My first encounter with Nelson Rodrigues was indirect and incomplete. For me, his work was limited to theater, or rather, to the adaptations of his plays for television. I didn't like them. Therefore, I was never interested in his chronicles. Only many years later, driven by a cruel withdrawal from good writing, did I decide to give the "Pornographic Angel" a chance. And I soon became an orphan of Nelson Rodrigues. It was this experience that taught me to read the authors and not the commentaries or adaptations (often distortions). I was so enchanted that I even subscribed to O Globo just to access the digital archive containing his chronicles since the 1960s. I read all the writings I could find. Someone might ask: why read about past events? Because Nelson Rodrigues used everyday life to reflect on the Universal, the timeless. Certainly, his style will not please everyone. He was repetitive (obsessive), loved hyperboles and, always very provocative, spared no one, not even his friends like Otto Lara Resende. He preferred to err on the side of excess, as long as it impacted the reader. He definitely did not write to please [ 1 ].
Nelson Rodrigues immortalized several controversial phrases, such as “all unanimity is stupid,” when narrating the murder of his brother. Another well-known one is the motto of this text: “The worst form of loneliness is the company of a Paulista,” found in the chronicle “O Paulista,” published on August 7, 1968. The plot was about the visit of a Paulista and how, despite his sincere efforts to engage in dialogue, the visitor responded only with monosyllables, killing the conversation before it even began. When the Paulista finally left, Nelson went back to the typewriter, but the words refused to flow, the paper remained “white, virginal.” It was at that moment that the famous phrase emerged, as if coming from some dark corner of his soul.
The columnist also describes the effect of the aphorism on readers, highlighting in particular a telephone conversation with an 80-year-old woman from São Paulo. Married at 15 to a fellow countryman and widowed after 65 years of marriage, she made a moving confession to him: “Days, weeks, months of absolute silence would pass. Many times, I could no longer remember what my husband’s voice sounded like – and sometimes I even forgot my own.” Inspired by this story, he created another of his definitive phrases: “One listened to the silence of the other.” And he ended the article with a powerful image: “He had agonized without moaning. And then, there she went to the little chapel. A stranger bloomed, watched over and cried.” Pure fiction? Perhaps, but, as always, Nelson Rodrigues touched deeply on a painful human truth: coexistence without dialogue, when company can be more solitary than solitude itself.
I imagine that many of the readers of the Unicamp Journal are from São Paulo. Therefore, I ask them to have the magnanimity not to resent the "Pornographic Angel." Nelson Rodrigues, after all, was a caricaturist of letters. He used words to amplify human traits, which, like all caricature, can be displeasing when exaggerating expressions. I am not from São Paulo, but I have lived in São Paulo for over thirty years and have absorbed much of the local culture. I already feel like a Paulista, as do my children. And, I confess, I see my own reflection in "O Paulista."
However, I believe that the sudden inspiration that led Nelson to create his controversial phrase betrayed him. He was wrong to point out “the true worst form of loneliness.” This is what I intend to argue in this text. But first, I would like to ask permission to use a popular term, instead of the formal word, for rhetorical purposes. In Portuguese, we have the word “fajulador,” with its clear definition in dictionaries. But this human archetype is better known, in our daily lives, as the “sycophant.” Just reading this expression immediately brings to mind familiar names and faces. It needs no explanation, because it is part of our daily lives.
But what does this have to do with the theme of this text? Well, here is my version of Nelson Rodrigues' famous phrase: the worst form of loneliness is the company of a sycophant.
Let me explain. By definition, “loneliness” is precisely the absence of company: it is being alone [ 2 ]. When we are alone, that inner voice we call Conscience is our only companion. Sometimes, we spend hours and hours talking to ourselves. Some call this experience “meditation.” And, certainly, each of us has already encountered ourselves, whether by choice or by imposition of circumstances. For some, it is a form of self-knowledge; for others, a real torture (especially in the present day).
And in these moments of “loneliness,” we become aware of a completely unusual phenomenon: although Consciousness is “ours” in the strict sense of the word, it often disagrees with us, accuses us of mistakes, and even rebels, not leaving us alone. It’s as if it were another person! Strange, isn’t it? Here, the important thing to emphasize is that solitude can benefit us, whether through simple reparative reflection or through the recognition of mistakes. In both cases, there is spiritual growth. As the wisdom of the ancients said, better alone than in bad company.
Well, the company of a sycophant is the worst form of loneliness. I repeat: the worst form of loneliness is the company of a sycophant. The sycophant is the anti-conscious. In an attempt to always please, every sycophant agrees with his “boss”[ 3 ]. I will call the victim, whether voluntary or not, of a sycophant the “boss”. Needless to say, a hierarchical relationship between the sycophant and his victim is not essential. In practice, the relationships are very diverse, ranging from simple friendship to kinship and, certainly, subordination. But the important thing is that the sycophant invariably agrees with his boss. Or, even when he disagrees, he agrees.
Want an example? If the boss says, “I’m wrong,” the sycophant comes along to disagree and swear to God that the boss is right. It’s paradoxical, but it happens. The sycophant is our anti-conscience, because he doesn’t belong to us and doesn’t know us from the inside, but he convinces us that we are perfect. Tell me if this anti-conscience isn’t worse than the Conscience that, because it belongs to us, knows us intimately and helps us avoid or at least correct some mistakes. Certainly, the company of sycophant is the worst kind of loneliness. Each of us, like any human being, can make mistakes. That’s where the role of Conscience (and good friends) is vital. The problem is when we are surrounded by sycophant. Because they are the anti-conscience, they convince us that we are right, even when we are wrong. They think they are doing good, but in reality, they are causing terrible harm.
Nelson Rodrigues, who saw human beings as if they were unmasking a fraud, would have laughed when he saw the naivety of sycophants. Oh, yes, they have good intentions! There is no doubt that they want to please, to be useful, to be part of the world of the person whose ego they polish. They are devoted, almost guardian angels, always ready to applaud even when they stumble. But, in their attempt to protect, they end up murdering the truth. The sycophant, even with a heart full of good intentions, is a sweet poison. He stifles criticism, silences judgment and dresses us in an armor of perfection that prevents us from seeing our own mistakes. Deep down, the sycophant condemns us to the worst of punishments: isolation from reality. And the worst is not him; it is our own soul, which begins to believe the lie. Because, no matter how well-intentioned he may be, the sycophant distances us from ourselves, until, one day, in front of the mirror, we no longer recognize who we are.
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
[ 1 ] According to Nelson Rodrigues, he only became himself when he stopped worrying about what Bandeira, Drummond, etc. would say and started writing for himself. Before, Bandeira and Drummond were like co-authors…
[ 2 ] I need to make a reservation to the definition. In the past, and particularly today, it is possible to be alone in the middle of a crowd.
[ 3 ] Evaluating a boss is a serious matter. But I would venture to guess that the quality of a boss is INVERSELY proportional to the number of sycophants who surround him.
