Sometimes I doubt that free will exists. Sitting alone in my dimming apartment, streaming the evening broadcast on the latest mass shooting, I wonder if the success of our democracy has come to rest entirely on the mindless compliance of consumers. I wonder if the commercials that intersperse this broadcast are the social equivalent of poking an animal with a stick. I wonder if the recent violence our country has witnessed isn’t the result of people metaphorically throwing themselves against the bars.
Then I think of Ambrose Bierce.
He is perhaps the most cynical American author (and considering the field, that’s a lot like naming the drunkest member of the Jersey Shore). His best know work, “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” follows the improbable escape of a Confederate sympathizer from execution by hanging over a bridge; when the noose snaps, the man swims to shore and escapes his executioners by fleeing through the woods. It isn’t until the man reaches home, and is falling into the arms of his faithful wife, that Bierce reveals the whole escape to be a figment of the condemned man’s imagination. The story ends with his body dangling lifelessly over the water.
In 1906, Bierce published “The Devil’s Dictionary,” a collection of words defined in the most pessimistic way possible (for laughter, Bierce writes, “An interior convulsion, producing a distortion of the features and accompanied by inarticulate noises”) Also named “The Cynic’s Word Book,” the dictionary was a self-conscious testament to the bitter worldview championed by its author. Bierce summarized his own legacy prior to his departure for Mexico in 1913, writing to a family member, “If you hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart this life.” He was never seen or heard from again.
Living and writing in the 19th century, Bierce was undeniably a product of his time. The Civil War became the bloodiest conflict in American history, effectively shattering the Romantic worldview and all the enlightened notions that went along with it. Nonetheless, Realism has become more than a distinct period in American literary history – it has lingered through the years as a syndicated ideology. To this day, cynics will defend their perspective by invoking the word in its descriptive form: “I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist.”
Of course, this statement is predicated on the assumption that whatever views or opinions a pessimistic person has are based on a more “realistic” understanding of the world around us. It’s easy to see where this logic derails. The belief that a negative interpretation is more valid than a positive interpretation because it is more “realistic” only shifts the burden of proof from one subjective fault line to another. It’s a perfectly encapsulated delusion, reaffirming its own truth through an endless language loop, not unlike the statement “I believe God exists because he does,” or even more transparently, “I know that I’m right because I am.”
In reality pessimism is not so grounded. In some ways, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was midway through a political conversation with a friend (and fellow pessimist) when he exclaimed in frustration, “Intelligence is a curse!” At the time, I was inclined to agree with him. In our modern society it often feels like the threads of things run off a cliff; follow them long enough, and you’ll find yourself face-to-face with the abyss. Then again, there is no statement more quintessentially pessimistic than one that willingly confuses intelligence for thoughts. We might think of the capacity for sight in the same way, if we always chose to stare at horrible things.
As an application of intelligence, pessimism is a choice. At its heart, it is a means of coping with reality. The cynic is searching, in his own strange way, for a thread of consistency in things. He is scared, in a characteristically human way, of the doubt and uncertainty that characterize living. By believing in a world in which the underlying causes and outcomes of things are negative, he can stitch together the disparate parts of a mechanism not so easily understood.
That’s what pessimism is: not a way of seeing, but a way of understanding. It’s an ideology I have fallen victim to myself, and even as I write these words, struggle to overcome. That’s the frightening nature of a delusion: sometimes we don’t see the trap until we’re caught in it. Pessimism is an ingenious trap, and one that takes more than simple recognition to escape. It’s a cheap and dirty shortcut to peace of mind, knock-off brand Enlightenment, and the consumer pays the difference – one way or another.
Metawhimsical 