Finding Meaning in the Meaninglessness

“Light” This is dead Rocky Mountain barley and a small cactus flower that is blooming. This is a 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25,4 cm) RA-4 color reversal direct print (made in the camera). This is about 1 second overexposed - I really like the diptych of these.

““Man’s main concern is not to gain pleasure or to avoid pain but rather to see a meaning in his life. That is why man is even ready to suffer, on the condition, to be sure, that his suffering has a meaning.””

— Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

This coming Saturday, April 22, 2023, I’m going to read the sixth chapter of “The Worm at the Core: On the Role of Death in Life” on my YouTube show. This chapter is about symbolic immortality. What is symbolic immortality? It’s the flip side of the coin of human desiring or striving for immorality. One side of the coin is literal immortality (last week’s read), and the other is symbolic immortality. It’s a big driving force in our lives. And it’s very interesting in terms of terror management theory. If you can, join me for the reading, I’m sure you’ll find something vaguely interesting if you’re reading this.

The book really starts to take off with this chapter. To this point, the authors have laid the groundwork for the reasons we lean on repression, denial, and the transcendence of death. They’ve addressed how we use our parents when we’re children for our self-esteem, and then we separate, or individuate, and lean on culture for the all-important tools to repress or deny the knowledge of our impending death and to build self-esteem (which acts as a buffer to death anxiety). They’ve given both historical references and modern empirical evidence about how we respond to death awareness. For me, this is where these theories really take off and we begin to connect the dots.

“Humans are incredibly intelligent. On consciousness: It takes a ridiculously sophisticated cognitive apparatus to render yourself the object of your own subjective inquiry. ”

— Soren Kierkegaard

Since human beings acquired consciousness or became aware that they existed, nonexistence has become a frightening reality. Mortality is on our minds and in our thoughts; it consumes us, and we need a way to buffer, repress, or transcend it. This is true, whether we know it or not, and most don’t (it’s an unconscious activity, like most psychological events). We are so embedded or ensconced in our cultural worldview that we’re blind to what motivates our activities, shapes our desires, and drives us on a daily basis. For me, this is the most revealing feature of these ideas. We’re so far down the rabbit hole (repressing the anxiety) that we can’t make sense of these theories; we don’t understand them. That’s what they’re designed to do: keep us from thinking about becoming worm food. And over tens of thousands of years, they have become so deeply embedded in our psychological landscape that we are shielded from the knowledge of death—at least for the most part.

One way we deal with the terror of death is to transcend it; we mainly use culture to do that. Technology, religion, art, ritual, myth, family, politics, relationships, money, etc.—these all provide some form of immortality for us or ways to repress or buffer existential dread. Why are we so afraid of dying? It’s not the actual event of death that gives us anxiety (some do have anxiety about how they will die), but the knowledge of it. We are living and existing in a meaningless world. We won’t be remembered. It’s the impermanence and insignificance that give us anxiety and dread. We want to be remembered; better yet, we don’t want to die!

“Ernest Becker called this desperation ‘the ache of cosmic specialness.’ Becker states what is patently obvious to most: as humans, we constantly put ourselves at the center of the universe.”

— The Denial of Death

“Life & Light” is a 20” x 20” (51 x 51 cm) these are RA-4 color reversal direct prints (made in the camera).

As Ernest Becker, the author of “The Denial of Death” (1973), pointed out, Freud was wrong. It’s not our sexual drive that motivates our behavior and psychological gymnastics; it’s our fear of death. Peter Zapffe, a Norwegian philosopher, also addressed these theories in his 1933 essay, “The Last Messiah.” Zapffe cites four coping mechanisms we use to repress death anxiety. For Zapffe, our becoming mentally over-equipped has resulted in us becoming “fearful of life itself" and of our “very being." The degree to which we are conscious of reality, which is unlike any other species, also means that we have become acutely aware of the suffering of billions of people and sentient life on the planet, as well as the planet itself.

“The Last Messiah” starts like this (bold for emphasis):

“One night in long bygone times, man awoke and saw himself.

He saw that he was naked under cosmos, homeless in his own body. All things dissolved before his testing thought, wonder above wonder, horror above horror unfolded in his mind.

Then woman too awoke and said it was time to go and slay. And he fetched his bow and arrow, a fruit of the marriage of spirit and hand, and went outside beneath the stars. But as the beasts arrived at their waterholes where he expected them of habit, he felt no more the tiger’s bound in his blood, but a great psalm about the brotherhood of suffering between everything alive.

That day he did not return with prey, and when they found him by the next new moon, he was sitting dead by the waterhole.”

Sublimation, which Zapffe calls “a matter of transformation rather than repression,” It involves turning “the very pain of living” into “valuable experiences.” He continues: “Positive impulses engage the evil and put it to their own ends, fastening onto its pictorial, dramatic, heroic, lyric, or even comic aspects.” He also notes that the essay "The Last Messiah" itself is an attempt at such sublimation. For Zapffe, sublimation is “the rarest of protective mechanisms." Most people can limit the contents of their consciousness using the previous three mechanisms (isolation, anchoring, and distraction), staving off existential angst and world-weariness. But when these forms of repression fail and the tragic cannot be ignored, sublimation offers a remedy, a way of turning the unignorable “pain of living” into creative, positive, aesthetically valuable works. (Partially Examined Life) This is where I find myself—deep into sublimation.

Meaning and Meaninglessness
Everyone has the responsibility to create meaning in their lives. There is nothing inherently meaningful in life. Life is primarily a biological process; it goes on whether we believe in something or not; it simply doesn’t matter; the world goes on. When people ask, “What is the meaning of life?” They are missing the point; there is no meaning; you have to create it, find it, search it out, apply it, and live it. The question should be, “What is the meaning in life?” Your life. Whatever that might be, I believe whatever you do to create meaning is a good thing as long as it doesn’t hurt or infringe on other people's ways of creating meaning.

If you’re religious or have a certain faith or belief in an afterlife and believe in a deity, no problem. If you belong to a sports club or a political group and find meaning and significance there, no problem. If you have a hobby—gardening, cooking, sewing, writing, painting, or photography—that’s great! If it bolsters your self-esteem, makes you feel significant, and gives you meaning, you’re on the right track.

The problem is that, a lot of times, unconscious beliefs infringe on other people's cultural worldviews; it creates hurt, discrimination, oppression, and even death (this usually happens to members of marginalized groups). Everyone needs to find something that provides them with meaning and significance. This isn’t about being right or wrong; it’s about being human and feeding self-esteem to buffer death anxiety. We all suffer from this condition (the human condition). No one gets to say, "That doesn’t apply to me." It applies to everyone.

I’m not a nihilist, but there is some truth in the “nothingness” that nihilists ascribe to, especially existential nihilism. Nietzsche said, "To live is to suffer. To survive is to find some meaning in the suffering." I do ascribe to that idea.

William Shakespeare wrote:
"Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

I titled this essay “Finding Meaning in the Meaninglessness.” It’s a difficult thing to admit, but everything is meaningless. Everything. For context, when I say meaningless, I mean it in the cosmic sense, not the personal sense. For me, all of my pictures, all of my writings and books, all of my thoughts, my degrees, my life experiences, all of my accomplishments, even my existence, are all meaningless. It’s true, and I’m fine with that truth. What I’ve found is that, while I understand this fact in the cosmic sense, it doesn’t preclude me from finding meaning and significance for myself. All of the aforementioned things are very meaningful, significant, and important to me, including my wife and daughter, who are at the top of my meaningful list, and my friendships and relationships outside of my family.

I’ve created, experienced, and lived all of it for my mental health and well-being, not for some bigger purpose or to change the world. It’s wonderful to be alive most of the time. I’m in awe of the beauty where I live. I’m amazed at the progress human beings have made over the millennia. It’s truly amazing. I’m grateful to wake up every morning.

On the surface, it may seem that I’m trying to change the world through my work, but I’m not. If no one ever read a word I’ve written, looked at a picture I’ve made, or listened to my philosophies about life, it wouldn’t matter—because it doesn’t. They’re not meaningful or important to the bigger scheme of things (cosmic); I get that, and I’m okay with that. I’ve come to terms with it. It doesn’t depress or demotivate me either. In fact, in a lot of ways, it’s freeing and maybe even emancipating in ways. It encourages me even more to express and create.

The only thing I’ve tried to do (intentionally) in my life is encourage people to consider people who are different from them as fully human and try not to do harm to “the other.” And now, with my new work, I’m trying to help people understand what these important ideas have to offer. It would be a much better world, at least for the time we’re here, if we could come to terms with our mortality. As Albert Camus said, “There is only one liberty, to come to terms with death, thereafter anything is possible.”

Hemingway's Typewriter

Ernest Hemingway (1899–1961) was an American novelist, short-story writer, and journalist. In 1953, he won the Nobel Prize for "The Old Man and the Sea." Unquestionably, Ernest Hemingway was antisemitic. Throughout his letters, he makes nasty remarks about Jews. But Hemingway felt his prejudice had a place in his fiction as well, most notably in "The Sun Also Rises," his classic 1925 novel about a group of Paris expatriates at the bullfights in Pamplona. He was a product of his generation’s white supremacy, casual (accepted) racism, and bigotry.

Whatever you think about Hemingway, he was a talented writer and had a big impact on novels and writing. In a way, he created a genre. I studied and read his work in undergraduate school. While it was intriguing and engaging, it was littered with machismo and patriarchy, along with antisemitism, racism, and generally chauvinistic views. Some of it was relevant to the stories and characters, but most of it was connected to the time period. Hemingway was part of the “Silent Generation.”

In my new work, I write about him and his suicide in Ketchum, Idaho. It’s relevant because I ended up at his grave site in 1995. I made a Polaroid portrait as I sat on his grave, next to a dozen yellow dead roses that were there. You can read about it in my book (which will be published next year) if you’re interested. Although this Polaroid wasn’t in my exhibition (it was two years later), it made me think about my use of color photography back then and how it’s made a reappearance in this work.

It’s always a struggle for me to separate the artist from their ideologies. Hemingway fits perfectly into that dilemma. Martin Heidegger is another example: a profound philosopher who was a nazi. I struggle with this. However, I digress. That discussion is for another time.

Often, when the topic of making pictures comes up, some of the first questions are, "What process did you use?" or, “What kind of lens or camera did you use?" I always refer to Hemingway. Let me explain what I mean.

There is an important element to what materials or process(es) you use to make art. No doubt. I’ve written about this before and expressed my views clearly. They’re important for reasons, not for importance's sake alone. In other words, I don’t think you’ll hit your mark simply by riding on a process or a piece of equipment.

The materials, equipment, or process(es) need to support the work, not the other way around. If you’re making pictures in a process for the process’ sake, I think you may be missing the point. It’s like stringing a bunch of letters in a line because they look good, not because they communicate something or give context to the work (they can still look good and support or communicate an idea). My point is, I don’t know of anyone who’s ever asked what kind of typewriter Hemingway used to write "The Old Man and the Sea." Does it matter? Was it a Corona? Underwood? What difference would it make? Full disclosure: After Hemingway’s death, people wanted to know more about him, and they published what kind of typewriter he liked. This was in a very different context than what I’m referring to.

Give these ideas some thought. What are your choices, or the motivation behind your choices, when making pictures? Can you defend why you’ve chosen the materials, equipment, and process(es) you’re using?

Summary of My Project: In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering

DEATH ANXIETY & THE DENIAL OF DEATH
This project has a level of complexity in communicating what it is, what it’s about, and the objective of the work. It is very complex in one sense and, in another, very simple and straightforward. It’s simply expounding on theories of human behavior (Becker et al.) that affect all of us and the implications of them. I would sum up the objective of the work using Carl Jung’s idea of making the unconscious conscious. That’s what I would like to have happen: The average person would be able to accommodate and assimilate these ideas and understand their universal implications.

From the book, “The Worm at the Core: The Role of Death in Life,” by Sheldon Solomon, Jeff Greenberg, and Tom Pyszczynski. This is a great book. I encourage you to read it.

This is what I've written as a short description of the project. I would like to hear your feedback if you're willing to share. Does it make sense? Do you think you understand the work or the goals of the project? Do you feel that you have a basic understanding of the theories I'm working with?

SUMMARY STATEMENT OF THE WORK
Drawing inspiration from the seminal work of cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker, my book, "In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering" (2024), aims to challenge the dominant cultural narratives that deny the reality of death and the ways in which this denial contributes to the oppression and eradication of marginalized cultures, specifically the Tabeguache-Ute of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. By embracing Becker's insights into terror management theory and the role of death anxiety in shaping human behavior, this project seeks to provoke reflection and dialogue about the urgent need to come to terms with our mortality and its implications for our relationships with one another and the planet.

Why Photographic Prints (and Books) Are Important

“We have in fact only two certainties in this world - that we are not everything and that we will die.”

— Georges Bataille

You hear advice for digital photographers to “print their images.” It’s good advice. Storage cards and drives crash all the time. I suspect very few actually follow that advice. However, this essay is not about that type of printing, and the ideas that I’m going to address live in a completely different space. This is about the photographic fine art print as an object of value: something tangible and handmade. As well as the importance of books and the meaning of value,

In this essay, I want to address the idea of value as it relates to prints and books in the photographic fine art world. What is value, and how do you define it?

Have you ever thought about the importance of the photographic print? What I mean is that when we talk about photography today, it’s usually about posting digital snaps on social media. I read a scary statistic the other day about “Generation Z” (Zoomer students): very few have ever been to an art gallery (to see work in person), even fewer own any photography books, or books in general, and almost none of them have ever been in a photographic darkroom. Their photographic and art world lives online in zeros and ones. That really shocked me. The last few wet collodion demonstrations I did (pre-COVID) at the local university, I felt that something was “off.” I couldn’t put my finger on it; it just felt like the students were distant and not really interested in my presentation. I’d been doing these for years and never had a response, or lack thereof, like this before. It made me start to wonder about the changing perception of art, literature, and education in general. I taught higher education for a few years; in fact, the initial reason for getting an M.F.A. was to continue to teach in higher education. I had a change of heart when I finished graduate school. I feel that I can contribute more to the world doing what I’m doing now. I’m very grateful that I didn’t continue teaching. I think I would have been disappointed and discouraged by it.

WORK, SKILL, & MATERIALS

The Value of Work
When we talk about value, we have to address some key elements that separate the different approaches to making art using photography. One of the big ones for me is work. The 19th-century French novelist George Sand said, "Work is not man's punishment. It is his reward, his strength, and his pleasure." I agree. I define work as a system of mostly failing and continuing to pursue your goal until you’ve achieved it—be willing to not only accept failure but embrace it. I work the hardest on the ideas behind my work. The other component of my photography is the work in the darkroom and printing. I can spend an hour developing and processing one negative. And I can spend an entire day trying to make a print from the negative that I like. While today’s technology allows a person to fire off thousands of images onto a digital card, my work is in the single digits (maybe three on a good day). I have to physically work for those, and some days are complete failures. Whatever the reason(s), nothing works.

The Value of Skill
This is a topic that can be controversial in the sense of how you determine or define skill. For me, skill includes all of the technical knowledge of any given process plus the wisdom of how to apply the process to achieve a certain aesthetic—not an easy thing to do. Knowledge, gained through the study of new information, consists of a rich storage of information. Wisdom, on the other hand, has to do more with insight, understanding, and accepting the fundamental “nature” of things. Let me back up a little and say that the wisdom of applying an aesthetic to an image comes from the knowledge of what you’re trying to say with the image. In other words, there needs to be a story or narrative in place in order to even do this. Without this, you can’t really do anything.

The Value of Material
One of the most important ideas to me is materials. One of the many reasons I enjoy working with historic processes is the variety of materials available for use in any given process. Everything from the papers to the silver can be used as a metaphor in the work. I used to talk about the glass used in collodion when making photographs of synagogues destroyed in Germany on Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass). Or the cyanide I use to remove the unexposed silver from the plate; the same substance was used in Europe's gas chambers during WWII. With my current project, I’m using a variety of materials that address, directly or indirectly, the thesis of the work. The tangible quality of the materials lies beyond the metaphors. It's an experience to hold a handmade photograph physically in your hands. I believe we've lost touch with the material (physical) aspect of photography. That has changed the medium a lot in my mind. This is where books can be vital. In this digital age, we rely on internet connections, computers (phones), and power to be able to see or read anything. If any one of those isn’t available, the work is no longer available to you. With a book, you only need light.

Photogenic Drawing of Rocky Mountain Barley.

THE HANDMADE PRINT
In the context of a handmade print, value can be defined in several ways, including:

1. Unique craftsmanship: One of the primary sources of value in a handmade print is the uniqueness and individuality of each print produced. Handmade processes often involve a high level of skill, attention to detail, and creativity, which can result in prints that are distinct from one another-each one an original. Viewers may place a premium on handmade items because of their uniqueness and the sense of artistry and personality that they convey.

2. High-quality materials: Handmade processes often involve the use of high-quality materials that are carefully selected and sourced. This can add to the value of the final product, as the materials used may be of a higher quality than those used in mass-produced items.

3. Personal connection: Handmade processes often involve a personal connection between the creator and the product. The maker may have a strong emotional connection to the item they are creating, and this can be conveyed to the viewer in the finished print. Viewers may value this personal connection and feel more attached to handmade items than they would to mass-produced items.

Overall, the value of something made by hand can come from a number of things, such as its uniqueness, quality, and personal connection.

My Plans: Spring, Summer & Autumn 2023

“The bitter medicine he prescribes — contemplation of the horror of our inevitable death — is , paradoxically , the tincture that adds sweetness to mortality .”

— Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death (foreword)

Winter in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado is not over yet, but my mind is already thinking ahead to spring, summer, and autumn. I’m starting to make plans to work on my project again. It’s not too far off, and I’m excited to start making photographs again.

In the winter, I go into "photographic hibernation." I shut down the studio and darkroom, and I only go into the building (maybe) once a month to check on things. I thought it would drive me insane not to be able to create images all winter. I’ve found quite the opposite. In fact, I would recommend taking a break from the craft and working on the concept with no distractions—it’s been a great way for me to see, with more clarity and purpose, what I’m trying to do. I think I’m making my best work by writing for a few months and making images for a few months. I've found that time is the greatest asset when creating work like this. I've never had such distraction-free time before, and I'm beyond grateful for it. Rollo May said, “Absorption, being caught up in, wholly involved, and so on, are used commonly to describe the state of the artist or scientist when creating or even a child at play. By whatever name one calls it, genuine creativity is characterized by and intensity of awareness, a heightened consciousness.“

In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of “Othering” (example book cover)

My book, In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of “Othering”, is going to be my "magnum opus." I’m not saying that it will be my final body of work, but it will completely close this chapter of inquiry for me. It’s literally a body of work, both written and photographed, that examines questions that I’ve wrestled with for over 30 years of my life. It’s a big deal to me, and I hope it resonates with a few other people. I know it’s a difficult topic to get people interested in; it’s not something that’s addressed much, but it should be. That’s the very point of this work. Through the historical events of the 19th century, I’m telling the story of “othering” (xenophobia) and what happened to the Tabeguache Utes that lived on the land where I now live.

This is not a body of work that documents the Tabeguache Utes, but explores the land, plants, objects, and symbols they used here. My objective is to explore the denial of death and the negative consequences it bears when it’s not directed in a positive, non-destructive way. This book will address why things like this happen and will continue to happen. I feel like it’s a unique blend of art, history, and psychology that applies to every human being and all human behavior.

Making art, especially a large body of work on a specific topic, is an interesting process to go through. I’ve done it several times in my life, but this is different. As I just mentioned, this is the culmination of all of my previous work. It reveals answers to the questions I’ve been asking for so long. It feels like I’ve worked on smaller projects to warm up for this. I’m beyond excited about all of it.

I'm not sure what the next chapter of my life will bring. I’m not even sure it will be photography. I find my interest in traditional photography waning. Don’t misunderstand me; I love photography, but my interest is waning in how it’s being used today and how it’s changed over the years. Even the purpose of working with historic processes (something that should be very special) has turned into something that I don’t recognize and have no interest in. Everything feels exploited and commodified to me.

“Absorption, being caught up in, wholly involved, and so on, are used commonly to describe the state of the artist or scientist when creating or even a child at play. By whatever name one calls it, genuine creativity is characterized by and intensity of awareness, a heightened consciousness.”

— Rollo May

It seems that most people working in these processes are firmly rooted in commercial work or are immersed in constant technical talk about processes and equipment (I’ve written several essays on this topic). There seems to be so little real output of expression or ideas using these processes. To be honest, it bores me to death; I have nothing left to say about it. So whatever I do next, I'll be prepared for it. If it involves photography, it won’t be commercially based or solely technical—it will be personal and expressive. It'll come to me naturally and organically, just like this work and my previous work have.

PLANS FOR THIS YEAR
For 2023, I’m going to continue to work on the “flora” portion of my project. I have several more plants I want to photograph as well as try some new approaches to making these images. There are quite a few landscape images I’m after, and I'll attempt some “fauna” work as well. I’ll continue to work it out and discover new ways to communicate these ideas semiotically.

I’m still very much in "creation mode" for the project—work, work, work—meaning that I’ll spend a few months editing a lot of photographs (about 200 images) and deciding what best represents my ideas for the concepts. I’m sitting on about 130 negatives from the work I did last year (2022). These are wet and dry collodion negatives, as well as paper negatives (calotypes). I have about 30 to 40 photogenic drawing prints and cyanotypes, too. I’ll have several print-out-processes to select from as well. Different negatives print differently in various P.O.P. processes. Even the paper selection can make a big difference. It's a lot of work, but it's also a lot of fun.

This year, I plan to do another 100–125 negatives plus several photogenic drawings and cyanotypes. I want a large variety to work with. The book will have between 75 and 100 images. To get that, I’ll need about 200 images to edit from. They will vary in process, too. There will be palladiotypes, kallitypes, salt prints, gelatin and collodion aristotypes, cyanotypes, Rawlins oil prints, and photogenic drawing prints. The substrate and execution will vary too. I’m going to try to make some very interesting images involving both content and process. They will be unique and, hopefully, engaging and interesting. That’s the goal. I want the visuals to connect with and represent the writing (concept) of the work more than anything else.

I’m thinking that this year’s work won’t be shared online. As much as I like sharing the work, I think I may keep this second year to myself. When I publish the book, I want most of the images to be "new" to the viewers. I think that seeing the photographs in the book with all of the text available adds more power to the concept. I hope those interested will stay tuned for the book. It will be worth the wait, I promise.

MY THOUGHTS ON SHARING, & SOCIAL MEDIA
I enjoy sharing work with people online. Most of the time, it’s a very positive experience. It builds community and is generally a positive thing. I try to stay away from the contentious stuff and just share with those that are interested. That will change somewhat over the coming year and the rest of this work. I’ll explain why.

I’ll continue to publish essays here (on my blog) over the coming year. This is like a public journal for me. I “exercise” stuff from my mind here; it’s cathartic for me. Sometimes, I’ll even come back to it to find something I’ve written about or a reference. It’s a good thing for me. And to those that read it, thank you, and thanks for the positive and kind words about it. So what about social media?

Social media has a tight grip on all of us—too much control over our personal, artistic, and creative lives. Too much influence is placed on what people will "like" or not, and the number of “likes.” Why do we put so much weight on social media? We want those dopamine hits! I get it.

Beyond that, there's surveillance capitalism and the data these large corporations are gathering on us via these platforms—it's intrusive and scary! We give it to them freely and ignorantly. Every Facebag survey you take on "What Kind of Potato Are You?" (or some other ridiculous thing) is simply getting more information about you to sell you stuff that you don’t need. These platforms are constantly encouraging people to compare themselves to each other (especially dangerous for young people). And the algorithms determine what will keep you scrolling for hours on end—so-called doom scrolling—and then feed it to you on an endless loop.

There’s so much negativity on these platforms. That alone should keep us away, but it doesn’t. The arguing and fighting over who is the best and smartest, as well as the "experts" shouting down, belittling, and degrading others, and the cultural and political squabbles, are heartbreaking. It's exactly what I read about and write about every day—existential uncertainty—and this is how people deal with the anxiety.

I see a lot of (malignant) narcissism on these platforms as well: “filtered selfies” and great lifestyles that are all fake. I get that people use it to bolster their self-esteem—life is difficult and frightening, and the knowledge of our impending death (death anxiety) drives us to deny it and act out this way—and social media assists in doing exactly that. In his book The Denial of Death, Ernest Becker said, "But it is too all-absorbing and relentless to be an aberration; it expresses the heart of the creature: the desire to stand out, to be the one in creation. When you combine natural narcissism with the basic need for self-esteem, you create a creature who has to feel himself an object of primary value: first in the universe, representing in himself all of life."

Every day, people post something that says, in essence, "Please like me and validate my existence; I seek meaning and significance." This is what Becker talks about constantly in his books. I wish there was a viable alternative. When I first started the Collodion Forum Board in 2003, there was a great community there. It lasted for a few years. People were courteous, kind, and generous with their knowledge and information. It didn’t have all of the negative aspects that we see on social media today (photo groups and egos). A lot of people working in wet collodion today got their start there - in fact most of them. Times change, and we move on. I wax nostalgic.

I think I can convince people that there are better and healthier ways to bolster their self-esteem. My book has nothing to do with "self-help,” but it will talk about ways to deal with death anxiety without being so self-centered and destructive.

There are some positive things about social media (very few things), but as a whole, the liabilities outweigh any of the good or positive things. I want to break the rules and try something different, like not sharing everything I make. How novel is that?

MOUNTAIN LIVING & SOLITUDE
I’ve had a few months of writing and time to lay out the book for its first iteration. So far, I feel great about what I’ve written. The writing has really allowed me to think about the photographs I want to make. This time has been priceless in that way. I write every day, seven days a week, some days more than others, but I still write. And I read every day, too. I’m always looking for books, films, music, and art in general that may have some connection to these ideas. I take in a wide variety of information; it seems to help me make the connections I need to write about these theories. I’ve written a lot about being fully aware of how I’m using art and creativity to buffer my own anxiety. I would go even farther and say that I’m not only buffering the anxiety, I’m feeding off of it. In other words, I’m using existential terror creatively in my favor. I feel like I'm getting one over on my own death awareness.

“I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news. ”

— John Muir

This June (2023), we will begin our third year of living on the mountain. Living up here has definitely changed me. Maybe it’s the mountain air, the isolation, the peace and quiet, being close to nature and the wildlife, or a combination of all of it. Whatever it is, it’s had a big impact on how I view the world. It’s allowed me to see what’s important and what’s not. What I actually need and don't need, as well as the ability to say "no," sounds trite and cliche to say, but it’s true.

Time away from a toxic culture that influences your life without your knowledge resets your mind; it changes you. Living in cities and suburbs directs your life to the point where you become something you don't want to be: a conspicuous consumer—not just a consumer, but someone who is always looking for the next thing to buy, have, or be, endlessly seeking satisfaction but never receiving it. The big ontological question is: If we have everything, why aren’t we happy?

My changes are positive, fulfilling, and meaningful to me. I'm forever grateful to be here; we love this mountain. And I’m filled with gratitude to spend my days thinking about the human (paradoxical) condition, art, photography, and how to live each day of my life in the best way possible.

BY THE END OF 2023…
My hope is that by the end of this year, I’ll be going through prints and making selections for the book. I feel like I can have the writing mostly completed by the spring. There will be refinement and editing, but the bulk of it will be completed by June. I’ll work on it periodically throughout the year and have a final edit done by an outside resource.

Included in the book is an extensive autobiography. In fact, the second chapter, The Introduction, is where I write extensively about how my life (artistic and creative) unfolded and put me where I am now. It was an “eye-opener” to me. I think any artist or photographer will appreciate reading about my journey.

I’ve incorporated art, psychology, history, anthropology, theology, philosophy, sociology, and other disciplines to accomplish what I’ve set out to do with this book. I've had to combine all of the disciplines and theories in order to explain them so that people like me, a layperson, can understand them. I wanted the writing to be simple and understandable, not academic. It’s been a big chore, but it’s working.

The interdisciplinary approach to this work is critical. It truly supports the ideas in ways that one or two areas couldn’t. My goal is to make the art and my expression of these ideas the central theme. I want the photographs to act as a catalyst for understanding the psychology of "othering."

I feel like we don’t acknowledge the psychological underpinnings of photography enough. It’s easy to get academic about it, and again, I don’t want that. I want an authentic connection between the images and the psychology that they represent. So far, I feel very good about what I’ve accomplished. Let’s see what this year brings.

“We are all in search of a feeling more connected to reality... We indulge in drugs and alcohol, or engage in dangerous sports or risky behavior, just to wake ourselves up from the sleep of our daily existence and feel a heightened sense of connection to reality. In the end, the most satisfying and powerful way to feel this connection is through creativity. Engaged in the creative process we feel more alive than ever, because we are making something and not merely consuming, Masters of the small reality we create.”

— Robert Greene, Mastery

Meaning in a Meaningless World

Peter Zapffe said, "Man is a tragic animal. Not because of his smallness, but because he is too well endowed. Man has longings and spiritual demands that reality cannot fulfill. We have expectations of a just and moral world. Man requires meaning in a meaningless world."

Like others, Zapffe was convinced that our consciousness was an evolutionary misstep. A mistake. To have a "surplus" of consciousness is too much for us to bear. We shrink from living and are afraid to die because of it. We don't necessarily fear death or dying, but rather the prospect of being forgotten—the consequences of dying. We fear impermanence and insignificance. That’s what’s unbearable to us; that’s what drives us to distractions, illusions, and denial.

Moreover, we find ourselves in a world that has no meaning. The only meaning is what we create for ourselves, and in the cosmic picture, it’s all meaningless. This idea is central to my work. This conflict creates anxiety that we need to buffer, and if we can’t buffer it, a lot of times it will manifest as anger or violence, and we will take it out on the person or people who are challenging our buffering mechanism (othering). In other words, if you challenge my worldview (my coping mechanism for death anxiety), I may lash out and want to convert you to my worldview or destroy you.

I’ve come to understand why I gravitate toward making art and having a creative life. Reading the works of the great thinkers and philosophers, it's clear to me what my attraction is to pursuing creativity versus other ways I could buffer my existential anxiety. Nietzsche said, "The truly serious task of art is to save the eye from gazing into the horrors of night and to deliver the subject by the healing balm of illusion from the spasms of the agitations of the will." That resonates deeply with me. My life has consisted of trying to unravel the problem of "othering" through art. Over the years, I’ve pulled on the threads of artists, thinkers, and philosophers before me (and those who are contemporary to me) and have used art to explore human behavior as well as buffer my own existential terror. I’m very aware of how I’ve intellectualized my impending death. Socrates claimed that the practice of philosophy in life is really a dress rehearsal for what comes in death: “… those who practice philosophy in the right way are in training for dying, and they fear death least of all men.”

When Nietzsche talks about the "truly serious task of art" being to save the eye from gazing into the horrors of night and deliver the subject from the spasms of the agitations of the will, he is speaking about the power of art to provide a form of psychological relief from existential terror.

Nietzsche believed that human existence was marked by suffering and that our awareness of this suffering could be overwhelming. In his view, the role of art was to provide a kind of escape from existential terror by creating a "healing balm of illusion" that would allow us to momentarily forget about our problems and experience a sense of peace and tranquility. I would add to that; I would argue that it allows the artist to transfer the anxiety to the work—to exercise it out of the mind, if you will. Peter Zapffe called this “sublimation”; he said it was rare but the best way to buffer anxiety. It’s rare because the majority of people choose not to have a creative life.

At the same time, Nietzsche recognized that the experience of art was not just about escaping from reality. He believed that great art had the power to transform our understanding of the world and to challenge our assumptions about what is real and what is possible.

In short, Nietzsche's comment about art's "serious task" shows how art has the power to both temporarily calm our existential terror and give our lives meaning—or at least an illusion of meaning and value.

Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)

Do you remember this song? It's a psychedelic rock song written by Mickey Newbury and best known from a version by The First Edition (Kenny Rogers). It was used in the movie “The Big Lebowski.” He’s tripping in the bowling alley to the song. It was recorded in 1967 and released in 1968. I was four years old then. This song and "Quinn the Eskimo" (The Mighty Quinn), performed by Manfred Mann and written by Bob Dylan (The Basement Tapes), were very popular. Everyone started calling me "Quinn the Eskimo." I have vague memories of that time—good memories.

Both of these songs are about drug use (or so some think): LSD and quaaludes. It was the time of hippies and "awakening” and the sexual revolution. The war in Vietnam was raging, and the youth were rethinking capitalism, war, love, and the meaning of life—a significant shift in values from the parents of that generation. Ernest Becker said, “One of the reasons that youth and their elders don’t understand one another is that they live in “ different worlds”: the youth are striving to deal with one another in terms of their insides, the elders have long since lost the magic of the chumship. Especially today, the exterior or public aspect of the adult world, its jobs and rewards, no longer seem meaningful or vital to the college youth; the youth try to prolong the adolescent art of communicating on the basis of internal feelings; they may even try to break through the carapace of their own parents, try to get the insides to come out.” Ernest Becker (The Birth and Death of Meaning: An Interdisciplinary Perspective on the Problem of Man)

Ernest Becker was teaching his theories about death anxiety during this period. He had a difficult time staying employed. The universities saw him as a threat and a radical. He ended up in Canada (Vancouver, B.C.) and taught at Simon Fraser University until his death in 1974. Students loved Becker. He was a performer. They connected with his theories, too. I feel the same way. If you have an interest in the human condition, who we are, and why we are the way we are, as you should, these theories will be an awakening for you. They were for me.

I’ve been doing research and "deep diving" into Becker’s theories for a few years. There was a part of me that knew his ideas had answers for me. I've spent a lot of my life looking for answers to big questions, one of which is why we treat people who are different from us so poorly. There are so many examples of this throughout human history. Why haven’t we evolved past the point of committing genocide and subjugating other human beings as commodities and objects? We can put a man on the moon, but we can’t treat our brothers and sisters with basic respect? This is absurd to me! And this was a question that Becker had some preoccupation with as well. “In this view, man is an energy-converting organism who must exert his manipulative powers, who must damage his world in some ways, who must make it uncomfortable for others, etc., by his own nature as an active being. He seeks self-expansion from a very uncertain power base. Even if man hurts others, it is because he is weak and afraid, not because he is confident and cruel. Rousseau summed up this point of view with the idea that only the strong person can be ethical, not the weak one.” Ernest Becker (Escape from Evil)

My project, "In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering," reflects my questions and answers a lot of them; questions that I’ve wrestled with for over thirty years. The strongest and most direct link I've made is between Becker's ideas about genocide, xenophobia, and the subjugation of other people and the events that have happened here (where I live)—the genocide of Native Americans by the colonizers and U.S. military.

Have I answered all of the questions surrounding these events? No. They’re far too complex for one body of work or a handful of theories to fully address. However, I feel like what I’m doing will create a catalyst to explore these events in ways very few have. The art (photographs) connects to the theories, and the theories connect to human behavior. I’ve drawn a straight line between all of them. It makes so much sense to me and satisfies me in ways that nothing else has over all of these years.

I know I’m swimming against the tide with this work. So few people will "get it," and even fewer will take the time to learn about it (people are simply not interested). I suppose that’s why we—humanity—keep doing the things we do (hate, genocide, racism, xenophobia, etc.). The terror of death is so profound that the need to repress it takes precedence over everything else, including learning about it. That’s "the condition our condition is in," and I don’t see it changing anytime soon. As Becker says, I’m not cynical, but I remain skeptical.

We're Animals, With One Caveat

I’ve never considered or really pondered the fact that I’m an animal. You’re an animal, too. What does this mean, or why does it matter?

It plays a significant role in the theory that I’ve been working on and studying for this project. It demonstrates the need for humans to isolate themselves (psychologically) from other animals. It’s a critical part of believing in our illusions—illusions to alleviate our death anxiety.

It doesn’t surprise me, though. As I peel this onion of human behavior, each layer reveals something new. I see where all of this fits and why it is the way it is—we need it this way to get out of bed in the morning,

These are cultural constructs to convince ourselves that we're "more" or "above" the animals. But we’re not. The evidence is in the way we hide our bodily functions and how we eat; hiding our animality is very apparent in things like "bathrooms," "plates, cups, forks, spoons, and tables," as well as "making toasts with drinks." Think about it. Observe other animals; how do they handle these functions and tasks?

These are all cultural constructs to help us disguise or hide our animal nature—you’ll never see other animals doing these things. We even disguise our food with names like "steak" or "hot dog." Those words have no real meaning as they apply to food. They are simply used to disguise what we’re doing.

We even disguise sex, the most animalistic behavior of all. We wrap it in "love" and make it something special, rather than simply acknowledging that it's an act of reproduction—an evolutionary drive just like survival. And we do it just like the rest of the animals. This is one of the reasons there are so many taboos, rituals, and rules around sex in different cultures. Ernest Becker said, “The distinctive human problem from time immemorial has been the need to spiritualize human life, to lift it onto a special immortal plane, beyond the cycles of life and death that characterize all other organisms. This is one of the reasons that sexuality has from the beginning been under taboos; it had to be lifted from the plane of physical fertilization to a spiritual one.”

Because of its animalistic nature, it’s an act that most reminds us of our mortality. That’s why we create all of the celebrations around it: flowers, chocolate hearts, “love letters,” fancy dinners, lingerie, holidays, etc. We want to elevate it as an act of “love” way beyond what the “animals” do; we make it “special” because we’re “special.”

It’s a difficult topic to unpack in the context of death anxiety. However, at its core, it reveals our animal nature and what we’ll devise in order to never face it or even admit what it really is.

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“Yet, at the same time, as the Eastern sages also knew, man is a worm and food for worms. This is the paradox: he is out of nature and hopelessly in it; he is dual, up in the stars and yet housed in a heart-pumping, breath-gasping body that once belonged to a fish and still carries the gill-marks to prove it. His body is a material fleshy casing that is alien to him in many ways—the strangest and most repugnant way being that it aches and bleeds and will decay and die. Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with. The lower animals are, of course, spared this painful contradiction, as they lack a symbolic identity and the self-consciousness that goes with it. They merely act and move reflexively as they are driven by their instincts. If they pause at all, it is only a physical pause; inside they are anonymous, and even their faces have no name. They live in a world without time, pulsating, as it were, in a state of dumb being. This is what has made it so simple to shoot down whole herds of buffalo or elephants. The animals don't know that death is happening and continue grazing placidly while others drop alongside them. The knowledge of death is reflective and conceptual, and animals are spared it. They live and they disappear with the same thoughtlessness: a few minutes of fear, a few seconds of anguish, and it is over. But to live a whole lifetime with the fate of death haunting one's dreams and even the most sun-filled days—that's something else.” Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

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If we accept that we are animals, we are reminded that we will die and become “food for worms,” as Becker said—just like all of the other animals.

If you’ve seen the movie "Elephant Man," the line spoken by John Merrick really solidifies this idea. He said, "I am not an animal! I am a human being. I am a man." I know he was saying this in reference to his birth defect and appearance (the way he was being treated), but the argument still stands about how we feel about denying our animality and how insistent we are to separate ourselves from all other living things.

There can be a religious component to this belief. I understand why that is as well. In order to have the illusion of (literal) immortality, which we desire, there has to be something that sets us apart. Some religions even go as far as telling man to "take dominion over all living things and all of earth" (paraphrased). It’s easy to see how humans can believe that they are above other life. There’s another component to this: "Man was created in the image of God." This escalates into an even bigger problem. If you ask most religious people if they believe they’re an animal, they will say, "No, I’m special, created in the image of God; how could I be an animal?" This is what I was referring to in my post about Becker’s hero system. This is the religious component of that theory. It’s an effective illusion if one can maintain it. Both Friedrich Nietzsche and Ernest Becker believed that religion was no longer a valid hero system because of advances in science and technology, and because of these advances, most people have “moved on.” That’s where Nietzsche’s infamous quote came from: "God is dead." This was the idea behind it. Religion acted as a buffer against death anxiety for most people for thousands of years, all over the world, in all kinds of religions. In the last 200 years, we’ve become much more secular and tend to look to culture for our defense against death anxiety. Here again, you can see where we have denied our animality with these religious tenets—placing ourselves above every living thing and the earth itself.

What’s the caveat? What makes us different from animals? We have consciousness, or awareness, of our mortality. Your dog or cat doesn’t know that they’re going to die. They’re completely in the moment of “now.” There are no rabbits talking about being the best rabbit alive! Animals exist with instincts to survive and reproduce. At times, they may have the fight-or-flight instinct and be very afraid, but once out of danger, they never think about it again. In our unconscious mind, we are constantly in fight-or-flight mode. William James said, “There is always a panic rumbling beneath the surface of consciousness.” That panic comes from the knowledge of our impending death. Other animals don’t have this; that’s really the only thing that makes us different. It fascinates me to look at how we live and act, denying the inevitable (our death) and trying to hide the fact that we are animals. We would show our animality if we didn't have this knowledge. We would be exactly the same as all of the other animals.

I’m slowly, but surely, putting these pieces together. These are the pieces of these theories that show us who we are and why we are the way we are: human behavior. I’m specifically interested in the reasons we commit evil acts and how our death anxiety is revealed through acts of genocide, racism, bigotry, xenophobia, and “othering.” We have so much to learn about these topics. In the end, I hope to share a tiny piece about the role that art can play in disclosing ways to deal with these big topics.

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“Denial of death, or, in psychodynamic terms, repression of death anxiety, generally results in banal and/or malignant outcomes—for example, preoccupation with shopping or the need to eradicate people who do not share our beliefs in a self-righteous quest to rid the world of evil. Repressed death anxiety is often projected onto other groups who are declared to be the all-encompassing repositories of evil and who must be destroyed so that life on earth will become what it is purported to be in heaven.”

Sheldon Solomon author of “The Worm at the Core: The Role of Death in Life

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Are You Doing Too Much or Not Enough?

I recently had a conversation with someone about the ubiquity and nature of photography. We talked about how a creative person working in photography can approach making meaningful and significant work and what effect all of these changes since its invention have had on the medium.

We discussed how technology has changed photography and the impact "commonness" has had on the craft—some call this the "democratization" of photography, which I think is a fair statement, but it's had a significant impact both times it's happened. It has altered how we perceive photographs (and their worth) and how creative people work with the medium. The first wave came in 1900 with the Kodak Brownie ("You Press the Button, We Do the Rest"), and the second came in the early 2000s with the advent of consumer-model digital cameras and iPhones (2007).

The conversation went on about different approaches to making art and why some are more effective than others. And we briefly touched on the AI (artificial intelligence) models creating "wet collodion" images from text prompts; there's not much to say about this topic in my opinion.

I’ll give you a brief overview of how the conversation unfolded.

There’s a balance to making art, specifically in photography. Using photography today can lead a person down a path of "thumb-twiddling," especially now with digital image making, which is instant and easy. It can happen with film or historic processes as well. The latter happens in a different way, but it has the same result: vagueness and meaninglessness.

What I mean is that you can meander aimlessly (and easily) into never making anything with substance or weight. You photograph anything and everything with no intention other than the hope that it appeals to someone, somewhere, or you copy what you’ve seen. You have nothing to say about it and nothing to connect it to (no purpose or a very vague purpose). It’s just there, on its own, with no defense and nothing to offer but what the viewer brings to it. It’s mechanical in the truest sense of the word. This is what Baudelaire warned us about so long ago. He was right; he’s always been right.

You can also fool yourself into thinking that you’re making deep, meaningful work when you’re not. The “art talk” in statements leaves the reader confused with what the vague or derivative work is intended to evoke—no one knows, not even the writer of the statement or maker of the images. The intention is to fool the viewer. The statement might read something like this: “Ever since I was a pre-adolescent, I have been fascinated by the endless, ephemeral oscillations of the mind. What starts out as contemplation soon becomes corrupted into a hegemony of defeat, leaving only a sense of unreality and the chance of a new understanding.” What?? This is why the layperson is turned off when it comes to art, artists, and galleries. If they could see how shallow and fake this stuff is, they might reconsider. No one ever talks about the emporor having no clothes; everyone seems to play along.

In essence, you hope the viewer will see something you didn't or understand something you don’t. You hope, through their life filters, they see "something" and make a connection with it. In reality, you’ve created nothing. You’ve expressed nothing. You’re not in control. You’re a machine that’s regurgitating photographs that you’ve seen before. Trying to gain self-esteem by riding the coattails of something that’s been done a thousand times—I know that plenty of people can write dissertations on the validity of this approach to making photographs; I’ve read a lot of them, but they've never justified the blind ambition and aimlessness of working in such a superficial, meaningless way. Never.

When people do this with historic processes or film photography, they concentrate on processes, techniques (process photography), and gear. It’s always about the process, technique, or gear—never about the content of the photograph or what it’s authentically connected to. In some cases, they may try to argue that it's related to something, but it's always vague (see statement above), and the process or gear takes precedence. We have social media to blame for a lot of this. The high "wow-factor" is what gets people to look and "like." And people are always up for learning something for free and then emulating or copying it if it’s popular enough. If they can commodify it, even better.

It seems we are constantly seeking outside validation for our work. We’re always trying to bolster our self-esteem. We want accolades, awards, "wins," and acknowledgement of our creative and technical skills. And we want other people to know what we’ve achieved. In essence, we want to rise above and be the "one in creation," as Becker said. We rarely, if ever, consider our own validation about what we’re doing and why. The existential anxiety would be minimized if we could understand the value of our work without seeking external validation—without hovering around narcissism and navel-gazing. I think this comes from gratitude: truly appreciating what you've made, the reasons you've made it, and the ability to understand its place in the world. Facing the reality of your life and why you do what you do—if we could stop the denying and self-deception, we could see a clear path to why we are the way we are.

That’s where we’re at. When I ask the question, "Are you doing too much or not enough?" The answer is "yes." If you’re doing this, you’re doing both too much and not enough. Too much influence from outside of you (social media, trends, etc.) and not enough self-examination and contemplation—authentically exploring what you’re passionate about and want to share—and forget the standards of success (social media popularity, money, articles, interviews); they are meaningless if you’re not really connected to the work.

The conversation ended with me conceding everything I was ranting about. In the end, it’s all meaningless, so I suppose one could make the argument that doing whatever distracts from reality or buffers the anxiety should be valid. It’s a coping mechanism. And if you pressed me, I would agree. Since none of it matters, it’s all valid, at least in the big picture (no pun intended). My point is that if you’re finding your buffer through "thumb-twiddling" digital work or photography gear and processes and you’re not hurting anyone, go for it! That’s how I ended the conversation. They understood what I meant.

After having this dialogue, I realized that it connected so beautifully to the work on death anxiety that I’ve been doing. It’s literally a metaphor for our lives. It describes how we need to create meaning and significance in order to live from day to day or even get up in the morning. Without meaning and significance or building self-esteem, we wither—we get depressed, we lose hope, and we fall into despair. This creation of meaning, in whatever form, is vital to our well-being.

And, unconsciously, we all know that what we do is meaningless—everything we do—but we just can’t face it. I know it sounds harsh and negative, but it’s the truth. This is what the Norwegian philosopher Peter Wessel Zapffe made clear about consciousness: the knowledge of our death and the impermanence and insignificance of life is a terrible burden to bear. Making art is used in what he calls "sublimation." It’s used as a distraction, or more accurately, as a transference object. Our existential anxiety is projected (transferred) onto the art. It makes so much sense to me. While I’m no different than anyone else, I do understand my predicament, or my paradoxical condition, if you will. Art allows me to intellectualize my impending death. In a lot of ways, it allows me to come to terms with it. Everything you just read here is sublimation, and everything I create is sublimation. I’m resolved to face that, and I think we would all be better off if everyone could do the same.

"If someone can prove me wrong and show me my mistake in any thought or action, I shall gladly change. I seek the truth, which never harmed anyone; the harm is to persist in one's own self-deception and ignorance." ~ Marcus Aurelius

What Kind of Hero are You?

Henry David Thoreau said, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.“

I suppose it’s my quiet life that allows me to reflect, observe, and, most importantly, think about human behavior, including my own. It seems to be constantly on my mind. To say I’m preoccupied with it would be an understatement. I’m very cognizant that this is a privilege most people don’t have.

Every day, as I write my book, I find myself wondering why so few people ever stop and reflect on their lives or try to understand their nature. Everyone seems to be so wrapped up in schedules, shopping, money, status, appearance, and all other kinds of distractions or busy, frantic material lives that keep them ensconced in their illusion that they have no time for thinking about these things. I understand why they need this. I get it. However, that wouldn’t prevent self-examination or reflection.

The theme of my book is to make the unconscious conscious so that it doesn’t direct your life. I feel like this is missing in so many people’s lives. It reminds me of the diet/food question. If people were aware of what they ate, they wouldn’t wonder why they felt so bad and were always sick, tired or depressed. They’re in the same psychological area. We have such a strong drive to “enjoy the moment" that we rarely look past that or the consequences we pay for doing it.

Ernest Becker asked, "…the question of human life is this: On what level of illusion does one live? This question poses an absolutely new question for the science of mental health, namely, what is the “best” illusion under which to live? Or, what is the most legitimate foolishness? ... I think the whole question would be answered in terms of how much freedom, dignity, and hope a given illusion provides.” (The Denial of Death)

The question is: what illusion or illusions are you using to quell death anxiety? Have you ever thought about this? Are your illusions hurting or damaging other people or yourself? Becker was concerned about adopting harmful illusions to buffer death anxiety. History is littered with people who have used illusions to cause millions to suffer and die (most extreme cases).

Becker talks about four types of heroism—ways we can use culture to bolster our self-esteem, which keeps existential terror at bay. These are the illusions we use to function day-to-day.

RELIGIOUS HEROISM
The first is religious heroism. This is still used today, but not like it was in the past. Before the enlightenment and the industrial revolution, among other advances, this was the way most people buffered their anxiety. A promise of an afterlife (immortality) and meaning and purpose from a higher authority is what worked. Most religions have convinced believers “that one's very creatureliness has some meaning to a Creator; that despite one's true insignificance, weakness, death, one's existence has meaning in some ultimate sense because it exists within an eternal and infinite scheme of things brought about and maintained to some kind of design by some creative force." (The Denial of Death) This type of heroism is no longer viable for most people.

CULTURAL HEROISM
The second is cultural heroism. This is what eclipsed religious heroism. Most people today lean toward this type of heroism. The average person can’t become a famous musician, movie star, or sports legend. It’s not realistic. So they become "cogs" in a heroic machine. It could be their society, their country, or a corporation. Something "bigger" than themselves that will live on beyond their physical death. "Man earns his feeling of worth by following the lines of authority and power internalized in his particular family, social group, and nation," Becker explained. "Each human slave nods to the next, and each earns his feeling of worth by doing the unquestionable good." (The Ernest Becker Reader) Becker really makes a profound observation when he says, “Take the average man who has to stage in his own way the life drama of his own worth and significance. As a youth he, like everyone else, feels that deep down he has a special talent, an indefinable but real something to contribute to the richness and success of life in the universe. But, like almost everyone else, he doesn’t seem to hit on the unfolding of this special something; his life takes on the character of a series of accidents and encounters that carry him along, willy-nilly, into new experiences and responsibilities. Career, marriage, family, approaching old age—all these happen to him, he doesn’t command them. Instead of his staging the drama of his own significance, he himself is staged, programmed by the standard scenario laid down by his society.” (Ernest Becker, Angel in Armor: A Post-Freudian Perspective on the Nature of Man) This is so easy to see; it may have even happened to you. Having life “happen” to you rather than you actually controlling it, I can relate to this statement, and it applies to my early life for sure. Cultural heroism transforms individuals into blind conformists.

PERSONAL HEROISM
The third is personal heroism. Becker described this type of individual as "one who tries to be a god unto himself, the master of his fate, a self-created man. He will not be merely the pawn of others, of society; he will not be a passive sufferer and secret dreamer, nursing his own inner flame in oblivion." (The Denial of Death) This type of person tries to find their authentic talent and uses it as a way to measure their worth. “If I were asked for the single most striking insight into human nature and human condition, it would be this: that no person is strong enough to support the meaning of his life unaided by something outside him,” (Angel in Armor) According to Becker, this is doomed to fail.

THE GENUINE HERO
And finally, Becker talks about the genuine hero. This is a rare individual who does not require illusions to live, a person who can face the reality of their existence head-on, no holds barred. "I think that taking life seriously means something such as this: that whatever man does on this planet has to be done in the lived truth of the terror of creation, of the grotesque, of the rumble of panic underneath everything. Otherwise, it is false." (The Denial of Death) The genuine hero lives with an attitude of resignation that is not a pessimistic denial of life. They recognize the awesome powers of the universe and that those powers dwarf their petty concerns. He concluded his train of thought with this, ''The most that any of us can seem to do is to fashion something - an object, or ourselves - and drop it into the confusion, make an offering of it, so to speak, to the life force.” (The Denial of Death)