Nietzsche – Northcoast Antiquarian

Reflection on the Infinite Self: Exploring the Realities of the Multiverse

The Human Condition (oil on canvas, 1933) by Rene Magritte (1898-1967).
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

In my previous essay, I explored the notion that all possibilities, all moments, and all realities exist simultaneously within a vast, interconnected multiverse. This concept, while intellectually stimulating, takes on a profound emotional resonance when applied to personal experiences—whether contemplating career disappointments, unrequited love, or any other singular failure or life regret (the latter being the most futile and barren of life’s emotions).

For example, when faced with the pain of unrequited love, it is comforting, albeit briefly, to consider that in another universe, within one of the countless alternative realities encoded within the infinite expansion of π, that love was indeed requited. In that universe, the longing is fulfilled, the relationship blossoms, and the story takes a different, happier course. In that reality, whatever I was lacking in the eyes and heart of the other was not missing. This thought can provide solace, suggesting that somewhere, in some version of reality, the relationship blossomed, at least initially.

However, this comforting idea quickly gives way to a more troubling realization: if the multiverse contains all possible versions of me and my life, and if time itself is a dimension where past, present, and future coexist, then these possibilities are not just spread across different universes—they are all occurring simultaneously. There must be a multiplicity of universes where I am an unkind, unfortunate, or even malignant version of myself, embodying traits and actions that I would find abhorrent morally, philosophically, ethically, and physically in this reality, and they exist now, just as the kinder, better versions of myself do. In such universes, the unrequited love would be more than amply justified.

The Multiverse and the Dark Mirror

The multiverse, in its infinite possibility, is not merely a repository of our dreams fulfilled but also of our nightmares realized, all existing within the single, eternal now. For every universe where I am kinder or more fortunate, there must exist countless others where I am less so. These darker versions of myself reflect all the potential for cruelty, malice, and misfortune that I might carry within me, amplified and realized in ways that are profoundly unsettling, and they are just as real as I am in this moment.

This raises significant moral and philosophical questions. What does it mean for me, here and now, if these other versions of myself exist elsewhere, simultaneously? Am I, in some way, responsible for them? Do they diminish the value of the person I strive to be in this reality, knowing that versions of me exist that embody the very qualities I abhor?

Confronting the Other Selves

To confront these darker selves is to engage in a kind of ethical introspection. If I acknowledge that these malignant versions of myself exist in the same temporal space as I do, I must also confront the reality that the potential for such traits exists within me, even if they are not realized in this particular universe. This recognition forces a deeper reflection on the choices I make and the values I uphold. It challenges me to consider what it means to be a “good” person when the multiverse ensures that somewhere, at this very moment, I am not.

Moreover, this reflection touches on the concept of identity. How much of who I am is defined by my choices, and how much is determined by the random twists of fate that, in another universe, could have led me down a darker path? The block universe theory suggests that the line between who I am and who I could be is much thinner than we might like to believe, with all these versions of myself existing simultaneously.

The Crisis of Unfulfilled Potential

After confronting the darker versions of myself, another, perhaps equally unsettling realization emerges: the crisis of unfulfilled potential. If there are better versions of myself in the multiverse—versions that have succeeded where I have failed, who have become the person I wish to be—why am I unable to align with them here and now? Why can I not bridge the gap between who I am and who I could be?

This crisis forces me to confront the reasons why I fall short of these better versions of myself in this reality. It challenges me to understand why, despite the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, I am bound by the limitations of this particular existence. Is it a matter of circumstance, fate, or something within myself that holds me back? The knowledge that better versions of myself exist elsewhere only amplifies the sense of failure and inadequacy I might feel in this reality.

Reconciling with the Multiverse Self

Reconciling with the fact that I am not the best version of myself here and now requires a deep and difficult reflection. It demands that I acknowledge my limitations and the factors that prevent me from achieving the potential I know exists within me. This is not an easy task, as it involves confronting uncomfortable truths about my abilities, decisions, and the circumstances that shape my life.

Moreover, this crisis forces me to grapple with the idea that, despite my best efforts, I may never fully align with those better versions of myself. The multiverse, in its infinite complexity, suggests that there are always paths not taken, choices not made, and potential left unrealized. This can lead to a sense of existential despair, knowing that no matter how hard I strive, there are versions of myself who have succeeded where I have failed, who have become the person I wish to be.

The Ethical and Philosophical Implications

The existence of these darker and better selves also has ethical and philosophical implications. If I am aware of these versions of myself that exist elsewhere, does this knowledge impose a greater responsibility on me to strive for improvement? Or does it merely highlight the futility of such efforts, knowing that I am constrained by the limits of this reality? The awareness of my shortcomings, in light of the better versions of myself, can be both motivating and paralyzing, creating a tension between aspiration and resignation.

This tension reflects a deeper philosophical struggle: the conflict between the ideal and the real, between who I am and who I could be. It challenges me to reconsider what it means to live a meaningful life in a universe where infinite versions of myself exist, each navigating different paths, making different choices, and realizing different potentials.

Embracing the Complexity of the Multiverse Self

In contemplating these better and darker realities, I am reminded of the complexity of existence within the multiverse and block universe. The comforting thought that somewhere, my love is requited, the unsettling knowledge that elsewhere, I am capable of things I would rather not imagine, and the crisis of knowing that better versions of myself exist but elude me in this reality—all force a more nuanced understanding of what it means to exist in a timeless, all-encompassing reality.

This reflection brings to mind Friedrich Nietzsche’s profound directive: “What does your conscience say? — ‘You shall become the person you are.'” Yet, in confronting the multitude of selves that exist within the multiverse, I am also reminded of Jean-Paul Sartre’s existential assertion: “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.”

Together, these insights capture the duality of my existential challenge: the imperative to become the best version of myself, as Nietzsche suggests, and the burden of freedom that Sartre describes—the responsibility to define and realize that version amidst infinite possibilities. It is not merely about recognizing these potential selves but actively striving to shape the one that truly aligns with who I am meant to be.

Ultimately, the exploration of these themes leads to a humbling realization: that within the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, all existing simultaneously in the block universe, I am not simply a passive observer but an active participant in a reality that is as much defined by what I am as by what I could be. This awareness, coupled with the existential challenges posed by both Nietzsche and Sartre, should guide my actions and choices in this universe, encouraging me to strive for the best version of myself, even knowing that other, darker, and better versions exist. In doing so, I contribute to the ongoing discourse on existence, identity, and morality—both in this reality and, perhaps, in others.

Nietzsche, Proust, and My Antiquarian Self

Recently, I mentioned that I had read Friedrich Nietzsche’s “On the Use and Abuse of History.” My rough and tumble summary is as follows:

In “On the Uses and Abuses of History,” Nietzsche delineates three principal approaches to history: monumental, antiquarian, and critical. He argues that each methodology serves distinct purposes and carries unique implications for the perception and utilization of historical knowledge.

Monumental History: This approach venerates history as a continuum of extraordinary deeds and eminent individuals, offering inspiration for present and future endeavors. It emphasizes the perpetuity of greatness, encouraging individuals to aspire to the achievements of historical giants. Nietzsche asserts that by demonstrating what was once attainable remains within the realm of possibility that monumental history acts as a powerful motivational force.

Antiquarian History: Antiquarian history esteems the past for its own intrinsic value, driven by reverence and loyalty. It concentrates on the preservation of customs, traditions, and artifacts, fostering a sense of continuity and belonging. Nietzsche argues that this approach is indispensable for cultivating a collective memory and identity and providing comfort and a sense of rootedness within a historical continuum.

Critical History: Critical history is characterized by its evaluative and interrogative stance towards the past. It enables individuals and societies to extricate themselves from outdated or oppressive traditions, serving as a liberating force that facilitates progress. Nietzsche states that by challenging and reassessing historical narratives, critical history promotes a dynamic and progressive engagement with the past.

Balancing These Approaches: Nietzsche stresses that equilibrium among these historical approaches is essential for an appropriate engagement with history. An overemphasis on monumental history may lead to the undue glorification of the past, which stifles innovation. Conversely, an excessive focus on antiquarian history risks engendering a stagnant conservatism resistant to necessary change and progress. Additionally, overreliance on critical history can result in destructive cynicism and a disconnection from one’s heritage. A balanced historical perspective integrates the aspirational qualities of monumental history, the conserving virtues of antiquarian history, and the emancipatory critique of critical history. This synthesis fosters a society that respects its past, cherishes its heritage, and remains receptive to change and improvement.

My introduction to Nietzsche’s characterizations of historical approaches was revelatory, as it revealed much about my own approaches and reactions to history and historical objects. It also clarified the occasional disconnect I experience when engaging with contemporary historical studies, methodologies, and historians. In brief, I perceive that the current academic climate exhibits a pronounced imbalance, favoring critical history.[1] This predominance serves the interests of individual academicians and ideologues, rather than the broader objectives of history or society. Conversely, within the realm of political society, there is a noticeable tilt towards monumental history, almost entirely neglecting antiquarian and critical perspectives, which poses significant risks. Interestingly, I find myself slightly imbalanced in the Nietzschean sense, perhaps excessively favoring antiquarian history, thereby rendering myself somewhat out of step with both the Academy and political society. The quest for balance is imperative.

However, the aforementioned observations merely serve as a prelude to the more profound enlightenment I experienced while delving into Nietzsche’s concept of antiquarian history. In a particularly insightful article by Stephen Bann, entitled “Clio in Part: On Antiquarianism and the Historical Fragment,” published in 1987, I encountered a truly remarkable quote from Marcel Proust. This quotation elucidated, with striking clarity, my perspectives on literature, history, historical artifacts (including coins), and my self-identification as an antiquarian. It profoundly articulated the essence of what this self-identification entails and reinforced my understanding of my approach to these fields.

To provide a fitting introduction for individuals unfamiliar with the work from which I take Proust’s quote, which is to follow, it is essential to contextualize Proust’s reflections on the imaginative power of antiquities. In “Contre Sainte-Beuve,” a collection of essays in which Marcel Proust critiques the method of literary criticism employed by Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve, he vividly describes how historical imagination can transform our perception of ancient sites, such as the fictional estate of Guermantes. Guermantes, a recurring symbol in Proust’s magnum opus “In Search of Lost Time,” represents an idealized vision of the past, embodying the timelessness and continuity of history. The following excerpt from “Contre Sainte-Beuve” beautifully captures the essence of this transformation, illustrating how the past and present converge through the lens of imagination:

“And if Guermantes does not disappoint one as all imagined things do when reduced to reality; this is undoubtedly because at no time is it a real place, because even when one is walking about in it, one feels that the things one sees there are merely the wrappings of other things, that reality lies, not in this present but far elsewhere, that the stone under one’s hand is no more than a metaphor of Time; and the imagination feeds on Guermantes visited as it fed on Guermantes described because all these things are still only words, everything is a splendid figure of speech that means something else…. As for the castle towers, I tell you they are not only of that date, they are still in it. This is what stirs one’s heart when one looks at them. People always account for the emotional quality of old buildings by saying how much they must have seen in their time. Nothing could be more untrue. Look at the towers of Guermantes; they still look down on Queen Matilda’s cavalcade, on their dedication by Charles the Bad. They have seen nothing since. The moment when things exist is determined by the consciousness that reflects them; at that moment, they become ideas and are given their form; and their form, in its perpetuity, prolongs one century through the midst of others.”[2]

That final sentence resonates with me profoundly, both emotionally and instinctively. It elucidates why I have often conveyed to friends and family that, despite not having physically traversed great distances in my lifetime, I have, in truth, journeyed to more places and temporalities than almost anyone I know. This has been achieved through my extensive readings and the curation of my collections.

It also illuminates why, nearly twenty-five years ago, when a beloved friend and colleague faced a life-threatening health condition, I found it fitting to send her an antique silver Ethiopian Coptic Cross from my collection. This cross, approximately a century old, was likely crafted from silver originating from a Maria Theresa Trade Thaler. Accompanying the cross was a note explaining that, although it resided in my collection as an antiquarian item, it was made by the Faithful, for the Faithful, to aid the Faithful in prayer. Thus, the aura of its origin and use still imbued it with a sacred presence, which she, as one of the Faithful seeking prayer, would find comforting during that critical time. The words of Proust, I believe, provide a more cogent explanation of what I, ever the antiquarian, attempted to convey in my letter.

[1] A powerful discussion of the current imbalance in the Academy, with its excessive favoring of critical history and the attendant detrimental societal affects, is found in an essay by Julian Young. Unfortunately, the essay, which has a convincing introduction and general analysis of the situation, suffers horribly from poor analysis in the section entitled The Anxieties of Youth and fails absolutely in the particulars of its conclusion, which approaches an ideological agenda despite its disclaimers. The essay is still recommended for it strong beginnings as it only goes off the rails towards the very end. Young, J. (2023). The Uses and Misuses of History: Reflections on Nietzsche’s Second Untimely Meditation. Society, 60(670-683). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12115-023-00879-0

[2] Bann, S. (1987). Clio in Part: On Antiquarianism and the Historical Fragment. Perspecta, 23, 37, quote is cited in fn25 to Proust, M. (1984). By way of Sainte-Beuve (S. Townsend Warner, Trans.). London: Hogarth. 182-183.