The Case Against ‘The Case Against Travel’

I was on a short trip last month when I somehow thought of “The Case Against Travel,” a polemic essay by the philosopher Agnes Callard. Ranked tenth in the New Yorker’s top stories of 2023, it has drawn numerous responses after publication, mostly of anger. As I have traveled more this year than in the past, revisiting the piece evoked more nuanced and personal perspectives than a simple rejection of the idea.

To recap really quick — though I recommend reading the full essay for its entertainment value — the core of Callard’s argument is travel’s irrelevance. For her, travel is a “boomerang” that “drops you right where you started.” Worse yet, it’s a delusional activity that “turns us into the worst version of ourselves while convincing us that we’re at our best.” Travel is our vain attempt to engage as spectators and deny the certainty of annihilation. We should, therefore, cease imbuing travel with undue significance and virtue, recognizing it as an experience where nothing truly changes.

As many have noted, Callard’s argument constructs a straw man by reducing travel to merely superficial tourism — “the kind of travel that aims at the interesting.” Moreover, the effect of travel is subjective and personal. By asserting that travel can only be vindicated through authentic connections and profound changes, Callard imposes an intellectualist standard that her narrowly defined “travel” must fail. This denies simpler enjoyment to the unprivileged majority. More fundamentally, it’s selective and slippery to single out travel for its ultimate mortality when that’s the nature of all human activities. After all, to condemn finitude is to condemn life itself.

However, I find myself disagreeing with many of Callard’s critics as well. Their rebuttals often fixate on the sole issue of purpose, offering anecdotes, quotes, and tips to demonstrate its potential meaningfulness. This, too, misses the mark. For me, travel is inherently a morally neutral activity; only by embracing this neutrality can one fully appreciate its potential.

Travel’s neutrality stems from its locomotive essence — credit to Callard for pointing this out — a physical fact that bears little meaning by itself. Rather, it’s from the specific circumstances and raw experiences en route that meanings emerge. Thus, meaning isn’t travel’s preordained possession, but the traveler’s creation a posteriori through their personalized engagement, often in ways unexpected and irrelevant to the itinerary’s ostensible desirability. This is why a seemingly mundane trip can resonate deeply, while a meticulously planned adventure can fall flat. Even when a traveler proactively assigns a purpose to travel, they are still projecting their own aspirations onto a means with open ends. One doesn’t embark on a journey of self-discovery or transformation. Instead, they feel an urge to change, and travel happens to be the vehicle to fulfill it.

For me, this perspective means to adopt a spontaneous and intuitive approach to travel, both near and far. Since travel holds no inherent purpose, I feel licensed to explore without strict plans or expectations and allow experiences to unfold naturally. Unlike the plan-freak me in other aspects of life, I do little planning beyond essential logistics before traveling. I might glance at guides and social media, jotting down notes and marking locations — often not until I’m aboard — but that’s it, and I follow those half-heartedly upon arrival. Missing a destination isn’t a cause for concern; I simply move on, discovering alternatives. At the end of the day, my path often resembles a thread spiraling loosely around the itinerary, a mixture of overlaps, intersections, and divergences.

Being a whimsical traveler has its costs; it’s not uncommon for me to backtrack unnecessarily or miss a point of interest by mere steps. Yet, viewing travel as neutral, I accept these as part of the experience and focus instead on the serendipities that wouldn’t have revealed themselves to me otherwise. Flipping through my photo album, the sublimity I encountered in travel often came from unplanned detours and unnamed cul-de-sacs. Minimal planning also gamifies the experience by creating a problem space of infinite choices. There, one is compelled to make quick decisions on navigational or logistical issues, limited by time, energy, and budget — a physically intense and intellectually satisfying condition I find captivating.

I’m not offering this as a universal solution. Arguing for travel’s neutrality implies accepting methodological diversity. Others might as well find joy in planning and the feel of security. Some riskier adventures necessitate rigorous groundwork. Successful group or paired trips depend on respecting everyone’s preferences. Even the most “touristy” travel, as deplored by Callard, may be exalted by the presence of someone with personal significance or by coinciding with epiphanic life events. Ultimately, without knowing the individualized context, dismissing any form of travel based on its perceived superficiality would be presumptuous and overreaching.

Can traveling this way perpetuate changes in the traveler as per Callard’s criteria? I don’t know, and perhaps that’s the point. Instead of focusing on quantifiable achievements, I appreciate how being away creates a space to think, feel, and relate in ways unavailable in the routine course of days. These experiences might eventually fade, but at least they fade into the traveler’s own, enriching them from a schema to the self they’re about to identify.

Thus, my case against “The Case Against Travel” is not a case for travel, but rather a case in re travel. Bon voyage, and the rest is mystery.