by Jean-Paul Sartre
Although I would not say that I am uninterested in philosophy, it is not a subject to which I have given a great deal of attention.
Therefore, I may not be the best audience for this literary explication of existentialism.
Having said that, I found Jean-Paul Sartre's prose frequently evocative, but his hero, Roquentin, was extremely frustrating.
Indeed, his bouts of existentialist horror triggered by such commonplace realia as chairs, trees, and hands made him seem mentally disturbed.
Of course, I don't believe that all existentialists are crazy, but I do wonder which came first, the chicken or the egg--is this philosophy a clear-eyed look at reality that naturally leads to ennui, or is it a rationale for inaction and fear constructed by highly intelligent depressives?
Perhaps Woody Allen said it best: "The mind is the most over-rated organ in the body."
If it makes us catatonic with horror at the sight of a tree, then ignorance really is bliss.
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