There is an anger within me. It’s an anger that seems like it can never be abated. It is an anger that is not only directed at the injustice of the current system, or even to the human condition, but at the sheer absurdity of existence itself. It is beyond dukkha, the fundamental suffering of existence; rather, it is an anger at dukkha, at the fundamental construct that this existence is suffering.
It is an anger that I do not know how to overcome. In my decades of seeking answers all across the planet, I don’t understand how this rage does not consume everyone. On some level, I have assumed that we all must feel this way, and that we all find ways to cope through religion or spiritual practice or disassociation or willful ignorance. But the anger tinges everything that I see, and I have spent a lifetime teetering on the brink of breakdown regardless of what I have tried. It unravels every attempt I make to feel connected to the universe, to believe in the oneness of everything, to convince myself that there is a purpose to all of this.
How can we find solace in any belief structure, whether it is an Abrahamic religion with the contrived promise of eternal salvation, or an Eastern spirituality or philosophy that portrays life as a temporary facet of an endless existence, or a modern simulation theory or even the scientific materialist notion that consciousness is an emergent abberation that means nothing and disappears when our brains decay?
Every belief structure is fabricated and manmade, all the mythology and sacredness is borne of human invention, all defined by our limited sensory experience and our rudimentary grasp of the world. And all of these beliefs are created to salve the bitter truth of mortality, to give some sense of purpose to the purposelessness, some nobility to our suffering, some hope to our eventual disappearance.
But what solace is there when we know that it’s all a lie? A placebo is useless when the patient discovers that it’s not actually medicine; how can any rational human continue to uphold their belief in anything, when even the slightest comtemplation reveals that they are simply fantastical stories concocted by other hairless apes, either to help soothe others’ mortal anxieties or, far more often, to control the weak and vulnerable?
How do we cope? How do we witness the brutality of this world, the injustice, the deliberate infliction of pain and suffering on others, the merciless slaughter of millions of living creatures every single day while we await our own inevitable and unpredictable death?
How do we tolerate the most sociopathic ascending to power, while we submit ourselves to subjugation? How can we hold compassion in our hearts when we see that theirs are full of hatred? How do we convince ourselves that it is “righteous” to tolerate their injustices, that the noble path is to radiate love even to those who actively seek to harm us for their own benefit?
How do we believe in a loving god when we see so much suffering in the innocent? How do we find strength to carry the burden of our own suffering through this cold and uncaring universe, when we know that oblivion is all that awaits us regardless of what we do?
This is despair. The loss of hope and purpose. If one does not regain at least one or the other, the despair can become literally unbearable and lead one to end their life.
I wish I had an answer, my brothers and sisters. I wish I could deliver you from despair, to strike it from your hearts. The truth is that I continue to struggle with this despair– and the anger it creates– virtually every day. My coping mechanism is a cycle of all of the above: focusing on spiritual practice until it no longer works, then distracting and numbing myself until I no longer can, then attempting to simply “accept” it and compartmentalize it to make it through the rote mechanics of existence until that, too, is no longer sufficient.
I can tell you with honesty that the times I feel most unburdened are the times that I am charitable. Helping others seems to short-circuit the brain and delivers a genuine abatement of existential suffering; whether that’s some evolutionary dopamine response to elevate our social standing and make us desirable mating partners, or it’s the finger of God rubbing our bellies for a job well done, I neither know nor care. It works.
The other times I feel unshackled are the times that I am actively defying death. For all his many flaws, Nietzsche’s proclamation to “” is perhaps his most cogent argument. There is simply nothing more life-affirming than fighting for survival, knowing that any misstep atop some dangerous crag or miscalculation in some perilous activity means an abrupt end to it all. It is a reminder of the fragility of this existence, and to live truly dangerously requires an acceptance that you may die at any moment, and you must be OK with that even as you fight with every morsel in your body to survive.
Either way, we must cope. Because the alternative is oblivion, and we’re all headed there anyway for all of eternity, so why not experience this brief flicker of mortal existence for as long as we can? And why not try to do some good in the face of crushing despair, just as a sort of “fuck you” to the cold, indifferent universe and the cruel, uncaring god?
Fuck you, universe. I’m radiating positivity.
