Optimistic Nihilism Quotes

we met one strange summer in a regular tangle of sticky webs you had the air of angels sweet but I-- drowned with the damned spirits in lava oceans fearing your-- foreign static frequency and grey-green eyes (I swear they are even if you-- think otherwise): storms calm ones, calmer than my-- raging coals, empty and dead you speak of souls like you believe always an optimist in pessimistic skin of ivory and titanium mesh...

Take no pride in the body, It will soon be mingling with the dust. This life is like the sporting of sparrows, It will end with the onset of the night.

Don’t get overly optimistic about death,” I said. “I’m warning you. My views are changing. The atheism and nihilism of my earlier years now seems shallow, and even a bit cocky.

One might think of the discovery and conquest of the farthest ends of the earth, the expanses of space, the labyrinthine recesses of the soul, and the depths of the self. And it is part of the dialectic of modernity that these depths are characterized, not only by positive values such as love, constructive desires, and gaiety, but also by the yawning abysses of horror, fear, and destruction. Conquest is always accompanied by destruction, the optimistic mood of discovery by the anxiety of existence.

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.

Before I was diagnosed with esophageal cancer a year and a half ago,” [Christopher] observed in his final column for Vanity Fair, “I rather jauntily told the readers of my memoirs that when faced with extinction I wanted to be fully conscious and awake, in order to ‘do’ death in the active and not the passive sense . . . However, one thing that grave illness does is to make you examine familiar principles and seemingly reliable sayings. And there’s one that I find I am not saying with quite the same conviction as I once used to: In particular, I have slightly stopped issuing the announcement that “Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”6

In God’s Problem, professor Bart Ehrman’s metaphor is exceptionally provocative: What would we think of an earthly father who starved two of his children and fed only the third even though there was enough food to go around? And what would we think of the fed child expressing her deeply felt gratitude to her father for taking care of her needs, when two of her siblings were dying of malnutrition before her very eyes? 2 You can’t unread that passage. So, yes, whenever I’m around people who are praying, whether at dinners or any other ceremony, I don’t bow my head along with them. Today, I look around—defiantly—because I’m not going to give thanks while my siblings are starving before my eyes. Don’t get me wrong: I am thankful—exceedingly thankful—for my food, but not to a God who would design things as such. Indeed, I feel that my contact with reality helps me appreciate my food more than a praying Christian. If the praying Christian truly appreciated how lucky he is to have so much good food, he wouldn’t be offering thanks for it! He’d be baffled like Bart Ehrman, and he would even feel guilty and wonder what he has done to deserve such bounty. If he truly appreciated how most of the world is hungry while he’s praying, he would begin to see the obscenity of his prayer. He might even lose his appetite for a while, if he really understood the problem, deep down.

During a staff debriefing, doctors and doctors-to-be explored the Hippocratic Oath, again, the one about not doing harm. Supporters apparently argue, “What’s the point of causing more suffering in this situation, when soothing is so readily available (for the survivors, that is)?” Of course, this is a personal opinion, a value judgement not necessarily shared by all medical professionals. For the record, I personally doubted the doctor’s choice, despite the circumstances, and wonder whether it was right to lie to the survivors, in the Grandest Scheme of the Cosmos. I can imagine myself responding to an order like “Tell me he died peacefully” with something more akin to “I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” and cross the subsequent bridges accordingly.

As for the significance of my nihilism…in a word, it is the foundation of my thoughts. The goal of my activities is the destruction of all living things. I feel boundless anger against parental authority, which crushed me under the high-sounding name of parental love, and against state and social authority, which abused me in the name of universal love. Having observed the social reality that all living things on earth are incessantly engaged in a struggle for survival, that they kill each other to survive, I concluded that if there is an absolute, universal low on earth, it is the reality that the strong eat the weak. This, I believe, is the law and truth of the universe. Now that I have seen the truth about the struggle for survival and the fact that the strong win and the weak lose, I cannot join the ranks of the idealists and adopt an optimistic mode of thinking which dreams of the construction of a society that is without authority and control. As long as all living things do not disappear from the earth, the power relations based on this principle [of the strong crushing the weak] will persist. Because the wielders of power continue to defend their authority in the usual manner and oppress the weak—and because my past existence has been a story of oppression by all sources of authority—I decided to deny the rights of all authority, rebel against them, and stake not only my own life but that of all humanity in this endeavor. For this reason I planned eventually to throw a bomb and accept the termination of my life. I did not care whether this act would touch off a revolution or not. I am perfectly content to satisfy my own desires. I do not wish to help create a new society based on a new authority in a different form.

The events of September eleventh remind us that we live in a very confused world. I think that how we respond says a lot about our capacity as human beings to be optimistic in the face of nihilism, and to prove that light can win out over darkness. I am not saying that education is going to solve all the world’s problems. But it’s something direct, and tangible. We can do it right now. You can go home tonight knowing that within a year, a few new schools will be open. I hope you’ll choose to support our work.

When I consider the brief span of my life, swallowed up in the eternity before and behind it, the small space that I fill, or even see, engulfed in the infinite immensity of spaces which I know not, and which know not me, I am afraid . . . I marvel that people are not seized with despair at such a miserable condition. — French mathematician/philosopher Blaise Pascal (born 1623)

Reading the law can be engaging, especially if you have an obsessive personality like mine. In the law, every and and every or counts, sometimes punctuation alone leading to heated debate regarding the original intent behind the law in question.

The psychologist meets the defendant face-to-face and uses his training to nail down the right diagnosis and to comment on competency or insanity, whichever the case may be. Of course, sometimes the right diagnosis is malingering, that is, the defendant is trying to act crazy when he isn’t. Alternatively—and perhaps even more challenging and interesting—the defendant may be dissimulating, that is, trying to act well when he’s actually mentally ill. This is a lot more common than you might suspect! People with psychosis typically don’t want others to know about it. When someone starts spouting off all about their hallucinations and paranoia in the first few minutes of a meeting, I’m naturally suspicious

I’m so thankful because I’ve got my sanity and I’m free. You know, the basics. Now, there’s something less gratifying about feeling good when it comes at someone else’s expense. But, back on the other hand, there’s also no denying that sunlight feels about as good as can be once you’ve been deprived of it for a few hours, surrounded by insanity, stink, and injustice.

That is, the psychiatrist’s Hippocratic Oath says something about “I will keep [the sick] from harm and injustice.” Not even considering the “injustice” part, is it right to treat a delusional patient, if successful treatment necessarily means he is to be put to death?

I feel like I want to know if I’m dying, and why. Give me the pill, remove my delusion, so that I can die lucid.

When teaching various psychology courses over time, I’ve conducted informal polls of my students regarding what they would prefer in a situation similar to Alvin Ford’s. About two-thirds to three-fourths have preferred the delusion, at least when queried on the fly. Although my classes have not exactly comprised a random sample of the population at large, their position corroborates my hunch that most Americans prefer the delusion over the truth.

The great boon of repression is that it makes it possible to live decisively in an overwhelmingly miraculous and incomprehensible world, a world so full of beauty, majesty, and terror that if animals perceived it all they would be paralyzed to act. — Philosophical anthropologist Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

We could talk about the diathesis-stress model of psychopathology, the well-accepted notion that individuals may carry genes that predispose them to a mental illness such as schizophrenia, but the illness lies dormant unless a traumatic stressor (such as sexual abuse, homelessness, and of course, imprisonment) arouses it.4

Now, Elvis Presley, you were one of the first celebrities I ever adored, but screw you: I would be destroyed to find out that I had been engaged in romance under false pretenses. No thanks; I don’t want any part of that. I don’t even want my girlfriend to lie to me when I ask her, “How are you doing?” If your day sucks, it’s okay to tell me. And that doesn’t just go for girlfriends; it goes for regular friends as well and even strangers, if they’re up to it. Let me see your reality, so I can know and try to say something kind accordingly, instead of tricking me into disregarding it via small-talk. Of course, it’s your prerogative, but at least be aware that you don’t have to hold back on my account.

In each of the other instances we’ve discussed, the lie prevents the deceived person from experiencing the appropriate emotions that are due to the cosmos.

Somehow, I simply felt it was wrong to lie about a Truth that was so serious, about an event that was so significant to our lives. Telling the truth seemed more important than averting suffering. Maybe suffering shouldn’t be avoided at all costs. Maybe if we would just face the horrors of our lives they wouldn’t be as horrible as we anticipate. And even if they are, maybe they should simply be respected and experienced as the horrors that they are. I suspect many readers have difficulty with this position, at least regarding some of the examples so far. But I also suspect everyone has a point at which the painful truth is preferred. Consider if your spouse or mate was cheating on you, like having an affair with someone at his or her office. Would you rather know, or would you rather live your life, and maybe even go to your grave, ignorant? It’s interesting: Romantic cheating is something that we’re usually more interested in knowing about. With cheating, we can’t tolerate—well, being cheated. Here, we are not merely out of touch with reality; someone to whom we’re emotionally attached is intentionally deceiving us, and we won’t be the object of that. Sure, we’ll deceive ourselves till the cows come home. As long as we’re in control of the deception, it’s okay. That said, we mustn’t forget Landers’s First Law of Psychology: “It depends; exceptions abound.” Ask Elvis: Honey, you lied when you said you loved me. And I had no cause to doubt you. But I'd rather go on hearing your lies, Than go on living without you.8

Once the defenses fall and we let go of faith, we are overcome by a sobering clarity: Of course, a religion that ever failed so miserably must be the product of humans, not divinity. There is no way that a god would sit back and watch for 600 years while his highest priests tortured thousands of innocents via the likes of anal vice until they denounced him. Something truly holy would never have been subjected to such gross misunderstanding and atrocious implementation in the past. It would be timeless, not a work in progress; otherwise it reduces the billions of people who have lived before us to some sort of experiments for our own well-being today, us living in much better times. What a horrifically narcissistic and insensitive attitude this would be, to disregard the past in order to soothe our own existential fears about our own deaths, most of which will be quite pampered relative to theirs. Again, I did it, too. And now I’m ashamed. In fact, it makes me wonder if some of the hostility I have towards people who remain faithful is projected, that is, I’m mad at myself for ever having been in so much denial, too. The truth is that we have come a long way so that religion is more civilized than ever before. But this is not because God cares more about us today than he did those living in the Middle Ages; it’s simply because we’re smarter than we were back then. And, despite how far we’ve come, we’re far from out of the woods. There’s still much more divinely inspired torture and murder in the world today than there ever should have been, and religious-based oppression of a less lethal nature remains quite rampant, even in the progressive and privileged West. Overall, we are still in a state of progress, meaning that we are actually an ongoing experiment for the people of the future who will have even better religious lives than us, one where there is even less murder of heretics and less oppression of slaves, women, and homosexuals.

What does it mean to be a self-conscious animal? The idea is ludicrous, if it is not monstrous. It means to know that one is food for worms. This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, consciousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating yearning for life and self-expression—and with all this yet to die.10

If we truly appreciated the more fundamental aspects of living, we probably wouldn’t be so driven to travel or skydive and such. We wouldn’t be so desperate to do those things, that’s for sure. Instead, we’re talking about appreciating the mere act of existing. Whenever we can do this, boredom becomes obsolete, as the most fundamental activities become worthy of our time and attention. Taking a walk. Marveling at nature: trees, birds, stars, your own consciousness. The simple fact that we are here at all, along with oceans, comets, Facebook, government conspiracies, and gridlock.

Once the defenses fall and we let go of faith, we are overcome by a sobering clarity: Of course, a religion that ever failed so miserably must be the product of humans, not divinity. There is no way that a god would sit back and watch for 600 years while his highest priests tortured thousands of innocents via the likes of anal vice until they denounced him. Something truly holy would never have been subjected to such gross misunderstanding and atrocious implementation in the past. It would be timeless, not a work in progress; otherwise it reduces the billions of people who have lived before us to some sort of experiments for our own well-being today, us living in much better times. What a horrifically narcissistic and insensitive attitude this would be, to disregard the past in order to soothe our own existential fears about our own deaths, most of which will be quite pampered relative to theirs.