Chandigarh, Aug 7: Can a person carry both the weight of meaninglessness and the hope of idealism? Can someone believe life has no inherent purpose, yet still choose to live with purpose? Across centuries of thought, nihilism, absurdism, existentialism, and idealism have been seen as separate, even opposing, worldviews. Yet in a single human life—fragmented, complex, ever-changing—they often don’t just coexist, but interact deeply.
Nihilism posits that life is devoid of objective meaning, truth, or value. It can arise in moments of despair, disillusionment, or radical honesty. “Nothing matters,” says the inner nihilist—whether in response to death, injustice, or the failure of systems one once trusted. But that sense of nothingness doesn’t always lead to passivity. Sometimes, it sets the stage for a confrontation with absurdism.
Absurdism, as proposed by Albert Camus, acknowledges the human need for meaning and the universe’s silence in return. The clash between the search for purpose and the apparent emptiness of existence is the “absurd.” Unlike nihilism, which may fall into resignation, absurdism urges one to rebel—to live in defiance of the void. “The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart,” wrote Camus in The Myth of Sisyphus.
Existentialism walks closely beside absurdism. It begins with the same recognition of meaninglessness, but insists that meaning must be created by the individual. There is no God-given order, no predetermined essence. But that does not absolve us from responsibility. On the contrary, it burdens us with it. “Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself,” said Jean-Paul Sartre. For the existentialist, freedom is terrifying but necessary: we must choose who we are.
Idealism, on the surface, seems contradictory to the other three. Rooted in the belief that reality is shaped by consciousness or ideas, it often nourishes hope, dreams, and moral conviction. An idealist believes in progress, in beauty, in love—not as illusions, but as real forces. Yet idealism, too, can survive the dark night of nihilism. It may become tempered, weathered, but not erased.
In one life, all four can emerge at different moments. A person may begin with idealism in youth—believing change is possible, that truth can be found. Then, struck by loss or disappointment, they may fall into nihilism. From there, absurdism may allow them to laugh at the contradiction, to keep going. Eventually, existentialism may offer a way forward: a call to take responsibility for one’s own path. And still, idealism may return—not naïve this time, but chosen.
These philosophies, then, are not cages. They are modes of understanding—tools the mind reaches for when grappling with life’s deepest questions. They may fight, overlap, or contradict, but their coexistence within one mind reflects not confusion, but depth.
In the end, humans are not consistent thinkers—we are feelers, strugglers, survivors. We carry doubt and faith, despair and defiance, all at once. And perhaps, in that paradox, lies our truth.
