Are you really having an existential crisis, or might it be something else?
Maybe it's an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, or an underdone potato that's putting you in a tailspin.
Two things coincidentally, and you may not believe them.
In my little notebook of ideas, I contemplated writing a few articles in response to reader emails and questions.
I contemplated it because I had done something similar back in August 2007 on my original blog.
And now it has happened: a reader has sent an email asking a question, and the rusty gears of the mind have begun to turn. But wait, there’s more.
I just finished reading several online conversations in which people bemoan the state of things in a way that suggests a personal crisis.
What we have to discuss is the classic idea of an existential crisis. So here is the question that the reader emailed to me:
I feel like most ranters and ravers use the expression “existential crisis” incorrectly. Like, everything they don’t like is creating an existential crisis. My understanding of the expression is different, and it ticks me off every time I hear them throwing it around. What say you? Am I right or wrong?
The answer is clear: yes.1
Existentialism emphasizes individual existence, freedom, and personal responsibility, and holds that the world is either meaningless or absurd. There’s little meaning, and it’s a way of thinking that often conflicts sharply with Christianity and might explain how the world, stripped free of the God who made it, feels absurd. When you dismiss the existence of God—who gives us our identity in Christ and tells us we have a purpose in his plan—you get the idea that:
Humans begin by existing, and later define themselves by their choices. You may have heard of the phrase “existence precedes essence.”
Personal freedom and responsibility are critical. Since who you will be is up to you and you cannot blame anyone else, the choices you make are all you have. You can’t blame God, society, or other people. Existentialists might seem like highly moral, good people, or completely louche. Moral values are chosen by the individual; they are the individual’s choice, not laid out by God or any other system.
Lived experience is everything. The feelings that arise in a normal life, such as guilt, fear, joy, and so on are all you have to go on to understand who you are.
You can see how people might think that, if they believed this, following your heart was good advice, though there is some conflict with the victim culture we have, where others are constantly blamed for a life of struggle or failure. Existentialists who are atheists often sound pretty good to Americans who like moral people who take responsibility for their actions.
There is a version of “Christian” existentialism, mind you, and Kierkegaard is often considered the father. He viewed it as a person standing before God, taking that leap of faith, allowing for the idea that each person needed an inward and real relationship with Christ, rather than simply identifying as part of a Christian culture or agreeing to theological doctrines intellectually but not making it live in reality in your heart (i.e., real faith). Kierkegaard believed that true “selfhood” only came with a sincere commitment to Christ. Those who followed Kierkegaard held similar beliefs, with the main point being that you must have a personal relationship with Christ, not merely be a cultural Christian.
Not all philosophers agree on these exactly, but it’s a basic summation to get you started. An interesting point is that both the Christian and atheistic versions overlap in taking a person’s inner life seriously, acknowledging that conforming to external factors, such as culture, social norms, or a particular church tradition, is not enough for a human being. People must be authentic and confront who and what they are. The danger with both versions of existentialism is that they place a great deal of purpose and power on the individual, which might allow a kind of autonomy that makes Scripture and core Christian doctrines secondary to personal choice and understanding.
Whew.
But.
You can see how this understanding of life (particularly the godless version) leads to the identity mess we have today, in which we’ve normalized the idea that we are responsible for making ourselves who we are, and that our meaning comes from inside instead of being given an identity from God. In some cases, traditions and cultures that provide a sense of identity are stripped away in the name of “diversity” or by denigrating certain ethnicities.2 If you feel like you are a different sex, a different ethnicity, a fluffy cat—whatever it is you choose to exist as, is allowed.
So, in light of all of that, what is an existential crisis? An existential crisis is:
A time when a person deeply questions the meaning, purpose, identity, and value of their life. (Also known as Sunday through Saturday.)
A moment where a person feels forced to decide what their existence means or stands for. (Also known as standing at the counter at Starbucks.)
A serious trainwreck moment in which a person’s basic understanding of life, operating framework, and worldview is disrupted. (Also known as the day the Vikings win the Super Bowl.)
From what I can tell, we can thank Kierkegaard and Nietzsche (I’ve read the former and shook a fist at the latter) for focusing on anxiety, despair, and analyzing life crises in which we either take a leap of faith over the crisis (Kierkegaard) or decide God is dead and wallow in nihilism (Nietzsche).
Sartre, Camus, and Heidegger (all atheists, I think) expounded on this, though I am not well-read on those philosophers, save for Camus’ book The Plague, in which, not unlike some of our pandemic experiences, people chose to understand and walk through a deadly and isolating epidemic in very different ways and, essentially, force an existential crisis.3
In The Plague, people’s initial explanations for what was happening shift over time as the reality of the deadly plague takes its toll. People are forced out of routine to confront death, and are forced to accept that while they can’t explain suffering, they can do what they are able to relieve it.
Camus, who said he did “not believe in God and I am not an atheist,” possibly fairly noting that saying you didn’t believe in God sort of suggests there is a God to be in disbelief against, might not be the best one to take your cues for walking through an existential crisis, though his philosophical unbelief did not stand in the way of his advocating for individual acts of courage and integrity, and accepting that human knowledge is limited. For most people, a true existential crisis is a moment where you have no answers, and you desperately want them; Camus doesn’t make it that easy.
Nor does God, really.
We’re all going to hit the moments in life where we wonder why bad things happen to good people, why there is suffering, why something was allowed to happen, why doesn’t God hear—you may already know this. We are told to walk in faith and that Jesus will walk with us, but we might not know the explanation for every twist and turn in advance.4
The question, then, is: what does a person do when they face an absolute crisis in their understanding of their existence? In how they understand who they are, why they are, and if they have any value?
I have to go to Christ. Every time. He’s my firm foundation, the place where I know my identity never falters. I have to go through all the things God says I am, in His Word, and who Jesus is. If not that, I’m not sure what a person does. Maybe post stupid crap on social media or join a Discord chat to get some attention and feel loved and seen.
The reader’s question was terribly intriguing to me because it came in around 9 p.m., that magic hour when I want my brain to start shutting down, and instead it starts speeding up, and also, I’ve never once had anyone ask such a question.
I’ve never thought about it.
I can’t believe I’ve never thought about it.
I should think about this.
A true existential crisis is a big thing, but we’ve turned the idea into a way to deal with everyday annoyances and displeasures.
Perhaps this simply fits within the broader category of how we debase words when we use them incorrectly, but perhaps not. I started by searching for the phrase to see how it was used across different platforms. People are having existential crises over their haircut, favorite restaurant closing, and, of course, politics. Orange-faced blonde-haired politics with Eastern European wives, in specific. It wasn’t just people having the crisis, mind you, but the entire nation and apparently the Constitution.
If an entire nation has no idea who they are, so much makes sense now.
I had no idea it was so rampant. Every day and everywhere, people were hitting a wall in their existence. I mean, they weren’t, but imagine if they thought they were? If an existential crisis could truly arise from a bad haircut or getting the salad dressing poured over instead of on the side, it truly is a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. There’s a 50/50 chance you’re going to question your existence on any given day.
They could use other words instead of “existential crisis.” Serious. Horrible. Terrifying. Urgent. Detrimental. Shattering. Frustrating.
Existential is directly tied to existence; Prince Hamlet knows this, and so should we. The daily experience of not liking something should not make you question your existence unless you truly have been protected from every icky thing. Unless you are truly questioning your existence—and it’s a very tough day when you do, so I doubt you’ll be making a TikTok video in that moment—the reader is right: people are using it wrong.
If others were using it wrong, I was sure I had done the same in all my years of writing. I must be honest, you see, so I searched my hard drives for the phrase in my own writing.
Well, shoot. March 24, 2014, I abused the phrase in a blog post.5 I paired it with Target, of all things.
You will note that an existential crisis is not a mere passing mood. It’s a moment in life when you actually question everything you believed about who you are, your life up to that moment, and your understanding of what that life is about.
It is not anger. It is not discomfort. And it is not depression, based on my extensive education as an art major, and not a clinical counselor. An existential crisis is a turning point in which the struggle is about what your life means, while depression is deadness inside. An existential crisis is an opportunity to grow, while depression erodes all motivation and concentration.
As a habitual Debbie Downer, it’s hard to identify if or when I had an existential crisis, though I might write close to one now and then.
Perhaps I should, instead, take my own advice.
“Sometimes I read these things people are freaking out about online, and even though I understand because I’ve had those moments plenty, I just want to tell them to go to bed, and they’ll feel better in the morning,” I told my friend as I set my phone down after reading through Substack discussions.
Getting a good night’s sleep solves a lot of things.
Unless a reader emails you at about 9 p.m.
This is also the same answer to the following important question: When should a man stop wearing jorts?
No joke, as a form of self-torture, I am reading a book written by a black woman who was big in DEI, and at one point she refers to white people in her company as “non-ethnic” people, which is funny considering the Balkans, European history, and the many wars and ethnic cleansings. In the DEI realm, being white is apparently like a translucent sheet of nothing; there is no ethnicity, only knees to bow before color.
If you would like to cry today, consider watching this video.