A Better Alternative to Defensive Pessimism

We fear life as much as death. And our cynicism, a persistent sense of hopelessness, is little more than a balm for that anxiety, although we may, outwardly, detest it.

If you ask a good number of people, and they're honest with you, they'll tell you that they prefer depression to anxiety; they'd rather be sad than scared. With sadness, there's a detachment and even a sense of superiority in relation to the world; I'm outside of and above it. Those cynics among us believe they're the good ones and no one else can be trusted. They've weaved convenient tales to aid their sleep. And the world, to them, is a mere reflection of the worst qualities imagined; this is what's called depressive realism or "defensive pessimism." This strategy utilizes hopelessness to cope with fear and a skewed sense of certainty to push back one's inner critic, who's also, paradoxically, one's hero.

Often, the existentialists and cynics, or nihilists, are lumped together. The options seem to be that you're either spiritual or cynical. But there are fundamental differences, the main one being that the existentialist chooses to live with anxiety, at least theoretically. While the nihilist gives up on life, the existentialist accepts it for what it is and faces its ambiguities. I would argue that the former is easier than the latter.

To provide an overview of the differences between the two philosophies: For the nihilist, truth, morals, and meaning don’t exist, or at least are unattainable; they’re mere delusions meant to keep anxiety and sadness at bay. And since they don’t, one ought to merely live for pleasure or, worse, not care about life at all. Nihilistic thinking tends to be concrete, and the individual tends to be cynical and closed-minded. Existential thinking, on the other hand, says that we participate in creating truth (i.e., we interpret the world and act on it). And while morality isn’t universal, it exists in treating people as people rather than as objects, which is considered to be authentic (or in “good faith") since that's who and what they are. Ultimately, to the existentialists, we must take responsibility for leaving our imprints on the world. We can merely live for pleasure but will then be required to deal with how meaningless it feels when excessive. Finally, existential thinking tends to entail curiosity and anxiety but minimal sadness.

Many of those who wind up in therapy are nihilists, or depressive realists, rather than existentialists. (Yes, the latter may still seek and need treatment and may even fluctuate between nihilism and existentialism.) And when they do, more often than not they place the burden of proof on the therapist, expecting the clinician to create an airtight case against their views while not acknowledging how their commitment to irrational thought precludes a successful rebuttal. At once, the patient indicates that he would and wouldn't change, setting the bar so high that it necessitates the inevitable "I told you so." It isn't that people want to be unhappy; it's that they don't believe they can tolerate their fears or have good things. Fundamentally, to them, the existential choice is between hopelessness and eventual disappointment. So, as they evade, they project their anger onto the world and say, "It isn't me who's awful; it's all of you."

So, to be an existentialist, one has to first develop some trust in the individual(s) showing him to a reasonably high degree that at least some part of his life will likely be good. And he has to discontinue trying to win at therapy, for the only prize is more sadness, not self-esteem, at least in the long run. Eventually, past victories are devalued with the competition, and "same old, same old" rules the day. For many, anxiety and sadness are intertwined, so they "choose" the latter, expecting it one way or another. To choose the former, one would need to take seriously the evidence contrary to what they've always believed. They'd need to develop the courage to sit with that tension and even the knowledge that they'll never be able to trust anyone concretely, or in the same way they've come to trust their cynicism. At first, they may love to live as a form of rebellion, shoving their lives in the faces of their captors. But eventually, life may become the end in and of itself.

Philosopher Albert Camus noted that the meaning of life entailed a f*ck you to it. To him, each day, which was more or less the same, was a rebellion to the absurdity of existence, a way to tell the world that despite its attempts to, it can and will never defeat you. But Camus was wrong. The boulder Sisyphus pushes up the hill each day isn’t the same. In reality, each boulder, while insignificant on its own, serves as a base for the next one, as Sisyphus, in effect, builds his mansion. Even though it will falter in time, its impact, the cumulative effect of each piece, is felt each moment it stands. Its place in the universe is immortalized in the universal scripts of our lives, which are housed in the ether of all that is, was, and will be the universe.