Transcript Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea

Jean-Paul Sartre
Nausea
Title: Nausea
Author: Jean-Paul Sartre
Format: Hardcover
Language: English
Pages: 178
Publisher: , 0
ISBN: 0811201880
Format: PDF / Kindle / ePub
Size: 7.4 MB
Download: allowed
Description
Nausea is the story of Antoine Roquentin, a French writer who is horrified at his own existence.
In impressionistic, diary form he ruthlessly catalogues his every feeling and sensation about the
world and people around him.
His thoughts culminate in a pervasive, overpowering feeling of nausea which "spread at the
bottom of the viscous puddle, at the bottom of our time, the time of purple suspenders and
broken chair seats; it is made of wide, soft instants, spreading at the edge, like an oil stain."
Roquentin's efforts to come to terms with his life, his philosophical and psychological struggles,
give Sartre the opportunity to dramatize the tents of his Existentialist creed.
The introduction for this edition of Nausea by Hayden Carruth gives background on Sartre's life
and major works, a summary of the principal themes of Existentialist philosophy, and a critical
analysis of the novel itself.
Insightful reviews
Seemita: Back in my school, when I took “Sanskrit” for the first time as a language, I was
fascinated by it. Like Mathematics, I felt that anything and everything could be explained by
Sanskrit. The language of the wise and experienced, it had its roots dating back to millions of
centuries and was contributed to swell to its current form by thousands of brilliant minds and
astute practitioners of life and non-life forms. The stream was so vivacious and bountiful that by
just touching its surface, i.e., by just getting to learn the language’s basics, my senses were
acutely turned on. I was into my first few classes, when I came across the word, “Aham”, which
meant “I”. While the basics of I, You, We, Them, etc. were diligently thought to us, like any other
language learning mandates, there was always something palpably unique about “I”. The
moment I uttered the syllable, it empowered me; it centralized control into my being and
elevated me right to a pedestal from where I could do as I wanted do. Or so, I felt.
But is being one’s self and living in that “I” cosmos so easy? And at what cost? With what
options? And is it even possible?
Nausea is my first brush with the philosophy of “Existentialism”. For the uninitiated like me, this
is the concept of putting the I in the middle of the universe and seeing and reasoning everything
through his perspective. If he doesn’t see something, it doesn’t exist. If his dreams are walking,
the dreams exist. If his memory fails, the memories don’t exist. If he can touch his pain, the
pain exists. This branch of philosophy grants supreme status to the individual; in fact, the
individual is the only legitimate student of this school of thought.
My first book (and first reading) on the philosophy of “Existentialism” was, err, erratic! There
was so much happening and yet, so little was happening. It was like a whole chapter of fifty
pages have been written and the pen had not moved from the first word, in essence that is. I
read this book twice, just to get a little grasp over it. I might have failed miserably though.
“A crowd is untruth.”
This simple statement of Soren Kierkegaard is like that bottomless bit
into which one can contract a free fall forever and never reach the destination. And Sartre,
made this pit a bit more hostile when he said, “life begins on the other side of despair.”
Nausea is a collection of diary entries of Antoine Roquentin, a writer, who is trying to piece
together an article during his stay at Bouville. For the outsider, he is a fairly well-placed guy,
staying in a hotel, visiting cafes for drinks, spending time at libraries, moving between smaller
junctions on foot and train and picking up random conversations without a hiccup. But for
Roquentin, its nothing but a pungent façade. He is lonely and devoid of friends. He has had a
failed love affair which he is unable to forget. He is here for a specific assignment whose
foundation even, is eluding him. For him, all the “society-approved” activities, that the outsider
finds meritorious and gay, are no more that solid, cotton balls, drifting in air aplenty, obliterating
his views by colluding his concentration and squashing his sanity.
He is searching in vain for a meaning of his being, to attach a gravitas to his floating body and
imbecile mind but he mostly bites the dust. His continuous failed trysts with truth and purpose
turns him into a walking wall of disgust and scorn, whose venomous bricks start infecting each
other and rendering its whole structure, slowly, invalid. His nausea follows him everywhere and
unleashes its vomit at all paces, without mercy. So, he sees a well-synchronized, melodious
jazz piece as nothing more than a bunch of forced notes, destined to born and die in quick play.
Their existence, terminated. He views a face on a poster as aligned to the words on the poster
only till the time someone tears the poster apart. The duo’s existence, terminated. In his eyes,
the pleasant mast of a Sunday morning is alive only till it is forcefully gulped down by the
Sunday Evening (which is more faithful to a busy Monday Morning). The Morning’s existence,
terminated. He is overcome by rage at the sight of something as trivial as cold meat but doesn’t
feel a drop of water between his eyelids at the sight of an utterly detached beloved. He
surprises himself with his scribbling, which on touching the diary, at once, turns alien.
He rambles with his dreams, his musings and his world for long. And at long last, he sees the
blinding truth at the feet of a chestnut tree. Its root, kneaded into existence. The existence of the
leaves, the branches, the bark, the root were abstract and not relative. Each of them, in their
own way, would chart out a course: the leaves sprouting out, ripening, falling and kissing the
earth; the branches extending, withering and regrouping into ashes; the bark, growing,
plateauing and stunting into sterility and the roots, encroaching, entangling, sucking and falling
into quietude in some other field. They would not enclose each other, although, they would
coherently look a part of the bigger picture.
Roquentin, suddenly, realized that although shaping the walls of existence was primarily an
individual exercise, a mission of a perennial kind, it can be erected by the help of friends, and
memories. None of the friends or memories form the existence but they can act as a preface to
an effective existence. Nothing is meaningless; yes, even the nausea, as long as it leaves
between its spell, a meaningful existence, a vehicle on which an individual can mount and
successfully cross another bout of nausea.
For a novice like me, it was an immensely intense read, and an engaging one too. I read in a
few articles that Sartre, although credited for his huge contribution to Existentialism, was not
credited much for his narrative skills. I don’t know how much of it is true but I thoroughly
enjoyed his simple yet vivid language. His attention to detail was captivating. Sample this:
When Roquentin is witnessing a game of cards: “The cards fall on the woollen cloth, spinning.
The hands with ringed fingers come and pick them up, scratching the cloth with their nails.”
And when Roquentin is lying in bed at night and a window by his bedside is open: "Calm.
Calm. I can no longer feel the slipping, the rustling of time. I see pictures on the ceilings. First
rings of light, then crosses. They flutter. And now another picture is forming, at the bottom of my
eyes this time.”
My mind needs to dwell a little more on this neo-concept of Existentialism. I have just seen a
sparkle on the reticent surface of earth and it is enough for me to get a spade and dig further to
get to its developed roots.
MJ Nicholls: An insufferable philosophical classic, penned in nauseating and styleless first
person prose. Roquentin is an arrogant buffoon whose existential woes are trivial, arch and
pathetic. No attempt to create a novel has been made, apart from using that most lazy of
constructs, the diary, opening the whole work out to a meandering thought-stream of
excruciating random dullness. It isn’t accessible to confused students, unless those students
happen to be aesthetes on private incomes writing dull historical theses, who like lifeless tracts
of flat and horrible prose and can tolerate being bashed over the head with dated postwar ideas.
I think that was Sartre’s intention, anyway, I might be wrong. But I get it. Yes. OK. Thanks. Life
is horrible, etc, free will is illusory, etc etc. Got it. I read up to p50. That’ll do. The novel was
never a useful medium for complex philosophical ideas, except perhaps Camus’s The Stranger,
but that was under one hundred pages, and so tolerable. Absolute tish-pock.
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???? ????? ?? ???? ???? ?????,??? ???, ?? ????? ?????? ? ??? ?????? ????, ?? ????? ??????,
?? ??????? ???? ???:? ?? ??? ??? ????? ???? ?? ??? ? ?? ???? ??? ????, ???? ???? ?? ?????.
? ??? ?????? ???? ?????? ?? ????...????? ?? ????? ????? ???, ???? ????? ?? ?????? ?? ?? ??
?? ?? ????.
?? ?? ??????:??? ???, ?? ???? ???? ? ??? ???? ????? ?? ????? ??? ?? ???.???? ?? ???, ?????
???? ??? ??????? ?? ??? ? ???? ???? ?? ????? ??? ?? ????.?? ???? ?? ?? ???? ????? ?? ?? ???
????? ?? ???, ?? ?????? ?? ?????? ????? ???_??? ??? ???? ?????? ??? ?????, ????? ?? ?????
?? ?? ??? ???? ????_?? ??? ??? ?? ?? ?? ??????? ?? ???? ????? ? ????? ?? ?? ?? ??.
??? ????? ?? ?????? ???? ?? ??? ? ?? ?????? ?? ????…
Elizabeth Cárdenas: i need to admit that I learn this ebook in the summertime among
completing highschool and beginning collage - a time whilst I felt convinced every thing i might
been taught used to be irrelevant. whilst I learn Nausea, i presumed and acted like I had
chanced on the holy grail! I advised all my associates (all three of them) that they had to learn it.
I fell in love with this booklet with the depth just a younger individual of their past due young
people can. (Evidently no longer all youth think this way. My ally nonetheless blames me ruining
her summer time by way of insisting that she learn it.)It isn't really inevitably that the e-book
published all of the secrets and techniques of the universe to me, however it did begin a
complete summer season of revelations. within the means of having to give an explanation for
why i presumed this ebook was once so nice I beginning pondering (capital "t" no longer a
mistype) rationally and understanding sound argument isn't really only an issue of volume, wit
and "touches!" I learn extra Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir in addition to different sleek
philosophers. I additionally started setting up my philosophy.Philosophy itself was once a brand
new notion to me. now not simply because i did not find out about it, yet simply because I had a
obscure concept that philosophy had pretty well started and ended with the Greeks. OK,
probably i might even upload St. Augustine - yet by means of then i used to be already
"outgrowing" the Catholic Church. i used to be primed for brand spanking new ideas.Am I an
existentialist or a Marxist now? the one method i will solution that's that after one has
accomplished 10 or so years past 19, event teaches you that existence is simply too advanced
so as to outline your self via one or phrases which are loaded with dynamite. All that i believe
certain approximately is that I nonetheless conciser myself a feminist and that i nonetheless
have sufficient optimism to name myself a liberal.I do suggest this ebook - if for not anything
else to problem your ideas. If for you, as for me, it seems to be the center of a wheel with many
spokes, you're in for many research. I provide it four stars for being not easy and thoughtprovoking.
Fewlas: Sono sempre intenta a scovare un equivalente musicale alle mie letture, ma questa
volta Sartre mi ha facilitato il compito. Il suo Roquentin è infatti stregato da questo ragtime anni
’20: ”Some of those days” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_0ldg.... Sono quasi sicura che
sia questo. Il pezzo è lui. Roquentin parla di una cantante negra. Sophie Tucker è bianca, l. a.
sua voce, sebbene a volte bluesy, non esprime los angeles solita potenza delle più word
vocalità blues. “Tra un momento ci sarà il ritornello: è sopratutto questo che mi piace e l. a.
maniera improvvisa con cui si getta avanti come una scogliera contro il mare. consistent with
ora suona soltanto il jazz, non v’è melodia, solo note, una miriade di piccole scosse. Non
hanno sosta, un ordine inflessibile le fa nascere e le distrugge, senza mai lasciar loro l’agio di
riprendersi, di esistere in step with se stesse. Corrono, s’inseguono, passando mi colpiscono
con un urto secco, e s’annullano. Mi piacerebbe trattenerle, ma so che se arrivassi advert
afferrarne una, tra le dita non resterebbe che un suono volgare e languido. Devo accettare l. a.
loro morte; devo perfino volerla: conosco poche impressioni più aspre e più forti.”Questo brano
descrive bene l. a. nausea, sebbene questa non vi sia neppure nominata. Descrive il concetto di
fuggevolezza delle cose. Uno scorrimento d’esistenze singole: una nota che nasce ed è già
morta, ma anche un alito di vento e le fronde da esso mosse: sono tutte minuscole esistenze
che non hanno pace di realizzarsi, di divenire totali. Il processo di totalizzazione è sempre in
corso e non coincide mai con una totalità già data. È ciò che Sartre chiama il pratico-inerte. E, a
mio avviso, il tanto sviscerato paragone con Hegel qui nasce e qui si ferma.Per Sartre il praticoinerte è los angeles realtà oggettiva, l’essenza della materia, il residuo della prassi. E si
concretizza -o materializza- come mera oggettività. Da qui il ciottolo dal quale fuoriesce l. a.
nausea according to los angeles prima volta. Dall’essenza del sasso. Cosa estranea al
soggetto. Cosa che si fa sentire esterna e corporea. Cosa che aliena il soggetto, perché è una
minaccia in step with l’uomo, costretto advert agire, advert esteriorizzarsi anche lui consistent
with sentirsi oggetto. Da qui il paragone con Hegel: perché l’alienazione coincide con
l’oggettivazione.Sartre approfondisce questi concetti in “L’essere e il nulla”.La nausea è un
sentimento che si avverte quando ci si accorge dell’assurda contingenza della realtà.
Dell’inutilità, quindi, dell’esistenza. Esistere di fatto vs esistere di diritto. Il mondo c’è perché
c’è, e non ha alcuna base. Gli esseri che lo percepiscono e lo vivono come qualcosa di
ragionevole, come qualcosa che si basi su un fondamento, esistono di diritto. Al privilegiato che
riesce a rendersi conto dell’assurda contingenza dell’esistenza non è dato esistere di diritto.
Esistono di diritto i piccoli borghesi di provincia che “escono dagli uffici, dopo los angeles
giornata di lavoro, guardano le case e le piazze con aria soddisfatta, pensano che è l. a. loro
città, una bella città borghese. Non hanno paura, si sentono a casa propria…”. Tutti questi
uomini con esistenze di diritto non temono l’erosione del passato. Perché solo il nauseato si
rende conto del nulla delle azioni, e allora anche il narrarsi è impresa difficile. Gli attimi nascono
e muoiono come le be aware del pezzo jazz. E, se pur si riesce a narrare qualcosa, non è ciò
che si è vissuto davvero.Ma narrarsi è una modalità d’esistenza solida, si esiste di diritto
quando los angeles parola ha il dono demiurgico d’inventarci los angeles vita. Ma eccola di
nuovo, los angeles distinzione: l’uomo che esiste di diritto racconta los angeles sua esistenza;
il suo passato (che il nauseato ben sa, non è mai esistito) diventa ricordo, aneddoto, saggezza,
esperienza. Quest’uomo tenta di oggettivarsi, gioca l. a. sua parte, esiste. Roquentin, come
tutti i melanconici, ha serie difficoltà a ricordarsi cosa sia accaduto. Tenta di giocare l. a. sua
parte da scrittore, come gioca l. a. sua parte los angeles negra che canta:“La negra canta.
Allora, è possibile giustificare l. a. propria esistenza? Un pochino?”A proposito di tipi
melanconici, ecco un curioso aneddoto: “La nausea" period originariamente intitolato
“Melancholia". Simone de Beauvoir cube che son stati altri a consigliare a Sartre questo nuovo
titolo. Altri descrivono meglio il ragionamento dello scrittore, l. a. ragione del suo cambiamento.
Il titolo originario, infatti, si ispirava all’omonima stampa di Dürer.La figura alata, simbolo della
pensosità umana, rappresenta i conflitti del cosmo. Il riferimento a questa stampa non ha avuto
successo, non ha vinto, perché il dolore che Sartre intendeva descrivere non si conciliava
affatto con l. a. modalità di aggiustamento tutta rinascimentale che si trova nella stampa.
Nessun raziocinio potrebbe porre superb all’ineluttabilità del conflitto uomo-oggetto.Ritornando
al paragone con il finalismo hegeliano. Anch’esso è di breve durata. E l. a. conseguenza
sembrerebbe essere in contraddizione con los angeles scelta pessimistica del titolo. Un passo
alla volta..Ciò che distanzia Sartre da Hegel è los angeles conclusione della storia, l. a. ragione
consistent with los angeles quali molti poi considereranno l. a. filosofia di Sartre una filosofia
“delle responsabilità”, e non “della disperazione”: Sartre non accetta l. a. concezione marxista
ed hegeliana dell’uomo schiavo di meccanismi storici; rifiuta l. a. passività dell’uomo perché
non crede in quella legge d’immanenza hegeliana che prevede l’annullamento dell’uomo. Vi è
l. a. nausea, ma vi è anche il suo superamento. Vale a dire los angeles presa di coscienza e
l’assunzione di responsabilità.Ma a me, che tanto è piaciuta los angeles descrizione che Sartre
fa di questa epifania francese ed esistenzialista, il superamento un po’ annoia. [Ecco un
hyperlink dove se ne parla un po’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOnRTX...] E, siccome in
keeping with narrarlo bisognerebbe stare a parlare ancora un po’ di coscienza e di essere in sé
(distinzione necessaria in line with giungere advert una positiva risoluzione del conflitto uomomondo), mi fermo qua. Ma prima una confessione..Sempre intenta a scovare un equivalente
musicale alle mie letture, non mi son voluta accontentare del suggerimento di Sartre e concludo
questo mio commento con Il comportamento di Gaber. Canzone che traduce in un linguaggio
semplice e diretto quello che io ho cercato di descrivere sopra. Buon
ascolto.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaSyow...Il comportamentoMio nonno è sempre mio
nonnoè sempre Ambrogio in ogni momentovoglio dire che non ha problemidi comportamento.Io
non assomiglio advert Ambrogiol'interezza non è il mio forteper essere a mio agioho bisogno di
una parte.Per esempio, quando sto in campagnaed accendo il fuoco nel caminolentamente
raccolgo l. a. legnae mi muovo come un contadino.Quando in treno incontro una donnaio
m'invento serio e riservatofaccio quello che parla pocoma c'ha dietro tutto un passato.E se mi
viene bene, se l. a. parte mi funzionaallora mi sembra di essere una persona.Qualche volta
metto il mio giacconegrigioverde tipo guerriglieroe ci metto dentro il mio corpoe già che ci sono
anche il mio pensiero.Quando invece sto leggendo Hegelmi concentro, sono tutto presonon da
Hegel, naturalmentema dal mio fascino di studioso.E se mi viene bene, se l. a. parte mi
funzionaallora mi sembra di essere una persona.Mio nonno si è scelto una parteche non
cambia in ogni momentovoglio dire che c'ha un solo comportamento.Io invece ho sempre
bisognodi una nuova definizionee gli altri fanno lo stessoè una tacita convenzione.Non ne
posso più di recitaredi fingere consistent with darmi un tonoio mi mostro senza pudorepur di
essere quel che sono.E se mi viene bene, se los angeles parte mi funzionaallora mi sembra di
essere una persona.Se un giorno noi cercassimo chi siamo veramenteho il sospetto che non
troveremmo niente.
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