Emile Cioran from The Heights of Despair:
When all the current reasons—moral, aesthetic, religious, social, and so on—no longer guide one’s life, how can one sustain life without succumbing to nothingness? Only by a connection with the absurd, by love of absolute uselessness, loving something which does not have substance but which simulates an illusion of life.
The irony of course is how a passion for philosophy can take some through circuitous close encounters with all manner of received wisdom and in the end deposit them instead into an intellectual wasteland that engenders a feeling of being profoundly disconnected from all the great thoughts of all the great minds.
What happens is this: you try to connect the dots between the great ideas floating amidst the clouds of abstraction and the gritty world you actually live in and it finally begins to dawn on you the aim was quite the opposite. The aim was by and large to take you out of the cave altogether…out into the blinding light of Truth.
The blinding light of…The Word.
The absurd shreds that to bits, of course, but if you’re lucky it will rescue you from the philosophical straitjacket that is either/or. Ambiguity is the ticket. It discards either/or and instead suggests another way: neither/nor.
Among other things, this increases your options by leaps and bounds. And that is because the logocentric truth-tellers always feel compelled to follow the straight and narrow path of one or another rendition of Enlightenment. They become slaves to The Word.
And when the absurd turns on you in moments of existential despair there are always distractions to divert you—love and sex and sports and entertainment and careers and family. The list is practically endless. The illusion becomes real because you are
able to trick yourself psychologically by falling into them.
Only death is insurmountable. But then, if you’re lucky, you may reach the point where you want to die. Cioran once made note of how fortuitous it was that Nietzsche died insane.
Oblivion admittedly can be the toughest nut to crack. There are few distractions that work when the doc tells you the tumor is inoperable. Not even the absurd helps if you love your life and its about to end. Then you have to trick yourself like Plato and Kant [and so many others] with philosophy or religion.
I often wonder how they do that.