Historical Figures Not to Emulate: J. J. Rousseau Edition

This is Jean-Jaques Rousseau. Odds are you have all heard his name before, but forgot because high school history and intro to philosophy courses aren't exactly in the forefront of the mind after they're over with. J.J., besides being dashingly handsome, is well-known for his philosophy, his literature, and his music.

He wrote one of the most influental pieces on Social Contract theory in the history of forever. He published many theories on education that re-affirmed the importance of childhood and the impact that surroundings have on children. He wrote the bestseller of the 18th century (La nouvelle Héloïse). He invented the modern autobiography. He was a well-known musician durring his lifetime. Sounds pretty cool, huh?

Think again.

J.J. had some serious issues. Despised by many durring his early life and pissing off the music community of Paris left him paranoid and solitary. The lone victim with the world against him, he insisted that everyone was out to get him, even when he became one of the most sought-after and adored members of literary society after the publication of La nouvelle Héloïse.

He had angsty teenager syndrom until his death.

His autobiography is a deep psychological, introspective investigation of such a disturbed figure. J.J. insists that he is the victim at every turn and falls prey to the fiction of normalcy. "Only I understand myself... Nobody understands me..." and other similar sentiments saturate the text. Les Confessions was meant to be the moment where J.J. revealed all and then he would finally be understood by the world.

In an ironic twist of fate, no one understood the novel when it was published. This is what I imagine some of the conversation concerning the work must have been:

"What the eff?! Where did this introspection crap come from? It makes no sense..."

"Why is he only talking about himself? And he didn't even get the order of things right..."

"Awww! J.J. left of some entertaining fictions! How lovely..."

In the end, Rousseau died alone, paranoid, and angsty. He ignored the true sentiments of those around him and shrouded himself in solitude, solacing himself in the writings of his confessions. Although he attempted to make people understand his condition and perspective, no one did. The true purpose of his work was in vain.

Moral of the story:

Do amazing things with your life-- like write the bestseller of the century, influence political thought for generations to come, change the cultural perspective of something you're passionate about for the better, or invent a new genre of literature-- but remember to love your life while you live it. If you don't, you'll end up alone and paranoid and compose a great work that you think will reveal everything but no one will understand.

This is why you should not emulate Jean-Jacques Rousseau.