On the Illusion of Individual Salvation

In a moment where the scent of fuel mixes with fear, and the roar of cars jammed in front of gas stations rises, the scene appears less economic than existential. The queues are not just a response to a shortage of fuel, but a reflection of a deep anxiety that creeps into the individual, pushing them to ask a primal question: How do I survive? Here, in this intense moment, what can be termed as the “illusion of individual salvation” is born; the belief that survival is possible in isolation from others, and that the path to safety passes through surpassing them, not through them.

This illusion is not new. At the heart of modern philosophy, we find in Thomas Hobbes a bleak conception of humanity in the state of nature, where “war of all against all” prevails, and survival depends on strength and fear. In a different context, Jean-Paul Sartre warns that when man is thrown into a world without certainties, he may choose to retreat into himself, escaping the burden of collective responsibility. As for Zygmunt Bauman, he describes our time as “liquid modernity,” where bonds disintegrate, and the individual becomes an independent project, striving for survival in a changing world without constants.

However, what occurs in front of gas stations translates these ideas into a tangible reality. Greed here is not only in those who monopolize or raise prices, but in that moment when fear transforms into collective behavior: every individual tries to fill up more, to advance more, to guarantee themselves a margin of safety, however minimal. Here, the other no longer becomes a partner in the crisis, but a cause of it.

Yet this behavior, despite its apparent individualism, is indeed the product of a broader system. When harsh policies are imposed, to the extent of threatening the lives of Palestinian prisoners, and when the human being himself becomes a subject of political decision, not just a party in it, the general feeling of fragility multiplies. The individual no longer faces a mere livelihood crisis, but lives under a constant threat to the meaning of his existence. In such a context, retreating into oneself becomes a comprehensible reaction, yet it remains limited.

Albert Camus states that “the absurd is born when human desire for meaning collides with the silence of the world.” In our case, the world does not seem just silent, but harsh as well. However, Camus did not see withdrawal as a solution, but rather in conscious rebellion, in recreating meaning through action, not escape. Here, the limits of individual salvation unfold: it is not a solution as much as it is a postponement of the crisis.

The individual who fills his tank today cannot fill it tomorrow if the system providing him with fuel collapses. The one who monopolizes contributes to deepening the scarcity he fears. The one who withdraws from the community weakens the structure that protects him. Thus, individual salvation turns into a closed circle: an attempt to survive that produces more danger.

Social philosophy emphasizes this paradox. Human beings, as Émile Durkheim sees, are not known solely by their individual consciousness, but by their belonging to a group that grants them meaning and stability. When this group disintegrates, what he calls “anomie” or loss of norms appears, where individual behavior becomes unregulated, and the unwritten rules that organize communal life collapse. The scene of the stampede, then, is not an exception, but a natural result of the disintegration of these rules.

However, it is not enough to diagnose the crisis. The real challenge lies in restoring the balance between the individual and the collective, between the legitimate need for survival and the moral necessity of solidarity. Salvation, if it is to be, cannot be entirely individual, nor can it be forcibly collective; rather, it is an interaction between the two.

In the short term, society needs to restore a minimum of order: fair distribution, effective oversight, and clear messages that rebuild trust. Trust is not an abstract concept, but a practical condition for the market and society to function together. For the longer term, the issue goes beyond fuel to redefine the relationship between humans and their society, between need and value, between consumption and meaning.

Hannah Arendt writes that “the most dangerous thing in crises is not that they reveal our weaknesses, but that they may make us accustomed to them.” Here lies the real danger: that the stampede becomes normal, greed justified, and individual salvation a substitute for collective action.

One cannot deny the temptation of individual survival, especially in moments of fear. Yet it remains, at its core, a fragile illusion. For man, no matter how hard he tries, cannot survive alone in a world that depends on others for its existence. Between the fuel queue and the decisions of politics, a deeper fate is determined: either we succumb to the illusion of salvation, or we rediscover the meaning of surviving together.
In the end, individual salvation may seem tempting in moments of fear, but, in reality, it is an isolated path that leads to further fragility. Only collective awareness, supported by just policies, can transform the crisis from a moment of disintegration into an opportunity to rebuild what has eroded.

Only then will the stampede not be the dominant language, but organization. Fear will not be the driving force, but trust. And salvation will not be individual, but collective... as it should be.