moments. The irony being, of course, we’re missing out on life, often for pictures that aren’t that great anyway. We’ve become more focused on preserving the moment than we are of experiencing it directly. We assume we can be present later when looking at our pictures, but we never are, really. And now the moment is more gone than ever. Spoiled, even.

  Photography should be fun. But it’s unhealthy when our motivations stem from desperation and the desperation has us instead of us having it, like when we’re preoccupied about showing people how cool we are for what we did, whom we saw, or where we
went.

  No, I’m not suggesting that we should stop taking pictures altogether. But I am suggesting that we should examine our drives behind taking them, especially when those are bordering on obsessional: Are we content and having fun, or are we clinging?

  As you approach the end of my book, you may be asking yourself, “Was this a self-help book? But I feel like shit!”

  Well, I don’t want you to feel bad, but if you do, it’s not necessarily wrong. If you are feeling bad, it could be that you are beginning to question unrealistic, overly optimistic attitudes about reality. But don’t panic: If you are experiencing such a transition, I pray that it will be like mine, where you ultimately end up in a much better place. Now, if it’s not and you instead find yourself in a place where you feel overwhelmed, I encourage you to reach out to friends or family, and perhaps even a professional psychologist. My goal has never been to overwhelm anyone; I really do just want to help, or at worst, do nothing.

  I’m really not sure if this is a self-help book. I kinda regard it as more of a story, an autobiography, but one that I hope might affect people in a positive way. That said, I thought it might be appropriate to at least have a more explicit self-help portion to this book, to translate some of the ideas we’ve explored into more specific guidelines. To get started, we should reiterate Irvin Yalom’s “hedonism” and altruism already discussed in the last half of chapter 9. We won’t explore those again, but don’t forget about them; they’re important.

  LOWER YOUR STANDARDS

  It’s somewhat ironic that the U.S. Declaration of Independence puts the “pursuit of happiness” on such a pedestal. Many of us psychologists believe that this is a bit of a paradoxical task: Just like love or sleep, happiness is something that will elude us the more we crave it. In the words of the very wise existential psychiatrist, Victor Frankl: “happiness … cannot be pursued; it must ensue.”1