Emil Cioran has been one of my favorite "philosophers" since I first stumbled upon one of his books years ago. In fact, it is because of Emil Cioran that I call myself the Philosophical Misanthrope. "On the Heights of Despair" is Cioran's most captivating and misanthropic publication. I have included a quote from this book; I think that it is very fitting for myself and this blog. -Belthagarus
The idea of liberation through the suppression of desire is the greatest foolishness ever conceived by the human mind. Why cut life short, why destroy it for so little profit as total indifference and the illusion of freedom? How dare you speak of life after you have stifled it in yourself? I have more respect for the man with thwarted desires, unhappy and desperate in love, than for the cold and proud philosopher. A world full of philosophers, what a terrifying prospect! They should be all wiped out so that life could go on naturally - blind and irrationally.
I hate the wisdom of these men unmoved by truths, who do not suffer with their nerves, their flesh, and their blood. I like only vital, organic truths, the offspring of our anxiety. Those whose thoughts are alive are always right; there are no arguments against them. And even if there were, they would not last long. I wonder how there can still be men searching for the truth. Do wise men not yet understand that truth cannot be?
Emil Cioran Wikipedia
1 comment:
Hello, I'm a big fan of Cioran. Read all his books (with the exception of his untranslated Romanian work and the Cahiers, or unpublished notebooks).
On the Heights of Despair was the first book of Cioran I read, and while it was a bracing read, it was little more than a pale imitation of Nietzsche absent of the sophisticated cynicism of his later work (french). He swung between faux pessimism and an exaggerated nihilistic screech throughout, consisting little more than adolescent complaints about the nothingness of everything and self-indulgent assertions to hatred.
Then again, it is probably his most honest book.
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