History and Eternity - Emil Cioran
Why should I live in history, or worry about the social and cultural problems of the age? I am weary of culture and history; I can no longer bring myself to embrace its torments and its aspirations. We must outstrip history, and we can do so only when past, present, and future cease to be important, when where and when we live becomes a matter of indifference. Am I much better off because I live today rather than four thousand years ago in Ancient Egypt? It is silly to pity those who lived in times we don't like, who did not know Christianity or the discoveries of modern science. Since there is no hierarchy of life-styles, everybody and nobody is right all at the same time. Each historical epoch is a world in itself, closed off and certain of its principles, until the dialectic movement of historical life creates a new, equally limited and deficient form. I am surprised that some people study the past when the whole of history strikes me as null and void. Of what interest are the ideals and beliefs of our ancestors? Mankind's achievements could very well be great, but I do not care to know them. I take greater comfort in the contemplation of eternity. In this world not worth so much as a breath, the only valid relation is that between man and eternity, not between man and history. No one negates history out of a passing whim, but only under the impact of harrowing and unsuspected tragedies. Such negations spring from great sadness, not from merely abstract meditations on history. Now that I no longer want to take part in history and I negate the past of humanity, a deadly sadness, painful beyond imagination, preys upon me. Has it been long dormant and just now awakened by these thoughts? There is in me the bitter taste
of death, and nothingness is burning within me like a strong poison. How could I still speak of beauty, and make esthetic remarks, when I am so sad, sad unto death?
I do not want to know anything more. By outstripping history, one acquires superconsciousness, an important ingredient of eternity. It takes you into the realm where contradictions and doubts lose their meaning, where you forget about life and death. It is the fear of death that launches men on their quest for eternity: its only advantage is forgetfulness. But what about the return from eternity?
Why should I live in history, or worry about the social and cultural problems of the age? I am weary of culture and history; I can no longer bring myself to embrace its torments and its aspirations. We must outstrip history, and we can do so only when past, present, and future cease to be important, when where and when we live becomes a matter of indifference. Am I much better off because I live today rather than four thousand years ago in Ancient Egypt? It is silly to pity those who lived in times we don't like, who did not know Christianity or the discoveries of modern science. Since there is no hierarchy of life-styles, everybody and nobody is right all at the same time. Each historical epoch is a world in itself, closed off and certain of its principles, until the dialectic movement of historical life creates a new, equally limited and deficient form. I am surprised that some people study the past when the whole of history strikes me as null and void. Of what interest are the ideals and beliefs of our ancestors? Mankind's achievements could very well be great, but I do not care to know them. I take greater comfort in the contemplation of eternity. In this world not worth so much as a breath, the only valid relation is that between man and eternity, not between man and history. No one negates history out of a passing whim, but only under the impact of harrowing and unsuspected tragedies. Such negations spring from great sadness, not from merely abstract meditations on history. Now that I no longer want to take part in history and I negate the past of humanity, a deadly sadness, painful beyond imagination, preys upon me. Has it been long dormant and just now awakened by these thoughts? There is in me the bitter taste
of death, and nothingness is burning within me like a strong poison. How could I still speak of beauty, and make esthetic remarks, when I am so sad, sad unto death?
I do not want to know anything more. By outstripping history, one acquires superconsciousness, an important ingredient of eternity. It takes you into the realm where contradictions and doubts lose their meaning, where you forget about life and death. It is the fear of death that launches men on their quest for eternity: its only advantage is forgetfulness. But what about the return from eternity?
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