“Better to never have been born!” This pessimistic declaration has been made at various points in the history of human thought, becoming a true philosophical system beginning with Arthur Schopenhauer in the nineteenth century. It was repeated by various philosophers in subsequent decades, though rarely with the tragic passion of Emil Cioran (1911-1995). A solitary philosopher, Cioran was born in Romania but spent most of his career in Paris, where he moved at the age of 26 and where he remained until his death. Living like a secular hermit, he never worked. He was driven by the mission of imprecating against God for having brought human beings into an existence which is illusion and torment. To Cioran’s mind, this existence is meaningless (nihilism), without evident truths on which to rely (skepticism) and one in which evil prevails over good (pessimism). From start to finish, Cioran’s thought and being are pervaded by a marked element of mysticism and religion – from his first book, which he wrote as a very young man in Romania, until his last, published in France. The present book, the first of its kind in English, traces the cultural roots of this mystical-religious dimension and its characteristics in Cioran’s writings, several of which have not been translated into English. From this inquiry emerges the profile of a skeptical, nihilistic and pessimistic thinker whose works all amount to an act of accusation against the goodness of Creation: all the aspects of his existential experience and theoretical reflection come together to produce a true philosophical trial. Above all, Cioran’s thinking is steeped in the cultural milieu of interwar Romania, permeated by the anti-rationalist existentialism of Nae Ionescu, the fascist mysticism of Corneliu Zelea Codreanu and widespread feelings of nationalism and anti-Semitism. The second of these elements is central to Cioran’s examination of religion, evident in his fascination with the metaphysical dualism of gnostic sects, according to which this existence is the poisoned gift of a malicious god. Finally, a number of influences are at work in Cioran’s mysticism, which is treated in detail in the final chapter: the appeal of the Buddhist East, the drama of God’s silence, the impossibility of faith, the need for a godless and skeptical mysticism, and the desire to merge with the Nothingness that preceded the creation of the world.
Cioran’s pain of exile, his nostalgia for a time before time, is treated with such gentleness. Integlia writes as though he too, having been possessed by this pain, is why he recognizes it so clearly in Cioran. “For Cioran, existence is a ‘metaphysical exile,’ and Plotinus is right when he writes that in this life we feel like ‘the soul that has lost its wings.’”
Unexpectedly, it was Chapter 2, where Integlia dissects Cioran’s first published work, On the Heights of Despair, that nearly drove me to abandon the book altogether. It felt intolerable at times. Not because I necessarily disagreed, but because something essential seemed absent. Sterile even. Deprived of the uninhabitable wound that is Cioran.
I have loved Cioran for what feels like my entire life. There are moments when my identification with Cioran feels so complete that Integlia’s words seem addressed not to Cioran, but to me.