Let me preface this post with a few things. First off, there are no guarantees that it will be coherent. I’m writing this in one sweep, so bear with me. Second, I am not claiming to have any mastery of philosohpy, or existentialism. These are the simple thoughts that I had after finising and pondering over the book Nausea, by Sartre. I also recently read Notes from Underground, and the Plague, so I’ve had a little run of existential work (I’ve read the Stranger a few times also).

Is our existence neccessary? The answer is no. That’s made clear by Sartre. To realize this, and accept it, puts one a step closer to being free, and living authentically. The suggestion made in Nausea is that people are simply too afraid, too comfortable to challenge themselves and see the absurdity of life. Throughout much of the book, this awareness seems to be driving the main character mad. It continues until at one point he states that the nausea is a part of him, and he accepts that.

Now it may be my lack of full understanding, or perhaps it was left incomplete, but it’s never clear to me why we should need this awareness. I suppose there’s something superior about it, to see life and existence for what it truly is instead of being wrapped up in the meaningless stuff around you. Unfortunately that awareness seems to create misery, confusion, or in this case, insanity. Is it important to ponder your own existence? Certainly. To do it to the point where you’re horrified though, I don’t see the benefit. Sartre even dismisses the notion of attaching value to our existence. Even relative value is not acceptable, it seems, and it is probably not worth it. So is it better to be aware of the absurdity of our existence, and to think about it? I’m not so sure, I almost think I rather be a moustache.