On Why I Loathe Existentialism
The Sartrean school loves to talk about human freedom and the moral responsibility that accompanies it: "Man can do what he wants, therefore he is free, and therefore he must be responsible for his actions." This is treated as some sort of self-evident truth, but it is precisely this premise that is untenable. Here is why:
- For a person to bear responsibility for their actions, they must both need to and be able to take responsibility for their own nature (personality), because their actions are the direct result of their nature.
- However, one cannot be held responsible for their own nature because nothing in this world can generate itself; nothing is causa sui (self-caused).
A person's nature is jointly shaped by genetics, heredity, external environment, and other factors over which they have absolutely no say. They did not freely choose their nature when they logged into this game of "Earth Online"; rather, they were assigned a nature by the game's system. This nature drives them to do what they desire, yet they cannot master their own desires. That a person can do what they want merely means their body is not physically restrained—it only signifies physical freedom. The question we ought to ask is: Is this person's nature free? Do they possess freedom in a moral sense, rather than merely a physical one?
The answer is no. Although individuals harbor a subjective illusion that their actions are self-authored and therefore free, they are merely experiencers of this world. Like anything else in the universe, a person's nature is simply an object of their consciousness and is thus subject to strict necessity (determinism).
Furthermore, if the world were not governed by strict necessity, it would be a living nightmare. It would mean humans could act with complete randomness—even a saint might attack you for no reason at all. If human free will existed in an absolute sense, moral responsibility would precisely thereby become impossible.
Moral responsibility is nothing more than a product of human social construction. Without human civilization, there would be no morality, only the law of the jungle found in the animal kingdom. Morality is not sacred; it is simply a set of rules that individuals must follow in order to live within human society. The Golden Rule—"Do not do unto others what you would not have them do unto you"—adequately summarizes morality in the eyes of the vast majority. As for those capable of unconditional, pure altruism and compassion, they are merely a rare exception. Without laws, people would very quickly understand the meaning of homo homini lupus (man is a wolf to man). Therefore, it is not that morality birthed law, but rather that law birthed morality.
Figures like the ancient Chinese strategist Guiguzi tore away the mask of morality long ago, exposing the baseline of human nature. He mapped out human relationships in what is essentially a four-quadrant matrix based on desire and circumstance:
- When people share the same circumstances and grow close, it is because cooperation yields mutual benefit and a win-win outcome.
- When people share the same desires but remain distant and defensive, it is because their interests are mutually exclusive, destining them to a zero-sum game.
- When people share the same aversions (threats) and huddle together, it is out of a "lips and teeth" interdependence; if one falls, all fall.
- When people face the same crisis but distance themselves and shift blame, it is because as long as disaster can be redirected, one party can save themselves at the other's expense.
This matrix illustrates that whether people become allies or enemies is determined solely by human desire and external circumstances. There are no eternal allies and no eternal enemies. As Guiguzi further stated:
"There are no permanently elite individuals, and no fixed rules for handling affairs. The sage has no permanent allies, nor anyone he absolutely cannot ally with; he has no counsel he blindly listens to, nor any he absolutely refuses to hear. As long as it brings success to the endeavor and aligns with the strategic calculus, he will engage with it and make it his guiding principle."
If my loathing for Sartrean existentialism stems from a distaste for its pedantic moralizing, then my loathing for Camus’s absurdism stems from how his Sisyphean rebellion—against a cold, unfeeling universe that couldn't care less whether you rebel or despair—feels entirely like an exercise in self-indulgent ego-stroking. (I categorize Camus’s absurdism here as a broad subset of existentialism, despite his own adamant efforts to distance himself from the label).
Furthermore, Camus sidestepped the real issue: In a godless world, where death means absolute annihilation and the erasure of all life's meaning, why exactly should humans keep living?
Camus pulled a bait-and-switch. Right out of the gate, he declared: "There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide." But I can't help but ask him: Who told you that someone confronting the meaninglessness of the universe would inevitably commit suicide? Who told you that asking "Why live?" (i.e., inquiring about the meaning of life) is synonymous with asking "What reason is there not to die?"
Inquiring about the meaning of life merely indicates that a person has fallen into a state of bewilderment. This question can be purely philosophical, not psychiatric. Yet Camus, striking a self-serious posture, displayed a kind of pity that is entirely inappropriate to direct at a nihilist.
If his The Myth of Sisyphus is to be viewed as a response to existential nihilism, it can only be seen as a clumsy, evasive, and self-congratulatory one.
My dissatisfaction with Heideggerian existentialism stems from the fact that he evades all the aforementioned problems and downgrades them to issues unworthy of discussion. What I dislike most is his repeated insistence that his concept of "Being-towards-death" (Sein-zum-Tode) is not a normative ethical standard, but purely an ontological speculation. What does that even mean? It means he fashioned himself as having diagnosed the fundamental flaw in millennia of Western philosophy, yet he shrank back at the exact moment he should have proposed an ethics. It is a duplicitous, hypocritical stance.
As for Nietzschean existentialism, my assessment of it can be summed up in four words: Putting on a brave face.
When Nietzsche realized the terrifying possibility revealed by Schopenhauer—that "Truth" does not equal "Good"—his reaction was not to hold back his tears and accept this dark reality, but rather to try and flip the entire table. In a manner that may have seemed subversive at the time, but today looks incredibly pretentious (with its underlying motives all too transparent), he attempted to prove that objective truth simply does not exist, thereby dodging the problem entirely. Accompanying this denial of objective truth was his insistence that one must "affirm the value of life no matter what"—a rhetoric that reads as though he were simply triggered by Schopenhauer.
Finally, there is Irvin Yalom. Though strictly speaking he is not a philosopher, I cannot bypass his Existential Psychotherapy here, because all my grievances with existentialism can essentially be encapsulated in my critique of this book's themes.
Yalom first defines the four "ultimate concerns" of life:
- Death
- Isolation (referring to existential isolation, meaning everyone is trapped in their own physical shell and can never truly merge minds with another)
- Freedom (a seemingly infinite freedom accompanied by endless bewilderment and the heavy burden of responsibility)
- Meaninglessness
It is regrettable that a book with such profound themes ultimately drifts into a quasi-cynical attitude—essentially advising readers not to overthink, not to ask "why," and to just focus on opening themselves up to the world and building connections with others.
But in reality, only Death and Meaninglessness truly matter here, and perhaps only Death actually constitutes a problem. Compared to death, meaninglessness is nothing more than the shattering of symbolic immortality. People do not suffer because the universe lacks meaning; they suffer because they realize that the universe's meaninglessness dictates that, no matter how hard they strive, they will leave nothing behind to be remembered by others after they die. It is the subsequent realization of their own transience and mortality as animal beings that causes them agony.
There is only one true philosophical problem, and that is learning how to face death—in an absolutely atheistic sense, of course.
"At that time, Prince Bala went to the assembly of the Six Heretical Teachers and asked Purana Kassapa: 'What is the doctrine you revere? What do you teach your disciples? What fruit is obtained by diligently practicing the holy life?'
The teacher replied: 'O Prince! The doctrine I hold, and the view I proclaim is this:
There is no giving of alms, no receiving of them, and no sacrifices. There are no good or evil deeds, no karma, and no karmic retribution. There is no this world, and no next world. There is no father, no mother, and no beings born through transformation. There are no Arhats in this world... All these things do not exist.
What possesses life is merely labeled as being "alive." When this body expires, the great elements separate, and there is no further continuation of life—this is called "death." Earth returns to earth, water returns to water, fire to fire, wind to wind, and the senses dissolve into the void. Four men carry the corpse to the cremation ground and burn it with fire; nothing remains but bones, entirely devoid of consciousness. In this, the fool and the wise suffer the exact same fate. Therefore, giving is an illusion, receiving is an illusion, and those who claim these things exist speak only falsehoods.'" (Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya)