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Royal Institute of Philosophy

Sartre and the Drug Connection


Author(s): Carole Haynes-Curtis
Source: Philosophy, Vol. 70, No. 271 (Jan., 1995), pp. 87-106
Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of Royal Institute of Philosophy
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
CAROLE HAYNES-CURTIS
Sartre's
experimentation
in
February
1935 with the
drug
mescalin
has been well documented
by
Simone de Beauvoir in her book The
Prime
of Life.'
She recalls that Sartre
experienced
under the influ-
ence of the
drug
not
exactly hallucinations,
'but the
objects
he
looked at
changed
their
appearance
in the most
horrifying
man-
ner:'
[POL 209].
The residual effects of this
nightmarish experi-
ence left
Sartre,
not
only
for several
days
'in a state of
deep depres-
sion'
[POL 210],
but also
produced
moods that 'recalled those that
had been induced
by
mescalin.'
[Ibid.],
which haunted him for
many years
to come.
By
all
accounts,
what Sartre
experienced
is
what is
colloquially
termed a 'Bad
Trip'.
To
my knowledge,
no
connection has been made between Sartre's
experimentation
with
mescalin and the residual effects it
produced,
and his
subsequent
ontological description regarding
the nature of
Being-in-itself.
The aim of this
paper
is to
provide
evidence that such a connection
can indeed be
made, by showing
that at least some of what Sartre
experienced
under the influence of mescalin and its residual
effects,
he took to be akin to a
metaphysical
revelation about the
true nature of
Being-in-itself.
This revelation he
encapsulated
ini-
tially
in his
philosophical
novel Nausea2 and later to some extent in
his
major philosophical work, Being
and
Nothingness.3
1. The Novel Nausea as a
Philosophical
and Semi-
Autobiographical
Work.
Before an examination of the novel Nausea its status as a
philos-
ophical
and
semi-autobiographical
work should
perhaps
be exam-
ined. It
may
be
objected
that reference
being
made to what is a
work of fiction and not a
philosophical
tract
by
the author is
unfair,
in that the work should be viewed as
primarily
that of liter-
ature,
and not
philosophy.
I am not
alone, however,
in
thinking
'
The Prime
of Life, Beauvoir,
Simone de trans. Peter Green
(London:
Penguin Books, 1965).
Referred to in text as POL.
2
Nausea, Sartre, Jean-Paul
trans. Robert Baldick
(London: Penguin
Books, 1965).
Referred to in text as N.
3
Being
and
Nothingness, Sartre, Jean-Paul
trans. Hazel E. Barnes
(London:
Methuen & Co.
Ltd., 1958).
Referred to in text as BN.
Philosophy
70 1995 87
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
that the novel Nausea is
primarily
a
philosophical,
rather than a
literary work,
and that hence
Roquentin's descriptions
of the nau-
sea he
experienced
in his encounters with Brute
existence,
even
though
made in a novel
by
a fictional
character, nevertheless,
have
some
philosophical bearing
on Sartre's later
ontology
contained in
Being
and
Nothingness.
On this first
point,
Solomon
says
that 'In
Nausea,
for
example,
the line
separating philosophy
and literature
is blurred
beyond recognition.'4
While Murdoch sees La Nausee as
'the instructive overture to Sartre's work'5 and
Warnock,
to use
her own
words, quotes
'from this
early
novel at
great length,
for
there are here all the elements of the
description
of the world
which Sartre was to
give
in
Being
and
Nothingness;
and the
way
in
which the
description
was first
given,
here,
is of
great
importance.'6
Neither am I alone in
thinking
that the character of
Roquentin
although
fictional
can, nevertheless,
to some
degree
be identified
with that of
Sartre,
and that therefore some of
Roquentin's experi-
ences could be attributed to Sartre himself as
semi-autobiographi-
cal. Salvan writes that 'Sartre
appears
in his
novels,
sometimes in
transparent guise,
as
Roquentin,
for
example
in Nausea'.7 Beauvoir
informs us that
just prior
to
taking
mescalin
Sartre,
while
working
on the
philosophical
tract
L'Imagination,
drew 'on
personal experi-
ence for all his material'
[POL 208],
and that
having
been
informed that the
drug
induced hallucinations he took it in order
to 'observe the
phenomenon
in himself.'
[POL 209]
How much his
experiences
under mescalin or its residual effects contributed to
the contents of
L'Imagination,
I do not
speculate.
Beauvoir also informs
us, however,
that
prior
to the time that
Sartre
experimented
with mescalin he was in addition
undertaking
'a
scrupulous
revision of
every single page' [POL 201]
of the sec-
ond version of his book Nausea
or,
to be more
precise,
Melancholia
as it was then called. This revision was to take a further two
years:
two
years
in which the residual effects of the mescalin
experience
which furnished Sartre 'with certain
hallucinatory patterns' [POL
211]
still
pervaded
his consciousness. It is
not,
therefore, entirely
unreasonable to think that at least some
passages
in the novel
Solomon,
Robert C. From Rationalism to Existentialism
(England:
Harvester
Press, 1978) pp.
247.
5
Murdoch,
Iris Sartre: Romantic Realist
(London: Penguin Books,
1989) pp.
51.
6
Warnock, Mary
The
Philosophy of
Sartre
(London:
Hutchinson & Co.
Ltd.,
1965) pp.
96-97.
7
Salvan, Jacques
To Be and Not to Be
(Detroit,
USA:
Wayne
State
University Press, 1962) pp.
xxxi.
88
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
Nausea
may
have been based
upon personal experiences,
which
may
themselves have been
descriptive
of Sartre's own
experiences
under the influence of mescalin or its residual effects. And
although,
later in
life,
Sartre
may
well have
become,
as Marie-
Denise Boras Azzi informs
us,
'critical of the character of
Roquentin
and of his
relationship
with
him'8, he, nevertheless,
confesses that the character of
'Roquentin
was a reflection of him-
self'9. Hence it comes as no
surprise
that Sartre should further
admit, 'that,
while
writing Nausea,
he lacked a sense of
reality'10,
nor that traces of Sartre's mescalin
experience
are indeed to be
found within the
pages
of the novel.
2. Traces of the Mescalin
experience
to be found in the
novel Nausea
There are three main elements of Sartre's mescalin
experience
and
its residual
effects,
traces of which can be found in the novel
Nausea. One is the
appearance
of crustaceans such as crabs and
lobsters,
and two is the distortion of the visual faculties and the
subsequent
horror this
produces.
These first two elements are
closely interconnected,
but it is the latter in
particular
which I
believe
gives
rise to the third and final element viz. the
psychologi-
cal
feeling
of nausea itself when faced with Brute
existence,
which
Sartre takes to be
metaphysically revelatory.
With
regard
to the first element Beauvoir informs us that for sev-
eral
years
after his
experimentation
with mescalin Sartre had
peri-
ods when 'he could
really
be convinced that there was a lobster
trotting along
behind him.'
[POL 210]
The
lobster,
or
lobsters,
for
apparently
there could be more than
one, evidently
came and
went,
for at times Sartre
managed to,
'throw the lobsters off his track'
[POL
256]
or send them
packing
[POL
220],
but
they always
seemed to
reappear. [POL 274]
The
image
of Sartre
promenading
around
Europe
followed
by
crustaceans is one that is well known to
those who have studied
Sartre,
and is
generally
seen as no more
than a trivial rather
amusing eccentricity
about the
man,
so much
so that one
might
almost
say
that it has become an 'in
joke'
in such
circles. But from where does this
eccentricity originate?
8
Azzi,
Marie-Denise Boros
'Representation
of Character in Sartre's
Drama, Fiction,
and
Biography'
The
Philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre,
Paul
Arthur
Schilpp (ed.)
The
Library
of
Living Philosophers,
Vol. XVI
(Carbondale,
USA: Southern Illinois
University, 1981) p.
466.
9
Ibid.
10
Ibid.
89
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
It seems clear that the
peculiar
notion of
being pursued by
predatory
crustaceans
originated
for Sartre with his
experience
under the influence of the
drug
mescalin: 'while behind
him, just
past
the corner of his
eye,
swarmed crabs and
polyps
and
grimac-
ing Things.' [POL 209]
Claude Francis and Fernande Gontier in
their
biography
of Simone de Beauvoir believe that Sartre later
bestowed these visions of vicious crustaceans to 'a character in his
play
The Condemned
of
Altona'."
If it is true that Sartre bestowed
visions
resulting
from his mescalin
experience
to a character in a
play published
some
twenty years later,
it seems
likely
that he
would have used some of the same
experiences
in the book he was
revising
at the
time,
and sure
enough
if we examine
Nausea,
refer-
ences to crustaceans do
appear.
It wasn't the fellow's
poverty-stricken appearance
which
fright-
ened
us,
. . . but we felt that he was
shaping
crab-like or lobster-
like
thoughts
in his head. And it terrified us to think that some-
one could have lobster-like
thoughts
about the
sentry box,
about
our
hoops,
about the bushes. Is it that which awaits me then?
For the first time it disturbs me to be alone. I should like to talk
to someone about what is
happening
to me before it is too
late,
before I start
frightening
little
boys. [N 20]
'And under the water? Haven't
you thought
about what there
may
be under the water?' A monster? A
huge carapace,
half
embedded in the mud? A dozen
pairs
of claws
slowly
furrow the
slime. The monster raises itself a
little, every
now and then. At
the bottom of the water.
[N 116]
Most
interesting
however is the
passage
from Nausea where
Roquentin
believes himself to be a
crab, just
the
metamorphosis
of
which he is fearful in the first extract above.
I don't need to turn round to know that
they
are
watching
me
through
the
windows; they
are
looking
at
my
back with
surprise
and
disgust: they thought
that I was like
them,
that I was a
man,
and I deceived them. All of a
sudden,
I lost the
appearance
of a
man and
they
saw a crab
escaping
backwards from that all too
human room. Now the unmasked intruder has fled: the show
goes
on. ... If I
grabbed
one of them
by
the
lapels
of his
coat,
if
I said to him: 'Come to
my help,'
he would think: 'What the
devil is this crab?' and would run
off, leaving
his coat in
my
hands.
[N
178]
"
Francis,
Claude and
Gontier,
Fernande Simone de Beauvoir Trans.
Lisa Nesselson
(London:
Minerva
Paperback, 1992), p.
140.
90
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
This is
interesting
because later in the
play
The Condemned
of
Altona the character of Franz to whom Sartre has bestowed the
visions of vicious crustaceans will
admit, '[With
a sudden
thought]
The crabs are men.
[Pause.]
What?
[He
sits
down.]
Where did I
discover that?
[Pause.]
I knew it ... once ...
Yes, yes, yes.
But
I've
got
so much on
my
mind.'12
Given
that,
as I
maintain,
Sartre also suffered as a residual
effect of the mescalin
experience
a distortion of the visual
faculties,
it is
my
tentative
suggestion
that what Sartre
thought
were lob-
sters
pursuing
him
were,
in
fact, men;
transformed at the time
by
Sartre's distorted vision into
terrifying
crustaceans. This fact he
himself later realized and
acknowledged,
as
above, through
the
words of a fictional character in one of his
plays.
That
aside,
there
seems little doubt that Sartre's fixation with
predatory
crustaceans
originated
from his mescalin
experience,
nor that tentative traces
of this fixation can be found in the
pages
of his novel Nausea.
With
regard
to the second element
concerning
the distortion of
the visual faculties and the
subsequent
horror it
produces,
we are
undoubtedly
on safer
ground.
For
although
no
commentators,
as
far as I
know, expound
the
general
thesis that connects this
change
in visual faculties with Sartre's mescalin
experience
and its resid-
ual
effects,
a
great many
commentators make much of
Roquentin's
description
of the
metamorphosis
of
objects
contained in the
book,
and the
subsequent
horror this
produces.
A connection most com-
mentators
appear
to make when
writing
on this
aspect
of the novel
is with the realization on Sartre's
part
of the failure of the
power
of
words to control
reality;
to
keep,
so to
speak, objects
in their
place,
and there is some truth in this. Before his
experimentation
with
mescalin Sartre had indeed
begun
to realize that the
description
of
an
object,
no matter how
exhaustive,
could never match the actual
being
of the
object.
Beauvoir also
acknowledged
this fact: 'I had
always
maintained that words could not
fully express
the
physical
essence of
reality.' [POL 260]
That Sartre had a fascination with words and the
power
of
words is
again
well known. We need
only
look at the title of the
autobiography
of his
childhood"3,
and the contents therein to con-
firm this. For Sartre to name
something
was in a
sense,
to order
it,
to control
it,
to
put
it in its
place,
hence his
preoccupation
with
words. As Beauvoir tells
us,
'Sartre had
always
been inclined to
verbalize . . . we went on
endlessly trying
to describe the exact
12
Sartre, Jean
Paul Altona and Other
Plays
trans.
Sylvia
and
George
Leeson
(London Penguin Books, 1962), pp.
125.
'3
Sartre, Jean
Paul Words trans. Irene
Clephane (Middlesex: Penguin
Books, 1967).
91
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
taste of a
glass
of
cassis,
or the
precise way
a cheek curved.'
[POL
243]
I have no
quarrel, therefore,
with those commentators who
make such a connection between Sartre's
description
of the meta-
morphosis
of
objects
contained in the novel and his disillusion-
ment with the
power
of words. What I do criticize is their
appar-
ent failure to trace this distortion of the visual
faculties,
which
produced
a
horrifying metamorphosis
of
objects
and hence a sub-
sequent
terror when faced with Brute
existence,
back to Sartre's
experimentation
with mescalin. The evidence for this
is,
I
believe,
overwhelming,
and to
verify
it we need
only compare
Beauvoir's
account of Sartre's mescalin
experience
and the residual effects it
produced,
with Sartre's account of the
experiences
of his fictional
character
Roquentin.
There can be no
doubt,
from the extracts
from Beauvoir
below,
that Sartre's distorted visual faculties and
the
subsequent
horror this
produced originated
for him from his
experimentation
with mescalin.
He had not
exactly
had
hallucinations,
but the
objects
he looked
at
changed
their
appearance
in the most
horrifying
manner:
umbrellas had become
vultures,
shoes turned into
skeletons,
and
faces
acquired
monstrous characteristics.
[POL 209]
In the train he said
very
little. I was
wearing
a
pair
of croco-
dile-skin
shoes,
the laces of which ended in two acorn like
objects;
he
expected
to see them turn into
gigantic dung
beetles
at
any
moment. There was also an
orang-outan,
doubtless
hang-
ing
on to the roof of the
carriage by
its
feet,
which
kept
its leer-
ing
face
glued
to the window.
[POL 209]
For several
days
he had been in a state of
deep depression,
and the moods that came
upon
him recalled those that had been
induced
by
mescalin. This
frightened
him. His visual faculties
became distorted: houses had
leering faces,
all
eyes
and
jaws,
and he couldn't
help looking
at
every
clockface he
passed,
expecting
it to
display
the features of an owl-which it
always
did. He knew
perfectly
well that such
objects
were in fact houses
and
clocks,
and no one could
say
that he believed in their
eyes
and
gaping
maws-but a time
might
well come when he would
believe in
them;
one
day
he could
really
be convinced that there
was a lobster
trotting along
behind him.
[POL 210]
With clocks
changing
into
owls,
houses into
faces,
umbrellas into
vultures,
etc.,
it is no wonder that Sartre wants to retreat to the
power
of
words;
to name
things,
to
put
them in their
place,
to
stop
them
changing
into
something else,
but words are not
powerful
enough.
He knows as Beauvoir
says,
'that it is a
clock',
'that it is a
house' but
just affirming
this
by naming
these
objects
will not
stop
92
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
the dreadful
metamorphosis occurring. Nevertheless,
this is
pre-
cisely
the sort of
defence, given
in the face of the
metamorphosis
of
objects
that
Roquentin experiences
in the
novel,
that Sartre bestows
upon
his fictional character. Hence we find reflected in the extract
from Nausea below all the traces of fear admitted in the mescalin
experience. Something
is
going
on behind
him,
some horrible meta-
morphosis,
which he tries to control with
words, by naming objects
but,
in the novel as in
life,
this defence fails:
An absolute
panic
took hold of me. I no
longer
knew where I
was
going.
... I
kept saying
to
myself
in
anguish:
'Where shall I
go?
Where shall I
go? Anything
can
happen.' Every
now and
then,
with
my
heart
pounding wildly,
I would
suddenly swing
round: what was
happening
behind
my
back?
Perhaps
it would
start behind
me,
and when I
suddenly
turned round it would be
too late. As
long
as I could fix
objects nothing
would
happen:
I
looked at as
many
as I
could, pavements, houses, gas lamps; my
eyes
went
rapidly
from one to the other to catch them out and
stop
them in the middle of their
metamorphosis. They
didn't
look
any
too
natural,
but I told
myself insistently:
'This is a
gas-
lamp,
that is a
drinking fountain,'
and I tried to reduce them to
their
everyday appearance by
the
power
of
my gaze. [N 115]
Later in the novel when
Roquentin
is faced with a
disturbing
con-
frontation with Brute existence in the form of a tram seat. In the
face of what he
sees,
as the
grotesqueness
of
being
revealed
there,
he
resorts
again unsuccessfully
to the defence of the
power
of words.
I lean
my
hand on the
seat,
but I
pull
it
away hurriedly:
the
thing
exists. This
thing
on which I am
sitting,
on which I leaned
my
hand
just now,
is called a seat. ... I murmur: 'It's a
seat,'
rather like an exorcism. But the word remains on
my lips,
it
refuses to settle on the
thing.
It
stays
what it
is,
with its red
plush,
thousands of little red
paws
in the
air,
all
stiff,
little dead
paws.
This
huge belly
turns
upwards, bleeding, puffed up-
bloated with all its dead
paws,
this
belly floating
in this
box,
in
this
grey sky,
is not a seat. It could
just
as well be a dead don-
key,
for
example,
swollen
by
the water and
drifting along, belly
up
on the
great grey river,
a flood
river;
and I would be
sitting
on the
donkey's belly
and
my
feet would be
dangling
in the clear
water.
Things
have broken free from their names.
They
are
there, grotesque, stubborn, gigantic,
and it seem ridiculous to
call them seats or
say anything
at all about them: I am in the
midst of
Things,
which cannot be
given
names.
Alone, wordless,
defenceless, they
surround
me,
under
me,
behind
me,
above me.
93
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
They
demand
nothing, they
don't
impose themselves, they
are
there.
[N 179-180]
The
following
extract from Iris Murdoch's book Sartre-
Romantic Rationalist
gives
what
might
be called the received view
of Sartre's use of
Roquentin's experiences,
of what is
going
on
philosophically
in this and similar extracts.
The
metaphysical
doubt which seizes
Roquentin
is an old and
familiar one .... The doubter sees the world of
everyday reality
as a fallen and
bedraggled place-fallen
out of the realm of
being
into the realm of existence. The circle does not
exist;
but neither
does what is named
by
'black' or 'table' or 'cold'. The relation of
these words to their context of
application
is
shifting
and arbi-
trary.
What does exist is brute and
nameless,
it
escapes
from the
scheme of relations in which we
imagine
it to be
rigidly
enclosed,
it
escapes
from
language
and
science,
it is more than
and other than our
descriptions
of it.
Roquentin experiences
the
full
range
of the
doubt,
and he
experiences
it in a characteristi-
cally up-to-date way.
He feels doubts about induction
[why
not
a
centipede
for a
tongue?]
and about classification
[the seagull],
distress at the
particularity
of
things
and the abstractness of
names
[the tramway seat,
the tree
root].4
There is no doubt that Murdoch and the received view of what is
happening philosophically
in these extracts is correct as far as it
goes.
But it does not
go
far
enough.
She does not ask how Sartre
arrived at this is
point.
The
experiences
Sartre describes in the
novel,
which are reflected in the character of
Roquentin's experi-
ences,
are not those of a man
engaged
in a
dispassionate
intellectu-
al or
philosophical enquiry
into
scepticism.
Nor are
they
those of a
man
engaged
in an intellectual exercise
regarding
the nature and
power
of words.
They
are
descriptive
of a man haunted
by power-
ful visions of the most dreadful
kind,
lost in a world he cannot
control. Thus the error most commentators make when
interpret-
ing
such
passages
from the novel is to think that
Roquentin's expe-
riences of the
horrifying metamorphosis
of
objects,
and hence the
revelation of Brute existence as
terrifying, grotesque
and
offensive,
result from some intellectual or
philosophical
disillusionment on
Sartre's
part regarding
the
power
of words. But this is
wrong.
It is
for Sartre the existential
experiences
of distorted visual faculties
that resulted from his
experimentation
with mescalin that are
reflected in the character
Roquentin's horrifying experiences
and
which, in
turn, acknowledge
with existential
'experiential'
force
14
Murdoch
op. cit., pp.
42-43.
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
the
superficiality
of words and their
subsequent
failure to control
existence.
To be sure Sartre
had,
before his
experimentation
with
mescalin, performed
intellectual exercises which dealt with
philos-
ophical problems regarding
the nature and
power
of
words,
but
the results of these intellectual exercises were tame and
superficial
compared
with the
power
and force of the existential visions
mescalin
provided. Perhaps
the
strongest
evidence for this can be
found
by making
a
comparison
between Sartre's
pre-mescalin
description
of his
experience
when confronted with the famous
chestnut tree root with the
post-mescalin description
of
Roquentin's experience
as it
actually appears
in the novel.
Some time before Sartre
experimented
with
mescalin,
Beauvoir
informs us that she and Sartre were in Paris
discussing,
as was
their
wont,
the relative merits of each other's work. Sartre had
recently
had a work turned down for
publication,
but as Beauvoir
goes
on to
say:
His
pamphlet
'On
Contingency',
which contained the
germ
of
Nausea, promised something
better. One of his
letters,
written
in
October,
described his first encounter with the tree which
was to
occupy
so
important
a
place
in that work: 'I have been to
look at a tree. All
you
need do for such an exercise is . . . select
your victim,
and find a seat. The rest is
contemplation
.... I sat
there
staring
at the tree. It was
extremely beautiful,
and I have
no hesitation about
setting
down here two vital
pieces
of infor-
mation for
my
future
biography:
it was in
Burgos
that I first
understood the
meaning
of a
cathedral,
and in Le Harve that I
first understood the
meaning
of a tree.
Unfortunately,
I'm not
quite
sure what sort of tree it was. You'll be able to tell me ....
rough
sketch attached. I await
your reply.
[It
was in fact a chest-
nut.]
After about
twenty minutes, having
exhausted
my
arsenal
of
comparisons destined,
as Mrs Woolf would
put it,
to turn this
tree into
something
other than
itself,
I
got up
and left with a
good
conscience. . .'
[POL
105-106]
In this
pre-mescalin passage
Sartre finds the tree
beautiful,
and
after
finding
the whole
experience pleasant,
leaves in
'good
con-
science'. Now
compare
this
pre-mescalin passage
with some of the
post-mescalin passages
that
actually appear
in the book
describing
the famous encounter
Roquentin
has with the chestnut tree root
and notice the difference. The whole tone has
changed.
The beau-
tiful has become a
nightmare,
and the
understanding
of the mean-
ing
of the tree distorted
beyond recognition.
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
I was in the
municipal park just
now. The root of the chestnut
tree
plunged
into the
ground just
underneath
my
bench. I no
longer
remembered that it was a root. Words had
disappeared,
and with them the
meaning
of
things,
the methods of
using
them,
the feeble landmarks which men have traced on their sur-
face. I was
sitting, slightly bent, my
head
bowed,
alone in front
of that
black, knotty mass,
which was
utterly
crude and
fright-
ened me.
[N
182]
And
then,
all of a
sudden,
there it
was,
as clear as
day:
exis-
tence had
suddenly
unveiled itself. It had lost its harmless
appearance
as an abstract
category:
it was the
very
stuff of
things,
that root was
steeped
in existence. Or rather the
root,
the
park gates,
the
bench,
the
sparse grass
on the
lawn,
all that had
vanished;
the
diversity
of
things,
their
individuality,
was
only
an
appearance,
a veneer. This veneer had
melted, leaving soft,
monstrous
masses,
in
disorder-naked,
with a
frightening,
obscene nakedness.
[N 183]
In the
post-mescalin description
of the encounter the tree is found
frightening, monstrous,
obscene and naked. The
subject
no
longer
leaves in
'good conscience',
nor finds the
experience pleasant.
Quite
to the
contrary,
the
experience
is one of
fear, loathing
and
disgust
at the
soft,
monstrous masses that lie naked and obscene
before him.
Again
the
descriptive power
of words
fail,
as
Roquentin admits,
'It was no use
my repeating
to
myself:
'It
exists,
it is still
there,
under the
bench, against my right foot',
it
didn't mean
anything any
more.'
[N 189]
The
gentle
exercise in
semantics reflected in the
pre-mescalin
encounter has been
replaced
with an existential realization
that,
'Existence is not
something
which allows itself to be
thought
of from a
distance;
it
has to invade
you suddenly, pounce upon you, weigh heavily
on
your
heart like a
huge
motionless animal.'
[Ibid]
It is
my
con-
tention that the anomalies to be found between the two
disparate
descriptions,
as
given above,
of encounters with a chestnut tree
root,
can
only
be understood in the
light
of Sartre's
experimenta-
tion with the
drug
mescalin. For such
fear, expressed
in the novel
by
the character of
Roquentin
in the
passages above,
in the face of
Brute
existence,
is
thankfully
not common.
Although
there is in
relation to
my argument
an
interesting parallel
to be found in
Aldous
Huxley's retrospective description
of the fear that emanat-
ed for him from his
experience
of a 'Bad
Trip'
on mescalin.
The
fear,
as I
analyse
it in
retrospect,
was of
being
over-
whelmed,
of
disintegrating
under a
pressure
of
reality greater
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
than a mind accustomed to
living
most of the time in a
cosy
world of
symbols
could
possibly
bear.15
Huxley too,
influenced
by
his mescalin
experiences,
is
disparaging
of
language
and of the
power
of words to describe
reality.
He
agrees
with Sartre in so far as he
says,
'However
expressive, symbols
can
never be the
things they
stand for.'1 But his disillusionment with
language
does not
stem,
as Sartre's
does,
from a disillusionment
with the
power
of words to control
reality,
to
put it,
so to
speak,
in
its
place.
To the
contrary,
for
Huxley language
is a double
edged
sword:
Every
individual is at once . . . the
beneficiary
inasmuch as lan-
guage gives
access to the accumulated records of other
people's
experience,
the victim in so far as it confirms him in the belief
that reduced awareness is the
only
awareness and as it bedevils
his sense of
reality,
so that he is all too
apt
to take his
concepts
for
data,
his words for actual
things.'7
Hence
language
for
Huxley promotes
and reinforces our
everyday
perception
of the world as a 'universe of reduced
awareness,
expressed and,
as it
were, petrified by language.'18
While Sartre
was under the influence of mescalin words are evoked as a means
of salvation from the monstrous
metamorphosis
of
objects appear-
ing
before
him, though admittedly
with little success. For
Huxley,
by contrast, they
bar the
way
to
salvation; Huxley
sees words and
language
as barriers that serve to reinforce our reduced awareness
of what
is,
for
him,
the marvellous infinite cosmos unveiled before
him. Words and
concepts
thus
become,
for
Huxley, superfluous
to
the
exquisite reality
which confronts him.
For what seemed an
immensely long
time I
gazed
without
knowing,
even without
wishing
to
know,
what it was that con-
fronted me. At
any
other time I would have seen a chair barred
with alternative
light
and shade.
To-day
the
percept
had swal-
lowed
up
the
concept.
I was so
completely
absorbed in
looking,
so thunderstruck
by
what I
actually saw,
that I could not be
aware of
anything
else. Garden
furniture, lathes, sunlight,
shad-
ow-these were no more than names and
notions,
mere verbal-
izations,
for utilitarian or scientific
purposes,
after the event.
The event was this succession of azure furnace-doors
separated
15
Huxley,
Aldous The Doors
of Perception
and Heaven and Hell
(Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1960), p.
46.
16
Huxley op. cit., p.
26.
17
Huxley op. cit., p.
22.
18
Huxley
Ibid.
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
by gulfs
of unfathomable
gentian.
It was
inexpressibly
wonder-
ful.19
In this
instance,
and indeed, in the
majority
of
instances,
the
mescalin
experience
is for
Huxley
akin to an almost
mystical
reve-
lation of the Divine-a
glimpse
one
might
almost
say
of Heaven.
In the foreword note to his book Heaven and Hell20
Huxley
tells
us that 'the mescalin
experience
is
doubly illuminating.'-as
the
title of the book
suggests,
it can
bring
visions of Heaven or con-
versely
visions of Hell. So that for some
people
'the universe is
transfigured-but
for the worse.'21 And while
according
to
Huxley
'Most takers of mescalin
experience only
the
heavenly part',22
I
think it is fair to
say
from Sartre's own account that what he
expe-
rienced was akin to Hell.
Huxley
too comes close to
experiencing
the
negative
effects that the
drug
can
produce
when he continues
on from the
description
of his
experience
as
given
above,
that it
was
wonderful,
'wonderful to the
point, almost,
of
being terrifying.
And
suddenly
I had an
inkling
of what it must feel like to be
mad.'23 Little wonder then that Sartre should not
long
after his
mescalin
experience, having
suffered attacks24 which 'recalled those
that had been induced
by
mescalin'
[POL 210], abruptly
declare to
Beauvoir that he was 'on the
edge
of a chronic
hallucinatory psy-
chosis.'
[Ibid]
For
according
to
Huxley:
once embarked
upon
the
downward,
the infernal
road,
one
would never be able to
stop. That, now,
was
only
too obvious.
'If
you
started in the
wrong way,'
I said in answer to the investi-
gator's questions, 'everything
that
happened
would be a
proof
of
19
Huxley op. cit., p.
45.
20
Huxley op. cit., p.
69.
21
Huxley op. cit., p.
108.
22
Huxley op. cit., p.
45.
23
Huxley
Ibid.
24
Although
Beauvoir states in relation to one such attack that 'doctors
have told me that the mescalin could not
possibly
have
provoked
this
attack'
[POL 211],
it is
my
contention that the mescalin
experience
did
indeed in its residual effects
provoke
this and other similar
attacks,
although
no doubt
partly precipitated by,
what Beauvoir
goes
on to call
Sartre's
'fatigue
and tension
engendered by
his
philosophical
research
work'
[Ibid].
It did more
therefore,
than Beauvoir admits viz.
merely
furnish Sartre 'with certain
hallucinatory patterns.' [Ibid].
While I do
not
deny
that Sartre was
predisposed
to bouts of
depression
and chronic
anxiety
before he
experimented
with
mescalin,
I do
deny
that these
bouts were in
any way
on a
par
with the
post-mescalin attacks,
or that
they
could have lead to his
metaphysical analysis
in the absence of
mescalin.
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Sartre and the
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Connection
the
conspiracy against you.
It would all be
self-validating.
You
couldn't draw a breath without
knowing
it was
part
of the
plot.
'So
you
think
you
know where madness lies?'
My
answer was
convinced and
heartfelt,
'Yes.' 'And
you
couldn't control it?'
'No,
I couldn't control it. If one
began
with fear and hate as the
major premiss,
one would have to
go
on to the conclusion.'25
It is
precisely, therefore,
this fear and hate that emanated
original-
ly
for Sartre from his 'Bad
Trip'
on mescalin that I maintain is
reflected in the
pages
of the novel Nausea.
Those familiar with the novel will
already
know
just
how
numerous are these
expressions
of
fear, loathing
and
disgust
made
by
the character of
Roquentin
in the face of Brute
existence,
and it
is not
my
intention therefore to
quote
them at
any length
here.
Besides I will be
returning
to this
point
in the next section. Suffice
to
say
that I think that there is
ample evidence,
as
given above,
to
suggest
that this
fear, loathing
and
disgust
in the face of Brute
existence
originated
for Sartre from his
experimentation
with
mescalin and its residual effects.
With
regard
to the third and final element viz. the
psychological
state of nausea
itself,
at one
point
in the novel
Roquentin
exclaims
that,
'suddenly,
all at
once,
the veil is torn
away,
I have under-
stood,
I have seen.'
[N 181]
What Sartre would have us believe
Roquentin
has seen in this moment is
something
akin to a meta-
physical
revelation
regarding
the true nature of
Being-in-itself.
This revelation he will later maintain is intuited
through
the
psy-
chological
state of nausea.
[N 188]
I am not for the moment con-
cerned with what is
supposedly metaphysically
revealed
through
the
psychological
state of
nausea,
but rather with the
question
of
the
origin
of
Roquentin's nauseating experiences
in the face of
Brute existence. It is
surely
not the mere
discovery
as Murdoch
puts it,
'that the world is
contingent,
and that we are related to it
discursively
and not
intuitively.'2
The
overpowering feelings
of
nausea,
as with the fear and
loathing
in the face of Brute
existence,
the
mounting paranoia
and
general disgust
at
being,
described
by
the character
Roquentin
in the
novel,
are not themselves the result
of some intellectual exercise on Sartre's
part.
No amount of intellectual
thinking
about the world
could, by
itself,
have
produced
such vivid accounts of the
unremitting
strangeness
or cosmic malevolence
experienced by Roquentin
in a
world
transfigured predominantly
for the worse.
Any suggestion
therefore
by
commentators
that,
while Sartre is here
displaying
2
Huxley
op. cit., pp.
47-8.
26
Murdoch
op. cit., p.
39.
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
'the structure of his own
thought'27,
that structure has been arrived
at
by
some
philosophical musings
is
seriously
mistaken.
By
Sartre's own account in the
novel,
as witnessed
below, through
the
medium of the character
Roquentin,
it is the
pre-reflective
exis-
tential
overpowering
onset of nausea which
permeates
his
very
being,
that
truly
reveals the
contingency
of the world and not some
dry
abstract
philosophical
reflections.
I feel like
vomiting-and
all of a
sudden,
there it is: the Nausea.
A
really
bad attack: it shakes me from
top
to bottom. I had seen
it
coming
for the last
hour, only
I didn't want to admit it.... So
this is the Nausea: this
blinding
revelation? To think how I
have racked
my
brains over it! To think how much I've written
about it! Now I know: I exist-the world exists-and I know
that the world exists. That's all.
[N 176]
Nor did Sartre arrive at these
descriptions by
some creative
leap
of
the
imagination.
What Sartre
gives
us
through
the medium of his
character
Roquentin
are the reflective
descriptions,
after the
event,
of actual existential
pre-reflective experiences
which I maintain he
himself endured. For I contend that the
psychological feeling
of
nausea when faced with Brute existence is itself
consequential
upon
the fear and
loathing
of
being produced by
Sartre's
experi-
mentation with mescalin and its residual
effects,
which themselves
produced
a distortion of the visual faculties
causing
a
horrifying
metamorphosis
of
objects.
Hence
just
as
Roquentin's experiences
of the
metamorphosis
of
objects
and the
subsequent
horror it
pro-
duces can be traced back to Sartre's mescalin
experience
and its
residual
effects,
so too can the
resulting psychological feelings
of
nausea
experienced by Roquentin
in his confrontations with Brute
existence.
As Beauvoir
makes,
to
my knowledge,
no
explicit
reference in
her book The Prime
of Life
to
any
incident in Sartre's
post-
mescalin
period
in which he
actually
describes himself as
experi-
encing nausea,
I cannot in this instance
provide
the same sort of
evidence for this claim as I could for the
previous
ones. There is
no
doubt, however,
as I have
shown,
that Sartre did
experience
as
a result of the residual effects of the
drug
certain visual distortions
of
everyday objects
which in turn
produced
the
overpowering
feel-
ings
of horror and
disgust
in the face of Brute
existence,
over
which he had no control.
It is
not, therefore,
unreasonable to think that such horror and
disgust
could not in itself have
produced
the
psychological
reac-
27
Murdoch
op. cit.,
p.
49.
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Sartre and the
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Connection
tion of nausea.This
point
is underlined when we remember that
the novel was
originally
to be entitled
Melancholia,
and that this
was
only changed
at the last minute
upon
the advice of the
pub-
lisher Gallimard
who, possibly impressed with,
as Parain termed
it,
the 'nausea motif'
[POL 298] suggested
the alternative title
Nausea.
[POL 299]
Sartre's choice of title at the onset of
writing
the
novel,
in his
pre-mescalin days,
would seem to
suggest
that he had
originally
intended the novel to be a
psychological
examination of melancho-
lia
[a
state to which he was
prone],
and that the
resulting
novel was
in fact
quite
different from what he had
originally planned.
It is
my
contention that it was
only
later in the
post-mescalin
revision
that the nausea motif
appeared.
I do not
suggest only
that if Sartre
had not taken mescalin the nausea motif would not have
appeared
at
all,
but further that it is
equally
doubtful that the novel would
subsequently
have
appeared
in
anything
like its
present
form. And
if the novel had not
appeared
in its
present
form it is
equally
doubtful that some
aspects
of Sartre's later
ontology regarding
the
nature of
Being
in-itself as
expounded by
him in
Being
and
Nothingness
would have
appeared
either.
The full force of
my argument
can
only really
be felt
by moving
onto what
is, according
to
Sartre, metaphysically
revealed
through
the
psychological
state of
nausea,
as it later
appears
in his
major
philosophical
work
Being
and
Nothingness.
3. Nausea as
metaphysically revelatory
It has
already
been established that the novel Nausea is to be taken
as
primarily
a
philosophical
and not a
literary
work. Further
proof,
if
proof
were
needed,
on this
point
can be furnished
by
Beauvoir
who tells us that Sartre himself saw the novel 'Nausea'
as,
'the
expression
in
literary
form of
metaphysical
truths and
feelings.'
[POL 284]
That to an extent Sartre
succeeded,
at least in so far as
the content of the novel is
accepted by
most commentators as a
metaphysical expression
of Sartre's
thought,
is verified
by
Murdoch for instance when in
referring
to the novel she
says,
'What it
certainly
does
give
us is a
powerful presentation
of
Sartre's own fundamental
metaphysical image.'28
What is
metaphysically
revealed
according
to Sartre
through
the
psychological
state of
nausea,
is the
supposed 'viscosity'
of Brute
existence viz. of
Being-in-itself.
The result of this
metaphysical
revelation of the
'viscosity'
of
Being-in-itself,
is
not, however,
con-
fined
by
Sartre to the realms of fiction. In his
major philosophical
28
Murdoch
op. cit., p.
51.
101
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
work
Being
and
Nothingness,
he not
only
describes
Being-in-itself
as
indifferent, solid, massive, non-temporal, non-relational,
non-
referential,
and uncreated
etc.,
but also towards the end of the
book,
as 'viscous'. Hence
according
to Sartre as Warnock
notes,
'One of the fundamental
categories
of which we must make use in
our
description
of
things
in the world is the
'visqueux';
and it is
apprehending
the
viscosity
of
things
which is identical with
appre-
hending
them as
nauseating.'29
It is the sense in which Sartre
appears
to
suggest
that the
psy-
chological
state of nausea is to be seen as
ontologically revelatory
that concerns us here. For
just
as Sartre
suggests
that the
psycho-
logical
state of
anguish
reveals our
ontological being
as that of con-
tingency
and
freedom,
so too does the
psychological
state of nau-
sea reveal the
ontological being
of
Being-in-itself
as
'viscous',
slimy, sticky,
etc. It is in this sense that the novel
Nausea,
and
par-
ticularly
the 'chestnut tree root'
passage
in
it,
is intended
by
Sartre
to reveal
'metaphysical
truths and
feelings'.
As Warnock
says,
when we turn to
Being
and
Nothingness
we realize that
Roquentin was,
in this
passage
at
least, supposed
to be
speaking
for all of us. The three
feelings
which we must all of us
experi-
ence when we reflect
upon
the world are
nausea,
a sense of the
absurd,
or of our own
superfluity,
and
anguish.3"
She is
slightly misguided
in
saying
that such
feelings
are revealed
'when we reflect
upon
the
world',
for as far as nausea is concerned
it is for Sartre
only
in our
pre-reflective
encounters with Brute
existence that such a
feeling
is said to be revealed. In relation to
nausea, therefore,
what Warnock should have said is 'when we
reflect
upon
our
pre-reflective experiences
of the
world,
in terms
of our encounters with Brute
existence,
we
should,
in Sartre's
terms,
describe our
feelings
at the time of such encounters in
terms of the
psychological
state of nausea'.
Warnock is not
happy, however,
with Sartre's account of the
supposed 'viscosity'
of
Being-in-itself,
nor with nausea as its reve-
latory
medium.
Hence,
her later remark
that,
It is hard not to conclude here that his choice is too
idiosyncratic
to have much
general value,
and that it must be an
exceedingly
dubious foundation for a total account of the world. And when
one considers the
feeling, nausea,
which is
particularly closely
associated with
viscosity
in his
account,
and remembers that it is
this
feeling
which must mediate for
us, according
to
him,
all our
29
Warnock
op. cit., p.
99.
30
Warnock
op. cit., p.
97.
102
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
awareness of the
physical world,
then one is most
strongly
tempted
to write the whole
thing
off as an
obsession,
or a reflec-
tion of some feature of Sartre's own life which one
may
feel
very
thankful not to share.31
Indeed,
it does
appear
that Sartre's
metaphysically revelatory
account
whereby
nausea reveals the
viscosity
of
Being-in-itself,
is
rarely expounded,
as are the
fear, loathing
and
disgust experienced
in the face of Brute existence. The one
important exception,
as we
have seen, is that all these elements
appear
in the novel Nausea:
A tree is
scratching
the earth under
my
feet with a black nail. I
should so like to let
myself go,
to
forget,
to
sleep.
But I
can't,
I'm
suffocating:
existence is
penetrating
me all
over,
through
the
eyes, through
the
nose, through
the mouth ...
[N 181]
I shouted: 'What filth! What filth!' and I shook
myself
to
get
rid of that
sticky dirt,
but it held fast and there was so much of
it,
tons and tons of
existence, indefinitely:
I was
suffocating
at
the bottom of that
huge
boredom.
[N 193]
Did I dream it
up,
that
huge presence?
It was
there,
installed on the
park,
tumbled
into the
trees,
all
soft, gumming everything up,
all
thick,
a
jelly.
And I was inside with the whole of the
park?
I was
frightened,
but above all I was
furious,
I
thought
it was so
stupid,
so out of
place,
I hated that
ignoble jelly.
And there was so much of
it,
so
much! It went
up
as
high
as the
sky,
it flowed
away everywhere,
it filled
everything
with
gelatinous
subsidence and I could see it
going deeper
and
deeper. [N
192]
That the same
feelings,
found in the novel
Nausea,
which are to
be traced back to Sartre's
experimentation
with mescalin should
be echoed with such a vehemence in
Being
and
Nothingness
in the
description
of the
supposed 'viscosity'
of
Being-in-itself, provides
substantial evidence that Sartre's earlier
experimentation
with
mescalin
did,
indeed,
influence his later
philosophical outlook,
at
least in so far as the
viscosity
of
Being-in-itself
is concerned.32
31
Warnock
op. cit., p.
105.
32
Examples
of
Roquentin's description
of the
overwhelming weight
and
mass of Brute existence will also be found to have
expression
in Sartre's
later
philosophical
work
Being
and
Nothingness
where Sartre describes
Being-in-itself
as
'solid,
massive' etc. It is
interesting
to
speculate
that
these
descriptions regarding
the nature of
Being-in-itself may
also have
emanated from Sartre's mescalin
experience
and its residual effects. I do
not, however,
insist
upon this,
for this is not
my
main
charge.
I
merely
speculate
so that others
may
make
up
their own minds. There are certain-
ly enough passages
in Nausea
descriptive
of the
weight
and mass of Brute
existence that have
parallels
with those to be found in
Being
and
Nothingness
to offer at least tentative evidence for such a thesis.
103
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
To show this I will
quote
from the relevant section of
Being
and
Nothingness.
In so
doing,
I will be
incidentally bearing
out
Warnock's claim that 'the full
impact
of the
point
which Sartre is
making
cannot be felt without
quotation.
I shall
quote
at
length,
but,
even
so,
all these words are
only
a
tiny
fraction of the
great
flood of words he lets flow to
convey
his horror and
disgust
at the
world'33,
a 'horror and
disgust'
which as Warnock
says,
is shared
by very
few:
At this instant I
suddenly
understand the snare of the
slimy:
it is
a
fluidity
which holds me and which
compromises me;
I can not
slide on this
slime,
all its suction
cups
hold me
back;
it cannot
slide over me, it
clings
to me like a leech .... The
slimy
seems
to lend itself to
me,
it invites
me;
. . . But it is a
trap
.... Slime
is the
revenge
of the In-itself. ... A
sugary
sliminess is the ideal
of the
slimy;
it
symbolizes
the
sugary
death of the For-itself
(like
that of the
wasp
which sinks into the
jam
and drowns in
it).
...
.To touch the
slimy
is to risk
being
dissolved in sliminess.
Now this dissolution
by
itself is
frightening enough,
because it
is the
absorption
of the For-itself
by
the In-itself as ink is
absorbed
by
a blotter. But it is still more
frightening
in that the
metamorphosis
in not
just
into a
thing (bad
as that would
be)
but into slime. . . . But the
slimy
offers a horrible
image;
it is
horrible in itself for a consciousness to become
slimy.
This is
because the
being
of the
slimy
is a soft
clinging,
there is a
sly
solidarity
and
complicity
of all its leechlike
parts,
a
vague,
soft
effort made
by
each to individualize
itself,
followed
by
a
falling
back and
flattening
out that is
emptied
of the
individual,
sucked
in on all sides
by
the substance. A consciousness which became
slimy
would be transformed
by
the thick stickiness of its ideas.
[BN
609-610]
The horror of the
slimy
is the horrible fear that time
might
become
slimy,
that
facticity might progress continually
and
insensibly
and absorb the For-itself which exists it. It is the fear
not of
death,
not of the
pure In-itself,
not of
nothingness,
but of
a
particular type
of
being,
which does not
actually
exist
any
more than the In-itself-For-itself and which is
only represented
by
the
slimy.
It is an ideal
being
which I
reject
with all
my
strength
and which haunts me as value haunts
my being,
an
ideal
being
in which the foundationless In-itself has
priority
over the For-itself. We shall call it an Antivalue.
[BN 611]
These
extracts,
and indeed the whole
section,
taken from the latter
part
of
Being
and
Nothingness,
on the
viscosity
of
Being-in-itself
do
33 Warnock
op. cit., p.
101.
104
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Sartre and the
Drug
Connection
not make sense within the book's wider
ontological context,
and
indeed
appear incompatible
with the earlier
ontology
which
describes
Being-in-itself
as
solid, massive, totally indifferent,
non-
relational, non-referential,
and non-conscious
being.
The 'horror and
disgust'
as Warnock calls it that Sartre
expresses
here
against
the world
is, however,
reiterated
again by
Huxley
in his accounts of the 'Bad
Trips' experienced by
some
people
on mescalin. For these
people, Huxley says,
'there is the
horror of
infinity'34 whereby everything
in the universe 'from the
stars in the
sky
to the dust under their
feet,
is
unspeakingly
sinis-
ter or
disgusting'35
and
'every object
manifests the
presence
of an
Indwelling Horror, infinite, allpowerful,
eternal.'36
Just
as
Huxley
took his mescalin induced visions of Heaven to be
metaphysically
revelatory,37
so too did Sartre take his mescalin induced visions of
Hell. Some of what he
experienced
under the influence of
mescalin and its residual
effects,
he took to be akin to a
metaphys-
ical revelation about the true nature of
Being-in-itself.
This reve-
lation he first
encapsulated
in the novel Nausea and
later,
in the
section
concerning
the
viscosity
of
Being-in-itself,in Being
and
Nothingness.
When
Cooper says, therefore,
'I do not know how
many people
have shared this 'nauseous' sense of
brute,
irre-
ducible
existence'38,
I would answer that it would
appear only
a
few-those
who,
under the influence of
hallucinogenic drugs,
have
experienced
what I have termed 'Bad
Trips',
for these are
the
only descriptions
on a
par.
with Sartre's that I can find. It is
only
in the
light
of Sartre's
past experimentation
with the
drug
mescalin,
that this section on the
'viscosity'
of
Being-in-itself
makes sense at all.
In
conclusion,
in
asking along
with Gabriel Marcel
why,
'does
Sartre find the
contingent
over-abundance of the world
nauseating
rather than
glorious?'39, my
answer would be that Sartre's
ontolog-
ical
description
of the viscous nature of
Being-in-itself,
emanated
from his 'Bad
Trip'.
On that
note,
I leave the reader with the tan-
talizing speculation-that
if Sartre had
conversely experienced,
a
'Good
Trip',
his
ontological description regarding
the nature of
4
Huxley op. cit., p.
108.
35
Huxley
Ibid.
36
Huxley
Ibid.
7 What
is,
for
Huxley, metaphysically
revealed in these mescalin induced
visions of Heaven need not concern us here. Suffice to
say
that his subse-
quent ontology regarding
the true nature of
being
is
very
different from
Sartre's.
38
Cooper,
David E. Existentialism
(Oxford:
Basil
Blackwell, 1990), p.
54.
39
Marcel,
Gabriel
quoted by
Murdoch
op. cit., p.
49
105
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Carole
Haynes-Curtis
Being-in-itself would,
at the
very
least in this
respect,
have been
very, very
different.
Helston Cornwall
106
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