The child throws a tantrum and everyone around jumps in anxiety. Oh poor boy. “Can’t stop.” Or he didn’t want to throw a tantrum – but something went wrong.
Actually, it can. And everything went according to plan.
There are no “innocent” children, and Dostoevsky’s Nastasya Filippovna knows very well what she is doing. Everyone knows what they’re getting into. This is why Sartre was skeptical of Freud’s idea of the unconscious. Nothing relieves a person of responsibility. If you want freedom, show it. Well, get down. Or throw money into the fireplace and see how someone climbs into the fireplace for your money. But don’t tell me it’s rolling and that money thrown in the fireplace isn’t up to you. How addicted.
(This has become particularly evident with the penetration of internet networks into a person’s life. Here a longtime stalker or random psychopath comes running to you – if he knew that punishment would be inevitable as he did in real life, not among humans and electronic shadows. Of course he wouldn’t have acted like this.
Jean-Paul Sartre said: A person is made up of other people. He is equal to all and others are equal to him.
They say that before his death he confessed to his literary secretary: “My writings fail. I didn’t say everything I wanted, nor did I say it the way I wanted. I think the future will refute most of my judgments; I hope some will pass the test, but in any case History is slowly moving towards a man-to-man understanding…”.
A friend of mine once admitted: “Women can be unhappy. Without a doubt. She’s wearing make up or her face is beautiful. Well dressed. But if he’s shorter than you, you’ll see his crown. And this crown is sometimes not combed, and even if it is combed, it does not matter: a woman’s crown is also the most helpless and beautiful. A woman can only be loved for her crown.
Sartre is in no hurry to love anyone. But he says something like this (but could it be my friend who got the idea from him?): “People should be looked down upon. I turn off the light and stand by the window; they do not even suspect that they can be viewed from above; They deal with the front, sometimes the back, but all their tricks are designed for an observer seventy meters tall.
Sartre, of course, is in no hurry to love anyone, but he also hates very little.
Does this same her words lead to Françoise Sagan? (Go check it out – he said so, no).
“Sartre once told me that very intelligent people are not bad, that anger implies narrow-mindedness, a priori stupidity.”
… It was necessary to enter the words about Internet networks, which were previously in parentheses: now the collective bad guy gets the right to stupidity a priori.
Sartre, of course, could not have imagined that the world would soon expose everything to the public: blogs, YouTube channels, death and life on the air. Now everyone is watching everyone – you can only hide once in your life without going online, that is, even if it’s just on a call. Sartre knew nothing about our current illness, but wrote about something else, as if it were about us:
“I think the reason the daily is dangerous: you’re always on the alert, you exaggerate everything, and you constantly violate the truth.”
Now we can watch any battle even at arm’s length (via a camera in a helmet or pocket). And even if everything in us has not yet disappeared and we are ashamed and avert our eyes – but that changes nothing: we look anyway.
“People. People should be loved. People deserve admiration. Now I’m going to be fired.
Here it is, hell! It would have never occurred to me… Remember: sulphur, grills, barbecue… This is all bullshit. What’s up with a barbecue: hell Others.
We are this hell, we are these others.
…By the way, interesting. Did the creators of Alien have Sartre in mind?
This is an old movie by today’s standards – probably no one watches it anymore. But in my youth they watched.
As always, in the uncertain distant future, a cargo ship returning to Earth receives a strange signal. He comes from an unknown planet. The crew cancels the return to Earth, and upon arrival on this planet, they discover objects resembling giant cocoons on a forgotten space station.
It is a 1979 movie. But even if you’ve never watched it, you’ve already guessed what kind of cocoon they are and what they threaten people with.
Here, actually hell – it’s Aliens. In Sartre’s case, Others.
…I really like the story of Sartre’s rejection of the Nobel Prize in 1964. Received “for creativity rich in ideas, full of the spirit of freedom and the pursuit of truth”.
We know of another Nobel laureate who refused the award.
But if, six years ago, in 1958, Pasternak was at first very pleased with this award (his son recalled: “We were delighted to learn that in the evening of that day in Moscow my father was awarded the Nobel Prize. and that it meant a speech… How beautiful and meaningful it would be! The victory seemed to us so complete and wonderful. But our dreams were shamed and trampled on by the newspapers. It came out the next morning. It was inwardly embarrassing and disgusting “), then Sartre He didn’t even want to be happy.
He refused this top award in one’s opinion, explaining it by the fact that he “doesn’t want to be turned into a public institution”. He disliked the “political implications of the Nobel Prize”.
As I understand it, this is freedom. For that, they actually gave him an award. Not the money our Nastasya Filippovna threw into the fireplace, not the tantrum of a child on the floor. But simply, “I don’t want to be turned into a public institution.” (And we don’t refuse).
“As long as you live, there is no adventure. Decorations change, people come and go, that’s all. Don’t start at all. The days add up pointlessly, endlessly and monotonously. You realize that you’re involved in a story. But it’s a brief moment. And then everything goes on as before and you add hours and days again. Monday Tuesday Wednesday. April May June. 1924, 1925, 1926″.
April is very important to me here. Sartre died on April 15. It happened in Paris in 1980.
According to the oral will, there was no official burial – Sartre himself requested this shortly before his death. Intimacy has always been important to him – and there are big problems with intimacy at obituaries and funerals. Only the closest ones really cry at the coffin. Or don’t cry. But this black silence is stronger than any cry.
However (and I don’t even know how to relate to it: is that true? – after all, this is a completely unimaginable number), as the humble procession passed by the places he loved so much on the left bank of Paris. They spontaneously joined fifty thousand people.
…Fifty thousand Others bid farewell to their Aliens.