Jah Wobble, Independent on Sunday, 3 November 2002
As soon as I began reading this book I loved it ... the real triumph of this book is that a French philosopher has written a book that's genuinely funny.
Book of the Month, Arena Magazine, November 2002
101 exquisite vignettes that make up Roger Pol-Droit's brilliant waltz through modern philosophy.
Time Out, 30 October 2002
More in common with Alain de Botton's pithy distillations and Adam Phillips' psycho-philosophical musings than it does with Sophie's World.
Sunday Express Magazine, 27 October 2002
The book has already been a massive bestseller across Europe, proving that, after years out of favour, philosophy is finally back in fashion.
The Bookseller
'A fabulously quirky little stocking-filler.'
Product Description
Already a European bestseller, this text is a reassessment of our day-to-day engagement with life. In 101 short texts, Droit invites us to reconsider our most ordinary actions as unexpected philosophical events. Peeling an apple, trying to lie in a hammock, watching someone sleep, hearing your voice on a answering machine, playing with a small child - activities that, when considered outside of their routine, invite us to experience the familiar in startling ways. Droit encourages us to go further: pretend to be an animal of your choice, create a wall with your hands, try to walk around your room in total darkness, spend time in the subway system - and observe your oddity. Each exercise takes a specific time, uses materials that lie to hand, and has a designated effect upon the spirit. Our simplest actions come to seem metaphysical, refashioning our sense of the commonplace as an altogether more surprising and provocative landscape. This book encourages astonishment, unwedges us, topples the world a little, unscrews the coffin of habit. Influenced by Zen thought, it is a course in philosophical fitness, conducted in the gymnasium of what passes for ordinary life.
About the Author
Roger-Pol Droit was born in Paris in 1949, and is a philosopher, a researcher at the Centre de la Recherche Scientifique, and a columnist for the French daily, Le Monde. He is the author of La Compagnie des Philosophes.
Excerpted from 101 Experiments in the Philosophy of Everyday Life by Roger-Pol Droit, Stephen Romer. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Experiment No. 78: Tell a stranger she is beautiful
Duration: less than a minute
Props: none
Effect: fireworks
You have never seen her before. Pure chance and timing account for the fact of glimpsing her today, in the restaurant. Or on the train, in the café, crossing the street. She is radiant, alive, perfect. Her very presence is uplifting. In a few minutes, or a few seconds, she will disappear. You will never see her again. That is of no importance. You are filled with gratitude for her brief stay. You want to thank her for existing, to tell her she is beautiful and that her beauty rejoices the heart.
This is simply not allowed. You run the risk of being misunderstood. If she is alone, she'll think you are simply trying to pick her up (even though your gratitude is disinterested). If accompanied, you will be cast in the unpleasant role of the lewd provocateur, someone who deserves to be slapped.
All the same, dare yourself to do it. Out of style and sincerity. You have more to gain than to lose. Gain what, exactly? The pleasure of saying it. You cannot thank a landscape, a flower or a bird for the joy they procure you in contemplating them. They know nothing of that moment of recognition that beauty can cause. In the human case, it is different.
As to what happens next, you will find out for yourself. But if the response is in most cases a shrug of the shoulders, this at least testifies to a deplorable decay in the social fabric.
Duration: less than a minute
Props: none
Effect: fireworks
You have never seen her before. Pure chance and timing account for the fact of glimpsing her today, in the restaurant. Or on the train, in the café, crossing the street. She is radiant, alive, perfect. Her very presence is uplifting. In a few minutes, or a few seconds, she will disappear. You will never see her again. That is of no importance. You are filled with gratitude for her brief stay. You want to thank her for existing, to tell her she is beautiful and that her beauty rejoices the heart.
This is simply not allowed. You run the risk of being misunderstood. If she is alone, she'll think you are simply trying to pick her up (even though your gratitude is disinterested). If accompanied, you will be cast in the unpleasant role of the lewd provocateur, someone who deserves to be slapped.
All the same, dare yourself to do it. Out of style and sincerity. You have more to gain than to lose. Gain what, exactly? The pleasure of saying it. You cannot thank a landscape, a flower or a bird for the joy they procure you in contemplating them. They know nothing of that moment of recognition that beauty can cause. In the human case, it is different.
As to what happens next, you will find out for yourself. But if the response is in most cases a shrug of the shoulders, this at least testifies to a deplorable decay in the social fabric.