Is It Wrong to Be Radical, or Is This Something Else?

                      Sometimes I genuinely don't know what is happening to me. And the question that keeps coming back is: Is it wrong to be radical, or is this something else altogether? I don't even know what I wanted to become anymore. I only know what I am today—and the strange part is that I never wanted to be what I am today. There is something deeply uncomfortable about that sentence. When you are younger, you imagine yourself becoming someone. You have some vague picture of the person you will eventually become. And then life happens. People happen. Experiences happen. Responsibilities happen. Systems happen. And suddenly you look at yourself and think, "Bhai, when did all this happen?"

Sometimes I think too much. And sometimes I genuinely wonder whether something is happening to me......something like what happened to Spider-Man. Maybe there has been some mutation. Maybe one morning I will wake up and discover that I can climb walls. That would at least make all this confusion useful. Unfortunately, I don't think I am developing superpowers. I think I am simply changing, and this change is painful. Sometimes it is so painful that I wonder whether I will actually be able to match up with whatever I am becoming. I can see the change happening, and that is the frightening part. I am not completely unaware of myself. In fact, sometimes I feel painfully aware of what is happening inside me. I can see myself questioning things. I can see myself becoming restless. I can see myself becoming dissatisfied with things that I once accepted without thinking. And yet I feel helpless. I can see what is happening, but I cannot always do anything about it.

Maybe every philosopher has experienced something similar. Maybe every philosopher, at some point, looked at the world and thought, "Something here doesn't make sense." Or maybe I am simply thinking the same things that thousands of people before me have already thought. Perhaps Nietzsche has already written my confusion better than I ever could. Perhaps Sartre has already stared into this absurdity. Perhaps Schopenhauer has already looked at human existence and said, "Yes, unfortunately, I told you so." And perhaps I am just late to the party. But I don't know. Do you all relate to this? Maybe some of you are reading this and thinking, "What exactly is this guy talking about?" Fair enough. I am not entirely sure either. But there is something I am trying to articulate. Nothing seems to make complete sense right now, and I keep hoping that one day it will. I hope there will come a time when all these disconnected experiences, questions, frustrations, disappointments, relationships, responsibilities, and strange changes will somehow come together and form a picture. Maybe meaning is hiding somewhere. Maybe I simply haven't reached that point yet.

But this feeling of meaninglessness is becoming difficult to handle. Because meaninglessness is not merely an intellectual problem. It hurts. Deep down, it hurts. And when something hurts for long enough, it eventually becomes anger. I am aware of that anger. That is probably the most interesting.....and perhaps most frightening.....part. I know I am angry. And because I am aware of the anger, I start questioning everything, very radically: the system, the structures, the rules, the way society works, the way institutions function, the way people are expected to behave, and especially the way freedom of expression is spoken about.

Everywhere there seems to be a system. There is a system in the country, a system in the world, a system in society, and a system in institutions. There is even a system for how you are supposed to question the system. That one is my favourite. Sometimes I feel that the real system doesn't even operate directly anymore. Instead, an interpretative system operates—one full of loopholes, interpretations, exceptions, and technicalities. The rule exists, but somehow the rule does not function as the rule. There is an interpretation of the rule, then an interpretation of the interpretation, then an exception to the interpretation, and then somebody explains why the exception is actually consistent with the original rule. And finally, everyone goes home. Beautiful. Human civilisation has invented an astonishing number of ways to avoid simply saying, "Yes, something is wrong here." And I see this everywhere: in the country, in the world, in society, and perhaps even within myself.

Because sometimes I wonder whether I am also part of the system I keep criticising. Maybe that is the irony. I am angry at the cage while still trying to decorate it. And this is where the question of radicalism becomes difficult. Is being radical necessarily wrong? Or does radical questioning sometimes come from a deep dissatisfaction with the way things are? There are moments when you cannot simply pretend that everything is fine because everyone else has learned how to live with it. But there is also a danger here. Dissatisfaction can become wisdom, but dissatisfaction can also become bitterness. Questioning can lead to freedom, but questioning can also become an addiction. You can reach a point where you start questioning everything simply because questioning makes you feel alive. Then you become the person who asks "Why?" even when somebody says, "Please pass the salt." "Why should I pass the salt?" Brother, sometimes the salt just needs to be passed.

So perhaps radicalism needs something more than anger. It needs discernment. It needs love. It needs responsibility. And perhaps most importantly, it needs the ability to ask whether the thing we are fighting against is genuinely unjust....or whether we are simply uncomfortable with being told "no." This is where philosophy becomes dangerous in the best possible sense. Philosophy refuses to let us remain comfortable with our first answer. You start with one question, you read one philosopher, and suddenly you have seventeen more questions. You read another philosopher, and congratulations.....you now have an existential crisis with footnotes.

Nietzsche, perhaps more than anyone, speaks to this restlessness. His philosophy challenges conformity, inherited values, and the temptation to simply become what society expects us to become. His idea of the Übermensch is not merely about becoming superior to everyone else; it is connected with the difficult task of creating oneself, overcoming inherited limitations, and refusing to live merely according to values that have been handed down without examination. But Nietzsche also leaves us with a warning: the person who fights monsters must be careful not to become a monster himself. And perhaps that is exactly what I am afraid of. What happens when my anger against the system becomes another system? What happens when my desire for freedom begins controlling me? What happens when my radicalism becomes another form of dogmatism? You can rebel against one cage and accidentally build another one.

Then there is Sartre. Sartre's existentialism places enormous weight on human freedom and responsibility. We are not simply given a finished identity and told to live it. We exist, we choose, and through our choices we participate in creating who we become. That sounds liberating until you realise what it means. If I am responsible for my choices, I cannot simply blame the world for everything. I cannot say, "The system made me do this," and walk away. I have to ask: What am I doing? What am I choosing? What am I refusing to choose? What responsibility am I trying to escape? Sartre's idea of bad faith becomes uncomfortable here because human beings can deceive themselves by pretending that they have no freedom. It is easier to say, "This is just who I am," or "This is simply how the system works," than to admit that we still have some capacity to respond differently.

But I also struggle with this. Are we really as free as Sartre makes us sound? We are born into circumstances we never chose: families we never chose, countries we never chose, economic conditions we never chose, social structures we never chose, and historical circumstances we never chose. All of these shape us. So yes, perhaps I have freedom, but my freedom does not begin in an empty room. It begins somewhere. It begins inside a history, inside a body, inside relationships, inside society, and inside circumstances. That makes freedom much more complicated than simply saying, "You are free, so choose."

Then comes Schopenhauer, and he enters the room like the relative who has been waiting for everyone else to finish talking so he can ruin the mood properly. For Schopenhauer, the deepest reality of human existence is Will.....a blind, restless striving that constantly pushes us toward something. We desire, we obtain, and then we desire again. Perhaps that explains some of my restlessness. Maybe the problem is not simply that I have not found the right answer. Maybe human beings are structured around wanting. We want meaning. We want freedom. We want recognition. We want love. We want justice. We want certainty. And when we get one thing, another desire appears. The mind says, "Okay, good. Now what?" And so the journey continues.

Perhaps that is why I sometimes feel exhausted. Because I am not merely fighting one problem. I am fighting the endless movement within myself. Sometimes I genuinely feel like escaping somewhere, sitting on a mountain, and simply being there. No timetable. No expectations. No explanations. No one asking me what I am doing with my life. Just a mountain, some air, and enough silence to finally hear myself think. I know that sounds romantic. Maybe it is. But sometimes you reach a point where you don't want another explanation. You just want some silence.

I know the world is full of problems, and maybe what I am saying is too general for some of you. But I am saying my side of the story. I am not claiming to have understood the whole world. I am simply trying to explain what the world feels like from where I am standing. Maybe Nietzsche will help us understand this. Maybe Sartre will. Maybe Schopenhauer will. Maybe another philosopher will come along and complicate the matter even further. Because that is what philosophers are exceptionally good at. You start with one question, and by the time you finish reading them, you have an existential crisis, three notebooks full of questions, and absolutely no idea what happened.

But perhaps that is not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe the purpose is not to immediately make everything make sense. Maybe the purpose is to remain honest enough to admit when it doesn't. Perhaps I am changing. Perhaps something is mutating.....not my body, but my way of seeing. Perhaps I am becoming dissatisfied because I can no longer unknow what I have already seen. And maybe that is why this hurts. Because once you begin seeing certain contradictions, you cannot simply go back to being comfortable with them. You can try. I have tried. But something inside keeps saying, "Look again. Question this. Why?"

So I return to the question with which I began: Is it wrong to be radical, or is this something else? Perhaps it is neither. Perhaps I am simply becoming more aware. Perhaps I am dissatisfied because I am searching for something more meaningful. Perhaps I am angry because I still care. Perhaps I question the system because some part of me still believes that human beings deserve better.

And perhaps that is the difference between destructive radicalism and meaningful radicalism. The first wants to burn everything. The second asks what is worth saving and what must change. I don't know where this journey is taking me. I don't know whether everything will eventually make sense. I don't know whether I will become the person I once wanted to become. I don't even know whether that person still exists somewhere inside me.

Maybe I am lost. Maybe I am becoming. Maybe I am both. And perhaps, for now, that is enough. Because maybe the real question is not whether I am too radical. Maybe the real question is: What is this restlessness trying to tell me? And if one day everything finally makes sense, I hope I have the courage to look back at this confused version of myself and say, "Yes, it was painful. Yes, you thought too much. Yes, you questioned almost everything. But perhaps you were not breaking. Perhaps you were becoming."

Student of Philosophy - Rohan Brahmane SJ