I grew up in a somewhat religious household, but when I was around 16 I lost my faith. I read some philosophy and literature, read through some different religions but fundamentally I didn't really believe in anything anymore. Looking back, I fell into nihilism for years, but it wasn't a conscious choice or philosophy I followed. I just stopped believing in anything and ended up a very very unhappy person. So over the years I suppose I've created my own meaning built up a new structure to "justify" my existence in a world that seems to lack meaning. What I'm trying to say is I love Absurdism and I love your essay thanks for writing.
I had to read L’Etranger in French, in college. I always thought that my inability to make any sense of it was because of my struggles with the language. However, it sounds just as confusing in English! I prefer both my philosophy, and my reading matter to be more to the point.
If I'm remembering accurately, my best friend gave me that book to read 20+ years ago. I don't remember disliking it, the only thing I remember is a flash of sunlight off a knife caused him to kill? Same book? Anyway, that scene must have been decent. Different from Brothers Karamazov, which my friend also made me read. That one I cannot recollect at all, except that I could not stop reading it and it was fucking hard to read. Like the opposite of Hemingway, a lot of which I can remember as if I were there.
I grew up in a somewhat religious household, but when I was around 16 I lost my faith. I read some philosophy and literature, read through some different religions but fundamentally I didn't really believe in anything anymore. Looking back, I fell into nihilism for years, but it wasn't a conscious choice or philosophy I followed. I just stopped believing in anything and ended up a very very unhappy person. So over the years I suppose I've created my own meaning built up a new structure to "justify" my existence in a world that seems to lack meaning. What I'm trying to say is I love Absurdism and I love your essay thanks for writing.
I like the format
I had to read L’Etranger in French, in college. I always thought that my inability to make any sense of it was because of my struggles with the language. However, it sounds just as confusing in English! I prefer both my philosophy, and my reading matter to be more to the point.
If I'm remembering accurately, my best friend gave me that book to read 20+ years ago. I don't remember disliking it, the only thing I remember is a flash of sunlight off a knife caused him to kill? Same book? Anyway, that scene must have been decent. Different from Brothers Karamazov, which my friend also made me read. That one I cannot recollect at all, except that I could not stop reading it and it was fucking hard to read. Like the opposite of Hemingway, a lot of which I can remember as if I were there.