Western post-modern society has seen the continuation of an age-old infatuation with the concept of personal growth. While this enamorment is nothing new, there has been an exponential rise in ideologies that encourage the performance of change and self-improvement. These ideologies represent growth of the individual as something aesthetic and generally positive, which exist in direct conflict with those historical depictions of difficult trials that one must commit to in pursuit of eudaemonic satisfaction.
Despite this accelerating infatuation with performative experience, or possibly as some ironic juxtaposition, this same society has resurrected the popularity of historical philosophers Fyodor Dostoevsky and Friedrich Nietzsche (not to mention the post-modern stoics). Yet it is difficult to believe that these individuals would have supported the societal commodification of their ideologies. To them, meaning and growth were not passive artifacts to be discovered in the approval of crowds, but hard-won revelations forged through open dialogue, or otherwise born from solitude and the crucible of suffering. The irony, then, is that in our acceptance of a convenient performative experience we forfeit the raw, unsettling uncertainty that real change demands. Where Dostoevsky urges us to confront our dependence on others honestly, and Nietzsche demands that we wrestle with the chaos within ourselves to create anew, the comfortable adoption of convenient beliefs becomes a bulwark diminishing the very turbulence that growth requires.
In either case, it may be asked if we should desire to change at all. Eastern ideologies often promote the concept of transcendence through acceptance. This might be interpreted as the abjuration of personal growth—a practical eschewal of any existential humanism. In reality, most monastic traditions weave self-growth and acceptance together, but the balance and intent are different from secular western ideologies. Buddhist monks train in ethical conduct (sila), meditation (samadhi), and wisdom (prajna); this is “self-cultivation,” but aimed at realizing or achieving "non-self." They meditate specifically on impermanence (anicca), suffering (dukkha; literally unsatisfactoriness), and non-self (anatta) in order to open their minds and reach a state of enlightenment. Christian monks practice virtues such as humility, obedience, charity, and contemplation. They attempt to align their soul with God’s will, and not simply to become a better version of themselves for status. The contrast between their human nature and their desire to be closer to God creates suffering, and temporarily defers their worldly pleasure in favor of an eternal fulfillment after death. Zen monks perform relentless zazen (sitting meditation) and koan study, which is a form of radical self-inquiry that diminishes old patterns and rewrites the mind. Each of these efforts focus on directly experiencing reality without the filter of a grasping ego; revealing that there is no permanent, separate concept of “self” that must be improved or perfected. This direct, visceral experience of life is the dynamic flow of causes and conditions: thoughts, feelings, habits, actions. Our decisions are not arbitrary because these causes and conditions matter, but neither are they inherently good or bad. Instead, they’re seen as skillful (kusala) or unskillful (akusala) for the direction that they move us along our individual path.
Now the question seems to shift. What was, at first, a focus on our desire to experience change as a simple fact of universal impermanence—that all things change— now becomes one centered around how we form our intent, and how we balance our existential ego when determining what specific changes we desire to work towards. When this is interpreted in conjunction with a general denial of the essence of man—for essence cannot coexist with a belief in the arbitrary emergence of the existential self—the decision appears to teeter between 1) an acceptance of intent suggested by the generalizations of society, or 2) our manifestation of intent through the metamorphosis of isolated anguish. Dostoevsky often warned that ideas and ideologies become oppressive when abstracted from lived experience; this would be of primary concern for the occurrence of hollow advice that has spread across modern society in the form of tokenized insight. Nietzsche was more concerned with the general tendency for society to encourage conformance that fosters mediocrity and leads to the suppression of individual excellence. This would be the case for transfer learning across a populace such as convergent theories or mainstream advice. Rarely are the ideas of either Dostoevsky or Nietzsche presented in modern society (at least beyond the scope of philosophical academics and historians) in a manner that encourages the journey of the individual. The individual is further alienated by the emergence of technology, trivialized communication, power imbalance, and the commodification of human thought (e.g. advertising and social media).
In this way, the concept of change is closer to that of experience than that of decisiveness; we are no longer focused on how our intent influences our capacity to perform skilled movement along the path. And yet, we cannot escape the depth of feeling; an innate knowledge that we still experience opportunities for decisiveness. There is a moment where one is confronted with this force of change, emanating from nowhere yet appearing behind the mind; burrowing its way in and invading our consciousness. It is not a singular moment, but rather moments of apparent lucidity that appear in contrast from the routine. These junctures occur throughout one's life where, by chance or perseverance, an opportunity appears to take action. At these crossroads we are confronted with the inescapable weight of our authentic nature—a nature, paradoxically, that is veiled from our ordinary awareness yet undeniably inherent. The familiar stands in direct opposition to the potential for becoming something different, and this potential can seem impassible.
Many people might call this experience 'suffering', and if its innate absurdity was not enough to demoralize our spirit, the enigmatic summons that forces us to confront future action in the face of potential change offers no assurance that we are even capable of such. This is not to say that we cannot change, but that despite the urge to take action we will not change. The possibility of transformation is forever uncertain. Our capacity to act in a manner that promotes desirable change is not wholly predetermined; rather, it is a product of fortuitous skill and circumstantial possibility. Some might call this 'privilege'.
The suggestion that our freedom to choose is limited solely by self-motivation borders on delusion, for our confrontations with choice are far from straightforward. We do not face a clear decision where the path to change is rationally weighed against the comfort of inaction. Instead, we are left with a profound irony: we establish goals and hopeful aspirations, yet we lack the knowledge to discern if such a goal can ever be attained. We yearn for a more authentic self, yet we do not know our own nature, or our potential, until after it has been achieved. The universe, in its silent indifference, withholds from us the clarity that would guide us toward what we might call our 'truer' nature, leaving us to fumble around blindly until our inevitable death. The truth of our capacity is rarely revealed by our pursuits; rather, it emerges unpredictably, often by accident, serving only to disrupt the continuity of our benighted lives.
As unconsenting participants born into western society, we become entangled within a convoluted paradox. From birth, we are told to change, to strive toward something better, something more refined. Yet the change we are called to pursue is distant and external—crafted for the world outside, rather than the self within. We are conditioned to see transformation only in terms of surfaces: dress the part, obtain the possessions, secure the status. We are taught that fulfillment lies in these outward pursuits, and that our own instincts are reprehensible while society’s metrics are virtuous. Whenever we are finally confronted with an influence from society to incur some internal change, the variegated message only serves to cause confusion.
In many cultures (and often depicted in pop-culture) the individual who overcomes struggle and adversity inevitably grows into some best version of themself, and is portrayed as a hero (or the main character). Think of the woman who breaks free from what’s expected of her, or the outsider who follows their own path despite oppression. These are raised up as examples of strength and authenticity. But in reality, much of what surrounds us—politics, religion, advertising, even social media—sends a different message. One that says: fit in, stay consistent, follow the script. The pressure to conform is quiet but constant. Change is encouraged, but only if it doesn’t challenge the status quo.
What becomes of the self, submerged beneath these roles and expectations? Over time, as we measure ourselves by ideals that are not our own, we lose the proclivity to question or examine the beliefs that guide us. We inherit systems of thought without examining their foundations, their relevance, or their worth to us personally. And if, by some rare chance, an opportunity arises to pursue a different path—a path truer to who we are or who we want to become—it’s as though the very will to pursue it has wasted away. The weight of past choices, the grip of external validation, drains us of the energy to imagine an alternative and pursue it. Society whispers that it is noble to change, yet has discouraged us from that same change that might challenges its accepted norms.
Thus, we remain in stasis, caught in a loop where change is a performance, not an inward evolution. What we have lost, above all, is self-judgment, the ability to look within and discern our own values without the guidance or approval of another. We have been taught that to claim authority over our own morals and ethics, our own ideals, is arrogance. This oppression entrenched within society masquerades as a familiar sense of security, discouraging many from the risks of moving against the flow. To pursue the next stage of our innate nature often requires us to deny those who cry for the mutually assured destruction of shared ignorance, and to face the fear of possible exile. But the tendency to conform is not in our nature, or rather not our animalistic nature, and certainly not in our bygone past. The renouncing of our libertine birthright is an undertaking by the modern man who's awareness of himself, of those around him, and of others' own self-awareness has given rise to the metastatic concepts of socially established ethics and morality—especially religious morality—that impede further human amelioration.
Over recent generations this knowledge of self-awareness has alienated humanity from its natural diversity of thought, culture, and expression. In its place, we have become a collective of existents devoid of nature's expressiveness where the erosion of individuality has left only soul-numbing sameness; the monotony of socially sanctioned identities, superficial cliques, echo-chambers. The latest turn of technology has seen the influence of Artificial Intelligence in the form of language models, which has had a measurable impact on language convergence across human discourse in less than a decade. The result of this effect is in all likelihood that we are becoming something far less. That is not to say abstract libertinism is good or moral, which are perhaps equally mutable and illusory. Rather, that the barbarism which represents our most base nature has only evolved relatively recently in the course of our human history, and there is no certainty that this change has served us (as individuals) by pragmatic or optimistic means. In limiting the breadth of our very nature, we may have merely substituted our authentic struggles with the more insidious suffering of an existence veiled in self-repression, conformance, or performative virtue signaling.
And what of the purported benefits of this evolution? The notion of the idyllic life that we are sold from the early days of our youth is nothing but a fanciful lie; one that many discover, only just before the end of their days. The empty promises of society which carry no guarantees, can have no possible conclusion but the certainty of subverted expectations for the average man. Yet we hide behind the illusory notion that it is to our benefit to follow the compulsory ideals of collective society and to do what is practical; that this just might result in such a life as one "they" would have you believe is possible or even desirable.
Certainly this scheme cannot be effective, for we would have discovered such widespread subterfuge and outgrown our ignorance long ago... And yet the unfortunate reality is that one might devote the entirety of one’s life to the fulfilling of collective ideals, only to discover that the outcome is devoid of any true subjective meaning even when carried out to the nines. The ideals imposed by the collective are, by nature, insufficient to serve every individual; blind adherence to external beliefs can never fulfill one as profoundly as their own internal values when earnestly applied. This is the essence of mauvaise foi (bad faith); a surrender of one’s authenticity in favor of a life dictated by others' desires and fears. This compulsion to conform is not merely a product of individual influence, but a self-perpetuating system; a legacy of inherited beliefs and unquestioned norms that shape our existence. Each generation passes down this legacy of entrenchment, renewing it, reinforcing it, so that the collective myth sustains itself, unchallenged and disguised as truth.
These mechanisms instill the belief that we can only express our nature by striving towards a threshold that society dictates as the prerequisite for value; you cannot be an engineer without formal education; a woman cannot embody womanhood without birthing biological children; you are not wise until a thousand people agree with your opinions; or any of the other common yet asinine exemplifications. These preconditions, which are often lifelong trials, appear to be indisputable for the simple fact that they are predetermined by society, and unchallengeable until—as the result of philosophical directives, rebellion, or revolution—they are broken. To even achieve such a Herculean task would surely limit the number of potential opportunities (that is, to determine our very nature) to but one or two attempts over the course of our lives; perhaps only once if we assume that all men must fail before they can truly succeed. The suffocating dread born from the harrowing knowledge that we are nearly guaranteed to fail causes interminable anxiety. This all but guarantees our eventual failure, and is often more than enough to dissuade even the strongest willed person from taking that chance. In the end we are beaten into submission, and seldom even imagine aspiring to a level of freedom and self-determination that would redefine the circumstances of our existence.
How are we expected to become aware of this phenomenon when it's the only thing we have ever known? Our acceptance of these deceptive tactics as universal truth is all but guaranteed in youth; as children we are not inherently of a mind to question the validity of everything we are taught, nor are we equipped with the requisite knowledge necessary to give us anecdotal perspective, yet we are not afforded that same opportunity based on our actions in modern society. For the proletariat, life in antiquity was much too harsh to facilitate widespread skepticism. For the modern man, the world is simply too complex to foster a capacity for ubiquitous doubt. Despite all the efficiencies and increased quality of life afforded us today, the influence of civic order and societal norms has ensured that this awareness is no more universally accessible than before. In fact, the presence of noise and distractions binding us to the external world is more widespread than ever; together with the conscious effort needed to look beyond the surface, this creates a barrier that is monumentally difficult to transcend. Only a rare few, through fortunate circumstances or mere chance, are afforded the opportunity to see past the facade and confront the depths of their own existence.
Then there is the obstacle of self-deception; the lies we repeatedly tell ourselves to distract, obfuscate, and generally delay our intrinsic pursuits. It is these whispers that convince us that tomorrow can be another today and that any significant change can only occur the day after, which is perpetually unreachable; this convenience has cost a great many individuals to waste away the greater part of their lives. Or instead we gorge ourselves on the consumerist agenda to buy, upgrade, replace, spend, shop, or own. Or we become trapped in the intoxicating haze of alcohol, food, drugs, sex, art, or culture. Or rather we are crushed beneath the oppressive weight of our duty to one or another religion, country, culture, politics. Or.... Or ... Into the oblivion that is only limited by man's ability to create additional things that serve to deny his self-realization. These things originate seemingly internally, and yet they perpetuate as external persuasions that we sustain through delusional conviction. Lest we forget that overcoming past habits or even glimpses of a life beyond these diversions are met with an equal or greater amount of self-imposed diffidence.
At the age of 32 I suddenly found myself caught within the recurring internal dialogue that I am not yet old enough, wise enough, or knowledgeable enough to have opinions, or rather state those opinions, on any subject of profound personal importance— religion, morality, philosophy, and metaphysics. After nearly a decade of exploring philosophical works—after hundreds of pages exploring and documenting my opinions, ideas, and passions—I have finally accepted that on the day I am finally old and wise and knowledgeable enough for the satisfaction of others, I will certainly be too old to contribute these perspectives; my opinions will have lost relevance as they slowly devolve into the ramblings of a senile octogenarian. Of course this is an internal argument and surely there is no "right time" or "correct amount" of knowledge necessary to predicate the utility of writing down one's thoughts. And yet, this concept of pre-existing doubt—that is, pre-existential doubt—is certainly a familiar barrier to meaningful progress toward the fulfillment of the self.
Instead, the journey toward existential awakening often begins with a moment of unexpected lucidity—a flash of awareness revealing the dissonance between our indoctrinated beliefs and the reality we observe. This initial glimpse of skepticism toward the powerful systems that shaped us, serves to signal the beginning of a transformation. But to continue on this path requires more than mere recognition; it demands acceptance. We must acknowledge that this distrust is not only real but essential. This journey calls us to cultivate a unique kind of faith. One that sustains our fragile inclination to trust ourselves despite what we believe about our very nature.
Confronting the growing realization that we have spent 20, 30, or even 40 years constructing an identity built upon a foundation of doubt demands both resilience and rigorous honesty. It requires a habit of introspection that can pierce through the layers of self-deception. To break free from this perifidous edifice often necessitates a dismantling of our accepted reality, much like Descartes' approach to methodical doubting. This suggests that any conscious being who seeks true understanding will, at some point, find it necessary to demolish their foundations and reestablish a new truth; not one based on assumed beliefs and anecdotes, but rather defined by our self to best serve us, in whatever way we wish to define "best", and serve as a tool for self-realization.
If accepting all prior knowledge as truth inevitably leads to doubt—a doubt we cannot overcome without dismantling our foundational beliefs—then it follows that we ourselves give this doubt power over our future. This doubt is something we can choose to embrace, defying fear and taking the risk of confronting it with hard work, fresh thoughts, meditation, learning, and decisive action. In this light, it seems we face two options—neither of which guarantees protection from the other. To hide in fear is to accept a bleak future, clinging to absurd but familiar miseries as though they could offer comfort like a well-worn coat. Alternatively, we can pursue change, a path requiring trust in our instincts and the resilience to endure the prodigious suffering that growth demands. This path calls for relentless effort to reshape our self, a type of transformative metanoia, where we must learn to accept and possibly even appreciate the discomfort of an uncertain future over the complacency of past that has defined us.
I have lived this very fear myself, wrestling against a life that offers no authentic fulfillment, bearing the quiet anguish of an unfulfilled mind. Amid a life that others might envy, I feel only the bitter taste of emptiness... a taste I no longer wish to ignore. I have searched relentlessly, turning to those who appeared to hold answers. I have called out to God, bargained with the devil, humbled myself before supposed authorities, and entrusted my faith in others. I have waited—patient and steadfast—only to find that no enlightenment, no rectification, awaits me.
This disillusionment has perhaps taught me my most significant lesson: I will not surrender to the so-called ‘process’ and entrust my existence to those who claim to possess justifiable answers, or even to know worthwhile questions. Instead, I must think and exist independently. I will look inward, act, and reflect on my own terms, crafting a selfhood that resonates with my internal values. I will dedicate myself to contemplation and to constructing a personal ethos that is meaningful to me.
I have realized that I can neither substantiate my own convictions within my subjective reality, nor hope to retain them without first recording them. I cannot hold these beliefs, resolute, and confident without presenting the opportunity for others to challenge my ideas. I cannot hope to improve and iterate without feedback, both from those who's existence touches mine and from their direct application to my own life. Therefore I have endeavored to codify my subjective opinions within this work, in doing so committing to the very journey I believe is so valuable, with the hope that it will further my goals and refine my values.
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