An Existential Anatomy of Defeat Disclaimer: This essay is a philosophical exploration of defeat, victimhood, and the existential structures of subjectivity. All terms — including “the loser,” “victimhood,” “infrahuman,” and “existential collapse” — are used strictly in a conceptual and metaphorical sense. The text does not advocate, endorse, or legitimize any form of psychological harm, fatalism, or moral cynicism. Its purpose is to investigate how identity, responsibility, and will are shaped in moments of crisis and collapse. The roles and psychological structures described herein belong to a speculative philosophical framework and are not meant as judgments or prescriptions. This essay operates entirely within the domain of critical theory, existential analysis, and conceptual reflection.
The Loser: An Existential Anatomy of Defeat
Synopsis
Central Thesis
A victim is not someone who was deceived or broken, but someone who chose to explain their defeat through morality. In the moment of collapse, one loses not just money or status but experiences ego-destruction, the disintegration of identity. To save the crumbling self, the loser constructs the role of victim: "I'm not bad or weak — the world is cruel and unjust." This moral trick saves from psychological collapse but at the cost of abandoning responsibility and growth.
Architecture of Defeat
Two Types of Subjects
The infrahuman operates below morality's level — conscience "switched off," will autonomous. In defeat, they seek no justifications, either fall silent or build new strategy. For them, defeat is a technical error, not a reason to revise the self.
The ethical weathervane shifts morality with the winds of success. Winning — speaks of dignity and merit. Losing — complains of injustice and others' malice. Their formula: "I suffer because they're bad, while I'm good and deserved better."
"Victimization comes from the outside world, but victimhood comes from the inside" — the external world can bring suffering, but the victim state is born within (Edith Eger).
The Moment of Existential Collapse
In absolute defeat, everything founding subjectivity crumbles. One transforms from agent to object of another's force. But what terrifies isn't bodily death but death of the "I" — the fear of ego-destruction, identity loss.
The financial mogul losing fortune experiences not money's loss but the crash of self-image as "successful winner." The inner voice screams: "The world has seen my worthlessness." This is Kierkegaard's "sickness unto death" — horror that "the me I was no longer exists."
Victim as Moral Construction
The victim role serves three functions:
- Consolation: "I'm fine, it's the world that's unjust"
- Simplification: world divides into good (me) and evil (oppressors)
- Stabilization: new identity of sufferer, recognized by society
Nietzsche saw this as slave morality's foundation: powerlessness becomes "virtue," victor's strength becomes "evil." Victim morality works like opiate — gives temporary relief but drains life force.
Economics of Fear
Capital in crisis behaves like a living being. It fears devaluation (death's analogue), loss of trust (losing face), loss of control. When the system meets reality it cannot subdue — as in 2008 — identity panic emerges at market scale.
After crises, victim rhetoric appears easily: countries blame each other instead of recognizing systemic problems. But the infrapersonal approach in economics means cold acceptance of risk without complaint.
Three Transformation Outcomes
After defeat, three scenarios are possible:
Psychotic breakdown — complete personality capitulation, stuck in victim role forever
Recognition and growth — extracting the lesson, post-traumatic growth. "Yes, failure struck me. What does it teach?"
Rebirth as infrahuman — concluding morality is useless, only strength survives. Former victim becomes new aggressor.
Philosophical Foundations
The essay draws on:
- Nietzsche on slave morality and transforming weakness into virtue
- Heidegger on dread revealing being's groundlessness
- Sartre — "Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself"
- Psychoanalytic tradition on identification with aggressor (Anna Freud)
- De Sade on villains' code and recognizing equal will
Provocative Conclusion
True defeat occurs not when externally beaten, but when internally deciding your fiasco is merely injustice, not lesson. The victim is a fugitive from self, hiding in the shadow of others' guilt.
"Defeat conquers us only when we call it injustice rather than lesson."
Question for Contemplation: If the victim role is a moral narcotic providing comfort at stagnation's price, isn't contemporary victimhood culture an attempt at mass flight from responsibility? And what happens to a society where being a victim is more profitable than being strong?
Is the victim a concept or a fact?
Who is the "victim"? In the everyday sense, it is someone who has suffered from another’s aggression, deceit, or misfortune. A victim loses something valuable due to someone else's actions or a cruel twist of fate. But a question arises: is the status of victim an objective reality, or is it largely a psychological choice made by the individual? Paradoxically, people often define themselves as victims even when having experienced the same situation with entirely different interpretations of their role.Psychologist and Holocaust survivor Edith Eger notes: "Victimization comes from the outside world, but victimhood comes from the inside" – the external world can bring us suffering, but the state of being a victim is born within. In other words, no one can make you a victim except yourself. We become victims not because of what happened, but because we choose to cling to the role of the wronged.
Why do some people, when faced with misfortune, not see themselves as victims, while others are quick to adopt the role? Critics of the victimhood concept point out that the status of "victim" is often accepted uncritically, becoming a kind of psychological shield that covers the collapse of one's own will. It is easier to see oneself as innocently oppressed than to admit a lack of strength, courage, or skill. The thesis of this essay can be formulated as follows:
A victim is not someone who was deceived or broken, but someone who chose to interpret their defeat through morality.
In other words, the loser becomes a victim when they tell themselves: "I fell because of someone else's malice and injustice, not because of my own mistakes." This interpretation gives defeat a seductive aura, as the one who suffers appears morally superior to the one who caused the harm.
Friedrich Nietzsche described this phenomenon as the foundation of slave morality: the glorification of the victim and the vilification of the oppressor. In the value system of the defeated, their powerlessness is transformed into “virtue,” while the strength of the victor becomes “evil.” Such morality, as Nietzsche sharply put it, allows a person through the cunning of an unattainable ideal to reclaim the right to be small, pitiful, and unworthy — because if virtue lies in weakness, then there is no need to regret one’s own weakness.
Thus, victimhood is not an objective fact but a psycho-ontological position chosen by the subject to preserve the integrity of their sense of self. Let us examine the structure of the loser's consciousness and see how they arrive at this position.
The Theory of Two Subjects
Why do some people, when facing defeat, remain inwardly whole and refrain from complaining, while others fall into the role of the aggrieved victim? Let us imagine two extreme modes of subjective response — we will call them the "infrahuman" and the "ethical weathercock." These represent two polar ontologies of will and morality.The infrahuman is a subject operating beneath the level of conventional morality. He is hyperrational and entirely amoral: his conscience is consciously "switched off," and his actions are governed by cold calculation. The will of the infrahuman is autonomous and unified — such an individual pursues a chosen goal without needing approval from others. A classic image would be the remorseless yet resolute "rationalist-criminal," who lives by the principle that the end justifies the means. For him, concepts like good and evil do not exist — only winning or losing.
The ethical weathercock is the opposite. His moral stance is unreliable, shifting with the winds of outcome. Such a subject tends to adapt his principles to the situation. When he wins, he has the nobility to proclaim values like dignity, honesty, and merit. But when he is defeated, his rhetoric changes abruptly: complaints about the cruelty of others, accusations of injustice, and a hasty shift into the role of the wronged — perhaps even abandoning former beliefs and identity altogether.
Simply put, the ethical weathercock keeps a careful tally of their grievances and failures, ready to display them when convenient. It has often been noted that the bearer of slave morality meticulously records their victimhood, while the noble type (a counterpart to the infrahuman) quickly forgets offenses and does not dwell on them.
Let us compare the key characteristics of these two types of will and consciousness:
The ethical weathercock possesses a kind of self-justifying flexibility: any outcome is interpreted in his favor. Victory confirms his correctness and worth; defeat also confirms his correctness and worth — but now as the “unjustly wronged.” Psychologists refer to this as a form of self-serving bias: success is attributed to one's own qualities, while failure is blamed on external factors. When defeated, such a person thinks, “I am suffering because they are bad (foolish, cruel), and I am good and deserved better.” This is the seed of the psychology of victimhood.
The infrahuman, by contrast, has no need for a moral framework. When defeated, he does not trouble himself with ethical justification. He either remains silent and processes the loss into a new strategy, or coldly accepts the risk as the cost of the game. For the infrahuman, defeat is a purely technical misstep, not a reason to reassess the self. He does not feel “bad” because of failure — but neither does he feel like a “good victim.” His ego is tied not to morality, but to will.
Of course, both described types are idealized models. In reality, people occupy intermediate positions. But understanding these two poles helps to examine what happens within a person’s consciousness at the moment of complete defeat.
The Moment of Existential Collapse
Imagine a scenario of absolute defeat: the subject is cornered, and the outcome is no longer in their favor. For example, a criminal is surrounded and forced to surrender to the police; a corrupt businessman is publicly exposed; or someone faces a real threat of death with no chance of escape. An existential rupture occurs — a moment when the previous worldview collapses.At this moment, the consciousness of the defeated undergoes an ontological collapse. Everything that once anchored their subjectivity — control, will, freedom of action — is suddenly lost. They are no longer an agent but an object of another's force, whether that be the force of an enemy, the system, or blind chance. This state of defeat paralyzes rationality: the mind may still function, but it no longer sees an exit, no longer forms plans — it is seized by the shock of recognizing its own powerlessness. It is the moment the psyche has always subconsciously feared most. "Fear reveals being in its groundlessness," says Heidegger.
It is important to understand: what exactly does a person fear in the moment of collapse? On the surface, it may seem like death, pain, or punishment. But testimony and psychological research point to a deeper fear. As existential psychologists note, one of the most fundamental human fears is the fear of losing the self — the so-called fear of ego-destruction or “ego-death.” It manifests as the horror of humiliation, shame, and the collapse of one's self-image. When everything a person identified with falls apart, a panic arises: “I no longer exist as a person.” Psychologists often point out that behind the fear of failure lies the fear of identity loss — since for many of us, “I” means my achievements, my status.
In the moment of collapse, the defeated feels that reality has failed to confirm their self-image. It is not simply “I was beaten” — it is the sensation of “the disappearance of who I believed I was.” For example, a financial magnate whose wealth is destroyed in a crisis may experience not so much the loss of money as the collapse of self-worth: he is no longer the “successful winner in life.” The inner voice screams: “This is the end of everything I represented. The world has seen my worthlessness.” Such fear is akin to failing on stage to the laughter of the crowd — the fear of total disgrace, the annihilation of one’s face. In terms of the previously mentioned ego-destructive dread, it is the fear of humiliation that shatters the integrity of the self.
The defeated loses the status of subject — ceasing to be the author of their fate and becoming an object of another’s will or of circumstances. In extreme cases, this can literally break the psyche: dissociation occurs, a retreat from reality, because reality has become unbearable. Some experience a psychotic break, others fall into stupor or panic attacks. Rational paralysis is no accident: the mind, long accustomed to serving the will, suddenly finds itself useless — because the will has capitulated. All that remains is a frantic, animal fear of the Abyss — of the realization that the “me” I once was no longer exists.
Notably, in such experiences, physical death is often not the central fear. Far more powerful is the fear of social or personal death. For example, researchers have observed that students' fear of failing an exam is in fact a fear of losing identity and face — they fear becoming “failures” in the eyes of their family and themselves. One of the most basic human fears, according to Karl Albrecht’s classification, is the fear of ego-death — the loss of the self — which includes the fear of deep shame and self-condemnation. This is precisely what awakens in the defeated: it is not the death of the body that terrifies, but the thought “I am nothing now.” This is an extreme form of existential dread — Kierkegaard’s “sickness unto death.”
Thus, the moment of defeat is often a moment of truth for the subject. Standing at the edge of the abyss, they will either collapse into a complete loss of self or attempt to reconstruct their identity anew. In order not to vanish psychologically, the defeated instinctively seeks a saving anchor for self-respect. And here a particular resource comes to the rescue — the role of the victim.
Victimhood as a Moral Construct
Confronted with the collapse of previous self-worth, the psyche of the defeated frantically searches for a way to preserve the integrity of identity. The simplest solution is to find external culprits and convince oneself that the defeat was not their own fault. Thus, the victim narrative is born: “I am neither bad nor weak — the world is cruel and unjust toward me.” This moral construct serves several adaptive functions for the wounded ego at once:Consolation. Explaining defeat through external injustice offers a comforting simplicity: if I was broken by malice or a terrible stroke of fate, then internally, I must be fine. Defeat ceases to be evidence of my inadequacy — on the contrary, it almost becomes a sign of my innocence or even righteousness. This kind of self-deception relieves the unbearable burden of self-condemnation.
Simplification. The world is divided into good (me, the victim) and evil (my offenders). This immediately gives meaning to the chaos of what has happened: there is no longer any need to painfully analyze one's own mistakes or the complexity of circumstances. The weight of reflection is lifted by moral dichotomy. The world is aggressive, I have suffered unjustly — everything is clear.
Stabilization. The role of the victim allows the disintegrating self to stabilize. The person now has a new identity — the sufferer — which society is even willing to sympathetically acknowledge. In modern society, there is indeed a tendency to assign special status to those who have suffered. This creates a social bonus: the symbolic capital of victimhood. But it is also a trap — to maintain this “currency” of sympathy, one must remain in the state of a victim, God forbid they stop suffering.
Psychologically, the position of the victim is a way to avoid taking responsibility for one’s life. “Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself,” says Sartre. If you believe that all evil comes from outside and that you had no influence over it, then there is no need to act — it is enough to suffer and wait for sympathy. Akos Balogh calls the victim mentality a kind of narcotic: it eases the pain for a while, but ultimately drains your vitality. A person receives temporary relief, avoids painful reflection — but pays the price in personal stagnation. By fixating on the role of the harmed, they refuse to act and grow.
In essence, the morality of victimhood serves the same function as an opiate for the one who suffers. Karl Marx once called religion “the opium of the people” — a means of consoling the oppressed. Here, consolation is offered by a particular moral tale: “it is virtuous to suffer rather than to change actively.” Nietzsche saw in the elevation of the humble victim before an unattainable ideal precisely this function — to allow a person to reconcile with their smallness. He sharply observed that through the illusion of absolute ideals, people learn to take pride in their weakness and seek virtue in it, rather than recognize the truth and overcome it.
Thus, the role of the victim is a moral construct used to save face for the defeated. It protects them from the collapse of identity, but at the cost of distorting reality. The loser who becomes a victim shifts their perspective: they are no longer responsible for their fate — only cruel fate or villains are. In the short term, this eases the unbearable burden of defeat. But in the long term, it deprives the person of the chance to transform and learn. Instead of growing up, they regress into the state of a helpless child in need of pity.
The Psychoeconomics of Fear
It is interesting to trace parallels of victimhood not only on the level of individuals but also at the scale of systems — such as capital and the economy. One can speak of a distinct “existential economy,” where its own fears and defeats are at play. At first glance, capital appears to be an impersonal resource, a neutral asset. But in moments of crisis, it behaves almost like a living being capable of fear. So what exactly does capital fear?First, the loss of value. This is the equivalent of the fear of death for a living being — for capital, devaluation equals annihilation. As was already noted in the 19th century, “capital fears no profit or too small a profit as nature fears a vacuum.” It is timid by nature and seeks to avoid loss at any cost. When losses loom, markets fall into panic — like a single organism gripped by a wave of fear.
Second, capital fears losing face — that is, losing trust and reputation. In the economy, this manifests as a crisis of confidence: investors suddenly recognize the fragility of financial structures, and a collapse begins. A company that loses its good name (for example, due to scandal) effectively suffers an existential defeat — its stock plummets like the self-worth of an exposed fraud.
Third, capital fears the loss of control. For example, business owners often have a panic-level fear of losing a controlling stake, even when bringing in partners could benefit growth. Money creates the illusion of power over the world — and losing control over it means losing a part of that power. Wealthy individuals are often obsessed with two phobias: that their money will be taken from them (by external enemies or the state), and that they will lose it themselves through mistakes. Possessing great capital generates a constant fear of losing everything.
What happens when capital confronts existence — a reality it cannot control? An example would be a sudden financial collapse or a global crisis (such as in 2008 or the Great Depression). In these moments, capital discovers its own powerlessness: no financial instruments can save the system from collapse, trust evaporates, and the power of money is temporarily nullified. One could say that capital meets the void — like a narcissist staring into a mirror and seeing no reflection. A kind of identity panic arises on the scale of the entire system.
Moreover, in such moments, a horrifying realization may occur: capital itself was the cause of the catastrophe. For example, the climate crisis is a clear case in which the pursuit of profit has turned into a global threat to existence.
The capitalist system, obsessed with growth, accelerates toward self-destruction, triggering climate catastrophes. And suddenly, capital — embodied in the largest corporations and states — realizes that accumulated wealth does not protect against the approaching apocalypse, but has instead hastened it. This could be called an existential slap in the face for capital. Just as the tragic hero comes to see the fatal nature of his own flaws, the system begins to recognize the fatality of its own greed.
In the economic dimension, the role of the “victim” is not absent either. During crises, one can easily find rhetoric in which certain countries or groups present themselves as victims of someone else’s schemes, while others are cast as villains. We recall how, after global crises, politicians sought “external culprits” instead of acknowledging systemic flaws. To save face, capital often constructs a moral narrative: the collapse was the result of someone’s malice or incompetence — regulators, competitors, “damned speculators,” and so on. What emerges is a collective psychology of victimhood at the level of the market.
However, the infrapersonal approach in economics is a cold-blooded acceptance of risk and responsibility. Major business predators prefer not to complain but to quietly analyze mistakes and construct new strategies — or search for new loopholes. Like the infrahuman, capital in defeat can either panic in the posture of a victim or cynically adapt to new conditions. History offers examples of both.
The Clash of Infrahumans
Let us consider a special case: the confrontation between two amoral, will-driven subjects — a clash of infrahumans. What happens when both participants are stripped of conventional morality and have no inclination toward the victim position? Can we imagine their defeat without complaint or justification?Literature and history offer intriguing hints. The Marquis de Sade, in his exploration of vice, described a society of absolute egoistic criminals. In such an environment, the principle holds: “a wolf does not bite another wolf... as long as it remains a wolf.” In other words, two predators, recognizing an equal in each other, may avoid direct confrontation — each understands the danger. There exists a kind of “villain’s code”: as long as both remain cold-blooded and trust no one, equilibrium is possible. They acknowledge in each other an equal will. But the moment one shows weakness — attachment, pity, or begins to play the role of the victim — the other seizes the opportunity and destroys them. In a novel or film, we would say: “the villains temporarily unite, but there is no friendship between them.”
An example can also be found in pop culture. In the well-known anime "Death Note," the brilliant detective L and the killer Kira engage in a deadly intellectual duel. Both are cold-blooded, both are willing to cross the line. Neither sees himself as a “victim” — on the contrary, each recognizes in the other a worthy and powerful enemy. This recalls a Nietzschean motif: the noble spirit almost loves the enemy in whom there is something to honor. Here we witness a situation with no complaints about injustice — the battle unfolds at the limit, but without moral groaning. Yet the moment one of them finds himself in a clearly losing position, the balance collapses: the victor shows no mercy, and the defeated may no longer have the time to protest.
In the reality of criminal culture, there is also a known phenomenon: the “code” among criminals. As long as there is a field of mutual benefit or fear, they adhere to this code — “honor among thieves.” But this balance rests on a razor’s edge — the moment one stumbles or shows weakness, no solidarity will save him.
The key is that no one plays the part of the wronged innocent — it is an unspoken taboo. In the criminal world, to complain is to confess weakness and invite predators to a feast. That is why the infrahuman never complains, even in defeat: they either take silent revenge or die in silence. Complaint is the domain of the relatively moral — those ethical weathercocks who still believe, deep down, in good and evil. The absolute amoralist simply has no language of complaint — there is nothing to appeal to except force.
Hence the conclusion: the role of the victim is incompatible with the infrahuman. Only someone who still carries within at least a trace of moral relativism — the flexibility to justify oneself — is capable of switching into the mode of “I suffer, the world is unjust.” A fully amoral subject either fights to the end or accepts defeat as a fact — but never as a reason to complain. For them, there is no such thing as true defeat — only temporarily unfavorable arrangements. And therein lies their strength: they waste no energy on self-pity.
Thus, when two unprincipled opponents collide, defeat can occur without the familiar drama of victimhood. It happens according to the laws of nature — the stronger prevails, the weaker perishes — and no one weeps over injustice. But such a “dry” outcome is rare, for most people still carry within themselves certain moral hooks to which pain instinctively clings.
Transformation Through Defeat
We have examined the extremes — now let us return to the ordinary person who has suffered a serious defeat. What scenarios of inner transformation are possible after such an event? In the essay “Existential Economy”, I outlined three possible outcomes. Let us now explore them in greater depth:1. Psychotic Collapse (Capitulation of the Self). Defeat can break a person to the point where they are unable to integrate the experience. This may result in a psychological breakdown — leading to psychosis, deep depression, or even suicide — or the person may remain stuck in the role of a helpless victim permanently. In effect, it is a total loss of subjectivity. Sadly, such examples are common: some individuals, after losing a loved one or suffering career ruin, disappear from life for years, unable to recover. Psychologists note that a certain percentage of people, after severe loss, undergo such a profound upheaval that they never return to previous functioning. Their development halts or moves downward. This scenario can be called a true collapse of the personality, when an external event irreversibly destroys the inner core.
2. Recognition and Growth (Defeat as a Lesson). The second path is to pass through collapse and extract a lesson from it in the name of new maturity. This requires the courage to look at oneself honestly, without self-deception, to acknowledge one's mistakes or limitations, to forgive one's own weakness, and to accept reality. This approach is close to the philosophy of Stoicism. Its counterpart in modern psychology is the concept of post-traumatic growth. Research shows that endured suffering can become a springboard for development if the person consciously chooses to draw meaning from the trauma. The key step is to stop longing for a different past (“let go of the hope for a better past,” in the words of psychotherapist Irvin Yalom) and redirect one's efforts toward the future. Such a person says to themselves: “Yes, I experienced failure. Why did it happen, and what is it teaching me?” — and with this, they shift the vector from self-pity to growth beyond the self. As a result, defeat becomes an act of maturity. In this transformation, defeat ceases to be defeat — it becomes a necessary trial on the path to something greater. And then the person is no longer a victim but the hero of their tragic experience — someone who “did not lose, but either won or learned.”
3. Rebirth as the Infrahuman (The Birth of a New Will). The third and most dramatic scenario: after experiencing collapse and pain, a person concludes that the world is cruel, morality is useless — only strength survives. And so, instead of remaining a victim, they choose to become the executioner. Identification with the aggressor takes place, as described by Anna Freud: the victim adopts the traits of their oppressor to never feel helpless again. This is a dangerous path, along which the former victim transforms into a new aggressor. In effect, a new infrahuman is born — but one motivated by the fear of suffering again. This is the path of many literary villains: Tom Riddle becomes the ruthless Voldemort, Anakin becomes Darth Vader. Such people are recognizable in real life as well.
The Mirror of Existence
True existential defeat does not occur when you are merely overcome externally, but when you internally decide that your failure was nothing but injustice, not a lesson. The loser is ultimately defeated by choosing the role of the victim and rejecting growth. This is self-deception — the subject steals from themselves the chance for transformation, kills their future potential to become stronger, and does so under the guise of consolation.The psychology of the loser in the role of the victim is the psychology of someone fleeing from themselves. Such a person runs from the truth about their own mistakes and weaknesses, runs from the responsibility of building a new life. They hide in the shadow of someone else’s guilt. But in doing so, they also flee from the possibility of encountering their true self — the one they could have become by overcoming defeat.
Victimhood is not an objective fate but a role that can either be avoided or accepted. Everyone who has experienced defeat faces a choice: to become a student of the experience or a perpetual accuser of fate. The first path is difficult — it requires courage and humility before the truth. The second is tempting but leads to the dead end of stagnation. The true strength of a person is revealed in the paradoxical admission: “Yes, I was defeated, and I bear part of the responsibility; therefore, it is up to me to rise again.” The moment this phrase is spoken, the existential blow does not rob the person of themselves — it opens their eyes.
The existential anatomy of defeat shows us one thing: defeat only conquers us when we name it injustice instead of a lesson. Everything else is surmountable. Accordingly, victimhood is not the end — it is merely a misunderstood turn on the path, one that a strong soul can transform into the beginning of new growth.