Nihilistic, Pessimistic, or Realistic?

A.D. Wallace once described the distinction between radical and moderate pessimism. Radical pessimism, he said, is just called pessimism, while moderate pessimism is called realism. That really resonates with me.

It confuses me why so many people think that being honest and truthful about reality is negative. I’m a truth-seeker, even when the truth is difficult to hear.

The hollowness of it all this time of year hits like a gut punch, doesn’t it? It does for me. The cultural machine revs into overdrive, parading its constructs like a golden calf. For many, it’s “the most wonderful time of the year.” For me? It’s a study in futility, a theater of the absurd dressed in twinkling lights and synthetic cheer. Call me a pessimist if you like—but am I? Or am I just daring to peel back the glittery veneer and point to the uncomfortable truth we’d rather ignore?

Every year, we strap ourselves into this holiday hamster wheel. We buy gifts nobody really wants, often on credit we can’t afford. We drag out pagan symbols, slap on a thin coat of religious rhetoric, and call it tradition. The collective irony and hypocrisy are staggering. And yet, most people would defend it all with tooth and nail, convinced I’m missing the “magic” of it. But I don’t think I am. I think I’m seeing it for exactly what it is.

Look, celebrate whatever you want, however you want—it’s no skin off my back. My point is that, as a culture, we’ve collectively signed up for a ritual of empty commerce and shallow pretense. I opted out years ago. These charades offer me no existential comfort; they churn up more disquiet than solace. Let’s call it what it is: capitalism, draped in the illusion of love and goodwill. The irony deepens when you consider how much of this seasonal spending binge props up industries churning out cheap, disposable products, often imported from halfway around the world. It’s a snake devouring its own tail, all while claiming to serve some higher purpose.

Why do we do this to ourselves? What primal force drives us to act so irrationally, year after year? The answer isn’t buried too deep; it’s fear—specifically, the fear of our own impermanence. Death anxiety, plain and simple. And rather than confront it, we dress it up in tinsel and call it a celebration.

Do you know what a great existential buffer is? Gratitude. Why is gratitude something we schedule? Why can’t we express love and appreciation for the people in our lives in March or August—or whenever the urge strikes us? Why do we let the calendar and commerce dictate the timing of something so personal and profound? The idea that love needs a price tag or a season feels absurd to me. It’s as if we’ve been sold a lie, conned into thinking that authentic connection requires a receipt. It’s ridiculous. Worse, it feels like we’re willing participants in a scam, duped into playing the part of the fool, year after year.

Regardless of how I see things, I sincerely wish everyone the best in 2025. I have a sense it might not be our brightest year, but I hope we all find a way to endure it. Whatever challenges come our way, remember this: it’s all temporary, and in the vast expanse of existence, it’s ultimately meaningless. Let that thought anchor you—it might just offer a glimmer of solace in the darkest moments.

Existentialism, Absurdism, and Nihilism

It’s always a bit surprising to me when I meet creative people who aren’t into philosophy or psychology. To me, those topics are the backbone of a creative life—maybe that’s just my take—but they’ve always been a creative driver for me.

Philosophy and psychology offer so much to draw from as an artist. I've always been drawn to existentialism and consider myself an existential artist, incorporating elements of absurdism and nihilism into my work. That interest is actually what inspired me to write this.

If you’re curious, there are three philosophers you should definitely know about: Jean-Paul Sartre (Existentialism), Albert Camus (Absurdism), and Friedrich Nietzsche (Nihilism). They all wrestled with the big questions—why we’re here, what it all means, and how to navigate life’s inherent lack of meaning. Their ideas have shaped how I see the world, though for me, Ernest Becker and Terror Management Theory have added another layer that goes even deeper.

I’ll break down a bit about who these thinkers were and what they’re known for.

Jean-Paul Sartre, a French philosopher, lived from 1905 to 1980.

The term "existentialism" is commonly associated with him. I’m an existentialist. No question about that. But I lean into all of the ideas around existentialism. Jean-Paul Sartre's existentialist philosophy centered on the idea that humans have absolute freedom to create their own values, purpose, and meaning in life.

Sartre believed that humans are "condemned to be free" and that existence precedes essence. I agree with his sentiments. He thought freedom was the bigger issue. Becker made a similar argument about the fear of living. True freedom scares people—we want to be told what to do and how to live—hence culture.

The old Greek thinkers thought that “essence” preceded existence. In other words, everyone is born with a purpose. It's evident to me that this is not the case. Sartre meant we need to assign meaning to our lives—we need to find or create constructs that keep us going. That’s evident to me, and Becker/TMT drives this point home.

The meaningless in your life is a gift. You can assign any meaning you want to it. Life is fleeting. You’re entirely free to make your life mean something. That is true freedom.

Bad faith. Sartre defined "bad faith" as a central concept in his work that describes the act of self-deception, or deceiving oneself into not having the freedom to make choices. Sartre believed that people act in bad faith to avoid short-term pain but end up suffering long-term psychological consequences. He believed that people can only realize their full potential as human beings by making difficult choices. He also believed that people who act in bad faith are more like objects in the world than conscious human beings.

According to Sartre, we have complete freedom over our lives in a world without religion or objective meaning, but with enormous power comes immense responsibility. Let that sink in for a moment: you have the power to shape the life you want to live. Most people are like robots—programmed by culture—culturally constructed meat puppets. This time of year, I see it ramp up to the extremes.

You can make wise decisions for yourself, but how do you know which ones are good? How often do you act against your own self-interest and experience positive moments when things are going well for you?

Sartre died from pulmonary edema (“wet lungs”)—probably from smoking.

Albert Camus, a French/Algerian philosopher, lived from 1913 to 1960.

Albert Camus is the father of “absurdism.” He said, “The literal meaning of life is whatever you’re doing that prevents you from killing yourself.” Nothing could be more straightforward than that. At its core, Becker also discusses this concept, albeit from an existentialist perspective rather than an absurdist’s one. Your cultural worldview or meaning system is what sustains your existence. Period.

Camus addresses the search for meaning but says that the universe is indifferent to our need for meaning. This is where the concept of absurdity becomes relevant. It’s an adjective that’s defined as utterly or obviously senseless, illogical, or untrue; contrary to all reason or common sense; laughably foolish or false. According to Camus, our need and search for meaning are absurd. It’s meaningless. How absurd! Having said that, he doesn’t recommend suicide—that’s allowing the absurdity of life to win; he doesn’t recommend religion or any ideology (nationalism, capitalism, etc.); he called that philisophical suicide. He recommends facing the absurdity (a form of rebelling) and being content. His famous line is “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“If the world were clear, art would not exist.”

— Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

Camus is saying that the very lack of clarity in the world—its absurdity—gives rise to art. And I would add that art (creative life) plays a major role in quelling death anxiety—maybe just another way of saying it. Art is humanity’s way of contending with the questions that have no final answers and finding beauty, connection, and expression within that struggle.

Camus died in a car accident in 1960.

Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1901) was a German philosopher and critic.

People often cite Nietzsche as a nihilist. I suppose he was a kind of nihilist (and not), but he offered more in terms of thought and purpose than most nihilists do. His famous quote is “God is dead.” People frequently quote it, often taking it out of context. The full quote is: “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?”

Nietzsche intended the quote to reflect the changes he saw in European society at the time and to urge people to wake up to the rapid changes in Western culture. He was making a valid point in saying that Christianity was the foundation of meaning and purpose for almost two millenia, and now technology has taken its place, leaving people confused and depressed (or lost) trying to find meaning without religion. Can you imagine what he’d say today? Oy! He wanted to hasten nilhisim in the hope of getting past it—that's the optimistic par’t happen.

Speaking of artists inspired by philosophy, you can listen to Black Sabbath's "God is Dead" song (video below). It’s classic Black Sabbath! Nietzsche’s quote is at the heart of it.

Was Nietzsche a nihilist? Nihilism is the belief in nothing. Extreme pessimism and radical skepticism, which condemn existence, are often associated with nihilism. A true nihilist would believe in nothing, have no loyalties, and have no purpose other than, perhaps, an impulse to destroy (destorying might be a purpose). I’m skeptical that anyone alive is a true nihilist. If you were a true nihilist, you would have died by suicide the second you truly believed in nothing.

In my personal opinion, Nietzsche embodied a kind of optimistic nihilism—I don’t believe he was a hardcore nihilist. Your opinion may be different.

Nietzsche died from a stroke. They say he was insane (possibly from syphilis).

“Abiogenesis,” 7” x 5", November 30, 2024, acrylic on paper.