Now comes the hard bit. I said I would 'describe the thing itself'. To make a disinterested observation if such a thing is possible my anxiety levels have been steadily rising over the two weeks I have been writing these posts. This is no accident. It isn't about me or my private psychology. It's about the topic. There is no possibility of a solution.
I am walking through an empty landscape towards an endlessly receding horizon. This is it, there is nothing else. All I can do is describe what I see, as objectively and dispassionately as I can. It may all be illusion, but then, the whole thing turns on itself: an illusory 'illusion', or the illusion of an 'illusory 'illusion'' you could go on forever. So I will just describe it.
To borrow a term: it is existential horror. This is not the 'existential angst' of Kierkegaard or Heidegger. This is something different. I'm not talking about making a decision. There's no decision to make (other than to stop doing philosophy). All the stuff about free will is beside the point, a distraction, a red herring. Because metaphysics is without consequences. (I've said that so many times, over the years, but did I really believe it?) You can't deduce a recipe for action from a metaphysical premise. There's no such thing as 'authentic' or 'inauthentic' at this fundamental level. It doesn't matter what you do. All that matters is what is.
And what is, is horror. One is speechless, struck dumb, before the thing itself. 'Into this world we're thrown.' That line from Jim Morrison captures an aspect of it (the allusion is to Sartre on facticity and thrownness). You throw dice. It's all contingency, all the way down. The 'I' is contingent, the world is contingent. But contingency is an affront to reason, an impossibility, a surd. But then, as I've already argued, so is necessity.
Game over? (Pick an option to ascend to Level 2: acquiescence, defiance, irony, despair.)