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Whenever I come across nihilism and its miserable epigone (existentialism) I can't help but cringe and roll my eyes, and that's putting it mildly. All those ramblings about the meaninglessness of human life, achievements, dreams and hopes, lost as we are in the cosmic emptiness of a universe going nowhere etc... well, every time I read such bullshit, usually peddled by some pretentious wealthy dickhead with too much spare time, I'd love to ask the author:
"Okay, so why don't you just kill yourself? Be consistent with what you say and jump off a roof. Shoo. Fuck off, you jinx. And hey, before you do it - think of all those poor devils who really have to struggle every single second of their lives. Wash your shitty mouth out and see what a bunch of crap you've been preaching. Because YOUR life is useless, YOUR existence is useless, not everybody else's."
However, Cioran was the exception to the rule. For the very simple reason that his nihilism is so desperately charged with hope that he ends up destroying his own system from within. Besides, his writing is divine. From the very first lines I found myself too engrossed in it to even care about the actual contents, and that's quite something given my prejudice against the subject matter. And please note that he wasn't even writing in his first language. In fact Cioran was Romanian, not French; and yet this book, the first he wrote in his acquired language, eanred him a place in the pantheon of French literature as soon as it was published (by Gallimard in 1949).
Nhilism is the most genuine product of European culture after its long, exhausted history of spiritual havoc. After the rise and fall of so many Thousand-Year Reichs, what's left for man to believe in? What's left for anybody to teach or learn, approve or despise since no system has ever been able to survive itself? There seems to be no alternative to radical, absolute denial.
While nihilism as we've come to know (and, in my case, loathe) it can't go any farther than that, thus ending up in a stalemate, Cioran's vision radically differs: his thought is the completion and overcoming of the existentialists' cosmic pessimism. It's the crack in the system that - paradoxically - allows it to work and make sense. It's the solution to a problem no other existentialist/nihilist has ever been able to solve: why they won't take their own lives, thus setting a good example for their admirers to follow.
Because they were too full of themselves to believe in their own crap, that's why.
At first Cioran draws the same conclusion: self-denial is the only way out of the delusions we live in. But that's just the first step for mankind to take, the beginning of a journey leading to the Unknown rather than to the Meaningless. When when no superstition prevents us to see the void; when there's no noise interfering with the silence, self-denial ceases to be a renunciation leading nowhere. On the contrary, it becomes openness to the outside, to a world free from the superstructures of the ego. It's the ability to see reality as it is: a space of unlimited potential, untarnished and unscathed, beyond the boundaries of feeling and thought.
No doubt the intensity of Cioran's prose puts his musings on human history and religion on a level with the most visionary writings of the Scriptures. The way he deals with his own contradictions is amazing, with an uncanny sense of the clash between earthly boundaries and transcendental desires. Cioran is a modern Qohelet who desperately embraces religion the moment he starts destroying it. In a world deprived of all meaning, the only way out leads to what is by definition out of our reach. Faith - in God, mankind, art, poetry, beauty - is the ultimate reason for man to carry on.
That's what really surprised me: Cioran's intellectual honesty, especially in drawing conclusions that would lead him so far away from his premises, whereas most of his contemporaries were not exactly keen on taking stock of the flaws in their systems (perhaps because they were almost invariably drawn to join in the political/ideological controversies of their time, and therefore debased themselves and their work). Cioran refused to take part in any struggle or commitment: when asked to take a clear (leftist) stand by Albert Camus, he told him to go fuck himself and stop bothering him with his bullshit. Verbatim.
Well said, Emil.
"Okay, so why don't you just kill yourself? Be consistent with what you say and jump off a roof. Shoo. Fuck off, you jinx. And hey, before you do it - think of all those poor devils who really have to struggle every single second of their lives. Wash your shitty mouth out and see what a bunch of crap you've been preaching. Because YOUR life is useless, YOUR existence is useless, not everybody else's."
However, Cioran was the exception to the rule. For the very simple reason that his nihilism is so desperately charged with hope that he ends up destroying his own system from within. Besides, his writing is divine. From the very first lines I found myself too engrossed in it to even care about the actual contents, and that's quite something given my prejudice against the subject matter. And please note that he wasn't even writing in his first language. In fact Cioran was Romanian, not French; and yet this book, the first he wrote in his acquired language, eanred him a place in the pantheon of French literature as soon as it was published (by Gallimard in 1949).
Nhilism is the most genuine product of European culture after its long, exhausted history of spiritual havoc. After the rise and fall of so many Thousand-Year Reichs, what's left for man to believe in? What's left for anybody to teach or learn, approve or despise since no system has ever been able to survive itself? There seems to be no alternative to radical, absolute denial.
While nihilism as we've come to know (and, in my case, loathe) it can't go any farther than that, thus ending up in a stalemate, Cioran's vision radically differs: his thought is the completion and overcoming of the existentialists' cosmic pessimism. It's the crack in the system that - paradoxically - allows it to work and make sense. It's the solution to a problem no other existentialist/nihilist has ever been able to solve: why they won't take their own lives, thus setting a good example for their admirers to follow.
Because they were too full of themselves to believe in their own crap, that's why.
At first Cioran draws the same conclusion: self-denial is the only way out of the delusions we live in. But that's just the first step for mankind to take, the beginning of a journey leading to the Unknown rather than to the Meaningless. When when no superstition prevents us to see the void; when there's no noise interfering with the silence, self-denial ceases to be a renunciation leading nowhere. On the contrary, it becomes openness to the outside, to a world free from the superstructures of the ego. It's the ability to see reality as it is: a space of unlimited potential, untarnished and unscathed, beyond the boundaries of feeling and thought.
No doubt the intensity of Cioran's prose puts his musings on human history and religion on a level with the most visionary writings of the Scriptures. The way he deals with his own contradictions is amazing, with an uncanny sense of the clash between earthly boundaries and transcendental desires. Cioran is a modern Qohelet who desperately embraces religion the moment he starts destroying it. In a world deprived of all meaning, the only way out leads to what is by definition out of our reach. Faith - in God, mankind, art, poetry, beauty - is the ultimate reason for man to carry on.
That's what really surprised me: Cioran's intellectual honesty, especially in drawing conclusions that would lead him so far away from his premises, whereas most of his contemporaries were not exactly keen on taking stock of the flaws in their systems (perhaps because they were almost invariably drawn to join in the political/ideological controversies of their time, and therefore debased themselves and their work). Cioran refused to take part in any struggle or commitment: when asked to take a clear (leftist) stand by Albert Camus, he told him to go fuck himself and stop bothering him with his bullshit. Verbatim.
Well said, Emil.