Cosmic Nihilism Quotes

Nihilism, narcissism, and hedonism are natural results of the chaotic existential subjectivism popularized by the Left. If the hallmark of the baby boomers was rebellion, the hallmark of my generation is jadedness. Nothing really matters—we’re cosmically alone.

His hatred for all was so intense that it should extinguish the very love from which it was conceived. And thus, he ceased to feel. There was nothing further in which to believe that made the prospect of feeling worthwhile. Daily he woke up and cast downtrodden eyes upon the sea and he would say to himself with a hint of regret at his hitherto lack of indifference, 'All a dim illusion, was it? Surely it was foolish of me to think any of this had meaning.' He would then spend hours staring at the sky, wondering how best to pass the time if everything—even the sky itself— were for naught. He arrived at the conclusion that there was no best way to pass the time. The only way to deal with the illusion of time was to endure it, knowing full well, all the while, that one was truly enduring nothing at all. Unfortunately for him, this nihilistic resolution to dispassion didn’t suit him very well and he soon became extremely bored. Faced now with the choice between further boredom and further suffering, he impatiently chose the latter, sailing another few weeks along the coast , and then inland, before finally dropping anchor off the shores of the fishing village of Yami.

From a cosmic perspective, I'm simply an accident that has nothing to lose. Why take it all so seriously?

How many times, by God’s bloody prick, have I longed to be able to detonate planets, to destroy the sun itself, to pluck it from the universe and crash it into the earth, annihilating all Creation and replacing it with a lightless void of violence. Ah, that would be a crime! A cosmic crime, dwarfing the petty misdemeanours we are committing here, limited as we are to snuffing out a few meaningless souls

Exit God, exit religion, exit divine purpose; enter cosmic insignificance, enter universal purposelessness, enter ever-fleeting pleasures and ever-present suffering—life does indeed seem very bleak. No myths, no prophecies, nothing to console the thinking individual. What's left is a heartless, cosmic meat-grinder that is perfectly indifferent to its inhabitants. Without the 'vital lies' we tell ourselves, our lives are utterly useless.

I felt, in brief agonies of disillusionment, the gigantic blackness of this overwhelming universe, in which my days and the days of my race were as nothing to the shattered stars; a universe in which each action is vain and even the emotion of grief a wasted thing.

One can experience loneliness in two ways: by feeling lonely in the world or by feeling the loneliness of the world. Individual loneliness is a personal drama; one can feel lonely even in the midst of great natural beauty. An outcast in the world, indifferent to its being dazzling or dismal, self-consumed with triumphs and failures, engrossed in inner drama—such is the fate of the solitary. The feeling of cosmic loneliness, on the other hand, stems not so much from man's subjective agony as from an awareness of the world's isolation, of objective nothingness. It is as if all the splendors of this world were to vanish at once, leaving behind the dull monotony of a cemetery. Many are haunted by the vision of an abandoned world encased in glacial solitude, untouched by even the pale reflections of a crepuscular light. Who is more unhappy? He who feels his own loneliness or he who feels the loneliness of the world? Impossible to tell, and besides, why should I bother with a classification of loneliness? Is it not enough that one is alone?

Their view; it is cosmic. Not of a man here, a child there, but an abstraction: race, land. Volk. Land. Blut. Ehre. Not of honorable men but of Ehre itself, honor; the abstract is real, the actual is invisible to them. Die Güte, but not good men, this good man. It is their sense of space and time. They see through the here, the now, into the vast black deep beyond, the unchanging. And that is fatal to life. Because eventually there will be no life; there was once only the dust particles in space, the hot hydrogen gases, nothing more, and it will come again. This is an interval, ein Augenblick. The cosmic process is hurrying on, crushing life back into the granite and methane; the wheel turns for all life. It is all temporary. And they—these madmen—respond to the granite, the dust, the longing of the inanimate; they want to aid Natur.

The causes of nihilism: (1) The higher species is lacking, i.e., the species whose inexhaustible fruitfulness and power would uphold our belief in man. (2) The inferior species ("herd," "mass," "society") is forgetting modesty, and inflates its needs into cosmic and metaphysical values. In this way all life is vulgarized, for inasmuch as the mass of mankind rules, it tyrannizes over the exceptions, so that these lose their belief in themselves and become nihilists.

Allan Bloom suggests a difference between European and American nihilism.3 European nihilism is pessimistic. Nietzsche's philosophy proposes dreadful things. It takes one to the abyss of his being. It's a tremendously confounding, depressing, scary, and confusing time. All the more was nihilism scary for the Europeans because they saw what it resulted in, fascism. In a complete breakdown of cosmic order, humanity seeks an Orderer, and any Orderer will do so long as they give some structure. Europe saw where this led. For the optimistic American, on the other hand, the nihilistic point is exciting and thrilling, a time for wonderful Self-development and growth. The Self can be the Orderer, right? It's an optimistic nihilism.

Causes of the advent of pessimism: the most powerful desires of life have been hitherto the most slandered, so that a curse weighs on life. For we comprehend that these self-same instincts are inseparable from life, and one therefore turns against life. Whereas the mass, which has no feeling at all for this conflict, flourishes, while the conflicted type miscarries and, as a product of degeneration, invites antipathy–that the mediocre, on the other hand, when they pose as the goal and meaning of existence, arouse nausea and indignation. And the individual, faced with this tremendous machinery, loses courage and submits. The herd, the mass, 'society', unlearns modesty and blows up its needs into cosmic and metaphysical values. In this way the whole of existence is vulgarised; and in so far as the mass is dominant it bullies the exceptions, so that they lose faith in themselves and become nihilists. The question 'for what?', after a painful struggle, even victory. That something is a hundred times more important than the question of whether we feel well or not–and consequently whether others feel well or not. The predominance of suffering over pleasure, or its opposite (hedonism) are already signposts to nihilism. For in both cases no ultimate meaning is posited except the appearance of pleasure or pain. But for any worthy man, the value of life is certainly not measured by the standard of these trifles. A suffering might predominate, and in spite of this, a powerful will might exist, a Yes to life, a need and acceptance of this predominance.

Causes of the advent of pessimism: The most powerful desires of life have been hitherto the most slandered, so that a curse weighs on life. For we comprehend that these self-same instincts are inseparable from life, and one therefore turns against life. Whereas the mass, which has no feeling at all for this conflict, flourishes, while the conflicted type miscarries and, as a product of degeneration, invites antipathy–that the mediocre, on the other hand, when they pose as the goal and meaning of existence, arouse nausea and indignation. And the individual, faced with this tremendous machinery, loses courage and submits. The herd, the mass, 'society', unlearns modesty and blows up its needs into cosmic and metaphysical values. In this way the whole of existence is vulgarised; and in so far as the mass is dominant it bullies the exceptions, so that they lose faith in themselves and become nihilists. The question 'for what?', after a painful struggle, even victory. That something is a hundred times more important than the question of whether we feel well or not–and consequently whether others feel well or not. The predominance of suffering over pleasure, or its opposite (hedonism) are already signposts to nihilism. For in both cases no ultimate meaning is posited except the appearance of pleasure or pain. But for any worthy man, the value of life is certainly not measured by the standard of these trifles. A suffering might predominate, and in spite of this, a powerful will might exist, a Yes to life, a need and acceptance of this predominance

One road began with logic and science. I had a fondness for this road. It was clean and unambiguous, free from the messy chaos of emotion. But the Mysterious Stranger inviting me down this road had caused me to suspect that the randomness and chance lurking beneath the surface led to cosmic indifference, thence to nihilism and despair, and ended with death. The other road began with death. A great cross cast a shadow across the fork. On it hung a bleeding, dying God, a human parchment upon whom was written an unbelievable message of love and forgiveness. This road was messy and laden with emotion. But beyond the death was the promise of redemption and meaning. Life with a purpose. I chose the second road.

In addition to the uncertainty of broader cosmic significance, it may be that intelligent beings might have to learn to cope with a known cosmic insignificance, leading for some perhaps to a kind of nihilistic worldview. For others, something short of nihilism might suggest instead a kind of “cosmically local” relativism where value, meaning, purpose, ethics, and aesthetics derive solely from the affairs of cultural beings who think, behave, and perhaps freely choose in such ways as to sometimes, but often not, establish widely accepted norms and standards to help “local” beings coexist.

However, the position of my books, and of post-modernism in general, which regards all representations, or maps, or models, as probabilistic and relative to their social context, Gross and Levitt dismissively call “perspectivism” (a good word in my estimation, so I cheerfully accept it). Gross and Levitt see perspectivism as an insidious threat to their One True Faith and a pathway downward to the bottomless abyss of nihilism.

The causes of nihilism: (1) The higher species is lacking, i.e., the species whose inexhaustible fruitfulness and power would uphold our belief in man. (2) The inferior species ("herd," "mass," "society") is forgetting modesty, and inflates its needs into cosmic and metaphysical values. In this way all life is vulgarized, for inasmuch as the mass of mankind rules, it tyrannizes over the exceptions, so that these lose their belief in themselves and become nihilists.

There are, among one’s most generative extrapolations of trajectory, instances of exceptional beauty—or rather, instances of perception of exception to unexceptional beauty. And one loses therein a sense of time because a prediction of ‘now’ is interleaved rather often with those models of ‘then’ and ‘thereafter.’ Thus, we have these outlier instances in which purpose appears firmly rooted in ‘Something’; yet, so abbreviated are these that one is often left inexorably with the trauma of thinking of them as flukes, mere flashes of faulty wiring that have managed somehow to manifest a resemblance to a Something rather ‘spiritual’ in both flavor and texture; it is only natural for a kind of discomfiture to emerge out of this realization for this sidereal specter has passed all too quickly and with much of its purported grandeur now sinking with absurd melodrama into that cosmic abyss scraped by its wake, thitherto descending into nebulous depths and evading any hope of recapture and restoration. There are, in other words, these momentous waves of probabilistic ‘Something’ which curl in void and crash to a convergence of semblance and are soon thereafter to be strewn into fathomless Nihility.

Existential dread to philosophy’s end in an objectively indignant and unknowable universe is principally all we shall ever expect to bear and intuit but more importantly were intended to observe in dull harmonious respite, the congenital lack of a resolving creation myth or prime reason to exist, for anything to survive and billions of years lay dormant for the incidental arrival of our brains unwillingly limited to these strictures that were already set for us by the dawning of contumacious evolution without cause but local expedience, no matter the latest surge of scientific ingenuity or imagined promise in our comprehension of the universe’s layered and aimless design by scoping the hanging stars gripped by a listless Milky Way within speculative aeons of unshored blackness, only a dubious reasoning to our being ever spun and plied from the remaining equally unknowable shunted gaze of the cosmos.

When I wake to consider the vaporous aether of our universe, everything feels as though contained within an impenetrably dark infinitely expanding bubble through which the empty space overtaken is sacrificially loaned unto a mockery of its antithesis, across waning dales where the dead retire, to be reclaimed by this cosmic tide, recycled, reincarnated into further being, a self-renewing system of cacophonous consignment inuring one maniacal God His baseless funereal watch, an elementary decree whose advantage succeeds into everlasting fire.