AS OF MAY 2020, THIS PIECE IS NO LONGER AN ACCURATE ASSESSMENT OF MY VIEWS
"In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."
- Albert Camus
It is tempting to view existence as a sort of narrative. Not a coherent one to be sure, nor one that can be confined within any sort of genre. Rather, it is an expression of the infinite which spans trillions of years, from the origins of matter and beyond. It is an eternal cycle of causation which spirals evermore and unstoppably into chaos and incomprehensibility. Yet we, the finite, place ourselves above infinity, seeking a means of mastering it, of asserting our freedom in an existence ruled by absolute and utter chaos which has stretched itself from the beginning of eternity.
Under what absurd pretense can I call myself free when my will is merely a manifestation of an infinite string of tangled causes? How can I say that I have chosen to write this sentence when, if every single aspect of this moment were replicated, I could do nothing other? Who am I to insist that I am somehow above the unconscious firing of neurons which formulate my conscious thoughts and actions, the uninvited birth which brought those neurons into being, the thousands of generations and trillions of biological forms which resulted in me, and the innumerable components and properties of the physical universe which brought the beginnings of matter and the advent of the universe itself? What even is this preposterous "I" which claims to possess some distinct existence which it judges to be free?
He is a being of some sort. Otherwise, how could he affirm, oppose, contrast, comprehend, fail to comprehend? Yet he must have existed before thought. If he did not, how could he be considered a living being in his infancy? Is he mind or matter? If he is an independent mind, perhaps even soul, and the limbs and organs surrounding him are irrelevant, then by definition, he is distinct from matter. Therefore, though he could not control the particulars which he must interact with, he would have a certain freedom to choose within them. If he is only body without mind, then he is merely a machine programmed to preserve itself in any manner possible, and he is neither free nor distinct. Regardless, he is at least mind, otherwise, he could not contemplate as he does.
But there remains a medium which seems more likely. What if he is both mind and body? Would the unconscious neurons which fire off inside of him be, rather than a separate entity, a part of that which claims itself to be free? Would "I" then not be choosing, whether consciously or unconsciously, what my actions will be? Perhaps. But if this is how freedom is defined, then it merely becomes a cog of determinism and loses any distinction from it.
It is doubtful to this particular being that mind and body can be separated at all. If they are intertwined, would the thinking "I" not naturally originate from the body? Certainly. But that does not mean the mind does not exist. The ability to reflect still remains, regardless of whether it is an action which can be undergone independently or whether it is merely another cog in the oppressive mechanism of determinism. So from this reasoning, it can be established that, whether it is distinct or merely a particular object of infinite causality, the "I" exists and defines itself as a being which can reflect on, among other things, whether it has any control over its own reflections.
Now that I have come up with at least a very basic idea of what I am, I can return to the question of whether I can really claim to be free. I must first define freedom in a way which fits my purposes. I have already illustrated how a view of freedom which finds its basis in the subconscious is synonymous with determinism, so I will use another definition. Freedom is defined a thinking being's ability to interact with its circumstances through decisions which originate from the conscious self. Let us break this down further. Interaction, as I call it, does not necessarily mean physical action. It can also mean mental interactions with the world, such as forming beliefs or observations. Yet the most important (and I hazard the most contentious) part of this definition is the assertion that the decisions which govern our interactions must originate within the conscious mind to be freely made ones.
But if this is how freedom is defined, as something which doesn't assume universal control by the agent but allows for a degree of it, then there is an assumption of there being any decisions at all which originate consciously. It is easy enough to point to examples of unconscious decisions which certainly cannot be considered freely made: twirling your hair, biting your nails, breathing, blinking, and countless others. Yet on what basis can we say that because we are conscious of a decision being made, the conscious mind is necessarily controlling it?
Indeed, there have been many scientific studies in recent years which attribute our actions to a combination of unconscious factors, such as genes, neural activities, and implicit instincts. Granted, the methodology of some of these have been widely panned, and it is difficult to know with any certainty whether correlations here can be called causations. Still, if we hold to the belief that mind and body are inseparable and assume that nothing can come about without a cause (rules which I see no reason to forego in this circumstance), it is reasonable to say that something within our bodies is producing tendencies towards those actions which become conscious to us.
Regardless of whether the latter claim is true, it is difficult to deny that our environment profoundly affects our decision-making. But now we come to the infamous nature-versus-nurture debate. I will forego much of the tedium of this subject by saying that whether we are primarily nature, primarily nurture, or a mixture of both, we as beings are no more independent from them. If we say that all of our personal qualities are governed by something innate, we admit that there is no separate "I" which consciously decided these things. If we say that nurture is everything, then there is no "I" which has any control over how it is nurtured. Either way (or, as it is more likely, both ways) there can be no freedom unless the presence of a third option is assumed: an independent, conscious "I" which chose what our existence would be like from the very start. Yet my mind certainly has no memory of choosing depression and anxiety in some prior existence, so I see no reason to assume such a thing.
The counterargument to the points that were made above would likely be as follows: you are referring to things we as thinking beings do not control, but that does not mean we hold no control at all over our personal qualities or our interactions with the circumstances we have been placed in. But I say that it does. If by nature (and/or nurture) I have some personality trait guides me to pursue some other trait or I hold some internal bias which drives me to make a certain decision, then with all factors present, I could never take any action besides that which I am driven to take. I will provide an example. A woman orders both a sandwich and some fries which she enjoys equally and eats the fries first. It is tempting to say that by contemplating the benefits of eating one or the other, she has freely chosen to try the fries. Yet if that moment was replayed a million times over with the same delicious aroma coming to her nostrils, the same crispy texture of the fries, the same little fly which passes by her ear, the same tastebuds which yearn for salty flavors, then how could it be possible that she would make any other decision? Certainly, she is conscious of another action which she thinks she could have taken instead (eating the sandwich first) but in reality, the combination of factors within and around her would always make her eat the fries first because there is no reason why she wouldn't. All of this is to say that if no action can be taken besides the one which we are predisposed to take, then we cannot assume any control over them.
Alas, how am I to continue living such a futile existence? How am I to avoid dying of despair, collapsing out of longing for the freedom I so desperately cry out for in the void of infinite causality? I am nothing more than a choking insect in the eternal web of determinism whose illusions of being anything more have been stripped away by a lifetime of misery and loneliness. The very idea of some compassionate God who has condemned me to this existence nauseates my ephemeral organs, evokes a wrathful vengeance of the soul towards the insidious sadist who leaves me to my empty cries and an enraged exasperation towards those who would give their praise to our egomaniacal torturer.
But who am I to criticize those who submit themselves to that sickening monster with the substance of a shadow when they too are my comrades in the ever-enduring misery of infinity? Blessed are the meek, blessed are the mesmerized. All are blessed, by divine tyrant or otherwise, with the futility of finitude, and all must live a shared anguish.
He is a being of some sort. Otherwise, how could he affirm, oppose, contrast, comprehend, fail to comprehend? Yet he must have existed before thought. If he did not, how could he be considered a living being in his infancy? Is he mind or matter? If he is an independent mind, perhaps even soul, and the limbs and organs surrounding him are irrelevant, then by definition, he is distinct from matter. Therefore, though he could not control the particulars which he must interact with, he would have a certain freedom to choose within them. If he is only body without mind, then he is merely a machine programmed to preserve itself in any manner possible, and he is neither free nor distinct. Regardless, he is at least mind, otherwise, he could not contemplate as he does.
But there remains a medium which seems more likely. What if he is both mind and body? Would the unconscious neurons which fire off inside of him be, rather than a separate entity, a part of that which claims itself to be free? Would "I" then not be choosing, whether consciously or unconsciously, what my actions will be? Perhaps. But if this is how freedom is defined, then it merely becomes a cog of determinism and loses any distinction from it.
It is doubtful to this particular being that mind and body can be separated at all. If they are intertwined, would the thinking "I" not naturally originate from the body? Certainly. But that does not mean the mind does not exist. The ability to reflect still remains, regardless of whether it is an action which can be undergone independently or whether it is merely another cog in the oppressive mechanism of determinism. So from this reasoning, it can be established that, whether it is distinct or merely a particular object of infinite causality, the "I" exists and defines itself as a being which can reflect on, among other things, whether it has any control over its own reflections.
Now that I have come up with at least a very basic idea of what I am, I can return to the question of whether I can really claim to be free. I must first define freedom in a way which fits my purposes. I have already illustrated how a view of freedom which finds its basis in the subconscious is synonymous with determinism, so I will use another definition. Freedom is defined a thinking being's ability to interact with its circumstances through decisions which originate from the conscious self. Let us break this down further. Interaction, as I call it, does not necessarily mean physical action. It can also mean mental interactions with the world, such as forming beliefs or observations. Yet the most important (and I hazard the most contentious) part of this definition is the assertion that the decisions which govern our interactions must originate within the conscious mind to be freely made ones.
But if this is how freedom is defined, as something which doesn't assume universal control by the agent but allows for a degree of it, then there is an assumption of there being any decisions at all which originate consciously. It is easy enough to point to examples of unconscious decisions which certainly cannot be considered freely made: twirling your hair, biting your nails, breathing, blinking, and countless others. Yet on what basis can we say that because we are conscious of a decision being made, the conscious mind is necessarily controlling it?
Indeed, there have been many scientific studies in recent years which attribute our actions to a combination of unconscious factors, such as genes, neural activities, and implicit instincts. Granted, the methodology of some of these have been widely panned, and it is difficult to know with any certainty whether correlations here can be called causations. Still, if we hold to the belief that mind and body are inseparable and assume that nothing can come about without a cause (rules which I see no reason to forego in this circumstance), it is reasonable to say that something within our bodies is producing tendencies towards those actions which become conscious to us.
Regardless of whether the latter claim is true, it is difficult to deny that our environment profoundly affects our decision-making. But now we come to the infamous nature-versus-nurture debate. I will forego much of the tedium of this subject by saying that whether we are primarily nature, primarily nurture, or a mixture of both, we as beings are no more independent from them. If we say that all of our personal qualities are governed by something innate, we admit that there is no separate "I" which consciously decided these things. If we say that nurture is everything, then there is no "I" which has any control over how it is nurtured. Either way (or, as it is more likely, both ways) there can be no freedom unless the presence of a third option is assumed: an independent, conscious "I" which chose what our existence would be like from the very start. Yet my mind certainly has no memory of choosing depression and anxiety in some prior existence, so I see no reason to assume such a thing.
The counterargument to the points that were made above would likely be as follows: you are referring to things we as thinking beings do not control, but that does not mean we hold no control at all over our personal qualities or our interactions with the circumstances we have been placed in. But I say that it does. If by nature (and/or nurture) I have some personality trait guides me to pursue some other trait or I hold some internal bias which drives me to make a certain decision, then with all factors present, I could never take any action besides that which I am driven to take. I will provide an example. A woman orders both a sandwich and some fries which she enjoys equally and eats the fries first. It is tempting to say that by contemplating the benefits of eating one or the other, she has freely chosen to try the fries. Yet if that moment was replayed a million times over with the same delicious aroma coming to her nostrils, the same crispy texture of the fries, the same little fly which passes by her ear, the same tastebuds which yearn for salty flavors, then how could it be possible that she would make any other decision? Certainly, she is conscious of another action which she thinks she could have taken instead (eating the sandwich first) but in reality, the combination of factors within and around her would always make her eat the fries first because there is no reason why she wouldn't. All of this is to say that if no action can be taken besides the one which we are predisposed to take, then we cannot assume any control over them.
Alas, how am I to continue living such a futile existence? How am I to avoid dying of despair, collapsing out of longing for the freedom I so desperately cry out for in the void of infinite causality? I am nothing more than a choking insect in the eternal web of determinism whose illusions of being anything more have been stripped away by a lifetime of misery and loneliness. The very idea of some compassionate God who has condemned me to this existence nauseates my ephemeral organs, evokes a wrathful vengeance of the soul towards the insidious sadist who leaves me to my empty cries and an enraged exasperation towards those who would give their praise to our egomaniacal torturer.
But who am I to criticize those who submit themselves to that sickening monster with the substance of a shadow when they too are my comrades in the ever-enduring misery of infinity? Blessed are the meek, blessed are the mesmerized. All are blessed, by divine tyrant or otherwise, with the futility of finitude, and all must live a shared anguish.
Yet there is a fundamental conflict between determinism and itself which is uniquely manifested within human beings. The infinite does not have any confinable ontology. It is chaotic, unknowing, and impersonal. Yet this same impersonal web of causation gives birth to human beings and their thoughts, thereby creating the personal. That which does not have being, that which is the chaos of the universe, gains being through the consciousness it creates. We as humans are the mechanism by which the universe looks upon itself, the place where unconscious infinity becomes conscious finitude. Through this consciousness, the personal being is able to reflect on the impersonal universe, thereby drawing a distinction between itself and the infinite and creating an existential conflict.
Human beings are crucially the personal "we" that separate themselves from the impersonal "it." We engage in an absurd struggle to find the same personality we see within ourselves in an impersonal exterior universe. By definition, we, the essentially personal, cannot reconcile ourselves with the impersonal, lest we lose our personality and therefore cease to exist. Aware or unaware of our condition, all of us spend our lives as deterministic entities seeking to impose personal meaning on a world which is inherently impersonal.
What are we then? Thinking beings whose reflections are only finite outputs of infinite inputs? We are more than that. We are personal, thinking beings. If we thinking beings are to say that the personal seeks control over the impersonal, and we claim that we are the personal and the infinite the impersonal, then we as humans find ourselves in open rebellion against the weight of the universe, engaged by virtue of our existence in a futile struggle to cast away the rock which will inevitably crush us. Yet, even knowing this, we resist by continuing to survive within a universe that will snuff us out. In this way, we the personal and determined find ourselves in conflict with the impersonal infinity in every moment of living, and therefore, we create a freedom we do not have.
Our survival is, in and of itself, an absurd struggle between the universe and itself. Though we may say that what makes us human is our ability to think, what is most fundamentally human of all is our stubborn capacity to resist the unbeatable against all logical reason. How are we to live if we have no control over our existence? We must live in the paradox, as we have always done. We must live authentically by being aware of our condition, yet optimistically persevering in our hopeless struggle against it. For if we who cannot be free embrace the absurd struggle to become free, then find hope in a victory which is both impossible and inevitable. And we gain the greatest liberty of all: the ability to choose freedom ourselves.
Let us revolt then, even though we do not choose to. We the thinking, we the paradoxical, we the absurd, we the free.
Let us revolt then, even though we do not choose to. We the thinking, we the paradoxical, we the absurd, we the free.
