2023.01.30
Seunghee You
Seunghee You
“Fantasy about oneself can be a beneficial cane for those who cannot walk alone.
But a cane ultimately makes a person weaker.”¹
But a cane ultimately makes a person weaker.”¹
The twenty-first century is deeply intertwined with illusion, fiction, fantasy, and virtuality. The online world—where everyone can adjust, construct, and reinvent themselves at will—appears to be an ideal space for fantasy. Just as a cane supports those who cannot walk on their own, fantasies generated in cyberspace function as a beneficial cane, enabling experiences that are impossible in reality.
A useful cane provides pleasure and satisfaction through vicarious experience. This satisfaction creates the conscious illusion that one is free in the real world. It produces the feeling of being an autonomous individual with free will, unbound by constraints. In a short period of time, countless stimuli distract the individual and allow an easy escape from troubling questions such as “Is this what I truly want?” or “Who am I?” As a result, the individual grows distant from the real world in which they live and temporarily forgets their anxiety.
Yet anxiety does not disappear; it merely remains dormant, momentarily forgotten. Consequently, the real world gradually loses its genuine connection to reality, while anxiety accumulates unnoticed. This is why “a beneficial cane ultimately makes a person weaker.” A cane is indeed something to be grateful for—especially for those who cannot walk alone—and its presence can even feel touching. However, in today’s online world, the warmth and relief once associated with a desperately needed cane have transformed into a deceptive mechanism that weakens individuals.
In this text, I compare the fantasy generated in cyberspace to a “beneficial cane.” In Escape from Freedom, Erich Pinchas Fromm (1900–1980) employs this metaphor to explain the dangers of self-directed fantasy within a culture shaped by modern industrial systems.¹ His theory feels strikingly contemporary, despite the fact that the book was written in the 1940s. Fromm’s sharp analysis—that modern individuals severed meaningful bonds in the name of freedom, only to become isolated and powerless—resonates with the present condition, in which people continue to obey new forms of totalitarian order while drifting further away from genuine freedom.
At first glance, this reading may seem pessimistic. However, just as Fromm identified the possibility of overcoming the tragedy of modern freedom through spontaneity, I write and paint with the intention of transforming the so-called beneficial cane into something that is truly beneficial—by reflecting on spontaneous activity. Fromm defines individuals who can voluntarily express themselves as artists. He writes:
“When we sense a landscape spontaneously, when we recognize a truth as the result of our own thinking, when we experience unconventional sensory pleasure, or when love for others springs up within us, we recognize what spontaneous action is.”²
Artists, who boldly express their perceptions of the world, are therefore more likely to encounter moments of spontaneity than ordinary individuals. Yet today, it has become difficult to regard artists as representatives of spontaneity, as many artists operate under fabricated egos shaped by external expectations, economic pressures, and social demands.
Instead, children—who act according to their feelings and express what they truly wish to say—embody the essence of spontaneity more clearly. When encountering a childlike drawing, one often experiences joy and comfort without knowing why. This may be because the innate human desire for freedom is momentarily fulfilled through naïve drawings that are unconscious of external judgment and rooted in spontaneity.
Fromm distinguishes between passive freedom and active freedom. Passive freedom is experienced by the false self, whereas active freedom emerges from spontaneity. He argues that active freedom is a form of self-realization that fully affirms individual uniqueness. Moreover, he suggests that humans attain stability through voluntary activity in each moment.
Coupang, one of Korea’s most popular delivery platforms, allows users to compare countless products, find reasonable prices, and receive items almost instantly. This convenience erodes my sense of reality regarding objects. Although these products are chosen by me, they are forgotten or discarded so easily that I find myself shopping for new items almost immediately. Fromm states that merely using an object does not make it truly ours. Only when we establish a genuine relationship with an object through creative activity—whether it is a person or an inanimate thing—does it truly belong to us.³
Here, creative activity refers to voluntary action: feeling, thinking, and expressing an object in one’s own language. Today, countless goods are purchased and discarded with ease. There are many things, yet nothing truly feels like my own. Avatars, profiles, and idealized images on Instagram overflow as substitutes for the self, while the “I” that experiences active freedom disappears.
Just as objects that have never formed a true relationship with us are abandoned, the self—never having established a spontaneous relationship with itself—is also discarded, its absence unnoticed. The vast amount of waste generated, so great that it exceeds the capacity for incineration, is proportional to the anxiety of modern individuals, expressed through acts of constant consumption and disposal. The relentless emergence of new trends, designs, and model names each season symbolizes this anxiety.
Faced with overwhelming information, our emotions and critical judgment become paralyzed. Ultimately, the attitude of an overwhelmed individual grows monotonous and indifferent. Human beings who have lost their spontaneity are anxious. This insecurity intensifies when individuals are unaware that their spontaneity has vanished and that they have become automated within media systems. Therefore, in order to attain stability rather than anxiety, efforts to rediscover spontaneity are essential.
¹ Erich Pinchas Fromm, Escape from Freedom, trans. Seokhee Kim (Seoul: Humanist, 2020), 269.
² Fromm, Escape from Freedom, 281.
³ Fromm, Escape from Freedom, 282.
A useful cane provides pleasure and satisfaction through vicarious experience. This satisfaction creates the conscious illusion that one is free in the real world. It produces the feeling of being an autonomous individual with free will, unbound by constraints. In a short period of time, countless stimuli distract the individual and allow an easy escape from troubling questions such as “Is this what I truly want?” or “Who am I?” As a result, the individual grows distant from the real world in which they live and temporarily forgets their anxiety.
Yet anxiety does not disappear; it merely remains dormant, momentarily forgotten. Consequently, the real world gradually loses its genuine connection to reality, while anxiety accumulates unnoticed. This is why “a beneficial cane ultimately makes a person weaker.” A cane is indeed something to be grateful for—especially for those who cannot walk alone—and its presence can even feel touching. However, in today’s online world, the warmth and relief once associated with a desperately needed cane have transformed into a deceptive mechanism that weakens individuals.
In this text, I compare the fantasy generated in cyberspace to a “beneficial cane.” In Escape from Freedom, Erich Pinchas Fromm (1900–1980) employs this metaphor to explain the dangers of self-directed fantasy within a culture shaped by modern industrial systems.¹ His theory feels strikingly contemporary, despite the fact that the book was written in the 1940s. Fromm’s sharp analysis—that modern individuals severed meaningful bonds in the name of freedom, only to become isolated and powerless—resonates with the present condition, in which people continue to obey new forms of totalitarian order while drifting further away from genuine freedom.
At first glance, this reading may seem pessimistic. However, just as Fromm identified the possibility of overcoming the tragedy of modern freedom through spontaneity, I write and paint with the intention of transforming the so-called beneficial cane into something that is truly beneficial—by reflecting on spontaneous activity. Fromm defines individuals who can voluntarily express themselves as artists. He writes:
“When we sense a landscape spontaneously, when we recognize a truth as the result of our own thinking, when we experience unconventional sensory pleasure, or when love for others springs up within us, we recognize what spontaneous action is.”²
Artists, who boldly express their perceptions of the world, are therefore more likely to encounter moments of spontaneity than ordinary individuals. Yet today, it has become difficult to regard artists as representatives of spontaneity, as many artists operate under fabricated egos shaped by external expectations, economic pressures, and social demands.
Instead, children—who act according to their feelings and express what they truly wish to say—embody the essence of spontaneity more clearly. When encountering a childlike drawing, one often experiences joy and comfort without knowing why. This may be because the innate human desire for freedom is momentarily fulfilled through naïve drawings that are unconscious of external judgment and rooted in spontaneity.
Fromm distinguishes between passive freedom and active freedom. Passive freedom is experienced by the false self, whereas active freedom emerges from spontaneity. He argues that active freedom is a form of self-realization that fully affirms individual uniqueness. Moreover, he suggests that humans attain stability through voluntary activity in each moment.
Coupang, one of Korea’s most popular delivery platforms, allows users to compare countless products, find reasonable prices, and receive items almost instantly. This convenience erodes my sense of reality regarding objects. Although these products are chosen by me, they are forgotten or discarded so easily that I find myself shopping for new items almost immediately. Fromm states that merely using an object does not make it truly ours. Only when we establish a genuine relationship with an object through creative activity—whether it is a person or an inanimate thing—does it truly belong to us.³
Here, creative activity refers to voluntary action: feeling, thinking, and expressing an object in one’s own language. Today, countless goods are purchased and discarded with ease. There are many things, yet nothing truly feels like my own. Avatars, profiles, and idealized images on Instagram overflow as substitutes for the self, while the “I” that experiences active freedom disappears.
Just as objects that have never formed a true relationship with us are abandoned, the self—never having established a spontaneous relationship with itself—is also discarded, its absence unnoticed. The vast amount of waste generated, so great that it exceeds the capacity for incineration, is proportional to the anxiety of modern individuals, expressed through acts of constant consumption and disposal. The relentless emergence of new trends, designs, and model names each season symbolizes this anxiety.
Faced with overwhelming information, our emotions and critical judgment become paralyzed. Ultimately, the attitude of an overwhelmed individual grows monotonous and indifferent. Human beings who have lost their spontaneity are anxious. This insecurity intensifies when individuals are unaware that their spontaneity has vanished and that they have become automated within media systems. Therefore, in order to attain stability rather than anxiety, efforts to rediscover spontaneity are essential.
¹ Erich Pinchas Fromm, Escape from Freedom, trans. Seokhee Kim (Seoul: Humanist, 2020), 269.
² Fromm, Escape from Freedom, 281.
³ Fromm, Escape from Freedom, 282.