خیالپروریها

by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, احمد سمیعی گیلانی (Translator)

جاذبه خیالپروریها به‌خصوص از آن ناشی می‌شود که می‌توان روسو را در این اثر به حالت طبیعی بازیافت. بی‌گمان، او هنوز از توهماتش کاملاً رها نشده است، اما اکنون می‌تواند با وارستگی و چشم‌پوشی از آنها سخن گوید و چهره‌ای تازه و پاک به حیث تصویری نهایی از خود ارائه دهد. در خیالپروریها، روسو را با فراست و ساده‌دلی و صداقت بازمی‌یابیم که هیجانات و مشاجرات قلمی آن را نیاشفته است.

روح انسان زمانی از خوشبختی واقعی برخوردار می‌گردد که از گذشته بگسلد، نسبت به آینده بی‌اعتنا شود، و فقط به حال بپردازد. روسو، برای تجسم بخشیدن به این حالت روحی که آن را یگانه راه مؤثر برای نیل به سکون و آرامش می‌داند، لحنی بسیار دلنشین برمی‌گزیند و سادگی و آراستگی را با صادقانه‌ترین و انتقال‌پذیرترین هیجانات درونی درمی‌آمیزد.

Genres: Philosophy, Classics, Nonfiction, France, Essays, French Literature, 18th Century

286 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1782

About the author

Genevan philosopher and writer Jean Jacques Rousseau held that society usually corrupts the essentially good individual; his works include The Social Contract and Émile (both 1762).

This important figure in the history contributed to political and moral psychology and influenced later thinkers. Own firmly negative view saw the post-hoc rationalizers of self-interest, apologists for various forms of tyranny, as playing a role in the modern alienation from natural impulse of humanity to compassion. The concern to find a way of preserving human freedom in a world of increasingly dependence for the satisfaction of their needs dominates work. This concerns a material dimension and a more important psychological dimensions. Rousseau a fact that in the modern world, humans come to derive their very sense of self from the opinions as corrosive of freedom and destructive of authenticity. In maturity, he principally explores the first political route, aimed at constructing institutions that allow for the co-existence of equal sovereign citizens in a community; the second route to achieving and protecting freedom, a project for child development and education, fosters autonomy and avoids the development of the most destructive forms of self-interest. Rousseau thinks or the possible co-existence of humans in relations of equality and freedom despite his consistent and overwhelming pessimism that humanity will escape from a dystopia of alienation, oppression, and unfreedom. In addition to contributions, Rousseau acted as a composer, a music theorist, the pioneer of modern autobiography, a novelist, and a botanist. Appreciation of the wonders of nature and his stress on the importance of emotion made Rousseau an influence on and anticipator of the romantic movement. To a very large extent, the interests and concerns that mark his work also inform these other activities, and contributions of Rousseau in ostensibly other fields often serve to illuminate his commitments and arguments.

Reviews

[Araz Goran · Rating 4 out of 5]

"ها أنا ذا وحيد في الدنيا .. لم يعد لي من أخ أو قريب أو صديق أو صحبة سوي ذاتي "









بهذه التشاؤمية المفرطة يستهل روسو جولاته ونزهاته العشر التي يكتب فيها خواطره وهواجسه وخيباته في عالم النفاق والمكر الذي عاش فيه طوال حياته، عاش بين أناس لم يقدروا جهوده وإنسانيته وروحه الحساسة , يكتب وهو مضرج بدماء الوحدة متوحد مع نفسه ومع الطبيعة وعالم النبات، تلك العوالم الذي قضى وقتاً كثيراً من تأملاته ووحدته وهو يكتب عنها ويدرسها عن كثب ويستلهم روحه من جديد بين تلك النباتات التي باتت صديقته الوحيدة في المنفى الذي أختاره روسو لنفسه عن طيب خاطر، وهو بذلك يبتعد عن ضجيج النفاق والدسائس التي حيكت ضده والزيف الذي كان يحيط به من أقرب الناس إليه..



الشيء الرائع في هذه الخواطر التي كتبها روسو هي أنه قد كتبها لنفسه على شكل مسودات وأحتفظ بها لكي يستمتع بقراءتها حين تعوزه الحاجة إلى رؤية ذاته في مرايا حقيقية .. ولم تنشر هذه الكتابات إلا بعد موته بسنوات, وهي بذلك خرجت صادقة ومتناغمة مع ما كان يمر به روسو, من كشف لأعترافات وغوص في أهازيج النفس القديمة وتحطيم وكسر لكل الزيف الذي كان يسوره كحاحز يمعنه من مكاشفة النفس وتعريتها بهذا الأسلوب العميق الملهم لكل قاريْ يحب أن يسير مسرى روسو في كشف أوراق ذاته وعرضها على مرآة جديدة , قد تكون موجعة نعم , ولكنها صادقة ومفعمة بقلب الإنسان الحر..



وسأختم بهذا الإقتباس الذي يعبر بوقار عن حالة التفرد والتقين بأنه لا عودة من حيث أتى , وأنه قد بدأ حياة جديدة بروحٍ ونفسٍ أبعد ماتكون عن الماضي..



" لقد انتهي كل شئ بالنسبة لي في هذه الدنيا ..
و لن يستطيع احد ان بعد ان يفعل بي خيراً او شراً ..
لم يعد امامي ما آمل فيه او ما أخشاه في هذه الدنيا
وها أنا ذا مستكين في قرار الهاوية بشراً فانياً منكودا ولكن صامد كالإله نفسه"

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

If you read his Confessions, which is one of the great autobiographies, possibly the greatest, you will learn that Jean-Jacques Rousseau felt himself persecuted by virtually everyone with whom he was associated. Even famous figures of the day such as Denis Diderot and the Scottish Philosopher David Hume were counted by Rousseau as his tormentors. Although, from my perspective, I am not qualified to pass judgment on the poor man (as he saw himself), I do feel that possibly he was a bit too tightly wound up for most human relationships. Consider, for instance, that he placed all his children by his wife Therese LeVasseur in an orphanage rather than bring them up himself.

The Reveries of the Solitary Walker has a kind of Oedipus at Colonus feeling about it: Rousseau is nearing the end of his life and looks back on what brings him tranquility in the midst of all his agitation. Among these things is botany, long walks, and joy in meeting simple people (especially children) who do not recognize him. (Apparently Rousseau had a complex about being recognized, as he often was, living as he did in Paris.)

I have always considered Rousseau as perhaps one of the most fascinating of all authors who is at the same time so wrong-headed. At the same time I say to myself that this man is so very wrong, I also admit, “But this is really interesting nonetheless.”

The Reveries were my first introduction to Rousseau, and I would recommend them to anyone who would like an introduction to him. If a reader finds himself alternately drawn to and repelled by Rousseau, he should move on to The Confessions and then Emile. The man is nothing if not sincere, nothing if not brilliant, nothing if not so incredibly f----d up.

[Sawsan · Rating 3 out of 5]

رحلة فكرية وانسانية في حياة الفيلسوف جان جاك روسو
آخر كتاباته من عام 1776 وحتى ما قبل وفاته 1778
خواطر وتأملات عن النفس والحياة والناس
العزلة والشيخوخة والموت, الحقيقة والكذب, الخير والشر.. والسعادة
حديث عما يدور في ذهنه من أفكار وهواجس وخيبات

[sAmAnE · Rating 2 out of 5]

گفته می‌شود این کتاب آخرین اثر روسو است؛ اثری که به‌طور عمیق به تأملات درونی، خاطره‌نگاری و بازتاب زندگی او، به‌ویژه پیوندش با طبیعت... می‌پردازد. در میان سطرها، برخی جملات حال و هوایی ناامیدکننده دارند، و برخی دیگر چنان صمیمی و ملموس‌اند که می‌توان با آن‌ها همذات‌پنداری کرد. کتاب از ده فصل کوتاه یا «گشت» تشکیل شده است که ظاهرا فصل دهم آن ناتمام مانده. در این گشت‌ها، روسو روایت‌هایی از زندگی شخصی و ارتباطاتش با دیگران را با اندیشه‌های فلسفی و تأملات خودشناسانه در هم می‌آمیزد. چهره‌ای از نویسنده ترسیم می‌شود که در واپسین سال‌های عمرش، با احساس طردشدگی و شاید با لحنی که به مظلوم‌نمایی می‌ماند، به دنبال آن است که هرآنچه را از دیگران و جامعه دریغ شده، در آغوش طبیعت بازیابد...

[Jimmy · Rating 2 out of 5]

Well, this sounded really good from the description: slightly crazy Rousseau at the end of his life, walking, thinking, bitterness, misanthropy, etc.

However, in practice, it was like listening to that drunk guy at the bar telling you how everybody is against him, and how he really deserves better, and how he's really a great guy and that he's not really mad at these people (he calls them his 'persecuters')... no, in fact he's found peace. But he emphasizes those last points a little too pointedly, so that you start to think he doesn't really believe it. Like he's just saying it to convince himself that it's true. Because, really, he's not over the fact that certain people don't like him. And you end up not caring if he's really a good guy or not, you just want him to stop talking so you can enjoy your beer.

While there are some good ideas and thoughts in here, none of them really blew me away, they all seemed like stuff I would write down in my own diary, only to look back on them and feel a slight twinge of shame. And there's not the meandering quality I would associate normally with a walking narrative. These are ten well-formed essays, with forceful agendas. He didn't stop to tell you about his walk, or about something he observed at the corner of Rue Such-and-such and Avenue de So-and-So. No, none of that, it's all Rousseau all the time. He is so much in his own mind that I felt like I was reading a case-study in how not to drive yourself crazy. I see these tendencies in myself sometimes and I hope I don't ever become like him.

Reduced to my own self, it is true that I feed on my own substance.

And while the writing is not bad, he repeats his points to the point of tedium, and takes so long in saying it, that I fell asleep reading a few of them.

PS - the Introduction, written by the translator Peter France, is pretty good though, and gives a good context of how these writings fit into Rousseau's larger body of work. I do want to read more of Rousseau, he was probably a great thinker before he turned sour and inward.

[Eddie Watkins · Rating 4 out of 5]

Revery seems to have fallen out of favor nowadays. If it's not one of ten million authorities emphasizing the need for efficiency and planned action, or modern evolutionists of all sorts (in business, in fitness, in the arts) convincing us that if what we're doing isn't in the name of advancement and improvement then it's not worth doing, or just us telling ourselves that we must keep up with everything and everyone else and so have no time to swim around in our own selves; revery has become the stepsister of onanism.

I suspect that first cable television and now the internet on top of it have become our objects of revery and often even do the reverying for us. Or rather TRY to do it, for these are surely only false reveries. But what does revery even mean? I have an immediate vague notion of pointless daydreaming or being "lost in thought", and I think that's pretty close; but the old style revery involved even more, it was more akin to out of body travel, soul travel, living in a waking dream. One would gaze at something and enter that something and begin to travel through one's mind. Or one would walk and through the rhythm of the walking memories and thoughts would be dislodged and multiple chains of associative reactions would occur and one would truly be lost in thought in an effectively infinite cosmos of the mind, or walk off the edge of a cliff... And revery is like walking off that cliff, becoming untethered from the daily grind and habitual patterns, like a vast unbuckling of thought moving every whichaway in a world gone loosy goosy.

Rousseau opposes revery to thought, saying that he has never been a great thinker; and by this I think he's saying that thought is the active manipulation of our mind and soul activity into intentional patterns, a directed activity with often preconceived ideas; while revery is passive, unintentional, non-conceptual.

There's a lot of self-pitying in this book, but more than that it's a book of almost heroic honesty and self-revelation and it's a thrill to read his thoughts move back and forth between rancor and venom spat out at his contemporaries while at the same time saying he hates no one, and some very moving expressions of universal good will and union with nature. It's full of stimulating contradictions which makes it just seem all the more real. And of course there are also a lot of fruitful reveries, or rather the book is the fruit of the reveries, and it's definitely an apple worth chomping into.

[Nahed.E · Rating 4 out of 5]

ها قد أمسيت وحيداً علي الأرض ، فلا شقيق لي بعد اليوم .. لا قريب، ولا صديق، ولا عشير لي سواي



أهناك ما أخشاه منهم وكل شئ قد تم ؟ فإذن القذف والتشنيع والتحقير والخزي والعار، كل هذا قد خلعوه عليّ ، وقد بات لا يحتمل زيادة ولا تلطيفاً، فأصبحت في عجز، وهم كذلك عاجزون ، فلا هم يستطيعون عمل المزيد، ولا أنا في استطاعتي التملص مما أصابوني به ؛ لقد أصبحوا عاجزين علي أن يزيدوا حالي سوءاً، فهل في استطاعتهم أن يثيروا في نفسي ذعراً بعد اليوم ؟

وإذا أجدني متحرراً من كل خوف جديد ، ومن القلق الذي يصحب الأمل ، فإذن العادة وحدها تكفيني لأن أتحمل يوما بعد يوم حالاً لا يمكن أن تزداد سوءاً
هذا هو الخير الذي نالني من مُضطهديّ إذ استنفدوا جميع الحراب التي وجهوها إليّ، فقد خلعوا عني كل سلطان كان لهم عليّ، فصار بوسعي أن أهزأ بهم ، فلو اُوتوا بعض اللباقة لتركوا لي بعض بارقات من أمل ، ولاستطاعوا أن ينالوا مني بما تركوه، إلا أنهم قد استنفدوا كل ما لديهم من موارد، فلقد خمد لديّ أخيراً هذا البارق الضئيل من الأمل، وأراني هذا المصير المحتوم علي هذه الأرض، فاستسلمت إليه كل الاستسلام ، وعاد إليّ الهدوء
!

لقد انتهي عندي كل شئ علي الأرض، وليس علي سطحها من يوليني خيراً ولا شراً ..

ومنذ الآن .. كل ما هو خارج عني فهو غريب ..
..
فهذه الحياة الصاخبة ما كانت لتترك لي سلاما في الداخل، ولا راحة في الخارج

فلست أنكر أن الخبرة تعلم الإنسان دائماً .. ولكنها لا تفيد إلا بقدر المدة الباقية من الحياة . وهل لدي الإنسان متسع من الوقت لأن يتعلم ، ساعة لابد له من أن يموت ، كيف كان يجب عليه أن يعيش ؟

فالسعادة حالة مستقرة، إلا أنها لم تجعل للإنسان في هذه الدنيا .. فكل شئ هو علي الأرض في مد متواصل ، لا يجيز لشئ أن يتخذ شكلاً ثابتاً ، كل شئ يتبدل ، ونحن أنفسنا نتغير ، وما من أحد يستطيع اليوم أن يجزم أنه سيحب غداً ما أحبه اليوم .. فلنستفد من فرح الروح إذن إذا تم لنا ..
فالرضا يُقرأ في العيون، والهيئة ، ونبرة الصوت ، والمشية ..
وكل شئ تفقده تستعيض عنه بشئ تجده .. فإذا كانت مسراتي نادرة قصيرة .. فذكرياتي عنها تغنيني ..
وهذه الذكريات أعيش اليوم بها ولها
...

[anne larouche · Rating 2 out of 5]

Lecture obligatoire faite en fin de session (comprendre que je l’ai fait rapidement pcque fallait je fasse mon TRAVAIL dessus)

[Fact100 · Rating 4 out of 5]

"İşte artık yeryüzünde yapayalnızım; ne kardeşim, ne yakınım, ne dostum, ne arkadaşım, ne de bir ahbabım var; tek başımayım. İnsanların en girişkeni, en cana yakını insanlar arasından söz birliğiyle çıkartıldı. Duyarlı ruhum için en acımasız zulmün ne olabileceğini, kinlerini en ince noktalarına kadar zorlayarak araştırdılar ve beni onlara bağlayan tüm bağları zorla koparttılar. İnsanları, kendilerine rağmen sevebilirdim. Benim sevgimden ancak insanlıklarından vazgeçerek kurtulabildiler. Ve işte sonunda, istedikleri gibi, benim için bir yabancı, bir meçhul, bir hiç olup çıktılar. Peki ya onlardan ve her şeyden kopartılmış olan ben, ben kendim neyim?" (s.7)

Bu sözlerle başlayan acı bir kitap bu. Bu kadar beğenilmemiş olması yazık, ama anlaşılabilir bir durum. Yazarın kendine fazla acır görünüşü muhtemelen okuyucuya fazla gelmiş olabilir. Haksız bir acıma mıdır peki bu? Pek sayılmaz. Dönemin en aydın isimlerinden birinin, zamanının akımlarına karşı duruşundan ötürü kaynaklı aforoz ve insan avının yarattığı hayal kırıklığı ve korku tüm metinde hakim. Çağdaşı olan felsefecilerde tanrının varlığını inkar etme üzerine kurulu fikirlerin yaygın olduğu bir dönemde, duyguların önemine inanan biri olarak varolan her şeyde ilahi bir güzellik bulan Rousseau, davaya ihanet etmiş, camiadan dışlanmış ve karalanmış biri olarak karşımızda. Akıl ve hakikat yolunun da sadık bir takipçisi olması, Rousseau'nun, dini konularda da dogmatiklikten uzak durmasına, hatta bu yaklaşımdan tiksinmesine neden olarak onu, kendi kavrayışına uygun bir inanış biçimini benimsemeye götürüyor. Bu yolda, yaşıyor olduğu Cenevre'deki yaygın inanış olan Kalvinizmden uzaklaşarak Katolikliğe geçiyor, tabii kendi "alışılmadık" duruşuyla. Yaşadığı her kantondan sırayla kovuluyor, evi taşlanıyor, insanlar nahoş tepkiler veriyor ve Voltaire, Diderot gibi eski dostları da sırtlarını dönerek karalama kampanyasına girişiyorlar. Memleketinden kovulan Rousseau, Fransa'da da görüşlerinden ötürü ötekileştiriliyor, hatta mahkum ediliyor. İngiltere'de, David Hume'un yanına sığınan Rousseau, burada da alay ve hor görülmeyle karşılaşınca kaçak olarak Fransa'ya dönüyor ve yaşlılık günlerini, yıllarca refahı ve ilerlemesi için çalışmalar yürüttüğü toplumdan kaçarak geçirerek, yoksunluk içerisinde sonlandırıyor. Bunları yaşamış birinin hayal kırıklıklarını ve mutsuzluğunu yazmasını ne kadar normal karşılıyorsam, hatırında kalan ufak anı parçacıklarının yardımıyla, doğaya teslim olarak kendini kötü duygulardan arındırma ve huzuru bulma çabasını da takdirle karşılıyorum. Çağının ve birçok yaklaşımıyla çağımızın ötesinde birinin, "yaşarken anlaşılamadım, belki ileride beni anlarlar" güdüsüyle ortaya koyduğu yürekten sözlerini, itiraflarını ve anlaşılmama korkusunu buldum bu kitapta.

Rousseau'nun ölümü sebebiyle "yarım" kalmış ve o öldükten sonra yayımlanmış olan bu samimi kitapta, birçok kişinin kendinden bir şeyler, hatta çok şeyler bulacağına eminim. Yer yer proto-varoluşçu, yer yer proto-sosyalist sayabileceğim görüşler, hala erişemediğimiz bir eşitlik ve anlayış arayışı, bunlar da ilave tatlar oldu.

"Özgürlüğün, insanın canının istediğini yapması demek olduğuna hiçbir zaman inanmadım, özgürlük daha çok yapmak istemediğini yapmamaktır. İşte devamlı peşinde olduğum ve bazen de yakaladığım, çağdaşlarımı çileden çıkaran özgürlük budur. Çünkü devamlı meşgul olan, devamlı koşuşturan bu hırslı insanlar başkalarının özgür olmasından nefret ederler, kendileri için bile özgürlük istemezler, yeter ki ara sıra istediklerini yapabilsinler veya başkalarının iradesine hâkim olabilsinler. Bunlar bütün yaşamları boyunca kendilerini yapmak istemedikleri şeyleri yapmaya zorlarlar ve emredebilmek uğruna her türlü köleliğe katlanırlar." (s.109-110)

"Uğradığımız tüm felaketlerde, etkisinden çok niyete bakarız. Çatıdan düşen bir kiremit bizi daha fazla yaralayabilir, ama kötü bir el tarafından kasten fırlatılan bir taş kadar derinden incitemez. Taş bazen ıskalayabilir, ama niyet her zaman hedefine ulaşır." (s.141)

Daha yapmak istediğim birçok alıntı var ama bir yerde de durmak lazım. Gerisi okuyacak olanlara kalsın.

4/5

p.s. Rousseau'nun kısa yaşam hikayesinin verildiği ilk sayfada eserlerine değinilirken birini 1950, bir başkasını da 1955 yılında çıkararak büyük ses getirdiği belirtilmiş. İleriki baskılarda, o "9"ları "7" yapmak birilerinin aklına gelir umarım.

[Taghreed Jamal El Deen · Rating 3 out of 5]

عشر نزهات فكرية دوّنها روسو خلال فترات انعزاله الذي اندفع إليه بتأثير من الإساءات التي كان يتعرض لها ممن حوله، فيهرب إلى الخلوة ويغرق في التأملات وأحاديث النفس.

الكتاب متوسط الجودة، أعجبني أحياناً، وأملّني أحياناً أخرى.

إيجابياته :
- الصدق البيّن كون الكاتب كان يحدّث نفسه على الورق، ولم يتم نشر المحتوى إلا بعد سنوات من وفاته.
- الأفكار الأخلاقية الصادرة عن شخص ذو وجدان يجنح دوماً نحو ما هو حق وصواب.
- وجدت نفسي في كثير من الهواجس المُعبّر عنها.

سلبياته :
- ذكر بعض المواقف التي قد لا تهم القارئ ولا تقدم إضافة للكتاب.
- الإطناب في الشرح وتكرار الفكرة نفسها بأكثر من مقطع.

[Julio The Fox · Rating 5 out of 5]

May I, monsieur, take a moment of your time? I once knew a US Army officer who had served with the Free French in North Africa during World War II and told me sotto voce, "the French combine two qualities seldom found in the same people; they are arrogant pessimists". There is no better description of these REVERIES, wherein Jean-Jacques combines self-pity with the confidence that THE SOCIAL CONTRACT and EMILE, etc., will solve the world's problems. In his old age, he laments, he is "damned, despised, forgotten". (The French always make this claim, from Sartre to DeGaulle.) Yet to be damned is to be among the chosen. If not to God then to humanity you must once have raised your head high and defied the people. This interior monologue---Rousseau has no audience but himself---is a kind of Dantesque walk through hell without meeting important sinners along the way. As a memoir, it is the opposite of Sartre's THE WORDS; Rousseau too has "lost all illusions of the intellectual" and this has left him dried up and cynical, not l'homme engage. Recommended as an early exercise in pseudo-Freudian self-analysis.

[أسيل · Rating 3 out of 5]

عشرة نزهات لروسو تجمع بين بوح الذات وتنقيبها ، يتخللها تأملات روسو الفلسفية,
وعلاقته بالطبيعة وعالم النبات تحديداً، محشوة بمكنوناته وتصرفاته وتصوراته لذاته
وعلاقاته الصعبة المتوترة الشبه معدومة مع الناس وغياب الثقة.
بلغة شاعرية وقوة التعبير وحسية الاسلوب والصدق في البوح

يبدو ان لكل فيلسوف حالة من القلق والأرق والتوتر والتأزم ,
صراع قوى ونزاع رغبات وهواجس هوى, وخوف وحذر ما تجتاح عوالم الفلاسفة ,
يحددها الاكثر تأزماً وعدم التوافق والغياب , كحالة بعضهم مع الفكر او العاطفة او اللغة او المجتمع ....
فتجد بوضوح حالة التأزم عند روسو مع الذات والطبيعة, الأنا والآخرين.
وحيداً منفرداً بنفسه, مفكراً فالذي يفكر لا بد له ان يهتم بنفسه. متأملاً مستسلماً الى حلاوة
التحدث عن النفس، لأنها الحلاوة الوحيدة التي لا يستطيع الناس ان ينزعوها منه كما قال..
ومن عنوان كلمات الكتاب يتراءى لك التلاقي بين الهواجس والنزهات والتفرد بالذات
"هواجس " تعرف ان ثمة قلق واضطراب وتمزق واستسلام
"المتنزه" احلام وخيالات , يقظة واوهام, عوطف وانفعالات وهذيان
"المنفرد بذاته" صمت وعزله , غربة ووحدة, تمزق داخلي
ومن نزهته الاولى تضح لك عوالم روسو وطبيعة بوحه البارانوي, والاحساس بالاضطهاد
والمطاردة,وعلاقته الصعبة والمرتبكة مع الناس وغياب ثقته باحد, وحدة مزاجه وتبريره لنفسه,
اذ يستهلها بقوله : " ها اني قد أمسيت وحيداً على الأرض, فلا شقيق بعد اليوم, ولا قريب,
ولا صديق, ولا عشير لي سواي. لقد كنت احب الناس على الرغم منهم,
فلم يستطيعوا ان يتملصوا من حبي الا بتجردهم من الانسانيه, وهكذا اضحوا غرباء مجهولين،
بل اصفاراً في نظري, لانهم ارادوا ذلك. ولكن من اكون انا وقد تجردت منهم ومن كل شيء؟
هذا ما يتعين علي البحث عنه

لقد تراءى لي في كلامه ابو حيان التوحيد في هوامله حينما قال :
"لقد فقدت كل مؤنس وصاحب ومرافق ومشفق ووالله لربما صليت في الجامع,
فلا ارى جنبي من يصلي معي ,فقد امسيت غريب الحال غريب اللفظ غريب النحلة غريب الخلق
مستأنساً بالوحشة, قانعاً بالوحدة , معتاداً للصمت , ملازماً للحيرة , محتملاً للأذى يائس"
على ان روسو كان يحتمي بالعزلة من سوء المعاملة وسوء الفهم وصعوبة التواصل مع المجتمع
رغم انه في نظريته التربويه يدعو لكسر حاجز العزله والتفاعل مع المجتمع.
في عزلة روسو ضعف واستسلام وهروب, هواجس الانشغال بالنفس حد الهوس,
ورؤية الاخر من منطلق ذاته رغم انه لا يرى العالم الا في ذاته,
يساعده في ذلك عواطفه وانفعالاته , رهافة قلبه وكثافة احساسه وقوة خيلاته.

برر روسو لنفسه عن وضع اطفاله بالميتم بانه اراد لهم حياة افضل
وان الاطفال لا يحبون المرء العجوز,
وانه لو تركهم لامهم وعائلتها لحولوهم الى مسخ وهو
يريد لهم ان يكونوا شيئاً

بالأخير لم يرق لي هذا البوح رغم ما فيه عزلة ووحدة
وصمت وتأمل ودراسة وكشف وتعرية للذات
لاني لا احب العزلة التي تقود الى الاستسلام والهروب
نحتاج للعزلة لنحمي انفسنا ولندعمها ونقويها على المواجهة والاقتحام بنفس اللحظة
ومع ذلك دفعني للعودة لكتابة المراجعات بعد كسل طويل
عله ينتهي
:(

[Pau · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una de las cosas que me pregunto siempre, cuando me atrae irresistiblemente un libro, y tengo que volver periódicamente a él, es dónde reside esa fuerza. Descubrí "Las ensoñaciones del paseante solitario", de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, hace ya un tiempo. Recientemente he vuelto a ese viejo ejemplar. En su momento, supongo que encontré ese aroma de los albores de un romanticismo al que uno, de vez en cuando, le apetece regresar, aunque sea de visita. Tal vez me sedujo ese discurso, si no sabio, inteligente, esa prosa trufada de misantropía, lo que se avenía bien con un chaval íntimamente descontento con el cariz que le presentaba el mundo. Y me gustaba ese tono intimista, poético, aunque, por otra parte, intuyera que el hombre que lo emitía no era, precisamente, un dechado de ecuanimidad. Lo admitía como personaje y lo refutaba como hombre.

En esta obra de sus últimos años, Rousseau se contradice continuamente. Como en sus Confesiones, que leí hace algunos años, se percibe, en cada frase, una voluntad de elaborar la fortaleza de unas necesarias coartadas. El filósofo ginebrino dice que escribe para sí, pero lo cierto es que sus textos, si bien no tienen un destinatario inminente, sí que buscan el refrendo de una sociedad dispuesta a mirar por encima de sus mezquindades. Sus escritos últimos son un puro argumentario a su favor. Pero, si no para sí mismo, sí que escribe siempre mirando los recovecos de su propio ser. Y, porque observa tanto a su propia persona, piensa  que se conoce plenamente, ignorando que ese famoso mandato de “conócete a ti mismo” es de muy difícil cumplimiento (aunque nadie lo reconozca).

Por un lado, en esos últimos años de su vida, se pone a salvo, se repliega sobre sí mismo: “¿De qué se goza en una situación semejante? De nada exterior a uno mismo, de nada sino de sí mismo y de su propia existencia; mientras ese estado dura, uno se basta a sí mismo, como Dios”. Por otra parte, establece su imagen futura. Pero, para sobrevivir a esa situación es preciso mentalizarse adecuadamente: “No les odio, porque no sabría odiar, pero no puedo evitar el desprecio que merecen ni abstenerme de testimoniarlo…..Prefiero huirlos que odiarlos”. Busca una paz que la tiene difícil. A veces se considera muy desgraciado: “¿Qué me falta hoy para ser el más infortunado de los mortales? Nada de cuanto los hombres han podido poner de su parte para ello”. A menudo se siente solo: “Cuanto me es exterior me es extraño de ahora en adelante. No tengo ya en este mundo ni prójimo, ni semejantes ni hermanos”.

Rousseau debió de ser un hipócrita, pero seguramente a la manera de muchos compatriotas y coetáneos suyos, según se desprende de las lecturas que nos ilustran sobre los hombres de aquella época. Hoy también lo somos todos en mayor o en menor medida... Pero de una forma menos ostentosa, sin el apoyo de unos férreos convencionalismos sociales o de la exclusividad de la religión o de una impuesta moral.  Pero pese a todo, en el fondo, guardo hacia él cierta simpatía. Probablemente fue un hombre que se empeñó mucho en amar y no supo: “No concibo que aquel que no ama pueda ser feliz”.

A él debemos algunas de sus teorías, que forman parte del germen de la democracia moderna. Fue un revolucionario del pensamiento. Como todo gran pensador, cometió errores a la vez que alcanzó alguna perdurable lucidez. Sus libros fueron considerados escandalosos, impíos. Sus afirmaciones, rompedoras, atrevidas, y no es extraño que chocasen con sus contemporáneos, incluso con sus compañeros de pensamiento más abierto, como Voltaire.

“Siento todavía placer en vivir en medio de los hombres cuando mi rostro les es desconocido”. Yo creo que también le apetecía la idea de seguir viviendo en nosotros, en nuestros desconocidos rostros, y todo porque: “Un perro me es mucho más cercano que un hombre de mi generación”... Tal vez su aparición en la vida fue un viaje hacia atrás en el tiempo.

[محمود المحادين · Rating 3 out of 5]

أحلام يقظة جوال منفرد

جان جاك روسو

الكاتب من مواليد 1712 في جنيف وتوفي في إيرمينونفيل سنة 1778،  كاتب وأديب وفيلسوف وعالم نبات جنيفي، يعتبر من أهم كتاب عصر التنوير، وهي فترة من التاريخ الأوروبي، امتدت من أواخر القرن السابع عشر إلى أواخر القرن الثامن عشر الميلاديين،ساعدت فلسفته في تشكيل الأحداث السياسية، اللي أدت إلى قيام الثورة الفرنسية،و أثرت أعماله في التعليم والأدب والسياسة...أهم أعماله العقد الإجتماعي


معظمنا بعرف الحياة الصعبة والصراعات اللي عاشها روسو طول حياته من طفولته إلى دفنه مشرد بوحدة من الجزر البعيدة لحد ما نقلوا رفاته بعدها، بس هذا الكتاب في مقدمة مميزة جداً يمكن إعتبارها مدخل لحياة روسو وطريقة تشكيل أفكاره، البعض قارن بينها وبين الإعترافات لكنها بتتميز بسمة إنسانية خاصة إنها من أواخر كتاباته لما كان طريد ومطلوب للإعدام بسبب أفكاره وكان يحس حاله وحيد أو هو توصل لهاي النتيجة إنه ما حد وقف معه طول عمره....


قالوا النقاد عن روسو إنه دعا لثورتين، ثورة 1789 في الأحداث، والأخرى الرومانتيكية في المجال الفكري، الأولى في الأحداث السياسية والثانية في الفكر والفن... بأحلام اليقظة كانت معظم أفكاره عن الثانية خاصة بالفترة اللي بلش يكتب فيها عن النباتات...


الجولات بتتميز إنها شبه حديث مع الذات ومراجعة للماضي ومحاولة إستذكار للطفولة ومواقفها ورحلة حياته بعدين والإضطهاد اللي كان سمة حياته، جولات عاطفية مليانة حزن ووحدة وصدق... بؤس وإعترافات بالحالة النفسية الصعبة اللي وصل إلها بعد ما نبذه العالم كله بتتخللها ومضات مضيئة نادرة وقليلة جداً وسط سلسلة من الإتهامات والخيانات والإساءات لشخص كان بحاول يترك أثر ويصنع تغيير...

[Zoha Mortazavi · Rating 4 out of 5]

«درحالی‌که میخواهیم همه‌چیز را یاد بگیریم، پیر و سالخورده می‌شویم.»

«ناراحتی و وحشت از چیزهایی‌ست که همیشه همراه من بوده‌ و به همین جهت، همین ناراحتی‌ها برای من یک نوع آرامش است.»

[Flybyreader · Rating 5 out of 5]

İnsan, dünyada ancak her şeyden uzaklaşıp kendine yaklaştığı oranda mutlu olabilir.

Rousseau’yu duymayan yoktur ancak kaçımız yazdığı herhangi bir şeyi okumuştur bilmiyorum. Benim için de özel bir keşif oldu. Uzun zamandır okuduğum en iyi felsefi-düşünsel metin diyebilirim. Kitabı Storytel üzerinden sesli kitap olarak dinlemenizi özellikle tavsiye ederim, seslendirme muhteşem ancak kitabın fiziksel halini de mutlaka edinmek istiyorum çünkü altı çizilecek o kadar fazla şey var ki! Alfa Kitap çeviride de harika iş çıkarmış, en kısa zamanda yeniden ve sindirerek okumayı dört gözle bekliyorum.
Rousseau, çıktığı düşünce gezintilerinde insanlık, ahlak, özgürlük, yaşam ve ölüm konularına değiniyor ve kendi yaşantısı üzerinden çıkarımlarda bulunuyor. Yepyeni düşünce kapıları açabilecek, bütün nöronları tetikleyen etkileyici bir okuma.

Alıntılar:

“Yaşlı bir kişinin daha öğreneceği varsa, o da ölmeyi öğrenmektir; ama, aksi gibi, benim yaşımda en az yapılan da bu; ölümden başka her şey düşünülür. Yaşlıların hepsi yaşama çocuklardan daha çok bağlıdırlar; gençlerden daha güç ölürler. Çünkü ömürleri boyunca bu dünya için çalışmışlar ve sonunda, boşuna emek verdiklerini görür olmuşlardır. Göçerken bütün mallarından, çabalarının meyvalarından ayrılırlar. Yaşadıkları sürece, ölürken yanlarında götürecek hiçbir şey edinilmediğini düşünmemişlerdir.”

“Özgürlüğün, insanın canının istediğini yapması demek olduğuna asla inanmadım, özgürlük daha çok, yapmak istemediğini yapmamaktır ve devamlı peşinde olup, bazen de yakaladığım sayesinde çağdaşlarımı çileden çıkardığım özgürlük, işte budur…”

"Yaşamak için doğmuşum, yaşamadan ölüyorum."

[Caterina · Rating 4 out of 5]

Farkli zaman aralimlarinda okunsa farkli seyler hissettirecek bir kitap, derin ve dusunducu... 119 sayfa olmasina ragmen 500-600 sayfa okumus gibi yorgun hissettim bitirdigimde.

Ogretici, farkli dusunmeye sevk eden bolumleri var.

Tekrar okumak lazim...

[Debbie Robson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Maybe I’m psychotic too but I really sympathised with Rousseau and the difficulties plaguing this marvellously intelligent man. Reading the Reveries it is so hard to believe that his “walks” were written over 200 years ago. Some may dismiss him as mad but for me I really think he was overly sensitive and suffered for a good part of his life from a persecution complex. He was also melodramatic, i.e.: “Everything is finished for me on this earth.”
This doesn’t prevent him from writing beautifully. (In some instances it seems to fuel his writing). His contemporaries may have made his life hell (by his accounts) - they are forgotten and Rousseau lives on for his interesting philosophy and his clear readable and expressive style of writing.
Yes, he might be considered by many to be vain and self obsessed but his words still ring true. Take for instance:
“Shall I allow myself to be tossed eternally to and fro by the sophistries of the eloquent, when I am not even sure that the opinions they preach and press so ardently on others are really their own?” Touche!
And this:
“Everything is in constant flux on this earth. Nothing keeps the same unchanging shape, and our affections, being attached to things outside us, necessarily change and pass away as they do. Always out ahead of us or lagging behind, they recall a past which is gone or anticipate a future which may never come into being; there is nothing solid there for the heart to attach itself to. Thus our earthly joys are almost without exception the creatures of a moment;” Beautifully expressed. I can go on and on. Here is another gem:
“There are very few of our automatic reactions whose cause we cannot discover in our hearts, if we are really capable of looking for it.” Written in the 1770s? It’s hard to believe.
This is a challenging book but well worth being a 1001. I’ll finish with one of my favourite passages with Rousseau writing about his enemies. It is also an eloquent note on perception.
“As for me, let them see me if they can, so much the better; but this is beyond them, instead of me they will never see anyone but the Jean-Jacques they have created and fashioned for themselves so that they can hate me to their heart’s content. I should be wrong then to be upset by the image they have of me; I ought to take no real interest in it, since it is not me that they are seeing.” Highly recommended.

[Alberony Martínez · Rating 4 out of 5]

«Así que aquí estoy solo en la tierra, sin más hermano, vecino, amigo, compañía que yo mismo»

En la postrimería de los años, cuando apenas nos sentimos en la necesidad de recoger aquellas hojas que el tiempo a dura penas nos ha dejado coleccionar, fue el incitado momento, cuando Jean Jacques Rousseau, ya anciano, en pobreza, pero famoso por sus escritos en toda Europa, deja a los postreros días sus confesiones, las ensoñaciones, mirando atrás las historias de vida, explicando la naturaleza de que estaba hecho. En la soledad consigo mismo, haciéndose una introspección, deshilando el carrete de los recuerdos que disperso en su memoria deja gotear, lo concibe como un acto mismo de conocerse a sí mismo, acto reflexivo donde los males reales ya poco hacen, aunque lo admite, pero no los que teme.

«Desde entonces me he resignado sin reservas y he encontrado la paz»

Más allá de sus actos reflexivos, son los paseos del ensueño convertido en la expansión del ser, del coloquialismo, del contacto con la naturaleza por el cual puede percibir la felicidad en la pura conciencia, que en sus fueros internos se nota un Rousseau más romántico, alejado de su filosofía política y más apegado a una antropología romántica. Desde este aislamiento, se nos revela con total brillantez la naturaleza de su discurso sobre el origen de las desigualdades entre los hombres.

«Todo ha acabado para mí en la tierra. Ya no me pueden hacer ni bien ni mal. Ya no me queda esperar ni temer nada en este mundo, y heme aquí, tranquilo en el fondo del abismo, pobre mortal infortunado, pero impasible como Dios mismo»

Las ensoñaciones de un paseante solitario es un texto al cual lo tendré como retorno, pues te invita a ver ese lado humano de Rousseau, donde se ve enojado con la gente y el mundo que lo rodea, ese rechazo reaccionario del mundo considerándolo corrupto. Te da la impresión de quejarse y amargarse frente la gente, pero a la vez aliviana su discurso cuando se encuentra con la naturaleza, sus palabras son más tranquilas, hay un cambio de tono, se hace agradable su lectura, prefiere a la naturaleza que a las personas. Cada paseo nos transportará a un ensueño diferente donde la filosofía contada en forma de diario de vida, le permite al autor a los individuos, a la sociedad y a si mismo.

[شمس · Rating 5 out of 5]

These hours of solitude and meditation are the only time of the day when I am completely myself, without distraction or hindrance, and when I can truly say that I am what nature intended me to be. (Second Walk)

For, although I am perhaps the only person in the world to whom destiny has decreed that he should live in this way, I cannot believe that I am the only person to have such a natural inclination for it, although I have so far not come across it in anyone else. (Fifth Walk)
__________
All the judgements of men are henceforth of no significance to me . . . (Seventh Walk)

I am a hundred times happier on my own than I could ever be living with them . . . and whatever they may do, my contemporaries will never mean anything to me. (First Walk)

__________
Rousseau's Reveries comprise Nine complete Walks, and an unfinished Tenth: each being a short essay loosely focused around a particular topic but with frequent digressions.

Digressions are not the only point of comparison with Montaigne; the catalyst of composition, the light yet profound style: the translator picks up on these similarities in his introduction:

Montaigne's playfulness here, evoking the movement of his thoughts and his own wanderings, points to a third link between his Essays and Rousseau’s Reveries: they are both texts written ‘on the go’. In his chapter ‘On Three Kinds of Social Intercourse’, he describes how, in his library, ’sometimes my mind wanders off, at others I walk to and fro, noting down and dictating these whims of mine’; and in his chapter ‘On Some Lines of Virgil’, Montaigne describes how sometimes he thinks best while he is on the move:

But what displeases me about my soul is that she usually gives birth quite unexpectedly, when I am least on the lookout for them, to her profoundest, her maddest ravings [rêveries] which please me most. Then they quickly vanish away because, then and there, I have nothing to jot them down on; it happens when I am on my horse or at table or in bed—especially on my horse, the seat of my widest musings.

Perhaps the last and potentially most far-reaching thing that Montaigne’s Essays and Rousseau’s Reveries have in common is that both texts attempt to portray the twists and turns of each writer’s mind. Like Montaigne before him, Rousseau forges has identity through a process of spontaneous mental combustion, through the accumulation of thoughts and memories: like the Essays, the Reveries paint the portrait of a thinking man as he thinks.

Although, tying into the sense of isolation bred by the distaste for society and love of solitude (a topic with which, as I did with Leopardi, I found a strong resonance), Rousseau does point out a divergence between the two:

My task is the same as that of Montaigne, but my aim is the exact opposite of his: for he wrote his essays entirely for others, whearas I am writing my reveries entirely for myself.

An excellent, if unfortunately concise, work by Rousseau; for me, the Reveries did indeed recall Montaigne, as well as Leopardi with Rousseau's musings on the vanities of society.

Lots to take away from such a short work. Highly recommended.
__________
These pages may be considered as an appendix to my Confessions, but that is not the title I give them . . .

Thrown as a child into the maelstrom of the world, I learned from an early age that I was not made to live in it and that in it I would never reach the state for which my heart longed.

It is from this time that I can date my complete renunciation of the wold and that great fondness for solitude that has never left me since. The work that I was undertaking could only be accomplished in absolute isolation; it called for the kind of long and undisturbed meditations that the tumult of society does not allow. That forced me for a time to adopt a different way of life, which I was subsequently so glad to have done that, having since then interrupted it only against my will and for short periods of time; I returned to it most readily and limited myself to it quite easily as soon as I could . . .

The conclusion I can draw from all these reflections is that I have never really been suited to civil society, where there is nothing but irritation, obligation, and duty, and that my independent nature always made me incapable of the constraints required of anyone who wants to live with them.

I became a solitary or, as they call it, unsociable and misanthropic, because the fiercest solitude seems to me preferable to the society of the wicked, which thrives only on treachery and hatred.

It is in one’s youth that one should study wisdom; in one’s old age one should practice it.

I have seen many men who philosophised much more learnedly than I, but their philosophy was, as it were, external to them. Wanting to be more learned than anyone else, they studied the universe to find out how it was to be arranged, in the same way as they might have studied some machine the they happened to see, that is, out of pure curiosity. They studied human nature in order to be able to speak learnedly about it, but not in order to know themselves; they worked in order to instruct others, but not in pursuit of their own inner enlightenment . . . I have always believed that before instructing others, one has to first know enough for oneself.

Their philosophy is for others; I need one for myself.

But what I feared most in the world, given the state of mind in which I felt myself to be, was endangering the eternal fate of my should for the sake of enjoying worldly riches, the value of which has never seemed to me to be very great.

I need to remind myself of my former decisions; the care, the attention, and the sincerity of heart with which I took them them come back to mind and restore my complete confidence. Thus I reject all new ideas as if they were harmful errors which have only a false appearance of truth and which are the only fit to disturb my peace of mind.

Among the small number of books that I still sometimes read, Plutarch is the author whom I enjoy most and find most useful.

Very often what does good to one person does harm to another, and private interest is almost always ion conflict with with public interest.
__________
consider these two months to be the happiest time in my life, so happy in fact that it would have been enough for me to have lived like that for the whole of my life, without ever feeling in my soul the desire to live in any other state.

. . . and finally go off to bed, happy with the day that had passed and wishing only for the next day to be similar.

I have noticed, however, in the ups and downs of a long life, that it is not the memory of the periods of the sweetest joys and keenest pleasures that draws me and touches me the most. These brief moments of madness and passion, however intense they may be, are, precisely because of their very intensity, only ever scattered points along the line of our life. They are too rare and too fleeting to constitute a proper state of being, and the happiness that my heart longs for is not made up of short-lived moments, but of a simple and lasting state, which has nothing intense about it in itself, but which is all the more charming because it lasts, so much so that it finally offers the height of happiness.

I recovered my serenity, tranquility, peace, and even my happiness, since every day of my life brings me the pleasure of remembering the previous day’s happiness, and I desire nothing more for the next day.

But most men, being constantly stirred by passion, know little of this state, and, having only ever experienced it imperfectly and briefly, they have only a vague and confused idea of it, which gives them no sense of its charm.
__________
Everything for me is merely false and deceptive appearance . . .

[Andrew]

We all have our melodramatic moments. Rousseau seems to have nothing but. He wanders around the French countryside all "why does no one liiiiiike me? It's so looooonely at the top!" If he had been a teenager at the same time I was, he would have totally shopped at Hot Topic and I totally would have made fun of him (not to his face, I wasn't popular enough to merit that) for expressing the same curious blend of self-deprecation and narcissism that I felt at the same time, that really most teenagers felt at the same time. The difference is that Rousseau was an elderly philosopher who should have known better. Lame. I've heard his Confessions are brilliant, but this didn't bode well.

[Clémence · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mon coup de coeur de 2021, à ce jour.

"Mais moi, détaché d'eux et de tout, que suis-je moi-même ? Voilà ce qui me reste à chercher."
Cette citation liminaire concentre à elle-seule le projet des Rêveries; une fois retiré du monde et de son agitation, livré à soi-même, au milieu d'une nature contemplative et incitant à la méditation: qui sommes-nous ? Cette question me taraude depuis longtemps, j'ai d'ailleurs quitté il y a plusieurs années mon précédent travail pour y trouver des réponses, et elle a ressurgi depuis le début de la pandémie et les nombreux moments que j'ai été amenée à passer seule.

"A travers le cheminement de la méditation dédommageante, à travers l'opération qui consiste à écrire les mots qui rassurent, la solitude persécutée est peu à peu transmuée en plénitude, le manque en suffisance, le malheur en tranquillité heureuse."

Livré à soi, seul face à soi-même, qui sommes-nous? Pouvons-nous bien vivre avec nous-même? Ces questions me semblent si capitales à notre époque et Rousseau les explore dans une forme adéquate qui ne tend pas vers le dogmatisme mais une forme mouvante, celle des rêveries, et donc du fugace, du fragmentaire. Pour reprendre G. Bachelard dans L'eau et les songes cité dans l'excellente préface de Michèle Crogiez:

"Dans l'univers, l'eau dormante est une masse de tranquillité, une masse d'immobilité. Dans l'eau dormante, le monde se repose. Devant l'eau dormante, le rêveur adhère au repos du monde. Le lac, l’étang sont là. Ils ont un privilège de présence. Le rêveur peu à peu est dans cette présence. En cette présence, le moi du rêveur ne connait plus d'opposition. Il n'y a plus rien contre lui. L'univers a perdu toutes les fonctions du contre. L’âme est partout chez elle dans un univers qui repose sur l’étang. L’eau dormante intègre toute chose, l'univers et son rêveur. Dans cette union, l’âme médite. C'est près d'une eau dormante que le rêveur pose le plus naturellement son cogito, un véritable cogito d’âme où va s'assurer l’être des profondeurs."

Une promenade m'a particulièrement émerveillée: la cinquième. Elle concentre selon moi les thèmes et réflexions les plus importants des Rêveries.

- le bonheur de se fondre dans la Nature et l'Univers, l'état extatique atteint par la méditation: "Le flux et le reflux de cette eau, son bruit continu mais renflé par intervalles frappant sans relâche mon oreille et mes yeux suppléaient aux mouvements internes que la rêverie éteignait en moi et suffisaient pour me faire sentir avec plaisir mon existence, sans prendre la peine de penser."

- l'impermanence du monde et la nécessité, face à ce flux, de trouver un ancrage en soi (réflexions empreintes de stoïcisme): "Tout est dans un flux continuel sur la terre. Rien n'y garde une forme constante et arrêtée, et nos affections qui s'attachent aux choses extérieures passent et changent nécessairement comme elles". L'énergie ne peut alors venir de l'extérieur, il faut trouver l'élan vital à l'intérieur de soi, se replacer au centre: "Le mouvement qui ne vient pas du dehors se fait alors au dedans de nous" (*citation complète à la fin).

- une éthique du bonheur, chimère face à l'impermanence: "Aussi n'a-t-on guère ici-bas que du plaisir qui passe; pour le bonheur qui dure je doute qu'il y soit connu".

- un éloge de l'imagination: " Les hommes se garderont, je le sais, de me rendre un si doux asile où ils n’ont pas voulu me laisser. Mais ils ne m’empêcheront pas du moins de m’y transporter chaque jour sur les ailes de l’imagination, & d’y goûter durant quelques heures le même plaisir que si je l’habitois encore. Ce que j’y ferois de plus doux seroit d’y rêver à mon aise. En rêvant que j’y suis ne fais-je pas la même chose ?"

La septième promenade, ma seconde préférée, m'a permis quant à elle de trouver une synthèse au projet des Rêveries. Dans cette promenade, comme dans d'autres, Rousseau évoque sa passion pour les plantes, les journées entières à explorer et découvrir de nouvelles variétés. Le plaisir qu'il a à "herboriser", à connaître son environnement, à se fondre avec lui dans un pur sentiment d'existence: "Je ne médite, je ne rêve jamais plus délicieusement, que quand je m'oublie moi-même. Je sens des extases, des ravissements inexprimables à me fondre pour ainsi dire dans le système des êtres, à m'identifier avec la nature entière".
Il me semble ici que l'on peut lier les deux quêtes, collectionner les plantes et se connaître soi, comme participant d'un même élan, d'un même mouvement. En anglais, collect signifie "collectionner" mais aussi "rassembler". La main permet de cueillir et collecter les plantes ensuite rassemblées dans un herbier; la main permet d'écrire et collecter les pensées ensuite rassemblées dans les Rêveries. En collectionnant les plantes, Rousseau se collect lui-même. Cela permet ainsi d'envisager l'herbier en termes métalittéraires, s'articulant autour de l'esthétique du fragment. Les Rêveries seraient ainsi un herbier-livre, recueil de souvenirs épars qui, une fois assemblés, forment un Tout ontologique aussi vaste et unifié que la Nature.

C'était une lecture incroyable. Lisez-le.

*"Il n'y faut ni un repos absolu ni trop d'agitation, mais un mouvement uniforme et modéré qui n'ait ni secousses ni intervalles. Sans mouvement la vie n'est qu'une léthargie. Si le mouvement est inégal ou trop fort il réveille ; en nous rappelant aux objets environnants, il détruit le charme de la rêverie, et nous arrache d'au-dedans de nous pour nous remettre à l'instant sous le joug de la fortune et des hommes et nous rendre au sentiment de nos malheurs. Un silence absolu porte à la tristesse. Il offre une image de la mort. Alors le secours d'une imagination riante est nécessaire, et se présente assez naturellement à ceux que le ciel en a gratifiés. Le mouvement qui ne vient pas du dehors se fait alors au-dedans de nous. Le repos est moindre, il est vrai, mais il est aussi plus agréable quand de légères et douces idées, sans agiter le fond de l'âme, ne font pour ainsi dire qu'en effleurer la surface. Il n'en faut qu'assez pour se souvenir de soi-même en oubliant tous ses maux. Cette espèce de rêverie peut se goûter partout où l'on peut être tranquille, et j'ai souvent pensé qu'à la Bastille, et même dans un cachot où nul objet n'eût frappé ma vue, j'aurais encore pu rêver agréablement."

[أحمد شاكر · Rating 3 out of 5]

أحلام يقظة جوال منفرد
(خواطر- سيرة ذاتية)
لـ جان جاك روسو (كاتب وفيلسوف من جنيف)
ترجمة: ثريا توفيق
طبعة: المجلس الأعلي للثقافة

هو عبارة عن 10 جولات، كتبها روسو ما بين (1776 و 1778)، وهي آخر ما كتب روسو الذي توفي في 2 يوليو 1778 .
كانت الظروف كلها مهيأة لإسعاد روسو إلا ظرفا واحدا: فقد كان يظن أنه محاطا بأعدائه، الذين يحيكون له المؤامرات. لهذا كتب ثلاثة كتب تتناول هجوم أصدقائه عليه ومؤامرات أعدائه وهي: (الاعترافات) و (الحوار) و (أحلام يقظة جوال منفرد).
كان روسو حساسا جدا. والانسان الحساس لا تترجم انفعالاته إلي أعمال، ولكنها تولد عنده طائفة من الخواطر والتأملات والأحلام.
و (الأحلام) لا تتناول موضوعا واحدا، بل هي مجموعة من الخواطر تعتمد أساسا علي نبش الماضي، والأحداث البعيدة.
خلال الجولات العشر يعمد روسو إلا تبرئة نفسه من أخطاء ارتكبها علي مدار حياته من يوم أن كان صبيا، ويوجه اتهاماته المستمرة لأعدائه الذين يتربصون به في كل وقت وكل مكان، حتي وهو يسير متأملا في الشوارع والحقول. حتي أنه ليتهيأ لك أنه مصاب بالشيزوفرينيا.
الكتاب في حد ذاته ممتع ومليء بالمشاعر اليقظة والحكم الرقيقة إلا أن مقدمته مملة للغاية وأفسدت الاستمتاع الكامل به. فكاتب المقدمة عرّف بحياة روسو، ثم عرّف بالجولات، وبعدها قدم لكل جولة علي حده، ثم تكلم عن طباع روسو وحالته النفسية في أواخير حياته، ثم تكلم عن وضع الكتاب بين مؤلفات روسو، ثم تكلم عن أثرها الأدبي (أي أثر الأحلام). لذا أنصح من يريد قراءة الكتاب أن يتجاوز علي الأقل التقديم المنفرد لكل جولة، ليحس بروعة الاكتشاف، وجميل المفاجأة.

يقول روسو: لم تكن حياتي كلها سوي حلم يقظة طويل، تقسمه إلي فصول جولاتي اليومية

[Naele]

.این کتاب انزواطبی ژان ژاک روسو را به قلم خودش تشریح می کند
چیزی که دردی را دوا نکند دین کسی نتواند بود برای انکه چیزی دین کسی بشمار رود باید مفید باشد یا روزی بتواند مفید واقع شود.

دروغ گفتن به صلاح خویش غدر و خدعه است دروغ گفتن به صلاح دیگران دغلکاری و دروغ گفتن به نیت مردم ازاری افترا است.

بگذار تا بجویم شاید عاقبت انسانی بیابم اگر بیابم حریفان شرمنده خواهند شد.

اگر لازم می آمد که اثار همه ی دیوانگی های مرا در جهان محو سازند نامه های بسیاری بود که می بایستی جمع شود.

[Foad Ansari · Rating 3 out of 5]

این کتاب را میتوان بعد از اعترافات خواند یعنی ادامه همان تفکرات است البته بی خیالتر و آرام تر - روسو آخرهای عمر خود را طی می کند و حوصله ثابت کردن چیزی به کسی ندارد حتی حوصله تفکر و بحث کردن با مردم هم ندارم البته در این کتاب هم نظریاتش در خصوص آرامش و شادی و زندگی جالبه
روسو با این کتاب تمام میشود.
کتاب قرارداد اجتماعی آخرین کتابی است که حتما باید از روسو بخوانم

[Sharmilla · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am now alone on earth, no longer having any brother, neighbor, friend, or society other than myself.

It's pretty hard for me to review this book, given that I... don't actually know how I feel about it. As a work of literature, it's quite interesting and was probably very novel in its time. Rousseau is clearly a gifted writer, and I enjoyed the excessive, convoluted, flowery style of his prose. It seemed in tandem with the rambling, chaotic, stream-of-consciousness content in this work. He establishes from the very beginning that he wrote this for himself, as a form of self-reflection and, in some ways, self-retribution. It's all typical diary entry stuff; there's very little narrative structure to be found here, no clear direction in any of his Reveries (he starts each essay writing on a particular topic, only to inevitably yield to whatever other topics spring to mind as he does). Lots of repetition, contradictions, and confusing elements that really only make sense if you're familiar with Rousseau's biography and other works. It makes about as much sense as any of the entries found in my own journals - which is fine, since that is essentially what this is.

Even in our keenest pleasures there is scarcely a single moment of which the heart could truthfully say: 'Would that this moment could last for ever!' And how can we give the name of happiness to a fleeting state which leaves our hearts still empty and anxious, either regretting something that is past or desiring something that is yet to come?

My biggest gripe is to do with whether or not I empathize with Rousseau's meditations. It's easy to accuse him of having a persecution complex, but if you keep in mind the violence and hostility he suffered prior to his self-imposed exile, he isn't necessarily exaggerating or imagining all of the reasons he has for being so paranoid. This is the mind of a man who was alienated by society and now attempts to find reprieve in nature and solitude. A lot of it comes off as him trying to convince himself that he's content with his situation, but evidence of his inability to leave the past behind bleeds through the pages anyway. He continuously claims that he doesn't care about people's opinions or the injustice they've inflicted on him, only to then launch into extensive tirades about why they're all the worst and how misunderstood his poor soul is. There's an inane amount of self-pitying, although it does eventually give way to attempts at rising above his situation. I have to say that this sentiment did not come across as entirely convincing to me, which I'm guessing is the product of Rousseau's own lack of conviction that he is as serene as he claims to be. The paradox between the tendency of humans to vacillate between self-awareness and its complete opposite is perfectly captured here.

To say that this was enjoyable to read might be a stretch. He does churn out some very insightful aphorisms and ideas, though these are somewhat difficult to isolate from the wider pool of chaos that his Reveries contain.

In all the ills that befall us, we are more concerned by the intention than the result. A tile that falls off a roof may injure us more seriously, but it will not wound us so deeply as a stone thrown deliberately by a malevolent hand. The blow may miss, but the intention always strikes home.

That being said: his sadness, dismay, and bitterness with the world is so pathetic and pitiful that I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. I don't know enough about his life to judge whether he truly deserved all that befell him, but I think most people will be able to relate in some way to his expressions of anxiety and loneliness in the world.

I was made for life, and am dying without having enjoyed any of it.

[Xander · Rating 1 out of 5]

After reading The Confessions, I expected the Reveries to be some form of sequel. Nothing can be further from the truth. Written in 1776-1778 (the tenth Reverie is unfinished because Rousseau died by this time), these are ten little stories about Rousseau's imaginations that boiled up during his long and solitary walks.

I found the whole book extremely tiring to read. Basically, it is one big apology of his past. It's highly ironic that a man who claims to be overcome by misfortunes and finds, in spite of all the wrong doing of others, happiness in his solitude, undertakes the effort to write that all of this doesn't bother him ("The evil that men have done does not affect me in the least..."). The same could be said about a lot of topics in the Reveries; this book displays Rousseau's split-personality that he showed us earlier in his Confessions; it even adds another dimension to his vanity (which is not a positive remark on this book).

Even though it is at times annoying to read these statements of self-proclaimed greatness, it is at the same time funny to see the internal contradictions. This is what makes the book readable, but only barely so.

It is clear that Rousseau sees this as well. As he explains in the sixth Walk: "Perhaps pride has a part in these judgements. I feel too much above them to hate them. They may provoke my scorn, but never my hatred; indeed I love myself too much to be able to hate any man." This, coming from a man who claims, in the same chapter, that he is so just, impartial and good that he could have had the powers of God only to make other men happy, without even thinking about himself. He even goes on to claim that it is best not to have these powers and to flee these so-called enemies - Rouseau righteously self-sacrifices himself in order to prevent these "others" from acting wrongly.

As a last example, I would like to point out that in the seventh Walk, Rousseau even manages to turn the spotlight back on himself by using such arcane topics as botany. He claims that his study of plants (and nature in general) is much more exalted than all these "pharmagologists", who only see nature as a tool for mankind to abuse, and all these "vain scientists", who collect stones only to be able to boast about them. At the same time, Rousseau tells us time and time again that he has such a huge collection of plants, that he can spend many hours on, dreaming about past glories.

I don't remember the exact chapter, but somewhere in the Reveries, Rousseau confesses that he made up parts of the Confessions (so I guess that's a meta-confession?), but only when his memory failed him and then only to portray him worse than he really is - he tells that he left out, on purpose, situations that might illustrate his goodness. I think this is the perfect moment to end this review: enough said.

[James Tingle · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have three books by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, this one, The Confessions, which I've not read yet, as its long and intimidating, and The Social Contract, a political work, which looks a bit dry and fusty, but maybe its a good read...might try it one day. Anyway, this is the one I've read so far and as a first foot in the water concerning this literary great, it went pretty well. Its not a long read, but it takes a while to get through, as it is pretty wordy and densely written, but still fascinating for the most part I found. Its written in a confessional/philosophical style and sometimes comes across as a long winded and yet eloquent rant piece, which at times seems quite self-absorbed and can generally become a big venting of personal neuroses, but that's part of what makes it entertaining. He wanders around the outer areas of Paris, in the countryside, sometimes admiring the flora and fauna around him and the wonders of nature, and sometimes recalling the wrongs done to him by his enemies in the city, ruing how things turned out for him career wise and often bemoaning how he's misunderstood. He seems pretty bitter in these writings and has many regrets and doesn't appear too happy with his past lot in life, or particularly happy with anything at all really, although you get a sense that these walks do help lift his gloom somewhat and help alleviate his stresses and inner demons, as he idly and dejectedly rambles along, and tries to cleanse his deeply troubled mind...
I think this slim and elegantly written book will appeal to anyone who enjoys a good long walk themselves, whilst trying to think through their problems and ruminating about life, injustice and the world's woes, and at the same time, attempting to appreciate a bit of the great outdoors while they're at it...an honest, interesting, reflective work and a grumbly good read!

[Mohammad Alrasheed · Rating 5 out of 5]

يبدو روسو حساساً للغاية. يخاف من نظرات الناس، وكما يقول فإن نظرة واحدة أو إشارة من مجهول كافية لأن تنغص عليه عيشه! ولعل هذا يفسره أنه عديم الثقة بالناس، ويتصور أن هناك مؤامرة تحاك ضده. يتحدث روسو عن هواجسه بصراحة متناهية، وإن بدت في بعض الأحيان غريبة. كما يخصص جزءا من هذه الهواجس للحديث عن اهتمامه بعلم النبات، الذي اهتم به أواخر حياته. وفي إحدى الهواجس فلسفة رائعة عن الكذب لا تملك إلا الإعجاب بها سواء اتفقت أو اختلفت معه. كتاب جميل عن فترة زمنية انصرف فيها روسو إلى العزلة والانطواء قاطعاً صلته بالناس بعدما عانى منهم وقاسى من معاملتهم له. من الأمور التي لفتت نظري قوله: "لقد أمسيتُ صفراً بين الناس، وهذا كل ما يمكن أن أكونه إذ لم يبقَ لي علاقات حقيقية كما لم يبقَ لي مجتمع صحيح". وهي حال تشبه الحال التي مر بها أبو حيان التوحيدي وذكرها في كتاب الصداقة والصديق، فقال: "فلقد فقدتُ كل مؤنس وصاحب، ومرافق ومشفق، فقد أمسيتُ غريب الحال، غريب اللفظ، غريب النحلة، غريب الخلق، مستأنساً بالوحشة، قانعاً بالوحدة، معتاداً للصمت، ملازماً للحيرة، محتملاً للأذى، يائساً من جميع من ترى". يبدو أن طبيعة الأدباء والفلاسفة واحدة

[Eslam Sami · Rating 3 out of 5]

هواجس وخواطر المفكر المتنزه المنفرد بنفسه جان جاك روسو عشر خواطر دونها في سنتين قبل موته وكتبها لنفسه لا لينشرها ولا ليقال عنه فيلسوف، بها كثير من الافكار الجيدة والخواطر الجميلة
اجمالا اعجبنتي لكنني اجد بها بعض التكرار والاسهاب الكثير الممل بعض الشيء