“Every New Discovery Is Just A Reminder…” “We're All Small And Stupid.”

 “If nothing matters, then all the pain and guilt you feel for making nothing of your life goes away – sucked into a bagel.” - Jobu Tupaki

*spoilers? maybe? not really...more thoughts generated by the movie*

Last night I saw Everything Everywhere All At Once, a movie that, on its surface, can be laughed through for the absurdity of the plot and cast of wacky characters in all of their multitudinous iterations. Yet, within the comedy, there's a poignant message about the lives we lead. Not only do we see through the eyes of the characters all the different possibilities for their being, strewn across the multiverse, but how their choices affect the lives of others as well.

Philosophically, the movie dealt with the tensions inherent in existentialism, a broad philosophical school, that can vacillate from the religiously-infused Kierkegaard to the absurdism of Camus to the positive nihilism of Nietzsche. All of the branches of existentialism share a core value of existence preceding essence. All existentialism without perspective veers dangerously into nihilism. 

What does that mean? In short, existentialist beliefs are borne out of the same desolate thought that there's no rational explanation for our existence. Our existence just is. Nothing truly matters because there is no higher power and we will all be dead one day. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, full stop. When we do not couple that belief system with a consistent perspective that we're doing all this living for something beyond just existing, then all that we can be is a temporary, swirling mass of atoms in a sea of interminable emptiness.

In the movie, Evelyn in our world lived to please her father - succumbing to the belief that his approval was all she needed to unlock her potential at a fulfilling life. When she explored other universes, she was able to see all of the different ways in which she could have achieved his approval besides running a successful coin laundromat. Interestingly, we never did see her in a scenario where she totally rejected her desire for his approval, because even in her current state, despite having disobeyed him, she was still seeking it after disobeying him earlier in life. The perspective she gained by the end of the film helped her to actualize her own desires for the life she was leading. She could move forward and actually allow herself to feel something. 

Her husband Waymond, throughout all the multiverses we saw, maintained his love for her and people in general, choosing to see the good. Despite the absurdity of life, divergent paths and unexpected occurrences, he was the one who was able to continue to see the good in Evelyn, to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

Finally, her daughter, Joy, represented someone who lacked the essence of her name. In one of the multiverses, Evelyn had pushed her too far and she was "broken" mentally. Yet her break provided clarity and insight into every iteration of her being(s). To avoid being confronted with all she could be but could not simultaneously achieve in one lifetime, she decided to create a void in which to escape. The void would give her peace of mind and eternal rest from the drama of reflective awareness, ending her existential crisis.

Ultimately, it is Evelyn who is able to reach out to Joy, but only after accepting her own faults as well as the unconditional love of her husband, as well as experiencing very real interactions through her other selves, selves that had completely different trajectories and outcomes far different from her own. 

The full weight of the philosophical implications of this film take time to sink in. I most definitely empathize with Joy's character in the ease of ending it all for the great quiet of nonexistence. But Camus already expounded that suicide or retreat doesn't eliminate the existential dilemma of life, it just sidesteps it. The only way through the pain of existence is to experience it, for within the slog of life, there are moments of joy, beauty and wonder; sometimes they come in the form of people, other times in artistic expressions, or even more simply reflected in nature or the stillness of a peaceful moment. 

Musical Epilogue from the absurdist masters, Faith No More: 

Retrovertigo

“You who live safe
In your warm houses,
You who find warm food
And friendly faces when you return home.
Consider if this is a man
Who works in mud,
Who knows no peace,
Who fights for a crust of bread,
Who dies by a yes or no.
Consider if this is a woman
Without hair, without name,
Without the strength to remember,
Empty are her eyes, cold her womb,
Like a frog in winter.
Never forget that this has happened.
Remember these words.
Engrave them in your hearts,
When at home or in the street,
When lying down, when getting up.
Repeat them to your children.
Or may your houses be destroyed,
May illness strike you down,
May your offspring turn their faces from you.”

-Shema, Primo Levi

I don't get how you explain poetry to people. Honestly, I think it's either you get it or you don't. Some poet, some verse may awaken your poetry sense one day. As an example, apart from Shakespeare, the poems we studied in high school English classes were stodgy and unappealing - definitely didn't awaken a sense of purpose, passion or desire to read more. The verses we read in Spanish literature class, however, were alive and it was through those pieces that poetry became something worth paying attention to for me. Many of the poets/poems I enjoy are impressionistic, haunting and not fully explicable.

One of the most powerful things about the above poem (for me) is the emphasis on the importance of history- our collective, organized (and mutable) memory. Because what are we, without the story that comes before? And in which, despite trying not to, your mind tries to sort out winners and losers. Though it can't stop there - human conflict isn't a fair fight situation. So we have to study history to see what limitations and advantages people, nations and civilizations have had. Monday Morning Quarterbacking the hell out of history isn't  a bad thing per say - it's more than we can do that and learn something without lording over a previous decade morally. Morals aren't REAL - they're reflections of a time and an understanding of things. Which is to say, subject to changing or dying or both. Despite being Levi's poem being one that (very nearly) condemns those who would forget the historical record - the abject horrors humans inflict on humans, it's also one that brims with contempt for those who do not live their lives fully. Those who hide away within their own illusions of safety. Who think their day will never come, or is so far off and remote a possibility as to not be real at all. Either through privilege of ignorance or anxiety, that has built a wall. Racism represents that security, so does patriarchy. Heterosexuality. Monogamy. Religiosity. It's only when you're outside the norm of a society or people that you see the rigidity that leads to those compartments, those boxes.

The thing that separates us from other animals is that we ARE able to compartmentalize and categorize, which is necessary for certain types of higher-order thinking like math or science-based, but not more artistic pursuits. These aren't mutually exclusive, but the precision of art isn't always what makes it likable. Sometimes dissonance and confusion make the enjoyable enjoyable. For the audiophiles, it's the difference between pop music and genres that are more accessible or raw or authentic (or whatever the fuck is diametrically opposed to pop music). Remember the first time you heard some song that blew your mind in multiple categories - structure, experimentation, skill, concept. Personally, and despite it not being my favorite genre, it'd likely be a song by a "progressive rock" band - maybe a song that even pushed the limits for that particular band. New vocal stylings? New time signatures? Unusual instrumentation? What am I lIsTeNiNg to? Yes, please show me you've grown. Don't give me the same shit you've been giving me for years (*ahem*Tool*ahem*). More. You've evolved, no? Or, or shit, is it money...finally? Money is what is keeping you from actually producing a work that'll get you mixed reviews, or some eyebrows. But whatever, artists as people who were once on the edge of discovery of self and life, sometimes settle too far into that moment discovery of self and life. Visually, take examples like Hieronymus Bosch or Basquiat. The most technically proficient? Hardly. The most realistic? Decidedly not. But creativity? Authenticity? Surely. There's a life in their authenticity that isn't readily available in the manufactured pieces of art you can buy at Kohl's emblazoned with "Live.Laugh.Love" (not that I find them to be morally reprehensible, but there's a lack to that "art").

Over 100 years ago, at the precipice of the explosion of the modern world, Nietzsche opined that the era in which he lived was abound with the "men of science" and that his generation had killed God and spirituality. In 2019, what would he think of the "modern man" that inhabits the western liberal societies that have dominated geopolitics and culture for nearly thirty years? At first glance, despite any trends on attendance at religious services or general beliefs in the existence of angels, god(s) or any inexplicable, supernatural beings or events, this era is also marked by "men of science" that believe in their own abilities above all else. The difference now is that the influential few - the Zuckerbergs, Gateses, Bezoses, et al - have completely reshaped human interactions and redefined individual expression to prioritize consumption for their own ends of monetary gain and social influence (aka power). Our personal profiles on social media and our ever-increasing dependence on a device for acquiring information, communication, transportation, therapy, healthcare, distraction, entertainment, validation, connection ,etc has fundamentally altered human social interaction.

When we break down these advancements in technology, its infiltration into our lives and its inexplicable link to someone else's capital, it's important to continue to ask ourselves, is there a unifying underpinning for humanity? The answer is still yes. Evolutionary developments cannot be obliterated in such a short span of time as the duration of one generation. Babies are hardwired in the same ways they were since humans lived in nomadic clusters without so much as codified language. However, it is also beneficial to realize that you, too, as an adult, are hardwired in the same basic was as those first humans. Why is that a beneficial realization? Because it is freeing you, any of us from, the trappings of modern life and any particular expectations for what is "right" and acceptable behaviorally and intellectually. To consistently go against our own general nature biologically, to be unable to express what's written in our genetic code and shaped through our experiences is stifling and anxiety-provoking. This is not a plea for the recognition of only two biological sexes and subsequently two genders, or for a particular expression of sexuality. Quote the contrary. What's missed by gender essentialists and anyone who's arguing for "hard" definitions to what's appropriate expression of self is that genetics lays out a framework, a scaffolding, a skeletal structure. Nurture and experience flesh out that structure; even people with very similar and even identical genetic codes will have had enough of a degree of differentiations in their experienced life that their expression of self will reflect those differences. The certainty of science from 100 years ago or even 10 for that matter show us the dangers of the hard answer. Science shouldn't not be trusted, obviously, but it should be something that is not held up as an unchangeable and unchallengeable standard

And thusly, to really dumb down the poetic interpretation process to just me, "spit-ballin' ideas about life," the literary output of an Auschwitz survivor is one that reminds us to actually live. Because what the fuck else is there? Recently, I came to the realization that hating myself is also part of that certainty I am railing against. I knew that logically for some time, but only have been able to understand that on any real psycho-emotional level now. It's difficult to relay to others what it feels like to dislike oneself so completely as to want to waste away and become nothing. The belief that it'd be easier for me to allow myself to be completely consumed with the idea of being cosmic energy until it kills me than to actually harness that energy to experience something. So I get when someone like Levi lives through horror, produces a volume of artistic expression and still finds himself being crushed under the weight of existence. However, like Camus, my belief is that suicide will only negate and not solve the problem. Solely through observation, consciousness only comes once in this particular figuration and to experience what I can when I can means to be free enough to make decisions, mistakes, to learn and ultimately, evolve.

"Alas, the time is coming when man will no longer give birth to a star. Alas, the time of the most despicable man is coming, he that is no longer able to despise himself. Behold, I show you the last man.
     'What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?' thus asks the last man, and blinks.
     The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea; the last man lives longest.
     'We have invented happiness,'say the last men, and they blink. They have left the regions where it was hard to live, for one needs warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him, for one needs warmth...No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever feels different goes voluntarily into a madhouse.
     'Formerly, all the world was mad,' say the most refined, and they blink...
     One has one's little pleasure for the day and one's little pleasure for the night: but one has a regard for health.
     'We have invented happiness,' say the last men, and they blink." - Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

On Existentialist Crises and a Case against Suicide

Fourteen years ago, I wanted to die, as in, not be alive anymore. But not actively, passively. I wanted to not have to live each day. I'd chalk this up now to an existentialist crisis that had its roots in my late childhood. "Not being" had come upon me suddenly when I was 9. Any sort of consistency and predictability was shaken. Throughout the years that followed, the crisis was not resolved because it wasn't fully understood nor could it be dealt with adequately.

Due to the lack of resolution, however, there were times that were deep, dark holes of anguish and frustration over the growing realization that one cannot define life [maybe it's what drove me toward atheism (soft atheism) in the present]. I intuited that there were no answers, or at least none that would satisfy me at that moment {or even now}. Maybe there is an answer that I will adopt at some point, but in the throes of an existential crisis that finally surfaced at 18, there was nothing comforting. Maybe it was almost like a fasting monk's vision, but when you're at the end of your rope, you start to see everything more clearly, for a time. And you begin to notice what you're "de-potentializing" by ending it all.

Part of giving up or giving in to the nihilism that "nothing matters" is that it helps you to see what you do to control as much as you can about your experience of this world, our "life" narratives. Imagine what would happen if you stopped performing actions that offer you a sense of power over your own destiny. You'd probably be a lot less stressed actually. Fuck control, because you don't actually have it. Even if your motto is "Everything happens for a reason," or, "God has a plan," both of which superficially embrace a random element to existence, you're still trying to make rational sense of the irrational. The universe is not uncaring, the universe doesn't have that capacity. We like to personify the universe as "cold" or "unfeeling" but that's not fair to the universe. To bring it down from the infinite to something more tangible, rocks also "don't care" about your existence, but we're using human emotions to classify something that doesn't have them. Rocks "be" and cannot care or not care. The universe also just "is."

 There is more than your own self in the driver's seat. Imagine we're all driving giant cars with individual steering wheels that give us some pull, but not as much as we think we have. We're so damn focused on the road ahead, we can't see the dashboards of all of our vehicles are actually connected. Control is a coy mistress, she knows exactly what she's doing, but you're letting her, too. Control or more correctly, power over, is dangerous. At any moment that answer you thought was there could be gone. Because it isn't actually there. It's a construct of your thoughts, of your memory, and even if others have similar memories, it won't be exactly the same as yours.

Think about telling a story with someone else. They remember details that you don't, you fill in gaps that they glossed over. You complete each other's narratives. When it comes to our own memory of ourselves, we're only relying on ONE set of details - and humans have repeatedly proven to be pretty fucking terrible eyewitnesses. People claimed to have seen a leprechaun and Big Foot. NO. WTF. Occam's razor people, Jesus.

Embrace the random. I have been trying to for 14 years. It's hard sometimes. But it would pay off if I could.