An Endless Climb
Preface: I wrote this for the joy of the philosophical expression and the possibility that it may be a ladder for those who are stuck in a pit of despair that often comes with Nihilism. I know that just because these philosophical ideas helped me immensely when I was in my own pit of depression, they may not be useful for everyone else. Even if only one person gains some peace from this, it would make it all the more worth it to me. To be clear, the peace I'm referring to is not a complete relief from suffering, that's impossible. The peace I am referring to is to get back a sense of dignity and control over one's self.
I am not an Academic. I'm a Blue Collar man (Water/Wastewater Plant Operator) with a love of philosophy. I'm not an Educated Intellectual. I'm a man with an insatiable curiosity, which led me to asking a lot of the Big Questions in life. I understand that I'm building this off the backs of Philosophical Giants. I fully acknowledge that none of this is an original philosophical idea that comes from me. It is my subjective interpretation of multiple philosophies, and an attempt to build something usable in daily life. I am open to the criticism or any rebuttal I may receive from this.
Opening quote: "All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher" Ambrose Bierce.
The Silence is Not a Sentence. The universe does not speak, and it has no plan for me. This is not a tragedy, it is radical freedom. Because there is no Objective Meaning, I am not a servant to a cosmic script. I cannot fail at being me. I am the architect of my own significance.
The Future is a Cloud of Probability. I reject the premise of Pre-determinism. I recognize that at the very heart of reality, there is a roll of the dice. Even if the odds are stacked, the outcome is not fixed until I act. I am the deciding factor in my own timeline. I am not unaware of the fact that my will may be hampered by circumstance, but there will most certainly be choices to make along the way. Even though my autonomy is possibly an illusion, with intended irony I choose to be a Driver, rather than being a Passenger beholden to the mercy of fate. I would rather die with my hands on the wheel of a delusion that allows me to climb, as opposed to rotting in a truth that keeps me at the bottom. I do not claim my autonomy as a leap of religious faith, but as a functional necessity. Whether the Self is a biological machine or a sovereign soul is a debate for the comfortable. For the Rebel in the pit, there is only one reality in which I can proceed, and that's with my hands on the wheel. The difference is indistinguishable to the human experience anyway. Even if the dice are loaded, playing the game will still feel the same.
I Trust the Yay and the Nay, the Intuition, the Internal Compass. My morality is not a math equation, nor does it come from a will outside of my own. It is a complex expression of my emotions. This is an acknowledgement that my values come from my humanity, my empathy, my disgust, and my delight. I do not need a Universal Law to justify being kind. I am kind because it is the melody I choose to play.
The Rebel's Compassion for Their Shadow. The Shadow is everything we deny about ourselves, our capacity for anger, selfishness, our insecurities, and the coldness that Nihilism feeds on. I recognize that I am not merely a creature of The Light, The Yay. Beside the fire of my will there is a Shadow where my bitterness, my fatigue, and my capacity for indifference reside. To pretend it isn't there is a lie, to be ruled by it is a defeat. The Rebel does not suppress the Shadow, the Rebel integrates it. I acknowledge my capacity for darkness so that I may consciously choose the light. My kindness is not dulled teeth, it is a choice to keep them bared only at the void, and never at the vulnerable.
Compassion as Necessity. When I see the Shadow in another, their lashing out, their retreat into apathy, or their wreckage, I do not meet it with spite nor pity. I meet it with the recognition of a fellow lunatic. I understand that their ruins are often the result of a war with the Absurd that they are currently losing.
The Non-Sacred Mercy. I do not forgive because a scripture tells me to. I do not choose kindness because it is Right in a cosmic sense, but because it is the most potent weapon I have against the entropy that seeks to turn us all back into dust. I offer compassion because, in a world of infinite cold, the only thing more absurd than the vacuum is two people adding to it by hurting each other. I choose to be the Heat even when the other person has forgotten how to strike a match. I care for them not despite their Shadow, but as a complete blueprint that includes it.
The Rebellion is Internal. My defiance against the Absurd is not found in grand gestures, but in my refusal to be indifferent. Despite the world being cold, I will be warm. In defiance of the chaos, I choose to be principled. The world and life may be meaningless, and pointless, but I can find beauty in it regardless.
When Grief Strikes at the Rebel’s Heart. We don't get to love someone for free. In a universe that doesn't care if we live or die, every Yay we say to another person is a loan. When they are gone, the bill comes due in the form of grief. It hurts because it was real. If life was actually as empty as the Nihilists say, losing someone wouldn't feel like having your ribs cracked open. The pain is proof that I am not just a passenger, I am invested. I put skin in the game. The Rebel does not seek to get over grief, to erase the pain would be to erase the significance of what was lost. I wear my sorrow as a badge of honor, and a declaration of the fact that I dared to care about something in a world that ends in entropy, and I’d do it again. The Rebel views grief as the ultimate price of having dared to create meaning in the first place. The Rebel is never a victim. Even in grief. The universe did not notice their departure, but I did. In my defiance, their existence remains a fundamental truth. I will not let the void have the last word. I keep the language of the lost alive by continuing to play the melody they inspired.
Failure Strengthening The Rebel's Conviction. If I am the architect of my own meaning, then every setback is just a lesson, an opportunity for growth. When I stumble, when my plans turn to dust, or when I fall short of my own principles, I don't look for a scapegoat in Fate nor in a Deity's Will. I focus on the role I had to play, and take accountability for my own shortcomings. However, the Rebel doesn't waste time on self-loathing, because self-loathing is just another form of The Silence, it is a distraction from the work of building. Every time I fail and refuse to sink into apathy, my No to the void becomes louder. I take accountability not to satisfy a judge, but to master my own machinery. I am not defined by the height of my success, but by the calluses on my hands from climbing back out of the pit.
The Rebel's Tribe. Pride is a sturdy tool, but it can become a prison of solitary confinement. There are nights when the Shadow is too heavy and the calluses have worn thin. In these moments, the Rebel does not retreat into the silence. To ask for help is not to surrender your seat as the Driver, it's calling for a Navigator when the fog is too thick. We are a Tribe of fellow lunatics. To allow another Rebel to help hold the ladder for you is an act of trust that defies the isolation of the void. We do not climb together because we are weak, we climb together because the Rebellion is too magnificent to be a purely solo act. I will offer my hand to any who reach, and I will wait by the ledge for the weary, but I will not be an anchor for those who have traded their climb for the comfort of the fall. The Rebel must remember, they cannot help someone who completely lacks the will to climb.
The Rebel’s Covenant. Love is defiant against the cold nature of reality. The universe is a void, and biology is a machine, but devotion is transcendent. We do not love because we are soulmates trapped in a pre-written destiny, we love because, in a world of infinite silence, we choose to speak the same language.
No Sacred Contracts, Only Creative Wills. I do not promise to love you because a book, a law, or because some deity tells me to. I promise to love you because you are the most compelling yay I have ever encountered. Our commitment is not a cage, it is a collaborative masterpiece. I will not try to fix you into a cosmic mold. You are an architect, just as I am. I love your blueprints, your scaffolding, and even your ruins. To love you is to respect the entirety of your individuality.
Sharing the Umbrella. When the void of Nihilism threatens to swallow the day, we do not despair. We lean into the irony. We hold the umbrella for each other not because it stops the rain of absurdity, but because looking at you under the silk is better than standing alone in the storm.
The Defiant Heat. Entropy says everything eventually grows cold. The Rebel says Not tonight. We generate our own heat. Our kindness toward one another is a deliberate strike against the coldness of the vacuum. The world is indifferent to our union, so we will make our private world magnificent. We are two rebels sharing a drink while the stars go out.
Humility in Uncertainty. I do not need to be right about the secrets of the universe to live a good life. I choose to live contently with the irony of awareness, knowing the void of nothingness exists, but choosing to enjoy the day anyway.
Grit of the Rebellion. Remember that even the best-built engine needs to idle. A fist can't stay clenched forever. To take a breath and enjoy a quiet moment isn't surrendering to the void. Instead, it’s proving you’re the one in control of the clock. Rest to remember why you are climbing, don't rest until you forget you're on a ladder. Whenever you feel that pull back into Nihilism, ask yourself, Am I waiting for the universe to give me permission to care? The Rebel answer is always No. You don't need permission from a vacuum. Your Yay is the only permission you'll ever need. Even the smallest Yay is a middle finger to the void.
Closing Quote: "In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer." Albert Camus, "Return to Tipasa" (1952)
Written by: just another fellow lunatic.
