On Punk Rock Advice

A middle-aged dude recently wrote in to the advice columnist for The Atlantic. The columnist is James Parker who is, I imagine, some kind of therapist? A secular wellness guru? I actually have no idea who James is or the nature of his credentials. Maybe he’s just the staff writer who drew the short straw at the team meeting. Nonetheless, James was asked the following question from the aforementioned middle-aged dude (I guess I don’t know for sure that the writer is male… for the purposes of this post, I’m sticking with “dude” because it seems like a vaguely dude-ish question and because, well, I, too, am middle-aged and would occasionally like to feel more rock and roll than I do!):

I’m not very punk rock. Not even a little. I’m well into middle age and experiencing my first taste of the many small indignities sure to come. I wear sensible shoes with gel insoles scientifically designed to relieve the pain and discomfort of plantar fasciitis. I have long and detailed conversations about insurance.

And yet, in my heart, I believe that all is mendacity. That virtue is impossible. That the system crushes us all beneath its relentless wheel. I tell hilarious jokes about the cruel pointlessness of existence and receive only blank stares in return. If the world were to perish in flames, I’m pretty sure it would be no more than it deserved.

So, the middle-aged dude is feeling a bit of tension between the self that wears gel insoles and the self that believes that most punk rock of creeds, that nihilism is the brute fact of reality and that our task is to stylishly and loudly rage against the pointlessness of it all. I guess one would indeed feel conflicted about buying life insurance in the face of “the cruel pointlessness of existence.” After all, why insure a life that has no meaning? Why make sure everything is in order in a system that “crushes us all beneath its relentless wheel?”

James’ “advice” is interesting. He basically tells our conflicted middle-aged gel insole-wearing punk rocker to be proud of his courageous nihilism but to use it as a “stimulant rather than as a philosophical end point.” Appreciate the taste of donuts more. Help little old ladies with their shopping. Which sort of seems to avoid the question entirely. An actual nihilist would probably believe that “it’s all bollocks and everyone dies” is the philosophical end point. That’s why it’s called nihilism. Telling someone, “Your nihilism is super cool but use it as fuel to be a nice person who appreciates life” would seem among the more spectacular examples of missing (or not understanding, or simply evading) the point. I suppose one should probably not expect too much philosophical sophistication from James the Atlantic guy who answers readers’ questions. Maybe his boss should tell him to go read up on Nietzsche.

By way of contrast, I was struck again by another advice column that I sometimes read, Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files. Cave was recently asked two questions about children. The first questioner wondered whether or not Cave was a “natalist” (a fancy term for someone who thinks that children are worth bringing into the world—i.e., a regular person for most of human history). The second was a more searching question from a woman who was grieving the grandchildren she would never have as her son was evidently not a “natalist.” To the first, Cave offered this:

I have heard the many reasons people cite for choosing not to have children—that it is wrong to bring a child into this terrible world, that they are too costly, that they disrupt careers, that they hinder freedom and realisation of one’s true self, that having them is ruinous to the body, that we are at risk of overpopulation, that children are detrimental to the environment, that they are patriarchal instruments of oppression, that they are messy, that they are annoying, that motherhood is yuck, that fatherhood is boring, and so on. I appreciate these arguments and understand that many people lead extremely beneficial and fulfilling lives without feeling the need to have children. I also acknowledge that not everyone has the choice.

However, I think that if we are to attribute any value to the future of the world and invest in its continuance, we must keep on populating it. Children are indicators of our faith in the world itself, they are emissaries of optimism, charging into the future with their pockets full of hope.

Are there more robust philosophical and theological responses to the question of whether human life is worth extending into the future? Of course. But not bad from a punk rocker. The last sentence is certainly a lovely bit of poetry.

To the woman grieving her child’s choice to refuse to have children, Cave’s words were even more poignant:

Eternity is more than progeny. It is also measured by what we contribute to the world during our allotted time. It is enriched by the good we do, for each of us is responsible for shaping our own destiny and filling that time with meaning and momentum. Our love for the world, and our concern for it, keep eternity wide and bright and full of potential as our actions reverberate into the future. Regardless of the regrets we may encounter, the disappointments and tragedies, it is our spiritual duty to cherish the world around us.

The contrast between the two advice columnists about the value of life could hardly be starker. “Enjoy your donut and help an old person with their shopping” (the question of how or why a consistent nihilist would think there could exist a moral imperative to help anyone was also left untouched by our friend James); and, “It is our spiritual duty to cherish the world around us.” Again, more could and should obviously be said. But Cave is basically channeling Paul’s exhortation to the Philippian church to rejoice always here. Or any number of the Psalms. Or Jesus himself, telling us that God so loved the world (and, by implication, that we probably should, too).

At any rate, in the unlikely event that I were ever inclined to write in to an advice columnist, I’m pretty sure I would go with the actual punk rocker and not James from The Atlantic.