The problem of existence, according to German psychoanalyst Erich Fromm (March 23, 1900 – March 18, 1980) in his To Have or To Be, is that we are trapped in modes of having when we should reorient our natures to simply being.

By being or having I do not refer to certain separate qualities of a subject as illustrated in such statements as "I have a car" or "I am white" or "I am happy." I refer to two fundamental modes of existence, to two different kinds of orientation toward self and the world, to two different kinds of character structure the respective predominance of which determines the totality of a person's thinking, feeling, and acting.

Alice's Portobello, a Notting Hill landmark. Collection of curious and antiques that were owned and loved by many. Photograph by Ellen Vrana.

It is, Fromm admits, an uphill battle to challenge the concept of the "having mode" in which we all exist, for having is, in itself, existence.

The alternative of having versus being does not appeal to the common sense. To have, as it would seem, is a normal function of our life: to live, we must have things. Moreover, we must have things to enjoy them. In a culture in which one can speak of someone as "being worth a million dollars", how can there be an alternative between having and being? On the contrary, it would seem that the essence of being is having; if one has nothing, one is nothing.

Yet the great Masters of Living have made the alternative between having and being a central issue of their respective systems. The Buddha teaches that to arrive at the highest stage of human development, we must not crave possessions. Jesus teaches: "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it, but whosoever will lose his life for my sake the same shall save it....Marx taught that luxury is as much a vice as poverty and that our goal should be to be much, not to have much.

In the being mode, we are. We have essences; we have feelings. We expand outside our body's boundaries and move past what we see, do, or own.

"I exist as I am," wrote Walt Whitman in one of the most beautiful poems of being. "That is enough; if no other in the world be aware, I sit content." Whitman's self cannot be removed or trespassed. He is.

The being is illusive, Fromm argues, and somewhat beyond language.

Having refers to things, and things are fixed and describable. Being refers to experience, and human experience is in principle not describable. What is fully describable is our persona - the mask we each wear, the ego we present - for this persona is in itself a thing. In contrast, the living human being is not a dead image and cannot be described as a thing. In fact, the living human being cannot be described at all. Indeed, much can be said about me, about my character, about my total orientation to life. This insightful knowledge can go very far in understanding and describing my own or another's psychical structure.

But the total me, my whole individuality, my suchness that is as unique as my fingerprints are, can never be fully understood, not even by empathy, for no two human beings are entirely alike.   Fromm continues to discuss how our knowledge of one another is possible:  
"Only in the process of mutual alive relatedness can the other and I overcome the barrier of separateness, inasmuch as we both participate in the dance of life."

Fromm would have us believe that our having mode is a by-product of a top-down capitalistic structure. I think the tenets of applied capitalism are as much within each of us as without. It is not imposed on us as much as generated from us. And thus, the issue of having is more existential.

Ultimately, we exist in the having mode to shore up our being, to perpetuate our sense of who we are (into objects we keep near), and to create a legacy when we leave, a space for our dead selves.

A looming and unknowable death hunts us all. "Our existence is forever shadowed by the knowledge that we will grow, blossom, and, inevitably, diminish and die," wrote contemporary psychotherapist Irvin Yalom. Yalom even named his modes of existence, calling them "everydayness" and a "change-conducive mode."

Come rain or shine, the inside spills onto the street, tempting tourists and passersby. I've come home from Alice's with a skull, mirrors, a toy chest, cricket balls, books, and more than a few royal crests. They were all calling my name. Photograph by Ellen Vrana.

Whatever the motive for having existence, both Yalom and Fromm argue that what's at stake within this existence is not only our removal from nature and our grotesque consumption but our total isolation.

The more we define ourselves by having, the more we remove ourselves from a natural human unity.   Andy Warhol excoriates this consumerism (and its perceived greatness) in his memoirs:  
"What’s great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca-Cola, and you can know that the President drinks Coke, Liz Taylor drinks Coke, and just think, you can drink Coke too. A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it."

The human desire to experience union with others is rooted in the specific conditions of existence that characterize the human species and is one of the strongest motivators of human behavior. By the combination of minimal instinctive determination and maximal development for the capacity of reason, we human beings have lost our original oneness with nature.

In order not to feel utterly isolated - which would, in fact, condemn us to insanity - we need to find a new unity; with our fellow beings and with nature. This human need for unity with others is experienced in many ways: in the symbolic tie to mother, an idol, one's tribe, one's nation, one's class, one's religion, one's fraternity, one's professional organization. Often, these ties overlap, and often they assume an ecstatic form, as among members of certain religious sects or of a lynch mob, or in the outbursts of national hysteria in the case of war... People give up their lifelong convictions of pacifism, anti-militarism, and socialism; scientists throw away their lifelong training in objectivity, critical thinking, and impartiality to join the big We.

The inside of Alice's is truly down a rabbit hole. Trinkets. Bobbins. Pockets of memories and previously cherished stuff. All waiting to be cherished anew. Photograph by Ellen Vrana.

To move from Fromm's having to being modes, Yalom discusses "awakening" moments, pricks of consciousness.

I found one such awakening moment in the writing of contrarian and essayist Christopher Hitchens. "I don't have a body; I am a body," noted Hitchens while dying from cancer. In that simple sentence, he recognizes his lucid mind is forever hitched to his ailing body.

Others have mentioned different modes of existence and moving between them. Margaret Atwood noted the duality of the writer; Joan Didion wrote about absently writing notes when her husband died and then wondering who wrote them. Physicist Alan Lightman contemplated himself against the stars.

Does creativity move us between modes? Does grief? Does wonder? What about forgiveness?

I use Fromm's treatise to understand contemporary philosophical concepts like contentment, existence, and meaning. I keep it near, underlined, warmed. I have it.

But alternatively, I keep my eye on the eternal and expand myself into the universe. Being as much as possible.   American writer Annie Dillard triumphantly declared "I am really here" in her 1975 declaration of self-awareness and being.