E. M. Cioran on Writing, Literature, and (Nonsuicidal) Ideas

 
 

E.M. Cioran is possibly the world’s most pessimistic philosopher. He’s a big fan of suicide, for example, except for that fact that, as he writes, “It is not worth the bother of killing yourself, since you always kill yourself too late.”

What’s funny about Cioran is that he’s so over-the-top with his pessimism that his writing becomes life-affirming and even humorous. Reading him, you almost have to remind yourself that he’s a serious nihilist philosopher, not a progeny of Oscar Wilde.

Fortunately, his witticisms aren’t reserved entirely for the topic of suicide. He also shares quite a few enlightening thoughts about writing and the creative process. Here are a number of his aphorisms from his otherwise entirely bleak (and hilarious!) book The Trouble With Being Born.


 
Write books only if you are going to say in them the things you would never dare confide to anyone.

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Once we reject lyricism, to blacken a page becomes an ordeal: what’s the use of writing in order to say exactly what we had to say?

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If only we could reach back before the concept, could write on a level of the senses, record the infinitesimal variations of what we touch, do what a reptile would do if it were to set about writing!

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A minimum of silliness is essential to everything. 

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We say: he has no talent, only tone. But tone is precisely what cannot be invented—we’re born with it. Tone is an inherited grace, the privilege some of us have of making our organic pulsations felt—tone is more than talent it is its essence.

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Ideas come as you walk, Nietzsche said. Walking dissipates thoughts, Shankara taught.
Both of these are equally well-founded, hence equally true, as each of us can discover for himself in the space of an hour, sometimes of a minute… 

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There is nothing to say about anything. So there can be no limit to the number of books.

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The greatest favor we can do an author is to forbid him to work during a certain period. Short-term tyrannies are necessary—prohibitions which should suspend all intellectual activity. Uninterrupted freedom of expression exposes talent to a deadly danger, forces it beyond its means and keeps it from stockpiling sensations and experiences. Unlimited freedom is a crime against the mind.

Peter Clarke is the editor-in-chief of Jokes Review. He’s the author of the comic novels Politicians Are Superheroes and The Singularity Survival Guide. Follow him on Twitter @HeyPeterClarke.

Pataphysics and Divergent Thinking

 
 

At face value, pataphysics, defined as an extension of metaphysics, is pure nonsense. What could it mean for something to be beyond metaphysics? No matter how hard you try to wrap your mind around it, you won’t find any significant meaning at the heart of this conception.

But you do find a wide-open canvas for unhinged ideas and associations. This is “science” with no wrong answers, only some that are funnier or cleverer than others. Put another way, this pataphysical canvas is a place to fearlessly engage in divergent thinking.

Divergent thinking is the heart and soul of creativity. When psychologists measure creativity, they do so by testing one’s ability to think divergently. In his book “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell gives a classic example of a divergent thinking test. Consider the prompt: “How many uses can you think of for a brink.” One test-taker with an unusually high IQ responded, “Building things, throwing.” Despite this person’s intelligence, this answer is a hard fail. Another test-taker who excelled at divergent thinking responded, “To use in smash-and-grab raids. To. Help hold a house together. To use in a game of Russian roulette if you want to keep fit at the same time (bricks at ten paces, run and throw — no evasive action allowed). To hold the eiderdown on a bed tie a brick at each corner. As a breaker of empty Coca-Cola bottles.”

Gladwell contends that divergent thinking is often more important than IQ for finding success in the world. This is why, he says, people who win the Nobel Prize don’t all come from Harvard, but are frequently from schools with far less exclusive admissions standards.

How do you get better at divergent thinking? One way is to spend time beyond the metaphysical realm, on the pataphysical canvas. If you’re faced with a question like, “What is a brick used for?” step outside your usual experience. Abandon your typical notion of what might be “logical.” Go off the deep end. Peek over the cliff’s edge. Dive off the rocker. Find something random, reach out for something tangential to that, and then turn it upside down.

What is a brick used for? Among other things: Holding open the nozzle to the floodgates of your imagination.


This essay is a selection from “Pataphysics: A Secret Weapon for Creativity” published in Blank Page.