The Reluctant Optimist

***Disclaimer #1: I am not a philosopher, but rather, an ex-DJ. Take my words and thoughts with two-and-a-half grains of salt. However, also realize that many of your favorite philosophers were certified degenerates. Socrates was the world’s biggest asshole. Heraclitus bathed in his own shit, eventually caught an infection, and died. Aristotle was a raging racist. Empedocles jumped into a volcano to prove he was a God. I could go on and on and on and on and on. But me? I have no flaws. I’m rad as fuck.

***Disclaimer #2: I ran this through AI because I was curious about what it would think. It told me, very politely, that my writing was absolute garbage. “The ‘I have no flaws’ bit is statistically unlikely,” it exclaimed. “Claiming ‘every piece of media is negatively biased’ is too strong,” it asserted. “People absolutely did care about research in 1928,” it protested. To which I responded, “bite me bitch.”

Unless you were born yesterday, you’ve probably noticed that everything online is negatively biased. Every piece of media is a referendum on the “enemy.” Every reel is a depiction of what your life can never become. Every conversation is evidence of another person who just doesn’t get you. And naturally, every thought you have becomes corrupted. You begin to see the worst in people. You start to believe that this is “just how life is.” You may even sink into a pit of depression and run for political office.

For people questioning the existential reality of the world, I think it’s natural to bounce between gradations of absurdism, nihilism, determinism, existentialism, stoicism, idealism, naturalism, and theism. The world is complicated, and often our environment at a specific point in time directly sculpts the specific mindset we choose to adopt. However, I think there’s a difference between what you believe is true about the world – which is arguably a deterministic function of your genetic structure and environment rather than precise and purposeful thoughts – compared to what you choose to put out into the world. “Well, fuck” you might be thinking … “this sounds like a bunch of word jargon and bullshit.” Partially, this is true. For anybody who knows me, I spit bullshit sometimes (and this is playing loose on the word “sometimes”). However, I’m also a deeply pensive person, in the sense that my bullshit is not arbitrary, even if ill-founded. 

To put this idea into a simpler perspective, consider the following example. It’s not incompatible to believe in nihilism – the idea that the world is arbitrary and without inherent meaning – while simultaneously choosing to consciously inject “optimistic thoughts and actions” into the world. We’re complicated creatures. We may not be able to choose what we believe. We can, however, choose how we respond to what we believe. Fundamentally, these are two completely different things. It’s a bit like working out. Generally, when you start working out, your mind tells you something along the lines of: “STOP! Fuck this. FUCK this! Go home and eat ice cream instead.” This is how you feel. However, science, anecdotal evidence, and self-experimentation consistently provide evidence supporting the benefits of working out. And so, reluctantly, you continue to work out, contrary to what your brain tells you. Choosing to be optimistic, to begrudgingly acknowledge the good in people, to behave as if our actions have purpose is, in fact, a choice.

Am I actually optimistic about things? It’s tough to say — my brain is a bit jumbled sometimes (all the time). I fully accept the inherent difficulty of life, the inescapable nature of my demise, the inexhaustible extent of my flaws, the inevitable catastrophe arising from global tensions, the invisible perils of AI and automation, the impending doom of our climate, and the infinitesimal role I play in the grand scheme of the universe. So, what the hell is there to be optimistic about? First, optimism is a utility-maximizing strategy (assuming quasi-convex, monotonic, and continuous preferences, of course). The longest, largest, most comprehensive study on happiness, conducted at Harvard, provides convincing longitudinal evidence that meaningful relationships and a cohesive social network are one of the strongest predictors of life satisfaction and happiness (which is corroborated causally), in addition to exercise, stable habits, and reliable coping mechanisms. This implies that some degree of optimism is beneficial, even if that optimism is simply an evidence-backed realization that actively contributing to yourself, your relationships, and your community will maximize your happiness in this lifetime. Alternatively, you can spiral into a self-contained sphere of depression, isolation, and income maximization, like a character from a Dostoevsky novel. Second, optimism embeds the notion that things can, in fact, change for the better. There is a preponderance of evidence to support this, including these optimist charts (this is one of the coolest aggregations of data I’ve seen). Perhaps, the fragility of our current political climate is a reflection of the fact that our standards, as a society, have radically shifted. Third, optimism accurately reflects the idea that life is fundamentally entangled with a certain level of uncertainty. Regardless of what your philosophical predispositions are, it’s indisputable that no single person has all the answers to life (except for me, of course). Given this underlying uncertainty, it appears that optimism is, once again, a utility-maximizing strategy, both in regard to what is true (in terms of scientific evidence) and what could be true (in terms of the philosophical unknown). Finally, optimism encapsulates an unquantifiable feeling. Why did I feel patriotic when I watched the U.S. dominate Uruguay in Rugby 7s at the 2024 Olympics, and why did I feel the need to cheer, rambunctiously, at a crowd full of French, U.S. opposed fans? Why do we root for the “little guy” in a movie or during March Madness? Why are we filled with joy and purpose after a deep conversation or an energetic night out? Why do we innovate, alter, obsess, and ruminate over things, even amidst impending doom? It is, above all else, the manifestation of this feeling – an unquantifiable feeling that transcends reality itself. One of my favorite things about Interstellar is the consistent juxtaposition between science and purpose; between time and relationships; between what is quantifiable and what is unquantifiable; between the reality we live in and the reality we define.

This string of logic is precisely why I’ve coerced myself into becoming an optimist, 2 P.E.E. (2 years, post Europe era). In a vast sea of pessimism, optimism is actually refreshing, both in consumption and production. Are things messed up? Fucked up? Motherfuckin’ fucked up. Yes. Of course. You’re not unique in this thought. We’ve all seen the news. We’re aware of the fragility of global politics. We’re cognizant of domestic tensions. We’ve experienced the cosmic bitch of life itself. But things don’t change because you acknowledge failures. They change because you address those failures, head on. 

One of my all-time favorite stories involves the creation of penicillin. The story goes something like this (albeit slightly dramatized): Alexander Fleming was studying staph bacteria in London at St. Mary’s Hospital in the wee year of 1928. Like many academics, he realized that nobody actually cares about academic research outside of academia and took a much needed vacation to escape his mundane life. When he returned, he noticed something peculiar: one of his Petri dishes had mold on it. After inspection, he realized the mold, Penicillium notatum (which produced the chemical penicillin we know today) had killed the bacteria, leaving a clear zone. “How the fuck is this relevant?” you might be inadvertently thinking. In 1944, Howard Florey and Ernst Boris Chain figured out how to purify and mass-produce penicillin. However, nobody, at any point in time, patented the core antibiotic. Fleming later said: “I did not invent penicillin. Nature did that. I only discovered it by accident.” Florey and Chain alluded to similar motives, arguing that penicillin was a natural substance and claiming proprietary rights over it was inappropriate. Sounds like a bunch of optimists to me. Consequently, the economic advantages of a roughly free-market product led to its mass production and distribution during WWII, which literally saved tens of millions of lives.

Is optimism the answer to everything? No. It’s like 1/7th of 3 teaspoons of .06948 kilograms of 17 Ångström’s of the answer. Life is too complicated for simple black-and-white characterizations. However, like working out and eating healthy, optimism is a tool you can utilize, selectively, as you navigate the indescribable horrors of daily life. Why not you?

— DJ Dixon, Certified Optimist