Nothing Ventured

I understand why I was having such a hard time. Hunting big game has its challenges, but it is rather hard to miss a water buffalo. I was hunting small game, armed not with a rifle, but my trusty lantern. My name is Diogenes, and I seek nothing. Well, not nothing. I'm looking for something rarer still, an honest nihilist, one who truly believes in no truth, one whose goal it is to eschew all goals. Down the cobbled streets I roamed, until my lantern caught a strange shadow. It was a man, or what was left of one.

"Pardon me good sir, would you mind telling me your name?" I asked.

"Why do you call me good?' the stranger asked, "Nothing and no one and no where is good. My name is Nyetski." Perhaps my search had ended.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"It is all the same to me," he replied.

"Can you please tell me what drove you to write all those books? Those essays? What was your goal?"

"It's of the utmost importance that the people of Europe come to understand the truth of nihilism. They must learn that there is no truth, no goodness, no beauty, no reason for being. That was my goal, to emancipate the people that they might do the right thing and embrace the nothing."

"Uh, I'm not sure I follow. Would it be that your goal was to persuade others of the truth that there is no truth and no goal?"

"You try to trap me, man with lantern. I know this is nonsense; that is my point. But I have bravely faced the nonsense, and taught others to do the same."

"Why not face the nonsense in a cowardly fashion? Why not avoid the nonsense? Face this, Nyetski, you are a fraud." With that I headed off.

"Wait!" shouted Nyetski.

"Why should I? " I called back.

My search took me over borders and centuries. Rumor had it that a whole herd of nihilists was congregating in 1940's in France. I found a seat in a cafe, and struck up a conversation.

"Have a seat stranger," one of them said.

"I'm in search of nihilists. Do you gentleman know of any?"

"Oui, mon frere, you have come to the right place. I am Can You. Welcome to our little cafe. But don't eat the food. I'm afraid it might give you nausea."

'Hey man, don't have the cow," the other interrupted. He turned to me, 'I'm Bartre, who the heck are you?"

"My name is Diogenes, I'm looking for a sincere and honest nihilist."

"That's us man, we're heavy into nothing, sincerely. Why between the two of us we have written plays and novels, poems and books, all trying to get the word out about nothing. Of course things have been a little slow for us of late. What with trying to keep the Nazi's from oppressing the people, serving in the underground, we just have no time for nothing."

"But don't you see," I implored, "you can't have it both ways. Why write? Why fight? Why do anything, when there's no reason?"

"You don't get it, Di my friend. It's because there's no reason that we can do things for no reason."

"There you go again, trying to justify, trying to make reasonable your reaction to no reason. Why you two are no better than that old faker Nyetski."

"You knew Nyetski? Oh, we love him. He was the greatest, all that courage in facing no goodness. So sad that he is dead now."

My search was far from over. Imbued with a sense of purpose, I continued my search for purposelessness. I visited cafes, beatnik bars, hippie communes. Everywhere I kept finding something, never nothing. The beatniks embraced the religion of nothing, becoming dharrna bums. Why? Sadly never for nothing, but always in search of peace or nirvana, some perceived good, even if the good thing perceived was to get beyond the world of perception. The purest of them all suffered from the same hypocrisy of their fathers, spreading their nothing religion with the zeal of a fundamentalist.

I lugged my lantern through Central Park, dejected. Nothing, it seemed, was no where to be found I sat down beside an old statue, and leaned back. But wait. This was no statue. It had warmth, softness.

"Excuse me," I cried, "I had no idea you were a live person. You were just sitting so still, I thought you were a statue. I'm so weary, my eyes must have tricked me. Will you forgive me? The man gave no reply.

"I've sort of been on a quest. I've crossed centuries and oceans all looking for one thing, an honest nihilist. You know what a nihilist is?" Still no answer.

"They believe, at least they claim to believe, that there is no truth, no goodness, and no reason for being or for doing. But so far they've all been hypocrites. Don't you just hate hypocrites?" His face betrayed no emotion. "Sorry, I'm blathering on about my story. What are you doing?" Still he sat.

'Is there something wrong? Are you mute? Can you give me some sign? I speak many languages"

The longer he sat, the more excited I became. "Say, would you mind terribly if I were to cart you off somewhere?" Still nothing.

My search is over now. I've bagged my trophy, the world's only sincere nihilist. He hasn't changed a bit since I brought him home. I just propped him up on the mantle, and there he sits. I didn't even have to pay a taxidermist. I've put a sign beneath him; he doesn't seem to mind. It reads, "Here is Bartleby, the world's only nihilist. Don't be fooled by foolish imitations."

Diogenes Chesterton is now in the hunt for an evangelical with a sense of humor. We'll let you know if he finds anything.