The Modern Absolutist, the Protagonist Effect, and Righteous Self-Insertion as a Goal:

 

“Protagonist” is not a syndrome, but it does exist as a condition. Life is narrative; the finest ethicists, psychologists, and playwrights (MacIntyre, Jung, and Shakespeare) have agreed upon this fact. Each one of us is the protagonist of one’s own story; “All the world’s a stage”.

 

The functions Others serve within this story are quite secondary, as supporting roles. That’s not to say that we ought only to regard them as the means to our private ends. Each one of them must be acknowledged as the lead role in that person’s narrative, although that person’s narrative is not one’s own. Yet all these narratives comprise a larger narrative which lends an objectivity to every anecdotal subjectivity. Without this narrative, no objectivity is possible, since it is narrative which lends a meaning to existence.

 

Nor is this position to deny irrationality as something of a universal constant. No protagonist exists without antagonists; the Universe Itself provides an endless train of them to fuel the flame. Irrationality is the antithesis of Reason, and their conflict is an absolute which cannot be resolved by mere reduction. Human life is utterly absurd, though not exclusively absurd. Those aspects of the Universe which are antagonistic represent an absolute, a fundamental Evil which cannot be understood by Reason, since its function is to utterly subvert all Reason and the Good which Reason strives for. Yet, although this Evil cannot be eliminated absolutely, nor can it eliminate the Good; ergo, the drama in between the two remains a constant.

 

All traditional mythologies, philosophies, and arts convey these facts. Yet modern man rejects tradition with a tragic *hubris*, and by opening the box of doubt he has unleashed the monsters of a million excuses on the world of modern thought. Three daemons lead this legion: nihilism, “pop” psychology, and moral relativity.

 

The nihilists deny that Good and Evil are objective categories manifest within the World. From this perspective, Good and Evil are not primary but rather secondary qualities, attributed to things to which they do not natively belong. As Hamlet put it, “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”. Yet, though this attitude has been adopted by the clinical psychologists of recent times, (as well as politicians in all times) it bears reminding that it’s uttered by a tragic hero in the early stages of his breakdown, long before he figures out that thinking will not solve his problems in confronting an objective threat to justice. What is more, it may be read that, while it seems at first that moral statements hold no meaning, any rational consideration proves the opposite, and “thinking *makes it so*”, *de facto*. Ergo, nihilism merely is an antidote to thought when action feels too risky, though this antidote is only a placebo, whereas action is the cure.

 

The pop psychologists, as we’ve acknowledged, side with nihilism, and it’s not beneath them to appropriate the work of greater predecessors. Jung, for instance, was no nihilist nor relativist, yet his work is used to justify both camps. “Projection” has become a sort of film cliché, a rubber stamp to “diagnose” the “underlying causes” for all moral indignation. From this point of view, to cite another poet, “all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye”. Yet this is not to say that nothing in the world is yellow, nor that one must suffer from a jaundiced eye in order to identify a daffodil by colour. Yes: some people do project, and they are called neurotics. Yet the breadth of reasons to revile evil far surpass such petty, egocentric motives, as those reasons must include all altruism, horror, shock, and righteous passion. We are part of a collective narrative, and that alone enables us to recognize a sin *for what it is*, *regardless* of one’s private inclinations and proclivities. What’s more: those inclinations and proclivities will always vary; no two people have the same capacities for any one atrocity or vice, as people value things which vary and to various extents. What is profound in the particular is shallow in the universal, as the tendency to universalize a single patient’s illness is to normalize it and thereby obscure the breadths and depths.

 

The final daemon is the relativist. From the relative perspective, the irrationalities of an absurd existence function as a higher form of rationality. If Reason is the process by which evils are prevented, since affirming them would turn them from mere possibilities to inescapable conclusions, and if value is in choosing Reason *over* choosing Evil, then the very possibility of choosing Evil is itself an inescapable conclusion. Even if I choose the Good, the fact I could have chosen Evil means that someone else can choose it still. What’s more: if Good is the prevention of a possibility which would be utterly inevitable were it chosen, then it’s utterly inevitable, by that very logic, that somebody will elect the Evil I refused to choose in my pursuit of Good. As such, all Reason is futility, and we must all embrace Absurdity, in light of which, as Jean-Paul Sartre wrote, there are no rational criteria to favour one above the other, though we always have to choose. “Two roads diverged […] I took the one less traveled by […] that has made all the difference”. The poem does not say it was the *proper* choice *because* it was less traveled by, but rather that it was because the author *took* it that it mattered.

 

Yet again, the poets have to wait on the philosophers. No agent can escape a confrontation with the same dilemma, even if it takes another form; we all stand at the crossroads. What, then, would compel a man to take the road that clearly feels more evil? Kierkegaard writes of the terrifying possibility of throwing oneself off a cliff. Yet why is this a possibility, and what compels a man to do this?

 

Clearly, it is not a “relative” perspective, but an absolutist one: “I had to.” “Someone had to do it.” “It was either them or us.” “It was commanded that I do so.” “God hath willed it.” Truth be told, there is an element of heroism to these absolutist statements, though they share a sense of passion with the villain, which the relativists lack, for lack of thoughtful action. “Thinking makes it so,” yet we’ve not yet acknowledged that a fool can act unthinking and reflect that what he chose had value (or no value whatsoever) simply from the fact he chose it, just as he can choose to value it or not, as arbitrarily. Yet when we *care*, we tend to think before we act, and Evil may be justified, to some extent, by absolutist statements of necessity. “Those fools stood in my way, but were they stronger I would not have had to kill them.” In this hypothetical example, the key words are “I would not *have had to*”. Evil does not simply justify its acts as necessary *a posteriori*; it must think of them as necessary *prior to the (f)act*.

 

It follows from this that the relativists fail. We can’t decide between two roads by flipping coins or going by mere preference. Good is an absolute, and so is Evil. Yet what is the difference between them?

 

“Were they stronger, I would not have had to kill them.” Yet what if the victims were, in fact, the strongest? When we kill, we always have a *choice*: to blame the victim or to feel remorse. If I choose blame, I vindicate my choice, and so I vindicate all Evil, and, by doing so, it seems that I’ve eliminated Good. If Good can be eliminated absolutely, as it is illogical to entertain such fanciful delusions and such weaknesses, then Good no longer is an absolute; its absolute elimination must preclude an absoluteness in its being.

 

Yet so long as I can choose remorse, this never is an absolute elimination. Yes, by choosing blame, I form a circle: if the victim is a fool, then I am wise to kill him; if I’m wise to kill him, I am wise to choose this path; he has not chosen it, so, he must be a fool. Yet any such tautology implies its opposite: the victim, irrespective of his choice, had value; I chose an injustice in destroying him; my choice was foolish; he did not elect this path; ergo, he was no fool; his life had value. Either logic forms a circle, and, while many agents stay within one loop, they always must catch glimpses of the other side. One satisfies the ego, yet the other satisfies the heart. Why would the ego always win? Quite demonstrably, conscience has its victories. The simple fact that I am well aware that I can choose remorse implies that, by extension, I can choose regret, repentance, and reform.

 

It follows that no Evil is a matter of necessity. The difference between the passions is that Goodness *is* a matter of necessity, while Evil only *tries to be*. The absolutist inclinations of the evil man preclude the relativist notion of an utterly amoral world devoid of rational criteria for action. Yet this rationale, when taken to its rational conclusion and remaining vigilant of its own freedom, *a la Sartre*, can’t deny that it is never a necessity. Since Good cannot be utterly eliminated from the conscience, it is Absolute and ultimately irreducible; it follows from this, too, as demonstrated here, that Evil is an Absolute. The moral relativity of Sartre folds in on itself, as do all modern moral relativities.

 

Camus provides a sensible alternative to Sartre at this point. Life is Absurd, the Universe irrational, but we must not accept it, for that very reason. Yes: we must accept *the fact* that Life is an absurdity. Yet one must not resign oneself to the irrationality. All three of the daemonic, diabolical philosophies I’ve deconstructed seek to elevate Absurdity to something we can understand as intellectuals. Yet common people know it best: that “some things in this world […] they don’t make sense.” Absurdity is Absolute, so it cannot be elevated to a higher form of Reason nor suppressed completely. Evil can’t be justified, yet even those who know this may yet choose it, and we can’t deny that possibility, as we’ve established it as utterly inevitable from the very outset. Nor can we amend this outset, for it is the only reason we can think of as to why such blatant madness would persist throughout the course of human history.

 

Yet it is in this that a scattered history takes on a universal meaning, as does human life as such. If Evil can’t be justified, for it is Absolute, then Goodness is an Absolute, (just as the Absoluteness of the Good proved Evil to be Absolute) and this tautology remains the final lap, the highest ring of purgatory. If we can’t accept irrationality, we must resist it, with the heroism of an Absolutist, as Camus prescribes. We may not win completely, but in loss we yet affirm the Absoluteness of the struggle. Human life is utterly Absurd, but not exclusively Absurd, as out of this complete and absolute Absurdity emerges an objective Meaning. “In the depth of winter, finally I learned there lay within me an interminable summer.”

 

So, where do we stand now, in regards to the Protagonist Effect? I am the main protagonist of my own story, and it is my choice to either be its Hero or its Villain, either siding with my fellows in pursuing what is Rational and Good or choosing Evil in denial of all Reason. We must thus expect that, as more writers come to terms with their own lives, we’ll see more self-insertions which appeal to modern audiences, and the clinical psychologists and critics will be silenced in their cynical contempt. “Protagonist” is not a syndrome, but it does exist as a condition. That is the condition of all human life.

 

**[({R.G.)}]**

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