[This “Individuality and Absurd Rebellion” series of posts introduces you to ideas you’ll find in Eric Maisel’s most recent book Redesign Your Mind. You can learn more about Redesign Your Mind here.]
When we encounter a character in literature who ought to rebel and doesn’t, we want to shake him. Sir, can’t you see the absurdity of your situation and that your only wise response is rebellion? In Kafka’s The Trial, for instance, Joseph K. hunts for rational answers to his absurd situation. Finally, he is absurdly executed. Watching him, we want to scream, “Stop it already! Don’t you see that rebellion is your only answer! A ridiculous answer; but still your only one!”
We want K. to refuse to sheepishly play along. We want him to laugh just once at the absurdity of his situation, so as to unlock the door to some resistance. Please, K., laugh at the absurdity of your indictment and your punishment. And rebel!
Of course, many rebellions are impossible. You can’t stop the sun from slowly dying. You can’t stop time from passing. You can’t stop falls from hurting. You can’t stop your mind from whirring. You might as well beg electricity to stop shocking. And then there are all those pointless rebellions. Spending the week fighting that unfair service charge on your bill. Refusing a seat on the bus because you hate looking old. And so many other rebellions that waste your time and do not serve you.
Skip the pointless rebellions and the impossible rebellions. Skip those rebellions that arise just because you’re angry or hurt. Skip those rebellions that are just versions of you acting out. Skip those rebellions that do not serve you or the world.
Which rebellions, then, are the absurd rebellions that are the hallmark and cornerstone of wise individuality? They are your absurd rebellions on the side of the good. They are your rebellions for the benefit of all humankind, played out in tiny installments.
You might rebel by singing. It’s absurd to suppose that your protest song can stop the tidal wave of history. But you sing it anyway. You sing it on street corners and from rooftops. You sing out for justice, a rebel songbird, not caring if you look ridiculous.
You might rebel by breaking the silence. Can your few kind words, offered in passing, do much good? You sigh, put aside your distaste for your species, and stop and chat anyway. You say a nice thing to this person who needs some comforting.
You might rebel by putting the world on your shoulders. It’s absurd to suppose that it’s your job to save the world. What could be more ridiculous? And still anything less is too little. Everyone tells you, “Do less,” and you say, “No, I don’t think so.”
You might rebel against your own programming. How absurd to arm-wrestle yourself! But you know about your shadow side, your trickster nature, your callous impulses, your venalities, and, absurdly enough, you valiantly rebel against your own nature.
You might rebel against the very idea that you do not matter. Yes, you are puny. Yes, you are a lone creature among billions and billions of others. Yes, you are miniscule. But do not let your insignificance stop you from aiming for grandeur.
Skip the pointless rebellions and the impossible rebellions and opt for rebellions that are pointed and possible.
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