Book Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea

Nausea

The Depleted Life

"Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the Nausea." Bang! At this point I wanted to tell Antoine Roquentin that he is not alone in his misery. That I too have been afflicted with "the Nausea."

Perhaps it would be best to describe exactly what "the Nausea" is, or at least how this humble reader has apprehended it. First I should probably state that "the Nausea" isn't misery. Misery is its own condition. However, misery can be precipitated by "the Nausea." And, yes, "the Nausea" also carries with it the same physical manifestations of the literal term 'nausea,' i.e. vertigo, sweating, upset stomach, etc.

But to better explain what "the Nausea" really is, let us turn back to the book, Antoine Roquentin writes in his journal, "I have no taste for work any longer, I can do nothing except wait for night." In one sense "the Nausea" is utter indifference to the world, a sort of depression, fugue-like state of mind. And what seems to be the worst part of feeling this way, is not the fact that one no longer cares about the world -- it's the fact that one cannot care about the world. The will or desire to care is there, but the capacity to care is gone, which suggests that "the Nausea" is not self-imposed, it's not intentional apathy. Rather, 'the Nausea" is a disease, a disease that is brought about by sustained exposure to the idea (or the plain reality) that life is void of meaning.

I've known other people who have been afflicted with this disease. F. Scott Fitzgerald had it. In his essay The Crack-Up, Fitzgerald discussed his version of "the Nausea," he wrote, "So there was not an "I" anymore -- not a basis on which I could organize my self-respect -- save my limitless capacity for toil that it seemed I possessed no more. It was strange to have no self -- to be like a little boy left along in a big house, who knew that now he could do anything he wanted to do, but found that there was nothing that he wanted to do."

All of Fitzgerald's vitality slipped through a crack in his very being. He was, at one point, a happy man, a vibrant man, but like Antoine he began to confront the things around him, the people, the material world, and soon found that there was no higher order. As a result, he questioned his very existence, his very purpose for living. What happened to Fitzgerald is the same thing that happens to Antoine, he became completely dispossessed of the person he once was.

The Nausea is, therefore, a process of losing one's convictions, aspirations, and desires. It leads one to question his/her very existence. Like Antoine does, "My existence was beginning to cause me some concern. Was I a mere figment of the imagination?" It's a hollowing out of the soul.

So, like all diseases, is there a cure? Is there something one can do to overcome 'the Nausea?"

Well, Antoine eventually finds solace in the idea of free will, the notion that one can create meaning, assign meaning, value, worth, etc. even if there is none.

However, to give something meaning is a tenuous and fragile action. For one thing the meaning is arbitrary and, for another, the onus for keeping the meaning intact relies solely on the individual's fortitude to keep it there, especially if that something that has been given meaning has been ascribed with an abstract idea or concept, i.e. Antoine is a great person and a good friend. In order for this to be valid, Antoine has to believe it and, ideally, get other people to believe it as well. He has to have unwavering commitment to that meaning.