Not too long ago, a group of young people approached me about joining their nihilist-themed book club. Since it is rare to meet young people with any real intellectual interest—even when that interest takes a darker form—I agreed at once.
Years ago, we tried something similar, but it quickly fell apart. I wasn’t entirely sure how serious they were about this one, but I was willing to give it a try, even though the subject sat uneasily with my Catholic convictions. That tension, in fact, was part of what interested me.
There is some discipline in engaging with ideas one does not share. Grappling with them forces clarity—why one believes, and whether those beliefs can withstand pressure. You cannot be certain of standing on solid ground without testing it against opposition.
I was already familiar with some of the thinkers on their reading list, having read a good deal of E.M. Cioran and Giacomo Leopardi when I was their age. Still, I thought it might be worthwhile to revisit these ideas with them. I had also been meaning to explore Albert Camus further. I remembered liking The Stranger well enough back in school.
Our first book was The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus, introducing his philosophy of the absurd: the idea that humanity’s search for meaning in a silent and indifferent universe creates a tension to be met not with suicide, but with conscious rebellion and passionate living.
Disappointingly, out of the original five of us, three have already dropped out; now there is only me and one other left—not much of a book club anymore. Enthusiastic as he seems, we shall see how long he stays. Strangely enough, the young lady who suggested the whole affair was the first to quit.
If nothing else, the exercise still offers a chance to read seriously, think carefully, and share ideas with someone else who still believes that ideas matter. That alone makes it worthwhile.
Our second selection will be Drawn and Quartered by E.M. Cioran.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, June 18th, Feast of San Calogero
