THE RISE AND FALL OF EXiSTENTlAUSM: A STUDY  _
OF A somAL MOVEMENT

Thesis for the Degreeof M. A.
MECHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY
' LeROY W. ROSS
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ABSTRACT
THE RISE AND FALL OF

EXISTENTIALISR: A STUDY
OF A SOCIAL MOVEMENT

by LeBoy w. Ross

The approach in this research has been guided by the
perspective of the sociology of knowledge and emphasizes
historical and structural analysis. The study examines the
social and intellectual settings which together found pro-
nounced expression in France during the 1940's. Social
aspects are traced from the period of the French Revolution
through to the Fifth Republic. Intellectual aspects are
considered from the philosophical roots of Kierkegaard and
Nietzsche, the phenomenology and philosophies of Husserl,
Sartre, Camus, and others. The aim of this study is to
show that Existentialism was a result of conducive social
conditions which produced diverse and intense strains and
that this social movement constituted an indictment, commen-
tary, and resolution of these social strains, and resolved
the problem of otherwise meaningless experiences for members

of that social movement.

THE RISE AND FALL OF
EXISTENTIALISH: A STUDY

OF A SOCIAL I-IOVEI-IENT
By

{\H
LeROy w. Ross

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

EASTER OF ARTS
Department of Sociology

1969

Copyright by
LEROY WALTER ROSS

1969

11

ACKNOWLEDGhEKTS

There are several key individuals whose assistance
I wish to acknowledge. Foremost of these is Professor
Harry Webb, my major advisor, intellectual mentor, editor,
and personal friend. From the inception of this work, he
has been keenly intrumental in how the work was organized,
developed, and reported. One of the functions of a major
thesis advisor is to guide, assist, and suggest ways of
improving the manuscript, but his personal interest and
effort in this study far transcends what may be called
the "formal expected demands" of the advisor role, and I
here record my Special thanks to him. Beyond all this,
his constant encouragement, patience, and good-will have
been most gratifying. Professor James B. thee, who first
introduced me to the sociology of knowledge perspective,
took an early interest in the study and contributed im-
mensely to what this study offers. Professor Jay Artis
also provided many helpful suggestions, particularly in
matters of methodological concern. I would be remiss if
I were to restrict my acknowledgment to Professors Webb,
thee, and Artis to those matters directly related to
this work, for I have tapped and expropriated their ideas

presented in and out of class at-will. Thus, whatever

111

iv

merit this study may have is largely due to their seminal
thinking; any errors in misrepresentation, misinterpre-
tion, faulty logic, weak expression, and the like is due,
of course, to my own failing. Finally, I should like to
thank Carol Ross, maritally associated with this writer,
for services performed well beyond what reason would
permit. She has not only typed this work several times,
but has done so while a student herself. She has been a
source of steady encouragement, a springboard for clarity
of expression and meaning, and enormously helpful in

many, many ways throughout this study.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

ACICIJOYINTLED‘; II‘EI\VTTS . O O O O C O O O O O O O O O O O O O 1 i 1

Chapter
I. THE SOCIAL SETTII‘IG o o o o o o o o o o o o o l

The Incomplete Social and Political
Revolutions

The Incomplete Industrial Revolution

The French Social Structure and
Conditions prior to and during
the Second World War

The German Occupation

The French Post-Liberation-War Period

Political Instability
Economic Instability
Social Instability

II. THE INTELLECTUAL SETTING . . . . . . . . . . 72

Introduction

Kierkegaard

Nietzsche

Sartre

The Call to Action through Existential
Literature -

Sartre
Camus
Sartre Revisited

III. THE RISE AND FALL OF EXISTENTIALISH: A
TUDY OF A SOCIAL I'JOVEI'.EIVIT o o o o o o o o 156

Introduction
Smelser's Conceptual Framework
The Rise of Existentialism as a Social

Movement
The Fall of Existentialism as a Social
hovement
BIBLIOGMPI-IY O O O O O O O O O O O O 0 O O O O O O O 206

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CHAPTER I

THE SOCIAL SETTING

Introduction

The objective of this chapter is to examine the French
"Social Setting" by tracing its historical and structural fac-
tors, in contrast to an analysis of the intellectual setting,
which is to be the concern for the following chapter; this will
enable us to structurally account for the rise of existential-
ism as a social movement in France during the "Forties" and
especially in the post-liberation-war period. We will want
to consider the socio-historical factors in so far as they are
significant and conducive to the emergence of existentialism.
It is in this connection that existential thought will be
viewed as a reflection of these strained social conditions,
which, in turn, provided a remedy that served to overcome the
social structural strains and personal discontinuities.

If then, it is posited that existentialism reflects
the social conditions that affected man and his means of
social interaction and relations, we need to specify the
reference point that is germane to our study. Thus, rele-
vant questions to be asked are: one, which men are we tal-
king about; and two, what temporal, physical, and spacial

factors are we considering. In response to the first

2

question, it is important to especially stress that we will
be considering French existentialism and its impact on the
French people (though existentialism certainly was not limited
to them only, for it was also a dynamic phenomenon in both
Germany and Italy). In answer to the second question.raised,
our particular concern focuses upon various historical
forces, conditions, and events which served as a back-drop

to the all-too-real structural manifestations of the French
defeat by the Germans in 19uo. of the French submission.and
subjugation.during the German Occupation, and or the internal
instability. failure, and/or loss of France's institution-
alized mechanisms that were essential for its very survival
and functional continuation.

In as much as the fragmented social setting is con-
sidered to be of vital importance in understanding why
existentialism emerged as a social movement, let us very
briefly indicate some of the themes expressed within exis-
tentialism. By so doing, we will be better able to see
why existentialism became significant in its message
and in its attempt to provide meaning for the lives of
those who had lost so much: financially, socially.
politically, psychologically. aesthetically, and morally.
Indeed. existentialism, as a philosophical orientation,
provided a basis for an evaluation and explanation of
the past history of events and actions, gave meaning

3

and assessment in the immediate "harmless" present, and
served as a means of experiencing the future with purpose,
utility, and relevance. (Our entire study is to be focused
on substantiating and providing evidence to validate this
conJecture.)

What, then, are the themes of existentialism?
Basically, they are negative and nihilistic. We get, for
instance, a fairly accurate notion of its themes expressed in
this note of despair (which in itself is a theme): to exist
is to suffer, to be in agony, and to die: to survive is to
find meaning in suffering, in agony, and in death. The con,
ditions of life are viewed as being more than.a mere predi-
cament: they are absurd in so far as man has continually
machinated life situations and forfeited his real being and
purpose. Instead of seeking his self-realization, man has
rejected and deceived himself: he has not challenged his
“world-situation" created by others: and he has usurped his
relations with others,and the result is often one of strain.
tension, anxiety, and alienation. By noting these existen-
tial themes at this point, then, we will be able to view them
as “threads" in our examination of the social setting.

Another aim of this chapter is to identify the rele-
vant stages in the development of the French social setting.
To be sure, these stages are not clear-cut or contained in
precise. delineated periods: rather, they pulsate, extend,
Land overlap one another. Our first concern will be to

. u

identify and discuss some of the remnant strains from the
French Revolution of 1789. It will become apparent that
these strains had a very definite impact on the forthcoming
French social structure that extended right up to (and
beyond) France's conflict with Germany in l9u0. Although
we will not examine this aspect in great detail, it will
be profitable to survey these social conditions and events
that provided the structural basis for later French under-
takings.

Following the above, we will extensively examine
the social conditions that resulted from France's defeat
and the consequent period of Occupation in relation to
their impact on the French social structure. Here, we
will analyze the objective atomization of relations on
various levels of her society. Finally, we will examine
the results of these impairments or discontinuities
endemic to the social structure: alienation.

we must continually bear in.mind that it is
Europe in general and France in particular (in our con-
cern) that has been victimized and subjected to devas-
tating crises, stresses, and strains. Also, it is impor-
tant to note that the French writers (more specifically,
writers such as Sartre and Camus) did not create these
strains, tensions, and crises in their social milieu
(it has often been.noted that those who explore and assess

a phenomenon are frequently held accountable for its

—'_-

. nude.»

5

manifestation): rather, they gave expression to them by
focusing on and decrying the inadequacy. unresponsiveness,
and ineffectiveness of the social forces that produced
these discontinuities. Moreover, their expression.was to

include the way out of this perceived senseless maze.

e incom. ete oci and liti revo utio

Our concern now is to embark on a discussion of
the remnant strains from the French Revolution which
became identified and intensified within social and
political cleavages. The impact of these cleavages
certainly are of importance in.France's attempt to
maintain herself as a sovereign nation. The point is,
of course, that though all nations (or societies, or
groups) must, by necessity, cope with the problems of
goal attainment, certain task performances, adaptation,
leadership, integration.and cohesion, and pattern.main-
tenance, France was to bear the scars of these cleavages
marked and embedded, in part, from the incompleteness of
the political and social revolution of 1789.

:A glimpse at the impact that these cleavages had
on the French people can be noticed in Shirers typically
perceptive account. He notes that:

. . . the story of France's fall from greatness
could not be told merely in terms of documented
events and statistics or by recounting the fail-
ings of the miserable individuals who for brief

intervals seemed to hold the destiny of the
nation in their hands. These facts were of

extreme importance, it is true . . . . But
there were in this French tragedy, I saw,
many imponderables . . . For in the last
analysis, it seems, to me, the sickness of
our present Western Civilization infected
the French more deeply than most of the
other democratic people of the Occident,
weakening their spirit and their morale and
their morals so that in the end the virtues
which had made them great were no longer
strong enough to enable them to withstand
the evil pressures which confronted them in
the turbulent and corrupt time between the
world wars.

That summer of l9h0, with France under the

heel of the barbarian Razi, when conservative
middle-class Frenchmen sighed and said to me:
”well, better Hitler than Blum!" (Blum, a
socialist, a patriot, and a Jew, had been
premier of the Popular Front government), and
when the Communists. who had captured the fanati-
cal allegiance of the majority of the organized
workers, justified to me their opposition to
defending France against the Razi invasion
(because that was what Moscow had ordered in
line with Stalin's pact of August 1939 with
Hitler), I began to comprehend the depths of
confusion and treacheiy to which the French, as
a people, had fallen.

How, then, did France go from her favorable and
prestigeful position in the world in—between the two
great world wars to the degrading state depicted above?
In her sublime state, France seemed to be supreme for
she had the most powerful army: her navy was second
‘ only to Great Britain: she possessed the finest balanced
economy of any nation in Europe: her French diplomacy
was energetic and farsighted: and she possessed, in

 

1william L. Shirer, Hidcentur Journe : The
West rn.world thrc h it Ye s of 001 Iict (fie. York:
FE». gtraus EL 5 15%;)

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7

Paris. the intellectual and art center of Europe.1 In
what way and to what extent does the French Revolution
of 1789 bear upon the denigrating and degrading state
that France was in.during her fall and defeat by Germany
on that decisive day in June, l9#0? Let us examine the
nature of the social and political cleavages that par-
tially stemmed from 1789. (Let us emphasize, however,
that our concern is not in analyzing the causes, per se,
of the French Revolution: rather, we are concerned with
some of its consequences which later were to be mulled
over and re-interpreted by “existential" thinkers.) As
such, the Revolution was only one factor among many in
which the message of existentialism reflected on the
futility of man's endeavor, for man himself did not know
precisely what he was or where he was going. (Indeed,
this matter of the nature of man goes back at least to
the time of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle.) Consequently,
his specific pursuit was embedded in ambiguity and vacilla-
tion, and in general, the drama of life was meaningless,
uncertain. and guided by fate, not by rational thought
or planned purpose.

The major political cleavage stemming from 1789
centers,in simple terms, on the ideological difference

between those in.favor of the monarchy and those in favor

 

lIblde. ppe “-65e

of the Republic. It is to be noted that the origin of
this ideological cleavage was dynamically, not temporally,
evidenced in their mutual distrust of each other: further,
both were to challenge the validity and legitimacy of the
other henceforward. Parenthetically, the monarchists,
prior to the Revolution, appear to have gotten enmeshed
and victimized in their own political inflexibility, unre-
sponsiveness, and ineffectiveness. Tocqueville provides
insight to this in his depiction of the changing state of
public opinion within France prior to 1789. Further, he
contended that the economists and physiocrats, acting as
agitators:

conceived [of] all the social and administra-

tive reforms effected by the Revolution before

the idea of free institutions had once flashed

upon their minds . . . . Their idea . . . was

not to destroy but to convert the absolute mon-

archy. . . . About 1750 the nation at large

cared no more for political liberty than the

economists themselvei. . . . People sought

reforms, not rights.
But the consequences of the monarchical political weak-
ness and ineptitude are reflected in the following
appraisal:

Only ggter these demands for reform were thwarted
by governmental indifference, monarchical ineffec-

 

lAlexis de Tocqueville, The Old Re inc and the
EEeggh Revolution. trans. John Bonner (new York: Harper
Brothers, 1

), pp. l9fi, 196-97, 200, as cited in

Boil J. Smelser, Theo 0 Cells tive B v r (new Iork:
The Free Press of Glencoe, I935), p. 551.

tiveness, and the destruction of the Parlia-
ments, did grievances begin to be defined in
terms of the values-~1iberty, the natural state
of man, etc.--which la or became the basis for
the French Revolution.

The basis of the political and social cleavage,
then, was not that the French Revolution became a reality:
rather, the difficult and far-reaching consequences focus
on an unfinished and incomplete revolution. Consequently
the old order of monarchicalism was never really dera-
cinated or recruited into the Republican ideology, and
therebysurvived to continually oppose and counterattack
the republican's position, basis of legitimacy, and aims.
Again, Shirer relates in descriptive fashion:

LThe monarchistsj survived to combat the repub-
lican idea right up to Hitler's entry into Paris,
which it welcomed and which brought the Third
Republic to an end.

For a hundred and fifty years two Frances which
lost no love on each other . . . lived side by
side. They never fused. Under the leadership,
in the last century, of kings. the church,
napoleon III, and even of a general or two on
horseback, the powerful minority which had not
been destroyed in the blood bath of the 1789
Revolution constantly opposed the conception of
the Republic, taking a strong stand against par-
liamentary democracy, the separation of c oh
and state, and social and economic reforms.

The issue that is important here is that, in.addi-
tion to the perennial conflicting ideologies of the
monarchy and of the Republic, the political parties

 

1Smelser, op. git., pp. 331-32.
28111201}. one site. ppe 66-67e

10

were organized within an underpinning ideological belief
in which the political ”inpgroup' attempted to inaugurate
into manifest social action the "perceived” logical
implications of the ideology. Consequently, political
instability ensued primarily because of: (1) the neces-
sity of forming coalitions among the smaller “sub-parties"
within the respective major political ideology, and (2)
the temporal change of office holding between the major
ideologies being represented in office. The impact of
the French political instability is further attested to
by G.D.R. Cole's insightful comparison between the French
and Russian.revolutions:

The instabilit . . . rests on the fact that,
even now [1956 , France has not completely
absorbed the lessons of its great Revolution
of 1789. Whereas in Russia. within a year of
the Revolution of 1917, the old ruling classes,
including the old bourgeoise, had completely
vanished as a social and political force, in
France these have been ever since 1789 active
reactionary elements within the society, not
at most times very numerous, but always influ-
ential enough to make a great noise and often
able to cause dangerous disturbances as in the
Dreyfus Case and again in the crises of 193“.
. . . [which foretold; the beginning of
Viohyism and the nor collapse of 191w.1

Thus, following the Revolution of 1789 and its
aftermath of mass disillusionment and weakened state

 

1Alexander Herth, gzgnce: lguo-lgfifi (London:
Robert Hale LTD, 1956), p. xiv.

11

at the close of Napoleon's reign, the aristocracy, royal-
ists, and monarchical adherents rejoiced in the triumph
over the "revolutionaries” and in the ascendency of Louis
:XVIII to the throne. Once again, social order and pros-
perity at home and peace in foreign relations were expected
to prevail. However, Charles 1, Louis.XVIII's successor,
was evicted by the 1830 revolution, and this time it was
Louis-Philippe, the "Citizen King,” who was expected to
bring these goals to fruition. Nevertheless. his reign
was to last only until the formation of the Second Republic
in the revolution of 18h8 with Louis Napoleon Bonaparte
being inaugurated as President. The latter, in turn, des-
troyed the weak constitution within three years and estab-
lished himself as dictator (and later as emperor).1
Finally, it was the Third Republic to succeed the

ISecond Republic" after the former had been crushed by
the war with Germany in 1870-71. It was to take Mon
Gambetta almost nine years to secure the actual control
of the Republic. Even then, the Republic was not safe,
secure, or stable. Harrison depicts the internal strife
and struggle within France in the following account:

Powerful groups were opposed to it. The chief

of these were the various factions of monarch-

ists (Bourbons, OrlGanists, and Bonapartists),

the professional military, the Roman Catholic
hierarchy, and large numbers of peasants who

 

1John B. Harrison and Richard E. Sullivan :A Short
91 '

History of weltern Civiligatiog (new York: Knopf,
pp. 521-23.

12

were strongly influenced by the clergy.1
If one examines the peculiar birth of the Third

Republic, some clue is given for their insecure politi-
cal state, of which no small part was played by the fresh-
1y experienced frustration and exhaustion caused by their
loss to the Germans. Shirer, for instance, proposes that
the Third Republic was “ill-fated“ from its inception by
noting that:

It had a freak birth. Its constitution was
actually devised for a monarchy. Two-thirds
of the members of the Rational Assembly, all
freely elected, were monarchists. And it was
the.Asswmbly which was to choose the new form
of government. After a bitter four-year strug-
gle in which the agreed candidate for the
throne, the Count de Chambord, unexpectantly
weakened the monarchist cause by insisting on
the restoration of the fleurs-de-lis flag on
the old regime, the.Assembly, in 1875, decided
on a republic by a majority of one vote, 353

t0352eeee

But that was not the only drawback. The birth
of the Third Republic left France with its old
divisions. On the one side was the democratic,
republican Left. drawing its spiritual support
from the mystique of the 1789 Revolution, and
its popular support from the little tradesman,
the peasants, and the workers. On the other
side was the Authoritarian Right which looked
backward with nostalgia to the ancient re ime,
still yearned for a monarchy, and drew Its
strngth from the upper classes, the Church,
the Army, big business, and high finance. Both
sides were evenly matched at the polls and
both were uncompromising.2

 

11b1de. p. 585e

ZShirer, op. cit., pp. 67-68.

13

And further on, he notes the painful results that followed
the precarious and unstable political order:

It was in this situation which led to the
instability of the Third Republic, the con-
stant shifting from Left to Right and back
to Left . . . and brought about the numerous
coalitions and blocs the fre uent fall of
cabinets. and a political atmosphere charged
with uncertainty that foreign observers came
to refer to the Republican regime as the
“fickle" Third Republic. From its birth in
1282 until 1220: the Republic had fifty-nine
diffeyen ministriesI and after the First
World w the cha es came even more rapidly
-- cm 1 20 to there were fort -one
French cabinets. At more than one moment of
international crises, such as in March 1938,

when Hitler annexed Austria, France was tem-
porarily without any government at all.1

Thus, the revolution, that resulted in the emer-

 

gence of the Third Republic, did not succeed in its
attempts to solve the political problem.in that it failed
to establish a stable and effective type of leadership,

to attain a functional degree of integration and cohesion,
or to maintain its social order. In addition, we have
already noted that the Revolution of 1789 failed to solve
the social problem.2 while there are other relevant
failures that weakened France and eventually contributed
to her fall to the Germans in 19h0, one can state with
some degree of confidence (or justification) that the

11bid., p. 68: italics added.

Zn. Nisbet offers additional insight into these
sociocultural changes by relating and interpenetrating
the effects of the Revolution of 1789 and the Industrial
Revolution that undermined shock, or toppled "institu-
tions [of the social order which had endured for cen-
turies--even.millenia--and with them, systems of

14

failures endemic to the above incomplete revolutions might
be interpreted to be the failure of man himself in his
inconsistency and vulnerability in seeking his own.vested
interests-~e.g., the cleavage between the monarchists and
the republicans.

It is no wonder, then, that there was no consistent
definition of what constituted a social problem or the
best method of governing. In short, there were (and remain
as well) potent diverse conceptions of what is social jus-
tice and social progress and of the best means of imple-
menting them or their referents into actual social situa-
tions. (In.this connection, one could ask also the peren-
nially simple, though antinomically complex. questions:
what is man? Where is he going? How will he get there,
if at all? will he prevail?)

These are some of the crucial issues that are to be
raised by existentialists in their attempt to bridge the
bifurcation of mind from life and the worthwhile from the
inconsequential. while we are reserving an extended treat-
ment of these and other relevant factors for the next chap-
ter, we can already noted; this point the sense of futility
and absurdity of life-situations manifested in the numerous

authority, status, belief, and community . . . measured in

term: not 0 -' of human effort :uthorit' ind communit-,

- ;.so n terms of human v: ues ;.. as- rations.‘ : ics
mine: also, I have made the same into a declarative phrase

from Nisbet's original interrogative form. Source is from

Nisbet's insightful and synthesizing treatise, Eagle

Durkheim with Selected nggys (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:
3n 1°. 9 9 O p. °

15

forms of government that had been.tried, without lasting
success, in France from the Revolution of 1789 to 1939.

The ncom te ndu t al eve ut on

Another failure that seems to be relevant to France's
weakness and eventual demise in the tragic year of 19h0 is
the incompleteness of the industrial revolution. While it
may be argued that the incompleteness of the socio-political
(Revolution of 1789), political (Revolution of 1870), and
industrial revolutions is most generally, if not always, a
matter of degree in so far that any nation can.be charac-
terized as being viable, progressive, and enterprising in
overcoming their problems germane in time and space, yet,
the disheartening realization is that the French industrial
revolution, by remaining uncompleted, failed to solve
France's economic problems or meet the technological
demands required for self-preservation. By saying this
we are not positing any cause and effect relationship
between the incompleteness of the industrial revolution
(or any of the above or forthcoming factors as well) and
France' a defeat by Germany in 19HO. At the same time,
certain precedents, as predispositioning factors, and
prolegomenous self-interests can be related. But, in so
doing let us not become too bogged-down with any particu-
1ar precedent or predecessor: our focus must remain on

those failures experienced by France which provided the

16

basis for re-evaluation by the existential writers that
articulated the re-evaluation. For now, then, we focus
on France's inability to solve the economic problem
because of her incomplete industrial revolution, which,
in turn, contributed to her weakened position as a major
European power.

One of the factors that seemed to play a part in
this failure is in the incipient role of the bourgeoisie
and the peasantry, who, one will recall. constituted a
vital element of the Revolution of 1789. From the begin-
ning they inveighed against and hindered the coming of the
machine age that made men the slaves of machines and profits.
As we shall see. their suspicion and hostility toward the
“grip of the machine” was "perceived" as minacious and
crippling to their interests.

Their outlook and seeming resultant contribution to
France's failure to industrialize to the extent of the
Germans, British, and Americans is evidenced by Shirer's
comment:

They (businessmen, tradesmen, and peasantry)
contrived not only to deprive industry of the
capital it needed to keep pace with that of
other Western countries but to keep labor in
such a state of wretched poverty that it com-
stantly rebelled against its lot. Instead of
investing their savings in new business enter-
prises or at least putting them in the banks,
where they could be siphoned off for investment,
the tradesmen and the farmers preferred to keep
their surplus cash in stockings under the mat-
tress. Even in our own times, between the wars,

the French put into industry only about a quar-
ter of the capital the British put into theirs.

17

Today in all of France there are only 55,000
machine tools compared to 2,000,000 in Great
Britain. Horsepower of machinery per head in
France is a third of Britain's, a fifth of ours.

Smallness and even pettiness of outlook pre-
vailed in France. It was the paradise of the
small merchant, the small manufacturer, the
small farmer. They dominated French economics
as they did politics. They instinctively
recoiled from the technique of mass produc-
tion.which was being so successfully developed
in the United States, in Great Britain, in
Germany, and often used their power to hamper
the growth of big business.1

In this respect, without itemizing all of the significant

influences, C. J. B. Hayes concurs, in general, with the
above citation by stating that:

Generally speaking, nevertheless [i.e., in
spite of cognizant gains], mechanized industry
in France was "infant industry," and seemingly
unable to compete on equal terms with the
lusty machine industry of Britain (of Belgium),
many French industrialists and French bankers

. . . arrayed themselves against any change in
the existing protectionist system.[i.e., non-
intervengion by the state or by the trade
unions].

The reasons for this state of “infant industry” in
France indicated above are varied, complex, and their full
significance and implications are well beyond the scope of
our inquiry. However, no small import lies within the
Weltanschauppg of the French people themselves. For them,
the individual skill of the craftsman, the quality rather
than quantity of the product, and the stress on the

 

lsmrar. OEe Eite. ppe 7u-75e

20. J. H. Hayes, Modern o to 8 0 (New York:
Macmillan Company, 1953), p. 55.

18

individualistic, imaginative, and artistic roots were
greatly to be favored over the patterns of industrial con-
formity and regimentation. In short, the French epitomize
what may be said to be a moral reaction against all of the
faults and failures of modern bureaucracy in industrial
life. Shirer relates some of the consequences that followed
from this orientation to life:

The modern corporation which enabled industry
to expand at a breathless pace in Britain and
America, was too cold and impersonal to suit
a Frenchman. .At the end of 1939 there were
only 43,000 corporations in all of France com-
pared to a half million in.America.

The closely knit family was the proper unit

to conduct a business enterprise . . . [even]
if it was woefully inefficient and made but a
modest profit. It gave honor and reputation
to the family and enabled its members to live
decently well, free from the fears, the fren-
zies, the worries, the instabilities of the
go-getters in the teeming business world of
more "advanced" lands . . . . Thus, it was that
even as late as 1931, 6k per cent of the regis-
tered industrial establishments in France had
no paid employees at all. Service and labor
were supplied exclusively by the owner and the
members of the family. :A further 3“ per cent
of French “industries” had less than ten paid
employees each. Exactly 98 per cent of the
manufacturing concerns, then, were distinctly
small businesses. The fearful wear and tear
of modern industrial life on the human being
was thus spared most Frenchmen. But the cost
to the nation of its failure to industrialize
suffic on y pp; gyea . We h increased ass
in France than in other countries struggling
to maintain or achieve a major place in the
sun. And until it was too late the French

did not fully realize that in our time miIItar
wer w s comin to be based IE? e on indus-
trial strea;th In the fall of 1° 5 ust a

 

  

19
production was 25 per cent below that of 1930;
German production was 30 per cent above.1
We could, of course, point out similar problems,

inadequacies, discontinuities, and misallignments encoun-
tered-~positively and negatively it may be argued--in the
development of the industrial giants, referred to above
as the "advanced" lands. Even though France's incomplete
industrial revolution was evidenced negatively to a great
degree--in her inability to solve her economic problem--
it is essential to keep in perspective that this failure
contributed, in part, to her weakened position as a major
power and to her near-annihilation in the Second World
War. Though we will give limited attention later on to
the ineffective French military, we can, at this point,
recognize how significant France's failure to industrial-
ize adequately in order to meet the demands and needs of

awarwas.

The French pocial strucpgie
and co itions prior 0

dpyipg the Second World War
In our discussion to this point we have attempted

to indicate that the incompleteness of the social and poli-

tical revolution of 1789, the political revolution that
resulted in the formation and establishment of the Third

Republic, and the lack of an extended industrial revolution

 

IShirer, op. cit., pp. 75-76: italics added.

20

all contributed to France's weakened state as a major
power. These failures, in turn, had far-reaching conse-
quences when she was to encounter Germany for the second
time within a twenty-five-year period. We have also
stressed the ideological bi-polarization that separated
the two Frances. Indeed, this cleavage or fissure will
be interjected repeatedly for consideration in our study.
From our above discussion of this fissure considered from
the Revolution of 1789, for instance, we can extrapolate
its import into the Stravinsky episode,1 the ouster of
Baum and the Popular Front,2 the “traitorous' armistice
of 1940 led by Laval and P8tain,3 and (some would force-
fully argue) in the beckoning call for De Gaulle's
authoritarian type of leadership.“ In short, the reac-
tionary forces are neither defunct nor without influence
even today.

These failures, encapsulated in France's historical
forces and evidenced in certain events and situations at
particular times, provide for only a partial understanding
of the resultant strains, anxieties, and uncertainties

 

11bid ____,_, pp. Bit-9o.
2%. pp. 91-94.
31bid.. pp. 9‘+-99.
“Ibid., pp. 100-109, especially pp. 108-109: see

also: E. H. Earle (ed. ), Modern France (Princeton, N. J.:
Princeton University Press, 1931), p. 253: L. Lania, The

Nine Live; of Europe (New York, 1950), p. 12.

 

 

Inl—

PIH-‘Iy A

21

that became so 'unmeaningfully real” with France's collapse
in 1940. However one may attempt to categorize or taxono-
mize the "real” or 'alledged" causes for France's collapse,
the heart of the matter is--at least from.our perspective
and for our purposes--that France did collapse and did
become an occupied country in which the French people
daily experienced various ambiguities, deprivations, norma-
tive disorganization or misallignment, and value dissonance
or conflict as a result of thistruncation from traditional
and operative social institutions. Thus, the additional
positing of other French failures stemming from her popula-
tion.decrease, the proclivity of her bourgeoisie and
peasantry to avoid paying taxes, the deterioration of her
military thought since World War I as well as the First
World War itself, the ”sell-out“ of her mass media, her
”treachery in high places," the myth of the Maginot line,
and other factors1 all add to the understanding of the
eventual weakened state of France. Many of these factors

will receive further attention, in so far as they are

 

18hirer, op. cit., pp. 69-111. For an inclusive
and meaningful trea en , see, George Duby and Robert

Mandrou, A Histor of French Civilization, trans. J.H.
Atkinson (New York: Random House, 1965), chaps. xiii-xviii.
For the more immediate noted causes prior to France's fall
in 1940, see, H. N. Armstrong, Chronolo of Failure: The
Last D s of the French Re blic (New York: The Macmillan
Co., IEEO), chip. x: Sisley Huddleston, The Tr ic Years:

- (New York: Devin-Adair Co., 1955 , pp. 9-17.
Additional discussion is provided by Gordon Waterfield,

What gppgned to France (London: John Murray, 1940), pp.

22

relevant and assist in greater clarity and understanding,
as we turn to an examination of the French social struc-
ture and its conduciveness to the emergence of existen-
tialism as a social movement. That is, our effort now
will be directed toward an examination of the general
social conditions which resulted from France's military
defeat and political collapse during May and June of l9h0
and her subsequent Occupation by Germany (and Italy) and
her early post-liberation period.

f Thus, these general social conditions will provide
the social setting in which the assessment of these events
and situations become defined as manifest strains in con-
crete, recurrent social activities. It is hoped that
through the achievement of the above delineated aims that
we can better and more fully understand the social struc-
ture of France that evidenced these various kinds of social
strains by which anxiety, uncertainty, and the like resul-
ted in an alienated collectivity.

With the advantage of hindsight, we can contend that
it is as if a whole French nation had hoped against hope
that either Hitler and his mighty forces would not go to
war against them or that their belief in the impregnability
of the haginot Line--i.e., the line from Basel, Switzerland
to Montp‘dy and Longwy on the Belgium border--and of the
Siegfried Line would result in.a stalemate on the Western
front. Both of these views had some merit, but unfortunately,

23

both were to be disastrous for France. In regard to the
merit of the first hope and expression of "More bluff!
There will be no war," Huddleston relates the Frenchmen's
skeptic feeling vis-a-vis war in the following:

When Hitler slammed the door of the League of
Nations and declared that, with the breakdown

of the disarmament conference, Germany no longer
considered herself bound by the terms of the
Treaty of Versailles (of 1919), there had been
no war. When, by a plebiscite in the Saar. . .
that territory had returned to the Reich, there
had been no war. When Hitler had occupied the
Rhineland, and Premier Sarrant had trumpeted

the brave word that Strasbourg would not be
allowed to remain under the menace of the German
cannon, there had been no war. When the
Anschluss (annexation) with Austria, in defiance
of treaty engagements, had been proclaimed,
there had been no war. When the German popula-
tion of Czechoslovakia had been coded, with the
territory that population occupied, to Germany,
there had been no war. And when, a few months
later, Prague itself was occupied and the con-
glomerate little state had ceased to exist,
there had been no war. Why should there be

was now [i.e., in early September, 1939]?1

The issue of Germany's perpetual, unmitigated, and
bloodless encroachment and encasement of the European con-
tinent, then, did not appear as a legitimate probabfluty to
the French people. The basis of this wishful thinking was
that “there will be another Munich,” so why should they
”die for Danzig“ and invoke the wrath of Germany upon them.
Huddleston expresses this in the following:

Since Munich, where peace had been promised

in perpetuity, the tone had been pacific in
France. The moral preparation had been

 

1Hiuddleston. op. cit., pp. l-2.

2G

strangely neglected. War was unpopular in
Frmc'a e

This desire for peace and its referents--i.e., they
wanted neither to pay taxes for the preparation of war and
its costly armaments nor time in the military service--
was to demand a high price.

The justification of the Frenchmen's belief in the
impenetrability of the Maginot Line and its inevitable
resultant impasse between the French and the Germans focus-
sed primarily on the misconception of a German frontal
attack. Pertinax relates in the following the three arti-
cles of faith endemic in the "Credo of the Maginot Line”:

1. Men defending field works can hold out
against an offensive, even if they are out-
numbered three to one, or if the attack is
carried out with bombers and tanks in.mas-
sive quantities. . . .

2. The ground gained by an enemy attack
'11]- “Nab. limitede e e e .m.

3. . . . The Maginot Line has replaced the
fieldworks of twenty-five years ago. These
works were continuous: the Maginot Line is

not only continuous, it has the strength

far above anything we have ever seen. . . .

The Maginot Line presents the Germans with this
dilemma: either they attack at once and pay

a fearful toll in lives--presenting us also
with the opportunity for effective counterattack
--or they temporize, and thus permit us to sap
the fighting strength of the Wehrmacht by under-
mining the nazion's economic structure through
the blockade.

11bid., p. 2.

zPertinax, [Andr‘ G‘raud] The Gravedi ers of France
(Garden City: Doubleday, Doran and Co.. 1555’. PP. 11-15.

25

Further, France's one fear of attack on the Maginct
Line turned out to be needless. This fear of an dtack by
parachutists whereby "a single courageous man could put
the guns out of action by throwing incendiary grenades at
the gun turrets“ was counteracted by “putting up barbed
wire on the hill above the tort."1 It is well known today
that the Germans attacked the weakest link in the chain
(or Line which, in fact, did not exist beyond the French-
Belgium border) with an unexpected flanking movement through
the Low Countries by employing the tactics of: I'a skillful
use of air power, lightening movements of armored columns
spearheaded by tanks, some 'fifth column' work, the use of
parachute troops, and relentless pressure against a dis-
organized foe.'2 Thus, not only did Poland and Norway
become engulfed in the German.march toward European hegemony,
but Luxemburg, Holland, and finally Belgium also fell vic-
tim to Germany's thrust of military aggrandisement. Once
again.Germany had added to her possessions those neutral
countries she had promised friendly security, and in so
doing, the road to Paris destined the latter's fall and
collapse on June lb, 19GO. The hope against hope that
Germany was 'bluffing' about going to war now resounded in
an objective, unequivocal, and sealed fate.

 

11b;d e e ppe 18-19 e
2Hayes, op. cit., p. 642.

26

On the very same day that Paris fell, the hope against
hope that was based on the impregnability of the Maginot Line
on the German border gave way also to the reality of its
partial penetration and eventual collapse. This German
puncture and destruction of the Maginot Line understandably
had grave consequences. Worth comments on some of these
effects:

. . . the collapse was not only a military
collapse, but as Marc Bloch wrote at the
time, above all a moral collapse. All the
myths broke down all at once: the Maginot
Line myth, and the myth of the invincible
French Army (”Finest army in the world,“
Weygand had said only a year or two before,
and ”Thank God for the French.Army,'
Churchill had said, time and time again),
and also the myth that this war would not
cost many lives.1

The French government had already departed from its
capitol three days before the actual fall of Paris (and of
the Maginot Line) on the fourteenth of June. On that date,
the French government would again move to Bordeaux.2
Armstrong graphically depicts the heavy toll and blight
that the shattering and demoralizing events of war had on
the Parisians. He indicates that:

The Parisians stand firmly on the curb as
Germans march through their boulevards for
the first time since 1871. It is the ninth
recorded invasion of Paris. Only a third of
the citizens remain. Shops are closed and

shuttered. The police and civil guards
remain on duty but surrender their arms.3

1Werth, op. cit., p. xix.

2Armstrong, pp. pit., pp. 83-98.
3Ibid., p. 97.

27

Three days later on the seventeenth, Shirer notes that:

. . . as the German tanks rumbled past below
my hotel window on their way south to crush
the retreating remains of the French army

. . . (I wrote in my diary): "What we're
seeing here is the complete breakdown of
French society--a collapse of the army, oi
government, of the morale of the people."

The sixteenth was a decisive date in French history,
for the French Cabinet voted in favor of an armistice and
Reynaud resigned and was replaced by Pétain.2 Although
the final fighting would not formally cease until the
twenty-fifth of June, many questions were raised in con-
sequence to the government's request for an armistice.
Waterfield poses the issue of the adequacy of France's
leadership and their duplicitous acts in what follows:

The Government kept on repeating that they
[France] would hold out to the last. "Paris,"
they said, "is in a state of defense," and a
few days later they declared it an open town.
"We will fight from North Africa if necessary,"
they proclaimed, and a short time afterwards
they asked for the German terms. "We will
not," they said, ”accept a dishonorable
Armistice." and they gave Hitler a blank

check. They were not only unfit to lead, but
they deceived the people. . . .3

And further on, he relates the "Final Deception" of
the government by quoting Boudouin's (France's Foreign

Minister) anti-English radio broadcast that reached

 

lshirer, op. cit., p. 60.
2Armstrong, op. cit., pp. 102-106.
3Waterfie1d, op. cit., p. 106.

28

the feelings of "many" French people as a consequence of
the conducive condition of the French people's intense
state of despair and disillusionment:

The forty million Frenchmen found themselves
before the Battle of France almost alone
against the eighty million Germans to whom
the menace of the Italian Army was added. .

. . Insufficiently prepared for the totali-
tarian warfare, our friends and allies have
not been able in time to give the help
necessary to the advanced guard constituted
by the French Army. That is why our Govern-
ment, presided over by Marshall Pétain, had
to ask the enemy what his conditions would
be.” But the conclusion of the speech came
as a shock. "France is not ready," he said,
”and it will never be ready, to accept dis-
honourable terms, nor to abandon the spirit-
ual liberties of our people and betray the
coul of France. The French people can save
the spiritual values to which they are attached
more to life itself, but if they are obliged
to choose between existence and honour, their
choice is made-~and by their total sacrifice,
it is the soul of France and all that it
represents to the world that they will have
saved.1

Waterfield then goes on to say that this deception:
was an attempt to dope the public by grandilo-
quent words, so that they would accept their
betrayal. Petain was more honest when he
suggested in his broadcast that the suffer-
ings of millions of refugees had influenced
the Government to make its decision.2

Armstrong contends that the reason France failed
was directly attributable to the French and English

statesmen who lacked imagination and a strong will.3

 

11mm. pp. 142-10.
21bid., p. 143.

3Armstrong, op. cit., pp. 188-95 and chap. x.

29

Other reasons that are usually given for France's defeat
are: (1) the confusion caused by the refugees: (2) the
"fear of a Communism uprising" ("Better the German occu-
pation than a popular revolt"): (3) the pressure of those
with large vested interests: (h) rigidity of French cen-
sorship:1 and many others (some have been heretofore

indicated either through discussion or by reference).

It is in The Gravediggers of France2 that the most
thorough indictment against Gamelin, Daladier, Reynaud,

and Pitain is presented, but it is Shirer in the following
commentary, who pithily indicts with intense exacerbation
the treasonous Laval as the "chief architect of the
surrender” and Pétain as its chief executor:

The perfidy of the traitors in Bordeaux, led
by Laval and Pétain, lay in surrendering the
nation's independence not because it had been
forced upon them but because they saw in it a
golden opportunity to destroy the democratic
Republic, to reorganize the country on a
Fascist foundation, and in so doing to enhance
their own personal power and protection of
their pocketbooks, and those of their reac-
tionary and misguided friends. To achieve
this they showed no qualms at betraying a
nation's honor which through the centuries
had stood so high. Nor did they shrink from
the final degradation: of seeking the friend-
ship of the enemy who had just attacked their
native land and laid it waste--and even worse,
of seeking the counsel and aid of that enemy
in destroying the nation's honored institu-
tions so that they could replace them with
cheap imitations of the evil ones their bar-
barian conqueror had clamped for a brief
moment on the pitiful "Master Race” beyond
the Rhine.3

 

1Waterfield, op. cit., pp. 56. 104-107.

2Pertinax, loc. cit.r

3Shirer, op. cit., p. 96.

30

This vitriolic condemnation of the leaders' conduct--
of their leadership and of their position of trust, and
as caretakers of France's welfare and surviva1--prior to
and during the war appears not to be unjustified: in
fact, evidence of the above assessment is supported in
general (though the treatment is less journalistically
expressed) by numerous historians.1

Thus, the account to this point is that Paris is
no longer a city of defense, but on the contrary, it is
occupied by the German forces: the English offer to
France of an "Act of Union" is not accepted but rejected:
the declaration that "We will fight from North Africa, if
necessary," no longer instills hope and confidence in
France's determination to "eternally thwart" the barbar-
ian forces, but rather, the fate of France has been sealed
by Pétain in his request for an armistice and in his sub-
sequent broadcast-declaration that France no longer has

 

18cc, Harrison, op. cit., p. 674: Hayes, op. cit.,

pp. 6&4-45: Worth, op. cit., Parts I and II: Pertinax,
loo. cit.: Waterfield, op. cit., especially, chaps. xii
and xv-xvi. For a penetrating anthology of the original
documents--i.e., speeches, communiques, aims, problems,
and so forth--of the events and institutions during 1940-
19##, see, France Duri the German Occu ation 1 40-1 at:
A Collection of 222 Statementsfpn the Government of

ichal P tain and Pierre Laval, trans. Phillip Whitcomb
(3 vols.: Stanford: The Hoover Institution on War,
Revolution, and Peace, n.d.). (The table of contents is
given in Vol. I: the index is given in Vol. III.)
However, for a favorable and sympathetic examination of
Pétain and the justification of his leadership, see,
Huddleston, op. cit., chaps. iii, iv, 1, xv, xvi, and

especially xxv. Note, however, that Huddleston himself
was a "Vichyite.")

 

31

the military power to continue the fight "against an
enemy superior in arms and in numbers."1
If the military fate of France was sealed as a
result of her defeat by Germany, her specific (and limited)
role as a defeated and occupied nation was yet to be
determined or assigned by Germany (and Italy). In the
interim of four days (17-21 June) the issues posed centered
on the uncertainty of whether France would be forced to
accept the German Weltanschauupg as their own. Specifically,
the question asked was whether France would accept and abide
by the German philosophy of ideas, morals, economy, culture,
religion, and conception of the nature and duty of man
while in a state of occupation.2
The preamble to the armistice at the time, seemed to

be not overly suppressive. (The actual "hard but honorable"
terms of the armistice, however, were not simultaneously
made public.) Armstrong provides part of the preamble and
the general objects of the German demands in the following:

'Trance, after heroic resistance, has been.de-

feated and has collapsed after a unique series

of battles. Germany does not, therefore, pro-

pose to give to the terms or negotiations for

an armistice the character of insult to so brave

an opponent." The preamble concludes by out-

lining the objects of the German demands: "(1)

To prevent a resumption of hostilities. (2) To

provide all necessary safeguards to Germany for

the continuation of the war forced upon her by

Great Britain. (3) To create the necessary con-

ditions for a new peace, the basic elements of

which shall be reparation of the injustice com-
mitted by force against the Reich")

 

1Armstrong, op. cit., p. 108.
2Ibid., p. 195.

31bid., p. 136.

32

Though the German-French armistice was eventually to
become effective, concomitant with the Italian-French arm-
istice, on June 25, last resortive appeals (on June 18 and
23, respectively) by de Gaulle from London that urged the
French people never to cease in their resistence and to
unite as one nation under the Provisional French National
Committee were received with sympathy but to no avail.1
Churchill also appealed to the French people to aid Great
Britain in her task to defeat the enemy.2 The French
government reacted by intensifying the effort to arrest
and court martial de Gaulle and (Pétain) responded to
Churchill's address "with grief and amazement."

"Peace" succeeded war in France, then, by her accep-
tance of and submission to the armistice conditions imposed
by both Germany and Italy. We learn, however, the cost of
this ”peace" from Hayes' account which provides the general
terms of the double armistice in the summary that follows:

. . . France north of the Loire River [i.e., the
Nothern half of France] and its entire Atlantic
coast would be occupied and administered by the
Germans, and a strip along its southern border,
by the Italians: the remainder would have a
measure of autonomy but were compelled to dis-
arm and cooEerate with Germany: the country would
have to pay heavy ”costs of occupation:" French
prisoners of war, numbering about two million,
would be held in Germany as hostages: the French
navy, though retained by Pétain's "autonomous"

government [to be located in Vichy, thus marking
the fifth relocation of the French government in

 

11b1d.. pp. 117-18, 15u-55.
21bid., pp. 150-51.

33

less than one month] would be disarmed . . .1

The French people had been deceptively victimized and were
now humiliated and demoralized: their once great nation was
now defeated, ravaged, scorned, and oppressed by the bar-
barian, "second-classed" unsophisticated "goose-steppers:"
and the hope of France in its deliverance from the "vice of
oppression" resounded in the fate of her friends: Great
Britain, the United States, and her own men of the Resis-
tence (against Germany, not of the épuration2--i.e., the
purge) who were destined to redeem some of the folies of
the past and to reclaim much of the lost honor and glory

of France.

The German Occupgpiqn

With the emergence of Petain's dictatorial powers as
”chief of the French State" on July 10. 1940, the de jpre
Third French Republic disappeared, "political parties and
trade unions were suppressed, and for the revolutionary
watchwords of liberty, equality, and fraternity, were sub-
stituted labor, family, and fatherland."3 Indeed, the
period of the German Occupation had begun and the numerous
anxieties, uncertainties, disparities, and discontinuities

were to be greatly intensified.

 

lfiayes, op. cit., pp. 61+lL-J45.
2Huddleston, op. cit., chaps. xxiii-xxiv.
3Hayes, op. cit., p. 645.

34

In the remarkable but disquieting book entitled

The; Speak for a Nation: Letters from France, "an unre-
touched picture of the people of France" is related in
sobering detail. The consistent themes that run through-
out the hundreds of letters-~dated from July 1940 to
April 194l--that comprise the book are: (1) the nature
and degree of their widespread misery and dissatisfaction:
(2) the far greater loss of freedom in all of their social
activities: (3) their intense dislike of the Nazis: (4)
their desire to be free (though the best means of attaining
their freedom is generally bi-polarized into the pro-
P6tainists--or reactionaries--and the deGaullists--or
resistants.) From this frame of reference, then, the
editors present a clear and descriptive picture of the
people's reactions, problems, and situations that were
connected to and in consequence of France's defeat.
Regarding these concerns, then, the following account,
though exceptionally long, is especially revealing:

The French people, who have known national

independence for more than fifteen hundred

years, are now enslaved by their enemies.

Two million of them are prisoners of war.

Several other millionslive in the occupied

zone, watched by German soldiers. Others

still, in the unoccupied zone, are, if we

may say so, on parole. Every one of these

forty million people--man, woman, or child

--has been, since the spring of 1940, a

witness and a victim of an appalling series

of disasters.

The storm of Nazi invasion has swept our

country, from the northto the south, rolling
back the defeated French soldiers and the

35

bewildered civilians. The land of France, so
rich, and which had attained, throughout cen-
turies, to such a perfect stage of beauty, has
been devastated. Hitler has mutilated France
by this terrible wound: the line of demarca-
tion between the two zones which cut across
rivers, roads, and railroad lines, which
separate families. The Nazis have plundered
the crops and looted the houses. They have
brought to France, as to every country which
they have conquered, famine and disease.

The French have seen their country destroyed.
They have seen her surrendered. The Govern-
ment of Bordeaux has capitulated and given to
Hitler the signature of France. Under the
pressure of a victorious conqueror, France
has replaced her liberal institutions by an
authoritarian regime, which, in turn, cannot
ignore the authority of the Germans. While
Great Britain was stubbornly pursuing, day by
day, her lonely fight against the common enemy,
the French have been summoned to give to this
very enemy their "collaboration." Thus, the
name of France, so magnificently clear for
centuries, has become, to the whole world, a
subject of anxiety and of doubt.

Since the 22nd of June 1940, the powerless
French people have been surrounded by a circle
of growing suspicion. And they have no direct
means of moral defense, for they can no longer
speak freely to any free nation. Never in
history, not even in the Middle Ages, have the
French been so completely separated, as today,
from their fellow men. War, blockade, oppres-
sion, the machinery of censorship and of propa-
ganda, have rendered absolutely useless, for
our compatriots, every invention of industry
and science. France is as helpless to tell
the world what she thinks, and also to hear
from the world, as if she were deaf and mute.

There are a few American correspondents in
unoccupied France, but the only news they
would like to give us is the news they cannot
send. There are radio transmitters in France,
but they have such cautions and distant rela-
tions with the truth that the French have
practically stopped listening to their broad-
casts. There are telephone conversations--
with a third party, German or French, eaves-

36

dropping. There are newspapers without news,
and books without free thought. Indeed,
France is isolated, as isolated, as an island
in the Arctic seas. irue, she has official
statesmen. We listen as hard as we can to
their voices. But the harder we listen, the
less we recognize the familiar voice of the
French nation. The Americans have stated, in
their Declaration of Independence, that:
"Governments are instituted among men, deriv-
ing their just powers from the consent of the
governed." There is no such government in
France. From the French citizens, from the
peopleof France comes nothing but silence--
and this silence has now lasted more than a
year.

. . . We have reached a moment where every
single country in the world is urged to decide
if she puts independence and freedom above
everything else, or if, eventually, she will
accept to deal with the oppressors.

Well, here is a devastated country--France--
which has been more free than any other in

the past, and whose government has tried, for
a year, to find peace through negotiations
with the Nazis. It is of some value to every-
body to know the result of this experiment.
The French are aware of this. They make des-
perate efforts to keep in touch with the
citizens of the free countries.

In their dreadful loneliness they have redis-
covered the means of communication used cen-
turies ago, when there were no telephones, no
radios, no newspapers, and no American corres-
pondents. The news from France today is
brought by travelers, by men who escape in
sailboats across the Channel or by foot across
a border. Above all, it is brought by letters
smuggled from one zone to the other and posted
in the unoccupied zone. There is censorship,
of course. But the censor has not always for-
gotten that he is French.

To whom do the French write? To any human
being they can think of: to the French speak-
ers whom they hear on the programs of the
English radio, or to General de Gaulle who
carries on the fight at the side of the Allies.
They write to England as a person to a friend.

37.

Across the Atlantic they write to the American
short-wave radio stations, and to whatever
friends they may have abroad. It is on these
thousands of sheets of paper that we find
today the truth about the French. . . . They
are profoundly conscious of the fact that
France, today, is truly represented by nobody
except themselves.

The Frenchman's experiences in these undeniable
stresses and strains pointed directly and solely to the
despicable Hitler and his looting Boches. The letters,
sequentially categorized, about "The Hardships of Material
Life" and in "Life in Paris," for instance, relate that
each day of the Occupation was filled with anxiety for
their personal safety and for their possessions: each day
was filled with a concern and struggle for the bare neces-
sities of life: and each day was filled with uncertainty
for the destiny of their country.2 The overwhelming cari-
cature of these times, portrayed in They Speak for a Nation
is one in which the people become increasingly suppressed
by the Vichy Government and by the Boches. The logical
corollary of this is the increasing inability of the French
people to control and predict the outcomes of their behavior.

If this descriptive account of the Occupation to this
point appears sordid, bleak, and turbulent, it is, unfortun-

ately, but a prelude to its latter part, wherein the social

 

1Eve Curie, Philippe Barres, and Raoul de Roussy
de Sales (eds.), They Speak for a Nation: Lgtters from
France (Garden City: Doubleday, Doran and Co., 1941),
pp. xiii-xvii.

2Ibid., chaps. ii and vi, respectively.

38 1

conditions become even more burdensome and insalubrious in
their effect on the lives of the French people.1 As the
days and months passed, difficulties of every kind increased,
Of utmost concern was the food problem-~a plaguing problem
from the beginning.2 Many Frenchmen, who could afford the
high prices, dealt in the practice of "junketing"--i.e., the
organized black market. (One negative latent function of
this, however, led to a disrespect for authority when
authority was essential in the immediate post-war period.3)
Unfortunately, there are no similar detailed accounts,
such as Tppy;Speak for a Nation during the 1940-1941 period,
of the Frenchmen's trials and struggles in getting food,
for instance, that became, by necessity, prominent during
the latter period of the Occupation. (Many details of the
agricultural and by-product technicalities, though, are
available in detail in France Duripg the German Occupation,
1240-1244.“) However, F. Chasseigne, the Secretary of
State for Food, summarizes the general problems related to
food production, distribution, and consumption in the
following:

 

1A. Camus' The Plagpe (New York: The Modern Library,
1948) is an account that also illustrates clearly how the
social system falls apart in relation to individual people
as well as their reactions to despair, suffering, and death.

2Huddleston, op. cit., pp. 123-27.
3Shirer, op. cit., p. 71.

“France Duripg the German OccupationI 1240-1244,
Vol. I, chap. v.

39

France had now [i.e., in the early spring
months, 1944] reached a point of the most
extreme shortages. 0n the one hand, agri-
cultural production had made itself more
cruelly felt as the years passed: on the
other hand, German levies had become heavier
and heavier. Still worse, throughout the
entire winter of 1943-1944, the Germans had
given absolute priority to their militari
requirements, which by the spring of 194

had reduced the stocks of the important urban
regions below the vital level. Finally, the
black market had become more and more wide-
spread. In fact, we were caught between the
German levies and the black market . . . .

[Further,] the discipline of those services
which were concerned directly with food prob-
lems had steadily slackened. . . . In many
fields, the Germans forced us to maintain
ridiculous prices which merely kept products
off the market. . . . The levies made by the
French food services, which should have ob-
tained enough potatoes to feed the cities (as
well as meeting the German levy), became
nothing more than a form of taxation and, in
the end it was only enough to meet the German

levy.l
The official price for potatoes was only a little

over one-cent per pound while the ruling rate was about

four cents. The German levy on meat, to take another

example, had been increased from 24 per cent in 1941 to

59 per cent in 1943. The remaining output of 771,500 tons

or 39 per cent was offered for sale at official prices but

does not include the figures of the black market that

stripped the official market.2 This problem of providing

 

11b1de . p. 287.
2Ibid., p. 288.

40

the people with even a minimum amount of meat and other
staple foodstuffs--bread, milk, vegetables, fats, cheese,
etc.--was hampered, in addition to the German levies and
the black market operation, by the disorganized trans-
portation system, the blockade (English), bombardments,
and sabotage,1 as well as the many problems encountered

in the actual food production operation (e.g., such simple
needed supplies as nails and horseshoes were largely
unavailable for the horses and oxen which provided the
chief mode of power in the planting operation).2

Many other obstacles hindered the Frenchman from
adequately providing for his daily existence: privation of
coal and clothes to be used in keeping warm: electrical
and plumbing failures: inability to maintain his place of
residence and family because of bombardments, unemployment,
travel restrictions, and so on in numerous areas and in
varying degrees.

Pertinax contends that Germany's basic policy in the
Occupation was one in which France would not only be sub-
dued, but reduced to a degenerate physical condition "incap-
able of ever rising again to her moral stature." He out-
lines the details of this policy in what follows:

Not for military reasons alone did the Germans

draw lines of demarcation, set up rigid inter-
ior forces, encourage Breton, Flemish, and

 

11bid., pp. 288-92.
21bid., p. 254.

41

Basque separatism. They wanted to split wide
open government services, business, families,
intellectual groupings, moral and material
interests, great and small. This vivisection
of French life added to requisitions, legal
robbery, rationing, and the National Revolution,
spawned antagonisms: cityfolk against peasants,
occupied against free zone, . . . workers
against employers, poor against rich, popular
irritation toward the Army and even, up to a
point, against the Church, which was under
suspicion of favoring a return to the policy

of the throne and the alter.1

Thus, these restrictions were felt socially, mater-
ially, and psychologically: these strains and stresses, as
one might palpably imagine, resulted in the intensification
of the already highly tensed, anxious, and uncertain state
that harbored the powerless and inanitive abode of the
Frenchmen.

The horrors, hardships, anxieties, and the detailed
listing of all the most despicable and n5xious elements
that become evident as a result of war may have the possi-
ble effect of conditioning our thinking to the extent that
we may become immune to the significance and implications
of these events and effects on the people who endured
them. In short, how is it possible for others-~i.e.,
disinterested observers--who have existed under less
arduous conditions to empathize with them: that is, to
think, feel, and act in "borrowed shoes"? Is it really

possible today, for instance, for one to understand the

 

1Pertinax, op. cit., p. 485-86.

42

conditions and problems of a typical war-plagued house-

wife (typical, not as an objective, bald, and abstract cate-
gory but as one of many who daily encountered a hostile
world) who alone remained responsible for the protection

of her offspring but who lacked the necessary monies or
other means to adequately provide for their bare physical
needs? The concern was for a particular day, not for its
morrow. Tomorrow may present another like problem, but it
was on a certain extant day that the mother and offspring
were hungry, and/or cold, and/or without shelter. These
were the vital concerns: the problems of the morrow were
perceived as somewhat unreal, in their remoteness, for in
that "eternal" eventuality all of them may have been
already killed from some night bombing mission or the like.
So, it was, indeed, that the immediate concern of the day
was to live: to live by getting food, shelter, etc. The
question remained, however, how this was to be achieved:
would she beg, borrow, or steal from those who were in like
circumstance as she: would she buy what was available accord-
ing to her meager means (which is another problem altogether)
even though their bodies were already suffering and bearing
the scars of malnutrition and other afflictions: would she
morally abuse her body by submitting herself, as an instru-
ment, in order to satisfy the carnal desires of the Boches
(or anyone) in return for something--be it food, per se, or

that which could be converted into same? Even if an ade-

“3

quate amount of food was available and secured, what about
diseases such as ricketts, tuberculosis, scurvy, and so on?
What about the terror and fear that her husband may be
imprisoned, tortured, killed or maimed? Ingenuity helps
but her power over the situation was less than adequate.
These situations, then, were some of the problems that con-
fronted thousands of Frenchwomen. On a more nomothetic
level, the kind, the manner, and the extent of the cases that
affected Frenchmen (and Frenchwomen) in general varied rela-
tive to a life under dictatorship, in a concentration camp
experience, or in other situations of terror.1

So what has happened to France concerning our exami-
nation to this point? With the collapse of her army, her
capital, her position as a great European power, and her
cherished values, beliefs, and institutions, she has become
an occupied country that has been bombed, starved, ravaged,
suppressed, oppressed, and divided into two zones--physi-
cally, socially, and psychologically. In short, France
emerged from the Occupation period (and from World War II)

in a ravaged, defeated, and demoralized state.

 

1For a penetrating study of the experiences encoun-
tered in concentration camps, see, E. Kogon, The Theor and
Practice of Hell (New York: Farrar, Straus and Cudahy, 1950,
and New York: Berkley Medallion Books, 1960): Lord Russell,
The Scour e of the Swastika (New York: Ballantine Books,
n.d. : and V.E. Frankl, Man's Search for Meanipg: An Intro-
duction to Lo othera (New York: Washington Square Press,
19 3 , Part I. For a similar type experience that takes
place in a Siberian labor camp, see, A. Solzhenitsyn, Qpp
Da in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch, trans. Ralph Parker
(Ngw York: Time Reading Program, 1963).

44

We have stressed throughout our examination that France
had experienced numerous kinds of strains, failures, and dis-
continuities. We have attempted to relate in detail the
intensification of these strains that resulted from France's
defeat in war by Germany and then as an occupied country with
the concomitant collapse of her sociocultural way of life.

We have seen that the Occupation had far-reaching consequences:
(1) France's valued and prestigeful position as
the "cultural-center" of the world collapsed and
became enslaved by the "barbarian" and "inferior"
German forces. France descended from a position
of magnificence to that of lowly deference, and
in so doing, anxiety, doubt, and uncertainty
ensued. Finally, the commitment to the belief
of "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity" no longer
provided legitimacy for recurrent social activi-
ties: rather, Frenchmen were to commit themselves
to the accommodation and maintenance of German
values. Thus, conflicting claims were made on
the Frenchmen's ideological commitment.

(2) Frenchmen necessarily were forced to conform
to the German authority and dictate, while recog-
nizing that her past traditions, standards, and
normative principles lacked relevance for most
situations. The absurdity and paradox in every-

day affairs became prominent by the virtual fact

, 45

that the French people had to obey the decisions
and regulations of the Germans while maintaining
their feeling of superiority. Thus, the long
tradition of various French prescriptions and
proscriptions that had functioned to provide for
an adequate level of integration in the social
order became "obsolete" or preempted during the
Occupation by those rules and regulations estab-
lished by the foreign and "barbarian" Germans:
competing demands of different roles for various
social activities ensued.

(3) The French people were mobilized during the
Occupation into roles and organizations in which
they became instrumental--i.e., in their role
performance--to the German aims and demands and
deprived of accustomed rewards. Strain also
resulted from the collapse or separation of var-
ious institutions--e.g., the family, school,
church, etc.--in which millions of Frenchmen were
disenfranchised and lacked sufficient rewards.

We have also noted that for those who became col-
laborators-~e.g., large industrialists, the press
corps, etc.--with the Germans during the Occupa-
tion became co-opted and were beneficiaries of a
disproportionate share of the available rewards.

In this context, then, we have noted the numerous

46

deprivations experienced in the daily lives of
most Frenchmen.

(4) Finally, we have discussed various strains
endemic to the adequacy of available means for
some kind of pursuit-e.g., food, clothing,
shelter, specific role performance, and so on.
We also found that in consequence of the inade-
quacy of certain skills and knowledge relative
to a certain situation that uncertainty, anxiety,

etc., was manifested on the psychological level.

The French post-liberation-war period

The remaining task in our tracing the development of
the historical conditions and social setting in France is
to examine its post-liberation period that was characterized
by a disorganized social structure. We will continue to
focus our attention on the French social structure in rela-
tion to its condition of conduciveness to the rise of exis-
tentialism as a social movement. Following this discussion
of the various societal discontinuities that, by implication,
possessed numerous strains, the final aim of this chapter
will be to discuss the psychological product or result of
these degenerate and ineffective social forces: alienation.
The immediate task, then, is to indicate "some" of the
crises that intensified the already precarious social struc-
ture and that in consequence resulted in the alienation of

the population, or part of it.

47

In order to understand what is meant by the effect of
the various strains that are to be discussed within the
social structure, it is necessary to view these impairments
of the relations among the units (e.g., institutions,
organizations, roles) that comprise the social system in
relation to their adequate or inadequate functioning in the
social system.1 It is essential to note that the above
suggests not only the operation of social processes but
also a degree in relation to a continuum of some specified
variable (e.g., structural differentiation, structural
integration, and structuring).

Structural differentiation simply refers to the num-
ber ofunits within a social system. For example, France
during the Occupation reflected a 12! degree of structural
differentiation within its political sector inasmuch as the
German-Vichy government was autonomous, and it claimed and
possessed the sole legitimacy of the state--"assisted" by
means of terror and coercion-~and prohibited the formation
and claim of legitimacy of other possible competing politi-
cal parties: the economic sector, however, reflected a
‘ppgp degree of structural differentiation evidenced by a

wide range of occupational statuses and roles, a specialized

 

1The theoretical presentation in this section draws
heavily on the material presented in a course called
"Advanced General Sociology and Social Psychology" given at
Michigan State University during April-June, 1964 by
Dr. William A. Faunce. I wish to acknowledge my indebted-
ness to him.

division of labor, organizational complexity, and so forth,
but at the same time, we must keep in mind that the economy
was but an extention of the German political policy. Fol-
lowing the war, we will note that many competing political
parties became active within the political sector, and by
definition, France was characterized by a higher degree of
structural differentiation, politically and economically,
than during the Occupation period.

The second variable is the degree of structural inte-
gration. This social structural variable refers to the
extent to which the relationship among social system units
is characterized by logical coherence and absence of insti-
tutionalized conflict. That is, if social institutions
provide means of normative integration for the functioning
of the social system--its needs, values, and expectations--
the extent to which a social system adequately functions to
adapt, attain certain goals, and maintain itself is largely
influenced by how the interdependence and reciprocal influ-
ences of its components hang, fit, or harmonize together:
the degree of structureal integration. It is suggested that
France's social structure during the Occupation period re-
flected a higher degree of structural integration than in
her post-liberation period. For instance, during the Occu-
pation the German-Vichy government had greater control rela-
tive to virtually all social activities that involved the
movement of men, messages, and/or materials than in the post-

liberation period, which was characterized by weakened and

49

ineffective forces (e.g., political and economic instability
and/or paralysis).

The third variable or dimension of the social struc-
ture involves the degree of structuring--i.e., the extent to
which the functioning of a social system is normatively
regulated. In this connection, it would appear likely that
the social structure during the Occupation period reflected
a higher degree of structuring than in the post-liberation
period. In the former period, we have heretofore discussed
some of the strains (e.g., value dissonance, role conflict)
as a result of the Frenchmen's forced adherence to the
"foreign" and ”barbarian" decrees and regulations while
maintaining their feeling of superiority over the "inferior"
Germans, but the significant key is that a greater degree of
adherence or conformity was both demanded and obeyed in par-
ticular recurrent social activities. During and after the
liberation, however, the French social structure was char-
acterized by a lower degree of structuring or by a lack of
specified expectations that defined what was appropriate
behavior relative to a certain situation. It is in this
context, then, that an ambiguous situation, for instance,
would be likely to permit and result in a condition of
alienation when perceived in connection with and reinforce-
ment of similar past experiences of anxiety, uncertainty,
insecurity, and so forth. Finally, we can note that the

social structure during the Occupation can be characterized,

- 50

in general, by a low degree of structural differentia-

tion and that it was inversely related to the degree of
structural integration and to the degree of structuring:
during the months of the liberation period and its after-
math the social structure was characterized, in general,

by a high degree of structural differentiation and that it
was inversely related to the degree of structural integra-
tion and to the degree of structuring. In short, all three
of these social structure variables become significant in
their interrelatedness for our study in which established
procedures and organizations had been severed during the
Occupation: they are no less significant for the post-
liberation period when France encountered further difficulty
in her attempt to reestablish familiar procedures, organiza-
tions, statuses, roles, and so on. If France was not
entirely severed from her past traditions and Weltanschauupg
in general at the end of the Occupation, she, at least,
reflected an extremely fragile and disconcerted condition:
she, lamentably, would falter again in diverse manners and

in varying rates.

Political instability

One of the manifest ruins in the post-liberation
period centered on the French political sub-system. We
have already indicated on numerous occasions that the war
had destroyed the French constitutional structure (i.e., the
Third Republic). The issue in 1944 was whether to restore

51

that structure or to create another constitutional frame-
work1 for France was in a political vacuum after the removal
of Petain to Germany.2 The old issue of the Republic versus
the "ancient regime" again emerged, which hampered efforts
to unify France.

Beginning with de Gaulle as head of the Provisional
Government of the French Republic that followed the libera-
tion of Paris, the problems of recovering from the sufferings
of the Occupation period, the destructiveness of the war, and
the shock to its economy were basic and primary. Although
the personage of de Gaulle inchoately symbolized the liber-
ation of Paris,3 his bases of legitimacy for authority were
supported primarily by the Algerian and "home" elements of
the Resistance and centered within four political parties:
Radicals, Christian-Democrats, Socialists, and Communists.“
From this political structure that evidenced numerous blocs
and coalitions, various cleavages ensued between: (1)

de Gaulle and the Resistance parties:5 (2) the centralized

 

1Compare the legitimacy of the creation of a new
constitution in Huddleston, op. cit., pp. 331-32, ff.

2Werth, op. cit., p. 208.
3For an extensive account of this period, see,
Larry Collins and Dominique LaPierre, Is Paris Burning?:

Adolf Hitler, August 25, 1944 (New York: Pocket Books,
Inc., 1965).

4Werth. op. cit., p. 227.
5Ibid., p. 228.

52

government, located in Paris, and the local seats of govern-
ment which resulted in a lack of consistent goals and in
cooperative activities:1 (3) the regular and the Home Army
(FFI):2 (4) de Gaulle and his administrators.3 It is in
this context that conditions would become worse rather than
improve.

De Gaulle's main concerns were centered on foreign
and military policy--i.e., the role of France in the last
stages of the war and her diplomatic position--rather than
on implementing and directing emergency measuresfbr
"normalizing" everyday life in France. At the same time,
do Gaulle's ministers were struggling with everyday prob-
lems. Werth, citing passages from Combat--a resistance
newspaper edited by Albert Camus-~re1ates in the following
that:

Truly exhausting, this period of political transi-
tion, which is dragging on interminably. Internally
France doesn' t seem to know where she stands or what
she wants. There were terrible massacres in Algeria
in May (1945, before the referendum], but nobody
seemed to care: at the Consultative Assembly hardly

anyone turned up to listen to the speakers. . . .
A terrible confusion of values and ideas. . . .

Ever here there seems to be a lack of seriousness
353 a lack of enthusiasm. . . .

We are living_in a kind of nihi list atmosphere,
with no doctrine, but merely_muddlipg along from day

 

 

11bid., p. 221.
2Ibid.. p. 233.
31bid., p. 337.

53

to day. . . . The hopes of the Resistance have

been dashed to the ground. For nothing has

really changed. The same forces that fopght

each other before the war are doing_so now, even

though the struggle is less spectacular, because

of the facade of National Unity.1

After the war ended, the Fourth French Republic

emerged, but the narrow margin of the plebiscite that pro-
vided for its passage reflected a great deal of ambiguity
and uncertainty. Differences over the new constitution
epitomized the future unstable political scene: one that
was to be characterized in the endless squabbles and nego-
tiations between de Gaulle (or other presidents) and the
parties and among the parties themselves. The purpose of
these attempts was to form coalitions that would secure
certain ideological ends rather than having more differences
over certain issues that could be discussed within specified
institutionalized procedures. Within this context, Benns

indicates in the following that the old problems and con-

flicts of the pre-war period reappeared:

 

,. . . As in prewar days the electorate was split

into many parties or groups and political leaders
were chiefly preoccupied with parpy struggles.
Conflicts between the extreme Right and the
extreme Left once more developedI fears of com-
munism or fascism were again expressed, and mini-
sterial instability in the Fourth French Republic
resembled that in the Third. Between January 22,
1947, and May 21, 1953 for instance, France had
thipteen ministries. tThere were periods also
when France had no government at all.] The basic
problem of each successive premier was to manage

 

 

lIbid., p. 269; italics added.

54

his multiparty cabinet in a way to offend none
of the parties composing his government. . . .
But since frequently, almost usually, the
parties in his ministry were in conflict over
some major policy, financial aid to Catholic s
schools [initiated in the Vichy reign], for
example, or direct versus indirect taxes,
attempts to hold them together often brought
political inactionp_if not national paralysis.
No French leader seemed able to resolve the
fundamental political and economic differences
of the French parties. Consequently, in the
words of one foreign observer, parliamentapy
government in France appgared a§ "an interregnum
of dissent between spells of chaos."1

In short, political leadership was characterized by
impotent, inflexible, unresponsive, ineffective, and degen-
erate social forces that precluded, to a large extent,
individual French loyalty to these capricious and oft-times
selfish leaders and their programs, and in consequence,
confidence in and compliance with the leader's decisions
was often deficient or lacking altogether.

Ramifications of the above echoed loudly throughout
the economic and financial sector (of which we will have
more to say later) and in everyday social activities. In
connection with the political effects on current social
activities, the second major problem--the other major
problem, of course, dealt with the immediate post-liberation
emergency measures--that faced de Gaulle after the Libera-
tion was in punishing the traitors who collaborated with

the Germans and the Vichy Government. To examine this

 

1F. L. Benns, Eurppean Histor since 1810 (New York:
Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc.,7195* , p. 885? italics added.

55

dimension, some background and detail must necessarily focus
on the Resistance Movement. While it would be a futile
attempt to write a history of the Resistance Movement within
the narrow confines of this research project,1 it is deemed
profitable to point out at least one of its major stages.

The one element of the Resistance Movement to be con-
sidered at this point, then, occurred primarily, and cen-
tered, in the épprateurs (i.e., the purgers) of the gpuration
(i.e., the purge) who robbed, tortured, and murdered their
fellow Frenchmen. One reason, among many, for this reaction
was primarily based on the suspicion rumor, and/or evidence
--ranging from a high to a low degree--of some kind that
pointed to the collaboration of the accused with the Germans
or with the Vichyites or with both.

Another major condition--as we have indicated above--
that allowed this "revolution of 1944" to add to the terror
and hardship of French life focuses on the powerless and
incompetent state of the French Government under de Gaulle:
France in this transitional period was without an effective
government for "the writ of Paris did not run far."2 In
short, this hostile outburst (a type of social movement in

itself) was a reaction and attack on those who were held

 

lFor a discussion on the different stages of re-
cruitment, participation, and operation, etc., see Werth,
o . cit., pp. 133-198: Collins and Lapierre, op. cit., pp.
43:45, 99-280: and Blake Ehrlich, Resistance: France 1940-
1945 (Boston: Little, Brown and Co.).

2Huddleston, op. cit., p. 315.

56

as responsible for the denigration of France's honor and
totally unwholesome state of affairs and for the "sub-human"
social conditions that the épurateurs (and others, of
course) were forced to live under while subordinate to the
dictate of the Germans and the Vichy Government.

A relevant question, then, is who fell victim to these
atrocious deeds and for what reasons? Huddleston informs
us that all types of people joined the bandwagon of the
"resistentialists"--not to be confused with existentialists
--for reasons not always related to the loyality of France.
He states:

There were hundreds of private vendettas, husbands
who had grudges against their wives, and wives who
would seize the opportunity of injuring their hus-
bands. Friends had fallen out and were waiting the
chance to betray one another, storing up distorted
reminiscences of conversations in which indiscreet
words had been spoken. There were racial enmities.
There were commercial jealousies. There were
rivalries in the administrative services. There
had been fraternization with the occupying troops
[some women accused of this had their heads shaved
and marched naked through the streets], human and
comprehensible, which would give a glorious (or
inglorious) excuse to those who had not fraternized
to wreak vengeance. Worse still, many of those who
had fraternized with the enemy, and had made money
out of their relations with the enemy, having much
to be pardoned for, would place themselves among
the most zealous witch-hunters and patriotic épura-
teurs. There were the black marketeers, spies, com-
mon criminals, who would be let loose and would add
to the lawlessness. . . . And now the émigpés from
London and Africa were preparing. . . to come over
with all of the animosity of men who had long been
in exile, to punish the wrongdoers and with the
wrongdoers the innocent who were often denounced

by the real wrongdoers.l

 

11b1de. pp. 288-2890

57

This "pro-Vichy" account may have exaggerated the actual
situation in which anyone allegedly, by professing to be

a Resistant, could condemn and inflict harm or even death
on those accused of some "dealing" with the Germans or
with the Vichyites. But it was often true that no judge,
no jury, and no deliberation was necessary. If one were
accused of being a collaborationist, the accusor adopted
the dual-role of judge and executioner which was justified
on the grounds of purifying the French state. Thus, after
the retreat of the Germans, the Americans had delegated to
the French authorities the responsibility to maintain law,
order, and stability. The difficulty endemic to the
American's assumptions that the French authorities would
be responsive, flexible, and effective in the containment
of these abuses is that the latter were powerless, in the
main, to act in the southern part (of Vichy) of her
"bifurcated" state. (De Gaulle had assumed political
leadership in Paris, but the greater part of France was
without a legitimate political system after the demise of
the Vichy government.)

These threats resulted in "adding more fuel to the
fire" in which many Frenchmen's destinies were to appear
largely determined by luck, providence, or the dictate of
the fickle finger of fate. One might justifiably contend
(as did Camus) that there are certain beliefs worth dying
for, but that there are no beliefs worth killing for. This

58

seems to have been (and remains) a vexing issue. We have
indicated that various scholars place the 1940 defeat of
France on its failure to adequately prepare for war relative
to materials, creativeness, and willingness, etc. On the
other hand, the one-sided civil war that resonated through-
out France--especially in the South after D-Day in June of
1944, though, as any war, it was perceived as necessary and
justified--now threatened the very existence that the
"Resistentialists" had hoped and even fought for: now they
--individuals, criminal bands, tribunals, self-appointed
bodies, etc.--arbitrarily purged the workers, industrialists,
newspapermen, entertainers, painters, civilians, policemen,
and others who had in some way been affiliated with the
enemy.1 One might logically ask: would not all Frenchmen

at one time or another be vulnerable and guilty by virtue

of the structural interaction with the Germans of the Vichy
Government? The answer would seem to be definitely in the
affirmative, but the arbitrary selection of the victims is
to be stressed for if one could finance--wholly or partially
--a group of resistants, if one joined with the other resis-
tants (regardless of past behavior), or if one remained
silent and inconspicuous, one might eschew loss of life or
incarceration.

At any rate, the number of arrests and incarcerations

 

6 1;2;d., chaps. xxii-xxiv, and especially pp, 304-
30 .

59

in this period of "Terror" after the Liberation is esti-
mated by Huddleston at about one million Frenchmen: the
number of deaths was estimated from eightyto one-hundred
and five thousand.1 Although Werth vociferously contends
that Huddleston's account is a gross misrepresentation of
what actually happened,2 the point seems to be, at the very
least, that this "purge" period did contribute considerably
to the already highly tensed and uncertain state of many
Frenchmen. Certainly these years from 1944-1946 could not
be considered as conducive to a unified and cohesive French
attack for a return to "normalcy."

In addition to the French politics being absorbed
with her domestic affairs and her diplomatic role in the
world, France had been evicted from Syria in 1945 and would
experience further grief and economic losses in her involve-
ment in-her overseas possessions: notably, Indo-China (Viet
Nam) and later in Morocco and Algeria.3 As indicated above,
many Vichyites had returned to business and even to politi-
cal office (e.g., Thorez) which depicted a scene of gross
absurdity for many: other consequences were evidenced by
these Vichyites being in office: their influence and role
in the French-Indo-China affairs and in the Cold War.

 

11bid., pp. 309, 299-300.
2worth, op. cit., pp. 284-90.
3Ibid., pp. 326-43.

60

Nevertheless, these and many other political problems, from
a national position of marginal existence and evidenced by
wide-spread misery and confusion, hindered the development
and syntality of the French social order in the post-libera-
tion-war period. These political ruins, characterized by
unstable, ineffective, and degenerate forces, reflected an
inability to cope with the vital problems of the time. It
is in this context that this disintegrative period reflected
a continuation of past attempts that also failed in provid-
ing viability and strength in the French social order. It
is primarily from this vantage point that the "existential-
ists" would articulate the way out of this miserable and

confused state of affairs.

Economic instabilipy

It is impossible to completely separate the political
realm from the economic realm. In the post-liberation
period, indeed, ministerial and financial instability are
interosculated and intertwined, for the many problems that
led to conflict with and among the political parties had a
bearing on the national budget and on the desired means of
balancing it (e.g., increase taxes vs. cutting back civil
service employees). We have already indicated many of the
reasons for the increased expenditures: (1) the cost of the
war itself: (2) the reconstruction of the bombed-destroyed
areas and other evidences of devastation: (3) the cost in

pursuing "intervention" in her colonial possessions (and

.61

later, (4) the costs involved in meeting her obligations to
the European Defense Community).1 Consequently, "the funda-
mental weakness of France after the Liberation was the
absence of a constructive financial and economic polity. .
. . Monetary reform was the cornerstone of the whole struc-
ture."2

Without a firm, controlled, and drastically reformed
policy, France destined itself to a continual unstable posi-
tion that had far-reaching political, economical, and social
importance. Mendes-France--the Minister of National Economy
and a maverick in his Keynesian oriented economic approach
against the "experts"--stressed the need for stable wages
that could be made possible only by a stable currency. He
firmly contended also that the post-liberation period neces-
sarily had to be austere and that a more equitable distribu-
tion of the national income was essential. In short, many
people would have to be poor in order that France could be
rich.3 Again, however, opposition to these proposals by
the Ministry of Finance, the Bank of France, and political
parties resulted in their non-adoption.

The rejection of Mendes-France's proposals resulted

in the inevitable inflation of the currency, the black market

 

1Benns, op. cit., p. 886.
2Werth, op. cit., pp. 246-47.
31bid., p. 247.

62

survival and triumph over the official market, the disor-

ganized food supply, the starvation of the working-class,

H

and the ruination of the middle-class who had fixed incomes.
It is particularly important to stress the two crucial major
problems that were to plague France: (1) the mounting tide
of inflation: and (2) the black market. In reference to the
latter, Werth comments that:

As long as there was a shortage of food in the
country and a plethora of bank notes, . . .
[no one] could do anything other than fight a
losing battle against the black market. There
were rackets all over the place: the racket of
the motor car licences that were sold "below
the counter" at the Prefecture de Police: the
sugar racket, as a result of which at least one-
third of the sugar produced in France found its
way to the black market and had to be replaced,
for the benefit of the ration-card holders, by
imported sugar: there were rackets in meat and
petrol, in newsprint and various raw materials:
. . . the poor consumer, with no hoard of bank-
notes under his bed, was told one day to trust
the Government's "draconic measures" and the
next day to "fend for himself," to "buy direct
from the peasants" or to get whatever he could
from friends in the countyyside: if he hadn't

, it was just too bad.

The other issue centered on the rising tide of infla-
tion affecting the rising cost of living which surpassed
incoming wages and salaries. For instance, "the price level
at the end of the war was 3.7 times the pre-war level: at
the end of 1946 the figure was 8.5 times: in January, 1948,
it was 13.5 times."3 From this point, then, another rami-

 

llbid., p. 249.
2Ibid., p. 299.

3Benns, op. cit., p. 880.

63,

fication focussed on the social unrest among the workers
which resulted in conflicts between them and their employers.
If strikes ensued, the impact on industrial productivity is
clearly apparent: If there was no output, then, there would
be no products for distribution and consumption, which, in
turn, would preclude any income derived from the consumers
for the producer: in short, stagnation and inertia would

set in. Werth provides meaningful data in this connection
and outlines the implication of it in the following:

Inflation continued throughout 1946, the note cir-
culation_rising during the year from 570 milliard
Lbillion] francs to 722 milliards (it had been 142
milliards at the Liberation), but, much worse, the
price index of controlled retail prices in Paris
rose from 481 (1933-100) in January 1946 to 865 in
December 1946, thus nearly doubling in a year:
black market prices were higher still, and wages
were lagging far behind.

In short, immense difficulties were piling up, and
the maldistribution of wealth, bad enough st the

time of the Liberation, had become not less, but

more serious two years later. . . . Both public and
private economic difficulties, and a widespread han-
kering for "back to normal" had dampened the enthu-
siasm of August 1944 [i.e., for the benefits derived
from the proposed and promised economic and social
reforms]. The Communists in the Government, who had
"pushed" the reforms as hard as they could, and the
the Communists in industry who had made many sacri-
fices in not clamoring unduly for higher pay, were
beginning to wonder, more and more, what kind of
France they were helping to build, with the working-
class underfed, and with the Cold War increasing the
tension between the Communist Party which was looking
East and most of the other French parties, which were
wither looking West or sitting on the fence.1

 

1Werth, o . cit., pp. 300-301. The figures indi-
cated are from the Statistigue Generals, the returns of the

Bank of France, and the Inventaire Financier, as quoted in
Apnée Politigue, 1944-45 and 1946.

64

The government's inability to cope with these prob-
lems reflected a condition of political and economic steril-
ity, and, in turn, had undeniable consequences for the
French population in their struggle against food shortages,
food prices, and other unavailable and/or inaccessible com-
modities. We can clarify and specify the meaning of this
by considering the social ruins that are connected to and
in partial consequence of the previously discussed aspects
of political and economic ruins that were evinced during
the Liberation period and its aftermath. We now attend to

this examination.

Social instabilipy

The connotation of social ruin (social disorganiza-
tion) refers to some kind of a decline, collapse, break-
down, or discontinuity among the units which had once func-
tioned on a scale deemed adequate orappropriate for the
performance of various tasks in concrete, recurrent social
activities. In this section we will be concerned with the
post-liberation period and its aftermath of disillusionment,
deprivation, dislocation, and chaos. It is essential to
keep in perspective that this period was an extension and
intensification of many conditions examined heretofore
(particularly, those of the Occupation). We should bear
in mind, as well, that France had been, and remained, vic-

timized by turbulent economic and political forces that

95

had grave implications in everyday social life.1
It is axiomatic that these times were abnormal and
filled with intense terror, anxiety, and uncertainty. One
need only recall that the war operation was still going on
at the time of the Liberation, and that it would officially
continue for almost ten months (for the most part, though,
Paris was free from being the target of its operation
except for a couple of "revenge" air raids).
At the time of the Liberation, Werth reports in the
following that economic activity was nearly nonexistent:
Railroad transport had been virtually paralysed all
over France, and food conditions in the larger
cities, and especially in Paris, were extremely bad.
All the bridges on the Seine between Paris and the
sea had been blown up. Over a thousand road and
railway bridges had been destroyed. Practically
all the ports. . . were either out of action, or
still in German hands. Of 17,000 railway engines,
before the war, less than 3,000 were left, and
railway trucks and carriages were down to about 40
per cent, and many of these in poor condition.2
The decimation and disruption of the transportation
system played a significant part in the already hard-pressed
food supply in Paris. In particular, we find that:
Adult rations were down to 1,050 calories per day

(e.g., one banana split today], and though vege-
tables and other unrationed food could be bought

 

1For the effects of war, see: J.0. Hertzler, Social
Institutions (Lincoln, Nebr.: University of Nebraska Press,
1946): pp. 263-64: W. Waller, "War and Social Institutions"

in W. Waller (ed.), War in the Twentieth Centur (New York:

.Dryden Press, 1940), pp. 573-532: and E. Burgess, et. al.,

The Family (New York: American Book Club, 1963), pp. 473-95.
2Werth, op. cit., pp. 224-25.

66

in the “open" market, wages had scarcely doubled

since pro-war, while the currency inflation had

reduce the franc to about one-fifth its pre-war

value.
Food conditions remained poor during the winter of 1944-1945,
and by spring the food situation—was even worse: policemen
were searching small and large parcels for unauthorized food
purchases: on March 19, even the ration cards were not
honored: "anti-hunger" demonstrations broke out: food (as
well as coal and sugar) riots occurred.2 Werth further
reports that the Minister of Health estimated that "75 per
cent of the urban population was showing signs of more or
less severe undernourishment."3 In short, there was little
food, coal, or travel, and the Parisians apothegmatically
complained "Worse than under the Germans."

It would be futile--within the limits of the project--
to attempt any thorough explanation for the various discon-
tinuities or breakdowns that are indicated above on a simple
cause and effect basis. Nevertheless, some understanding is
attainable when one views the disparities or discontinuities
among the stages of production, distribution, and consump-
tion in relation to the availability and accessibility of
some final product, event, or situation. As we have tried

to point out, political and financial policies also influ-

enced the rate, mode, and extent of these processes, which

 

11bid., p. 225.
21b1de . p. 237.
31bid.;

67

in the main were greatly inadequate and ineffective. At
the same time, it is essential to note that even the "best"
of policies aimed at recovery after the Liberation required
valuable time for their effective implementation. This
does not, however, gainsay or overlook the very real loss
of raw resources, damaged buildings and industry in general,
the disruption of the transportation and communication sys-
tems, various social institutions, and so on. However, one
could--as did many existentialists--question the political
sense of judgment in their allocation, use, and manipulation
of various resources that were earmarked for foreign military
enterprises rather than for immediate emergency measures.
In connection with the above and the related problem

of the returning prisoners, Werth comments:

A strange, rather nerve-racking summer altogether,

that first post-war summer in France. People were

shaken by the sight of the prisoners and especially

the deportees [i.e., the French workers, numbering

between one-half to one million, who were deported

to furnish the industrial labor in Germany under

the Compulsory Labor Service], and by so many of

their horror stories, and by their weariness and

disillusionment. De Gaulle had spoken in March

of the structural reforms that would be carried

out when the war was over: but for a long time he
had other things to abosrb his attention--foreign

affairs, the Army, and Syyia.I

Other manifestations of social ruins reflected frayed

 

ends. We mentioned the return of the prisoners and deportees,
but to their dismay many of their families were broken, dis-

located, or in the process of being dissolved. Werth again

 

11bid., p. 254; italics added.

68

provides a commentary on this aspect by citing an issue
from Les Vivants:

There is also the myth--and perhaps the most devas-
tating of all to our newly recovered freedom-~of
faithful and love-sick Isolde. . . . Yet, I am told
that in Paris alone, the Courts are dealing with
30,000 divorce cases concerning ex-war prisoners,
that 60 per cent of married men who return find

that the bonds between them and their wives have, in
one way or another, been broken: that most of the
fiancées back home will not keep their promise: we
also know that a new race of bachelors had been
formed in the prisoners' camps. . . . It's no use
sniggering: behind all these things there are count-
less personal conflicts and tragedies.1

And further on, he again cites from Les Vivants vis-a-vis
the disillusionment of the returning prisoners who returned

to France but "not the France of their Stalag and Oflag

daydreams":

The ex-prisoner has found an amorphous country,
used to its hardships, and incapable of saying
no. . . . The passers-by in the street seemed,
before the war, to be going somewhere. Now they
look like people walking, but not going apywhere.
. . . The question of money is most revealing.
There’s a black market on every level. And the
worst of it is that it's an insult to Labour.
Only fools work: the others do their black mar-
keting and eat. . . . They pity those who don't
eat, but don't give a damn. Only pity is the
spice to their egoism. . . . Everything is taken
for granted, even the victims. "One has the
right to be lucky. If it isn't me, it would be
somebody else. . . ."2

In addition to the breakdown of values, norms, disjunctures

between motivated behavior and reward, thousands returned

 

llbid., p. 251.
2Ibid.

69

home to find their homes destroyed or damaged, to find them-
selves unable to provide adequately for their families because
of some war-affliction that incapacitated them, and/or to
find themselves unable to adjust to the "unanticipated" new
social conditions.

The family was not the only social institution to mani-
fest stress from within, strain from without, and to reflect
a high degree of disintegration. The agencies embodied in the
school, church, entertainment, and so on felt the painful ef-
fects of war. Both during the war and the Occupation, these
institutions were being modified in response to certain definite
events and situations and concomitantly affected changes in
their status, role, functions, and basis of authority. We have
discussed above how the "traditional" governmental institution
had been virtually deracinated and then reorganized for the
purpose of advancing the German military position. The same
holds true generally for the economic system. In short, France's
social institutions had been greatly modified, forced to func-
tion primarily for the purpose of advancing Germany's military
power, and had incurred numerous strains that were brought on
by these structural changes but which, in the main, were not
accompanied by attitudinal changes. These modifications dynam-
ically affected the Frenchmen's customs, habits, traditional
work patterns, values, and beliefs.

After the Occupation, we described the numerous strains
that resulted from the atomized and disorganized social struc-

ture. Further, we stressed that the restoration of the

70 ‘

social order was particularly hindered by the absence of a firm,
unified, and effective political and economic policy. In con-
nection with our previous discussion of structural variables,
this period (in contrast to the Occupation) reflected a low
degree of structural integration as well as a low degree of
structuring: that is, there was institutionalized conflict among
the units comprising the social system, and there was a low de-
gree of adherence or conformity to certain specified norms,
standards, and the like--if not lacking altogether. Specifi-
cally, we noted that various crises along with numerous degen-
erate and ineffective social forces detracted from an adequate
adjustment or balance among the social units, and that this
state of French social disorganization reflected an inadequate
normative regulation of the Frenchmen's social activities and
aspirations.

Finally, a most devastating effect of the war and its fol-
lowing period of disruption and disorganization was the sever-
ing of relations, not only within families, but from voluntary
associations--e.g., work, play, peers, community, etc.--that
function as a buffer for the individual between the family unit
and the state.1 In consequence of the isolation or lack of
adequate relations within the family unit and/or with interme-

diary associations, traditional ties to authority were severed

concomitant with social obligations and demands that norm-

 

1William Kornhauser, Politics of Mass Society (Glen-
coe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1959), p. 74. See also, Karl
Mannheim, Man and Society in an Age of Reconstruction (New
York: Harcourt, Brace and World-Harvest Book, HB 119, 1940),
pp. 117-29.

71

ally reinforce meaningful social relations and interaction.

In this connection, isolation and rootlessness are felt by
those who lack meaningful and operative social ties. Again
Kornhauser informs us that "in their absence, people lack the
resources to restrain their own behavior as well as that of
others."1 The atomization of these social relations, then,
"engenders strong feelings of alienation and anxiety, and
therefore the disposition to engage in extreme behavior to
escape these tensions."2 Traditional values and post regula-
tory principles no longer provided for the general aims and
means in this shattered and woefully weakened social order, Yet,
some guidance and direction was needed to combat the problems
presented in daily life and in coming to grips with their con-
dition of alienation that is reflected in the themes of dis-
illusionment, absurdity, anxiety, uncertainty, resentment, dis-
trust, disenchantment, hopelessness, despair, separation, etc.
Within this condition existentialism emerged, for it attempted
to explain the result of these various social strains--i.e.,
alienation--and constituted an articulate resolution to recon-
struct this disturbed social order. The elaboration of this
articulated resolution necessarily entails a discussion of

its intellectual roots and development that played a signi-
ficant part in the rise of existentialism as a social move-
ment within the condition of structural conduciveness. This is

the concern for the next chapter, "The Intellectual Setting."

1Kornhauser, op. cit., p. 32.
Zlhud., italics added

CHAPTER II
THE INTELLECTUAL SETTING

Introduction

Under the discussion of the "the social setting" we
have reviewed a number of possible causes that directly or
indirectly contributed to the downfall and defeat of France.
Each of them undoubtedly contains some truth, but in no
sense could they be considered as independently complete or
causally related in a monistic sense. Regardless of the
taxonomical structure that one selects in positing the
causes--e.g., social political, economic, religious, meta-
physical, moral, psychological, etc.--for the war, concomi-
tant with a detailed examination of it, one recognizes,
even in our limited treatment, that all sectors or phases
of society were affected by their interrelatedness which
necessarily defied even "scientific" atomization. While we
became only superficially aware of this complexity, one of
our primary concerns focussed on the effects and implications
of the French defeat in 1940 and her subordinate position to
Germany during the Occupation. The other major concern cen-
tered on the chaotic social conditions that made possible
and set the stage for "extreme" forms of collective mobili-

zation. (This condition plus the examination of other

72

73

general determinants in relation to the rise of existential-
ism constitutes the aim of the next chapter.) In short, the
disturbed French social order reflected widespread chaos and
instability, and, in turn, these anomic social conditions
resulted in a condition of alienation. In this context,
then, the rise of existentialism as a social movement is to
be considered as an articulated resolution to remedy this
condition of alienation.

Our primary concern with the twentieth-century move-
ment of French existentialism--expressed and extolled in its
mode of thought, writings, and basis for orientation to life
situations-~draws heavily from Kierkegaard and Nietzsche.
That is to say, we will not be interested in the philosophy
of existence and its many real or alledged antecedents or
forerunners,1 per se: rather, we again stress that we are
focussing our attention on French existentialism and its
exponents.

Our interest in Kierkegaard and Nietzsche becomes

 

1Many philosophical expressions of existentialism
may be traced as far back as the pro-Socratic Heraclitus,
the "weeping philosOpher," or even to the Biblical Job:
in fact, one may trace this concern with the individual,
his salvation, his personal relations to society, to God,
to man, to nature, and the meaning of his life and actions
to anyone concerned with "religious" ideas and their impli-
cations. For discussion within this context, see, Maurice
Friedman, (ed.), The Worlds of Existentialism: A Critical
Reader (New York: Random House, 1964), pp. 4-12: see also,
Edward Tiryakian, Sociologism and Existentialism: Two

Pers ectives on the Individual and Societ (Englewood
CIiffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 19 2), pp. 0-81.

 

74

significant insofar as they provide the "modern" intellec-
tual roots of a belief that becomes extended, reappraised,
and articulated later by Sartre in particular, as well as
by other French existentialists. That is, both Kierkegaard
and Nietzsche dealt with the vital problems of their own
historic times and place, and in so doing they revealed the
vital themes--e.g., total commitment, objective uncertainty
and self-orientation--that were to become a special concern
for the "French existentialists." The recurring issue is
that even though existence is both indefinable and inexhaus-
tible,1 man must encounter life situations in all their
forceful contingencies and contradictions by accepting the
challenge of subjectivity, activity, and responsibility if
any regeneration of self and society is to be achieved.
As such, the term "existentialism" refers to "a certain
state of mind, to a specific approach or attitude, to a
spiritual movement which is of significance in present cir-
cumstances and to a specific mode of thought. . . ."2

The central substance summarized in the usual noted
themes of despair, dread, anguish, forlornness, anxiety,
estrangement, the discrepancy between the superficial and
the genuine self, the faceless man of the mass horde, death,

and the revolt against science, rationalism, and rigidity

 

1Tiryakian, op. cit., p. 72.

2F. H. Heinemann, Existentialism and the Modern
Predicament (New York: Harper and Brothers, I953), p. I65.

75

become encapsulated in the inevitable suffering, agony,

and alienation of man, which ironically is in itself (appar-
ently) fixed and eternal. Barrett notes that both Kierkegaard
and Nietzsche were dramatic witnesses to, as well as great
amplifiers of, these themes:

. . . while they proliferated in ideas that were
far in advance of their time and could be spelled
out only by the following century, these ideas
were not the stock themes of academic philosophy.
Ideas are not even the real subject matter of
these philosophers-~and this in itself is some-
thing of a revolution in Western philosophy: their
central subject is the unique experience of the
single one, the individual, who chooses to place
himself on trial before the gravest question of
his civilization. For both Kierkegaard and
Nietzsche this gravest question is christianity,
though they were driven to opposite positions in
regard to it. . . . [Kierkegaard to revitalize
Christianity: Nietzsche to destroy it.] More

than thinkers. . . [they] were witnesses-~witnesses
who suffered for their time what the time itself
would not acknowledge as its own secret wound. No
concept or system of concepts lies at the center
of either of their philosophies, but rather the
individual human personality itself struggling

for self-realization. . . .

One aim in this chapter, then, is to relate how
Kierkegaard and Nietzsche bear evidence to the ultimate
aim of the French existentialists' concern for the awaken-
ing to a special way of life that is generally depicted as
"authentic existence."

Though we have indicated that existence is indefin-

able and inexhaustible, existentialism is generally brought

 

1w111iam Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study_in Exis-
tential Philosophy (Garden City: Doubleday Anchor Books,
I952). p. 13.

76

into "meaningful" focus for many people by the catch-phrase
that "existence precedes essence." Again, Barrett provides
insight into this Sartrian vein:

The essence of a thing is what the thing is:
existence refers rather to the sheer fact that
the thing is. Thus when I say "I am a man,"
the'I am" denotes the fact that I exist, while
the predicate "man" denotes what kind of exis-
tent I am, namely a man.

In the case of man, its meaning is not diffi-

cult to grasp. Man exists and makes himself

to be what he is: his individual essence or

nature comes out of his existence: and in this

sense it is proper to say that existence pre-

cedes essence. Man does not have a fixed

essence that is handed to him ready-made [if

the presupposition of an existent God is abro-

gated in the case of the atheistic, but not

theistic, existentialists], rather, he makes

his *own nature out of his freedom and the his-

torical conditions in which he is placed.1
We will have much more, of course, to say about this onto-
logical apothegm when we discuss Sartre, but it is essential
to note here that the central focus and stress is on the
concrete and the particular rather than on the abstract and
general, though the latter is not necessarily delegated com-
pletely to an Obsequious and insignificant realm--i.e., one
must consider certain abstractions, such as social struc-
ture and social conditions, and certain general categories
such as man, freedom, choice, decision, situation, commit-
ment, action, responsibility, etc.

Although there are definite differences between

 

J~Ibid.. p. 102.

77

Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Sartre, for instance, all three
became involved in and responded to the problems that affec-
ted the human condition within varying situations. This
concern with human reality and the human condition of the
individual is first, last, and always the major point to
remember when attempting to understand what existentialism,
in general, is all about and the acute revolt and expostula-
tion by Sartre in particular (in our study). It will be
profitable to bear in mind also that the world was not per-
ceived to be the "best of all possible worlds" for these
"existentialists" nor was its future likely to witness con-
summated social progress and social justice: on the contrary,
the world was in a miserable state of affairs, of crises,
and of paradox, and the promise of a better and better future
seemed not only unwarranted but absurd. Thus, Kierkegaard
and Nietzsche, as revolutionary proponents of the philosophy
of existence, protested and committed themselves against

the ”unassailable" and highly esteemed Hegelian philosophy,
against a lethargic Christendom, and against society.

From these historico-intellectual origins, then,
Sartre's protest and revolt against the plight of the human
condition became extended and more ”violent" than those of
Kierkegaard or Nietzsche, for his concrete time-space situa-
tion--i.e., social conditions--evinced greater violence,
instability, and confusion. In a nutshell, Sartre's extreme

:response stemmed from an acute alienated human condition.

78

At the same time, it is absolutely crucial to empha-
size two vital points concerning the writings of Kierkegaard
and Nietzsche. The first of these is that their writings
were enormously influential in the intellectual, philosophi-
cal, and literary developments of both Sartre and Camus, as
should become clear later in the discussion. The second
point may be even more important insofar as any justifica-
tion for their inclusion in this study is concerned. This
means, reaffirming Barrett's above comment, that both
Kierkegaard and Nietzsche became, to a large extent, "redis-
covered," accepted, and important as times or social condi-
tions changed from their own: in other words, their appeal
and acceptance were based, in part, upon a widespread and
inadequate French normative structure.

We will now be able to consider Edmund Husserl's role
in the development of French existentialism, By limiting
Husserl's contribution to this segment in relation to the
more general whole or area of the philosophy of existence,
his influence on others (e.g., Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty) is
neither denied nor meant to disparage his significant con-
tribution to the general field of phenomenolosyz our interest
in Husserl lies in his phenomonological method that was
largely imbibed by Sartre, who, in turn, replaced Husserl's
pure "consciousness by existence [and re-installed his]

natural standpoint."l

 

1Heinemann, op. cit., p. 58.

 

79

The above becomes clearer when we consider Sartre's
basic conceptions-~e.g., situation, freedom, transcendence--
in relation to the problems of human personality:

. . . not on reality as such but on man's
reality. It is, after all, from its stress
on human existence, not just existence, that
the movement takes its name: and it is that
stress, in its new concreteness, that gives
it its importance. . . .

From this point, then, additional understanding between
Kierkegaard (and Nietzsche) and Husserl in relation to
Sartre's revival of the philosophy of crises becomes increas-
intly clear by noting Ruggiero's appraisal of the "existen-
tialist theme" and its "phenomenological orchestration":

. . . in existentialism the personal experience
of Kierkegaard (we could add, in a more limited
way, of Nietzsche too) and the generalisation
and typification of that experience merge
together. As far as the first element is con-
cerned, we are not dealing with a merely phil-
osophical resume, unconnected with the reality
of the contemporary spirit i.e., in the post-
war period between 1945-194 J. The experience
of Kierkegaard is an assiduous vindication of
the irrational and the immediate, as existence,
as life, as faith, as personality, against the
universal values of reason, which, in their
claim to universal validity, absorb and annul
what is singular in each individual. That
which the individual is in his effectual real-
ity, his anxieties and hopes, his feelings for
life and death, his personal salvation or per-
dition--all is neutralised in the passivity of
a universal spirit which devours its sons,
heedless of their particular destiny. . . .
Now this irrationalistic theme, which. . .
Kierkegaard unfolds in passionate antithesis

 

1Marjorie Greene, Introduction to Existentialism
(Chicago: The University of Chicago Press,'l948), pp. 48-
49: italics added.

 

80

[i.e., his existential dialecticalism] to
Hegelian rationalism, is also the most insis-
tent and persistent theme of contemporary
philosophy. The terms of the antithesis are
often changed, so is the emphasis, but always
it is the immediate, lifelived, intuition,
'animal faith,‘ contingency, belief, etc.,
which are Opposed to scientific laws or imper-
sonal nature or the universal spirit or the
rationality of history. As it is to be expec-
ted, the insistence on the theme becomes more
exasperated in momments of crises, when the
individual loses confidence in the collective
[social] order which supports him and feels

a more acute anxiety to escape and save him-
self. This explains wpy todaygexistentialism
goes back to Kierkegaard, for whom the need_g£
escgpe is morbid, rather than to other, less
violent exponents of the same tendency. . . .

While the first element gives us the existential-
ist theme, the second gives us the orchestration.
If the drama of existence had_p§mained shut up
within the limits of a single personality,
Kierkegaard or Nietzsche, it could have aroused
other isolated, sporadic and disconnected dramas,
but not a collective movement of ideas, far less
a universal interpretation of existence. Egg
connective tissue has been provided by Husserl's
Phenomenology with its analysis of the contents
of consciousness and its account of spiritual
'regions,‘ constituted by interconnected psychi-
cal elements and thus abstracted from the arbi-
trary fluctuations of the individual life. Thus
we can pass from the singular existent to exis-
tence, from its particular anxieties and preoc-
cupations to Anxiety and Preoccupation, predicted
of a new subject and extending the generalization.
. . . Time, space, birth, death, the finite, the
infinite, liberty, destiny, immanence, transcen-
dence, etc., have formed an ever richer procession
as they follow upon existence. . . .

 

 

In our treatment of Sartre and Camus, we will attempt

to relate their subject matter--the "nature" and problem

louido de Ruggiero, Existentialism: Disinte ation
of Man's Soul (New York: Social Sciences Publishers, 1948),

pp. 43-45: italics added.

 

 

‘ —L

81

of man's existence--and use of the technique or method of
pnenomenology--i.e., the description of concrete data of
immediate experience. More specifically, their novels,
plays, (newspaper) essays, etc., which are to be considered
in this study, consistently relate the plight of man's exis-
tence, present an image of man through a combined use of
philosOphy and literature, and provide a remedy for over-
coming an alienated human condition. Their pronounced
leadership was a vital element in the articulation and com-
munication of this existential message that stressed the
return to concrete facts, immediate personal experience and
to the reality of daily life--viz., our discussion of the
social conditions in the previous chapter. Summing up then,
Kierkegaard and Nietzsche provide the existential themes,
whereas Husserl's modified phenomenology becomes significant
in directing attention to a description of that which is
"given to us in experience without obscuring preconceptions
or hypothetical speculations."1 We now turn to a more thor-
Ongh examination of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and the French

3x1 stentialists.

Kierkegaard
Throughout the various treatises that deal with the
philosophy of existential thought (or existentialism)

Kierkegaard is not depicted generally as a philosopher in

 

1Barrett, op. cit., p. 213.

 

82

the traditional sense of the word. Yet, his life and writ-

ings point to and focus on the vital "existential" issues
that man encounters in his personal experience and daily

Tiryakian relates that within existentialism there

life.
"philo-

are two main dimensions that intersect at one point:
sophical thought in general and the world situation," whereby
the point of intersection is the human condition or situation
of man.1 It is precisely at this point of intersection that

Kierkegaard presents a hortatory exposition for the reaffir-

mation of the importance of the individual who is born, sins,

suffers, and dies. This reaffirmation of the individual not

cxnly implies that some sort of a proper and legitimate focus
rwequires a readjustment toward life and the human condition,
IJLJt it also entails for its fulfillment, in the case of
ICfiLerkegaard, a forceful expostulation against Hegelian
idealism, Christendom, and the bourgeoisie society.2 In
Short, Kierkegaard "struck the Jugular" and set forth the

lietesic issues that were to be of utmost concern for those exis-

‘teexnitial thinkers that followed him. Such, then, leads to

Tiryakian's general statement that:

Existential thought can be viewed as a reaction

or protest against the negation of integral man

in dominant philosophical circles. It may also

be viewed as a protest against the negation of
integral man in the modern urban-industrial world.3

1Tiryakian, op. cit., p. 73.

2Ibid., p. 82.
31bid., p. 76.

83

In our treatment of Kierkegaard, we will want to pursue the
implications of the above, namely, the recognition of the
"single" person as the bearer of all authentic value along
with the denigrating and suffocating effects of the church
and the "press" that leads to the "leveling" of the populace
or to an "inauthentic" individual existence.

Kierkegaard's attack on Hegelian idealism is precisely
a focus on the "fundamental discrepancy between the exis-
tence and theory" concerning the nature of man.1 His attack

was a challenge to the traditional philosophical thought

that stemmed back to Plato: in "modern" times the Platonian

lxegacy was reflected in the thinking and writings from

.Lkascartes down to Hegel. Kierkegaard's philosophical protest

earad break with Hegel (and classical philosophy in general),
t2k1en, was analogous to the scientific revolution that occurred
W1 th the publication of Concerning the Movement of the
£§€2£rvenly Bodies in 1543. That is, Copernicus' heliocentric
theory destroyed the validity of the traditionally accepted
geocentric theory and Kierkegaard destroyed the smugness
aJICSL complacency of the traditional philosophy that had cham-
piomed the pursuit of objectivity, essence, the absolute,
aIlCi- the speculative through logical reasoning over and at
t11<5= expense of the pursuit of subjectivity, existence, the

paut>”ticular, and the need for commitment largely through
\_

1Barrett, op. cit., p. 158.

84

intuition, moods, feelings or emotions, and the like.

Even though Hegel insisted upon the notion of Becoming,

and thereby differed from his predecessors' desire to tran-

scend the realm of Becoming in the pursuit of a universal and

eternal truth solely through reason, he nevertheless maintained

his belief in a universal reason. Wahl provides a clear and

concise statement of Hegel's thinking and the reaction to it

by Kierkegaard in what follows:

He tells us that our thoughts and feelings have
meaning solely because each thought, each feeling,
is bound to our personality, which itself has
meaning only because it takes place in a history
and a state, at aspecific epoch in the evolution
of the Universal idea. To understand anything
that happens in our inner life, we must go to
the totality which is the human species, and
finally to the totality which is the absolute
idea. This is the conception which Kierkegaard,
whom we may call the founder of the philosophy
of existence, came forward to contradict.

Kierkegaard not only reacts against this Hegelian

conception but, at the same time, he rejects Descartes'

'<=<:gitoI ergo sum" by insisting that it is more appropriate

view it as "sum, ergo cogito." More specifically, it

Inilasght be more accurate to depict Kierkegaard's reaction to

He gel by indicating the notion of "elpgo, ergo sum" ( I choose,

tk1<E=refore I am). We learn from Barrett that Hegel was "caught

the act" of trying to restore existence into his system

17'1'13':_‘-ough logic whereby reason produces existence or "reason

 

1Jean Wahl, A Short History of Existentialism,

EjieaLns. . Williams and S. Maron (New York: The Wisdom
brary. 1949): P0 30

85

would generate out of itself."1 Another way of viewing this
is that thought cannot lOgically include Being: on the con-
trary, it is Being that includes thought. Man's existence
involves the total person and cannot be contained in any
closed and abstract philosophical system that is based on
logic alone. Therefore, any attempt to explain reality
solely in objective terms becomes a nonsequitur. Hegel's
logic and reason could never explain away or provide a guide
for social action when personal paradoxes or contradictions
are presented in such a way that a decision/choice must be
.made. The two usually noted examples, provided by Kierkegaard
Ilimself are: (1) should I, or should I not, marry?, and (2)
should Abraham, or should he not, sacrifice his son Issac?
I?<:r instance, in the last example given the dilemma is clear:
JMIP Abraham sacrifices his son, he is transgressing an estab-

lished normative regulatory principle and ethical law (no

father should kill his son, rather he is to protect, support,

atIciassist his son as much as possible): but, if Abraham

does not kill his son, he is transgressing God's law (which

ft>3=. Kierkegaard is a higher law). Again, logic could not

as $181: in this ambiguous, uncertain, and "absurd" situation.

III- any case, a situation was presented to a single existent

[pe’JE‘son who was forced to choose between two competing demands

““IS:ierkegaard's "either-or"--and by choosing one of them,
\

lBarrett, op. cit., pp. 158-60.

86

the commitment (Sartre's idea of engagement) entailed vital
consequences. The individual does face certain risks by
virtue of his choice, but he does so, according to Kierkegaard,
with a passionate personal concern, whereby "true existence
is achieved by this intensity of feeling."1 At the same time,
he does so with "fear and trembling" for he does not and can-
not know if the choice made was the correct one, but in any
case, it is clear that Kierkegaard is contending "that the
individual is higher than the universal" as well as of
"higher value than the collective."2 Kierkegaard, then, was
saying, in effect, that these problems are not merely fabri-
cated in the mind (cogitoLepgo sum), but that they are met
113 a world of reality (sumZpligp, ergo cogito). As Barrett
xreelates, "He [the individual existent] encounters the Self
tilaat he is, not in the detachment of thought, but in the

igrmvolvement and pathos of choice."3

 

Kierkegaard's reaction against Hegel's speculative
iliueealism has been noted in his stress upon subjectivity,
WPlerein truth lies, and in his assertion that "true exis-
tgrime is achieved by intensity of feeling." Wahl provides
a c—‘-.apstone to the above discussion by noting Kierkegaard's

conception of the existential individual:
\

1148.111, 02. Cite. pa “'0
2Barrett, op. cit., p. 167.
31bid., p. 163.

87

[He is, first of all] in an infinite relation-
ship with himself and has an infinite interest

in himself and his destiny. Secondly, the
existential individual always feels himself to

be in Becoming, with a task before: and, applying
this idea to Christianity, Kierkegaard says: One
is not a Christian--one becomes a Christian. It
is a matter of sustained effort. Thirdly, the
existent individual is impassioned, impassioned
with a passionate thought: he is inspired: he is
a kind of incarnation of the infinite in the
finite. This passion which animates the existent
(and this brings us to the fourth characteristic)
is what Kierkegaard calls "the passion of freedom"
[that affirms one's destiny through repetition].l

Another reaction against Hegel centered on Kierkegaard's
assertion that there are real possibilities for the subjec-
tive, existent individual rather than, as Hegel contended,
that ”the world is the necessary unfolding of the eternal

.1élea, and freedom is necessity understood."2 Tiryakian sug-
ggeests that Kierkegaard's existential criticism against
Hegelianism is:

. . . ultimately a religious attack, since
Kierkegaard's fundamental arguments rest upon
religious considerations, Not only does the
logical system fail to take into account the
subjective, existing thinker, but also its
logical categories within which everything is
objectively located cannot deal with religio-
existential matters such as sin and faith.
These are extremely important to Kierkegaard
for. . . it is in the notion of sin and the
correlative notion of faith that he found his
real refutation of Hegel.

Sin is not a logical concept. It is not sub-
sumed under a more general category, and less
general terms are not subsumed under it. It

1Wahl, loc. cit.
2Ibid.. p. 6.

88

is not an object of scientific inquiry: it is
intimately personal and individual: it defies
rational explanation. . . . The notions of
sin and faith are by their very nature scan-
dals to reason, for they are grounded in their
enemies: the absurd, the paradoxical, the
uncertain. . . . But kierkegaard affirms that
what is impossible for reason is possible for
faith. Existence is always a possibility,
since to exist is to be before God--and for
God, everything is possible.

Kierkegaard does not assume man's personal rela-

tions to God, nor does he posit faith as a

"given" which opposes reason or goes beyond

reason. On the contrary, faith is always some-

thing uncertain, involving the subjective

thinker, the subjective individual, in the most

intense internal tension. Instead of quietude

and certainty about his relation to God, the

believer is always in a state of acute anxiety

or awe, for he is staking his very existence

on the unconditional acceptance of an absolute

objective uncertainty.l

Thus, our discussion leads us back to where we indi-

cated that (in Abraham's case, for example) one inevitably
confronts a situation that necessitates a decision to be
.made between two competing demands (in general, a choice
between good versus good rather than good versus evil)
'without the assistance of logic, for it is useless in an
tibsurd and paradoxical situation: one makes choice but with
:fear and trembling as to the correctness of that choice. In
tflnis context, existence is regarded as a "transition from a
Inassibility in the mind to an actuality in the wholeness of

true person."2 It is only a short way, then, to Kierkegaard's

 

——r

1Tiryakian, op. cit., pp. 83-84.
2Ibid., p. 86.

89

two notions of the moment--i.e., the particularity of every
situation-~in relation to that of the "discontinuity of
existence" or its three stages--Aesthetic, Ethical, and
Religious.1 Though we have indicated briefly the difference
between the ethical and religious stages (in the example of
Abraham's dilemma), they will reappear in Kierkegaard's
attack on Christendom.
Kierkegaard's attack on Christendom was equally vitri-
olic--perhaps, more so--as his reaction against the specula-
tive idealism of Hegel and the intellectual climate of his
time. The message of his attack is compressed (though not
condensed) into a single sentence but explodes in ramifica-
tive dimensions by implication. Barrett gives us the follow-
ing capstone account of Kierkegaard's thinking:
In the modern world it makes no sense and is in
fact a gigantic swindle to speak of Christian
nations, Christian states, or even Christian
peoples: this is the sum and substance of
Kierkegaard's attack.2

The evaluation and implication of this summarized indicment

is vividly provided by Tiryakian in what follows:
The gist of his [Kierkegaard's] attack is that
Christendom seeks to make christianity something
reasonable, something palatable to the masses,
something agreeable to bourgeois mentality. One
can live comfortably within the church. By fol-

lowing the teachings of the church, by attending
its services and listening to its sermons, one

 

11bid..

2Barrett, op. cit., p. 173.

 

.. :

._. .1 .v.

 

90-

can be born a Christian, live a Christian life,
and die a Christian. To be a Christian in Chris-
tendom requires little effort, one can live at
peace with.one's self, and masquerade as a respec-
table "witness for the truth."

For Kierkegaard, this was nothing short of a re-
nunciation of true Christianity, a prostitution

of the Christian life. One is not born a Chris-
tian, one becomes a Christian in a complete, sub-
jective involvement with God. I am not before

God in the presence of others: the existent indi-
vidual before God is unique, singular. God cannot
appear to me as an object of reason, "because God
is a subject, and therefore exists only for subjec-
tivity in inwardness."

Whether one is or is not a Christian can never be
an object of certitude. One can try to be a
Christian: indeed, one musttry, but there are
never any objective signs that one has succeeded
--and certainly, for Kierkegaard, church member-
ship is no guage of certainty. . . . [One] cannot
arrive at a relation with God in a collective
enterprise. The life of the religious thinker

is full of tension, despair, and suffering. The
existing individual cannot accept the world as he
finds it, for Christ told us to forsake the King-
dom of Caesar for the Kingdom of God. I am anxious
about appearing before God as a sinner. Anxiety
and sin are part and parcel of the Christian life.
As for being a "witness for the truth," a person
cannot possibly be one if he lives at rest with
society, without having gone through agonizing
despair, without having made a "leap" of faith.

The church, in particular, was viewed with alarm for

no "social gospel" or any of its "institutionalized" offer-

ings could act as a substitute or give account for man in

his relation to God. Indeed, the church was perceived to

be too institutionalized whereby man was not given the

opportunity to assert himself or even to "find" himself.

 

1Tiryakian, op. cit., pp. 85-86.

91

In addition to the above reactions, we can note that
the press, (mass media, public opinion, etc.) also contri-
buted to the leveling process whereby social life becomes
increasingly collective and external to the detriment of the
unique single person. This, then, constitutes Kierkegaard's
third major reaction against the leveling forces encountered
by man. In such a condition, the individual becomes deper-
sonalized, dehumanized, self-estranged, and subject (as par-
taker) to the influence and sway of the social forces.1 In
order for the individual to counteract these forces, he
must discover what it means to be a Christian and to reassert
his true existence.

Throughout our discussion of Kierkegaard, we have
tried to point out his primary concerns: the singularity
of the unique individual and the human condition. We have
found that he challenged the conventional institutionalized
moral codes and regulations: that he presented a sense of
'urgency in matters of conscience: that he placed great empha-
sis upon the subjectivity of the individual: and that in all
of the situations presented to him in a world of reality it
is he, as the single-one, who must choose either to be reli-
¢gious in the life adventure and to commit himself in this
engagement“ by affirming his authentic existence pp else he

was destined to fall into hopeless despair (and without hope

 

1Ibid., pp. 126-27.

92-

for salvation). Authentic existence, for Kierkegaard,
demanded a life (repetitive moments) of decision that was
filled with an intense feeling and resolutely embedded in
faith rather than in reason and distant abstractions. As
such, man must withstand the tyranny and leveling process
of the age. It is precisely this point--i.e., the plea for
the individual both to recognize and to revolt against the
powerful and evil shaping or molding social forces that pre-
cluded man‘s authentic existence--on which the French exis-
tentialists will focus by asserting the primacy of the par-
ticular personal experience over the abstracted universals
which become "divorced from life." First, though, we turn
to Nietzsche's philOSOphy of existential thought and inter-

pretation of what it is that justifies man's existence.

Nietzsche

Nietzsche continues in the Kierkegaardian tradition
by posing the basic issues of the nature of man, his destiny,
and his meaning in life. We have seen that Kierkegaard's
;reply to these issues had pierced through a quiet and smug
'world of academic philosophy, through a suffocating and
complacent Christendom, and that he had condemned the exter-
nalization of life that overwhelmed and hindered the indi-
'vidual's quest to realize his possibilities as well as to
fulfill his duty of authenticating his being. In the period
'that followed Kierkegaard's time and work, "a deep silence"

was witnessed with respect to his criticisms. In short,

. 93

the post-Kierkegaardian period was an era that championed
the dogma of progress in which hope and confidence reigned
even though "the paternalistic monarchies and the tradi-
tional churches were confronted by serious challenges."1
Breisach goes on to say that:

. . . despite such a penetrating upheaval, the
radical questioning concerning the meaning of
man's life and the call for an authentic existence
which had been the supreme themes for Kierkegaard
and still remains so for existentialism, had
hardly any impact on the thought of this period.
Characteristically and fatefully, those who had
become free choose all too often to use this free-
domtn dedicate their lives to a new authority.

The new authorities were mainly the "ismS"“[e. g.,
scientism, humanism, liberalism, nationalism,
Marxism, socialism, etc.] or systems of ideas
which again seemed to afford a universal explan-
ation of the world and thus to offer to man com-
fort and security. He could again rest assured

in "the" knowledge of the structure and aim of

the world. Furthermore, since the majority of
these systems promised a necessarily better
future, one couldalso look forward to it with
great hopes and expectations. Moreover, under

the "isms" all this could be achieved by merely
changing the institutional organization of society.
Kierkegaard had viewed the authentic life as one
of continuous personal involvement. In most of
the "isms" such a strenuous task could be avoided,
since a single revolutionary or an evolutionary
change of social institutions would solve human
problems forever.2

It is in this context that Nietzsche came forward, as
a critic of his age, to reappraise and to revolt against
this "positivistic" era of hope, progress, and spirit of

unwarranted enthusiasm. In doing this, Nietzsche would

 

1Ernst Breisach, Introduction to Modern Existen-
tialism (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1962), p. 32.

2Ibid., pp. 32-33.

94

seek "truth" in the world of appearance1 rather than cherish
any comforting illusions or debilitating crutches that were
endemic in any ideology, whether the latter be philosophical,
political, economic, social, or religious: he would destroy
the illusions of his age, admit and point out the disharmon-
ious and turbulent social forces that he observed, and he
would place great importance on irrational will that can be
both negative and positive in a world of reality. The cru-
cial point is that Nietzsche attempted to follow Kierkegaard's
earlier admonition of "don't pretend" but exposethat which is
or exists in a world of reality. In short, Nietzsche did not
pretend that all was well in an optimistic age that envi-
sioned continual social progress and increasing social jus-
tice. 0n the contrary, "his global preoccupation was to
relate metaphysics and ethics to the moral crises of Western
civilization."2

From the above moral crises, we are alerted to
Nietzsche's concern with nihilism: it is this concern that
constitutes the core of his writings and work. Quoting
Nietzsche, Breisach relates, in what follows, the famous
thzschean prophesy that stemmed from the proposition that
"God is dead" whereby the traditional value systems no longer

provided meaning for man's existence:

 

1Tiryakian, op. cit., p. 90.
2Ibid., pp. 89-90.

95 ~

What I relate is the history of the next two
centuries. I describe what is coming, what no
longer can come differently: the advent of
nihilism. . . .

Nietzsche's basic proposition that "God is dead" was
based on his observation (and interpretation) of what actu-
ally existed in the world of reality whereby:

. . . to say that "God is dead" means no more

and no less than that he is dead for the major-

ity of the Europeans of the time of Nietzsche.

The Nietzschean analysis was aimed at showing

that this crucial condition existed despite the

most widespread conviction to the contrary.
For Nietzsche, then, faith in God3 was dead as a matter of
cultural fact, and any meaning of life which was devoid of
God abnegated any transcendent purpose in the traditional
Judaic-Christian sense.

The ultimate problem for him centered on whether it
was still possible for man to conform and give allegiance
to the "isms" that were, in fact,based on an unsupported and

‘unsound structure because they were "devoid of God and tran-

scendence."1+ What man did not recognize (and did not want

 

1Breisach, op. cit., p. 40.
21bid.,

3Barrett relates that "God' here means the histori-
cal God of the Christian faith. But in a wider philosophi-
cal sense it means also the whole realm of supersensible
reality--Platonic ideas, the Absolute, or what not--that
philosophy has traditionally posited beyond the sensible
realm, and in which it has located man's highest values."
This interpretation is discussed in Barrett, op. cit.,

pp. 203-205.
”Tiryakian, loc. cit.

96

to recognize) is that the "isms" (liberalism, socialism,
etc.) enslaved man, denegrated his existence, and provided
the advent of nihilism. Speaking for Nietzsche, Breisach
suggests that "the crucial point is that in order to overcome
the onslaught of nihilism, man must go beyond his previous
answers,"1 if not, the stage was set for the advent of
nihilism. In short, it was the task for man--the "overman"
--to reconstruct a disturbed social order that departmental-
ized, depersonalized, and fragmented his being: man must
reaffirm his self-importance, recognize that he alone is
responsible for his actions, and strive for an authentic
existence whereby he (as "overmen") "can say yes to life in
its entirety, even in its ugliest and basest details."2
In order for man to realize his own existential pos-

siblities, Nietzsche's notion of the "will to power" appears.
The notion of power replaces the "eternal verities" (of
Hegelianism, for example) or traditionally accepted values
' which have actually lost their relevance and meaning for
modern man. Tiryakian, interpreting Nietzsche, relates that:

The will to power is not the morality of the

masses, it is that of the overman. Power, in

the last analysis, is not the control over others

so much as self-mastery, overcoming one's nature

through creative sublimation: in brief, it is

"the courageous living out of the individual's
potentialities in his own particular existence."3

 

1Breisach, op. cit., p. 41.

2Tiryakian, op. cit., p. 93.
31bid., p. 95.

97

This conception of morality--the will to power--of
the authentic individual differs radically from Christian
morality which became a primary target for Nietzsche's
most acerbic attack, because it is based on a false division
of good and evil as well as in the illusion of an ideal
world.1 In particular, Christian morality bore the brunt
of Nietzsche's attack because "in its ascetic ideal and in
its set of values it has led man to renounce life and nature,
to say No to the world of the senses and the joys of the
body, to seek the illusion of another world."2 Christianity
did not challenge men, it tranquilized them: it stultified
rather than stimulated individual creativity: it decayed
rather than strengthened him: it enslaved rather than freed
him: it passified rather than activated him. The same
indictment follows for the leveling forces-~e.g., customs,
morality, opinions, etc.--of society or for man's eternal
quest to find security, comfort, and identity in dogma, doc-
trine, or self-enclosed systems. The authentic individual
"demands activity, creativity, and personal involvement in
‘what he does."3 Breisach provides a concluding commentary
to these.concerns:

. . . Nietzsche, apart from all of his specific
ideas, challenged his contemporaries to see and

 

1Ibid.
2Ibid., p. 93.

3Breisach, op. cit., p. 55.

98

admit that, despite national glory and mater-
ial progress, it is still the individual
existence which is at the core of all that is
human: to fail there is to fail as a human
being.1

Finally, the protests of Nietzsche (and Kierkegaard)
went unheeded: protests against the optimistic era of hope,
progress, and enthusiasm whereby social progress and the
conquest of societal evils were envisioned through‘the
"miracle" of the increasingly rational organization of human
life: against the annihilating tehdencies of the "isms" that
enslaved man and precluded his creative possibilities: and
against the illusory security that enveloped the passive,
dull, and unreflective “mass horde."

It is clear that certain advances had been achieved in
the social and cultural life in the cities--e.g., in better
working conditions, in the provision for more and better
public services (education, health, etc.), in the greater
availability and accessibility of productive goods, etc.,2
but the year of 1914 ushered in an unfamiliar and unexpected
age of despair and disenchantment though Kierkegaard and
Nietzsche had foretold this nihilistic doom. Barrett graph-
ically relates below the consequences of this pivotal date

in "modern Western history" which simultaneously ushered in

the present-day world:

 

99

August 1914 shattered the foundations of that
human world. It revealed that the apparent
stability, security, and material progress of
society had rested, like everything human, upon
the void. EurOpean man came face to face with
himself as a stranger. When he ceased to be
contained and sheltered within a stable social
and political environment, he saw that his
rational and enlightened philosophy could no
longer console him with the assurance that it
satisfactorily answered the question of What

is man? . . . The individual is thrust out of
the sheltered nest that society has provided.
He can no longer hide his nakedness by the old
disguises. He learns how much of what he has
taken for granted was by its own nature neither
eternal nor necessary but thoroughly temporal
and contingent. He learns that the solitude

of the self is an irreducible dimension of
human life no matter how completely that self
had seemed to be contained in its social milieu.
In the end, he sees each man as solitary and
unsheltered before his own death. . . . It
appears that man is willing to learn about him-
self only after some disaster: after war,
economic crises, and political upheaval have
taught him how flimsy is that human world in
which he thought so securely grounded. What he
learns has always been there, lying concealed
beneath the surface of even the best-function-
ing societies: it is no less true for having
come out of a period of chaos and disaster.

But so long as man does not have to face up to
such a truth, he will notdo so.1

Thus, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, while neglected and
"in a time that knew them not." now gained increased stature
and significance upon the emergence of an era that exper-
ienced despair, estrangement, and disenchantment. In parti-
cular, Kierkegaard's writings became of interest within

Protestant theological circles (e.g., Jaspers, Barth, etc.),

 

lBarrett, op. cit.. pp. 34-35.

100

whereas Nietzsche became rediscovered "in a new although

not altogether correct meaning."l However, it is neither
our aim to pursue the abortive interpretation of Nietzsche's
"Will to Power" within the emergent German racist ideology
nor to consider its complement to the Marxian socialist
ideology.2 Further, we are not concerned with Nietzsche's
"Will to Power" within Jung's "psychoanalytic school"3 or
with Heidegger's challenge to unravel Nietzsche's nihilistic
ruins.”

Kierkegaard and Nietzsche's contribution to French
existentialism lies in their concern with and stress upon
the concrete world of reality, the human condition, and the
meaning of human life. Sartre's message and remedy of man's
estrangement from his own being becomes an extension of the
themes exposed by Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, though differ-
ences will appear in what justifies meaning in life. As we
have seen, Kierkegaard asserted that the unique individual
authenticated his life in the Christian existence, whereas
Nietzsche contended that man's authentic existence was in
the "Will to Power." Sartre will certainly differ greatly
from Kierkegaard for he, like Nietzsche, asserts that "God

is dead": he will differ from Nietzsche not so much in

 

lBreisach, op. cit., p. 72.
2Barrett, op. cit., p. 202.
Blpgg,, p. 198.
493g” p. 205.

 

 

All‘lr .

101.

Nietzsche's idea that the"Will to Power" is made into the
essence of Being (for both stress the will to Being through
action) as in Sartre's extension of Nietzsche's nihilistic
prophecy to that which serves "as a basis for humanitarian
and democratic social action."1 For Nietzsche, the aliena-
tion of man was seen to be overcome through a responsible
individual effort whereby man creates his own values, since,
and because, "God is dead": this is no less true for Sartre.
We now turn to a discussion of the message or way of viewing
life of the French existentialists that is of crucial sig—
nificance in our study: the rise of existentialism as a

social movement.

Sartre

Before beginning a description of French existential
thought, we again wish to draw the reader's attention to the
conditions, circumstances, and events that were discussed in
the previous chapter. In brief, we noted that France had
experienced defeat in war, subjugation and oppression during
a long, four year period of occupation by the Germans, a
post-war period of political instability and economic tur-
bulence, and a strained and precarious social structure.
With the pass1ng of traditional values and collapsing norms,
coupled with unresponsive and ineffective social forces,

the French people were no longer supplied with general ends

 

1Ibid.. p. 244.

102

and rules to legitimize their behavior or with adequate
means to sustain their needs. Thus, as we have seen, the
French social structure displayed numerous strains and lacer-
ations whereby anxiety, uncertainty, and the like produced a
condition of alienation. In response to this chaotic, un-
stable, and uncertain situation, French existentialism con-
stituted a reevaluation or reappraisal of the being of man
and his social relations with others as well as an articula-
ted resolution to remedy this condition of alienation.
Barrett's above account of the consequences of the outbreak
of World War I which "shattered the foundations of that
human world" can be equallylelevant to the situation that
France endured with the leading up to and outbreak of World
War II and, in particular, its aftermath.

One of the basic assertions of French existentialism,
as well as the philosophy of existence in general, is that
man exists in a particular situation even though he cannot
apodictically find any ultimate reason for his being. For
Sartre, ultimate reality is without meaning for human exis-
tence except for what man chooses and thereby makes out of
himself. It is in this context that Sartre's message was
in response to the concrete, historical conditions of the
then immediate situation experienced by him and his fellow
Frenchmen. The point to keep in mind is that Sartre, more
than.anyone else, presented a message that attempted to

awaken his fellow countrymen from a state of cultural dis-

103

affection, social apathy, and personal resignation, to reaf-
firm the importance of the individual, and to reassert the
true existence of the authentic self whereby meaning in

life could be realized. As will be discussed, the writings
of Sartre and Camus provided philosophical insight and gui-
dance for various moral decisions and types of action that
were to be encountered in a shattered and chaotic social
order.

In addition to Sartre's ontological concern. which
examines the idea of existence of being and reality,1
Heinemann relates Sartre's other concerns in what follows:

No doubt Sartre expresses a genuine experience
of concrete ultimate situation. It is politi-
cal, as the experience of a political group,
moral, as implying a moral choice, and meta-

physical, as the experience of the individual
who, in face of an ultimate situation, in his

 

1Sartre's more formal distinction between ontology
and metaphysics is provided by H. Barnes: "Ontology studies
'the structures of being of the existent taken as a total-
ity:' it describes the conditions under which there may be
a world, human reality, etc. It answers the questions
H23? or What? and is a description rather than an explana-
tion. For this reason it can state positively. Metaphy-
sics, on the other hand, is concerned with the origins and
seeks to explain why there is a particular world. But
since such explanations seek to go behind the Being which
they must presuppose, they can becnly hypotheses. . .
While this does not offer hypotheses to explain the origin
of the world or consciousness, it does nevertheless offer
hypotheses for interpreting concrete examples of human
behavior and principles by which to understand individual
personalities." This citation is taken from Jean-Paul
Sartre, Being and Nothingness: An Essaygon Phenomenologioi
Ontology, trans. and intro. Hazel Barnes (New York: Philo-
sophical Library, 1956), pp. xxxv-xxxvi.

104

utter loneliness remains nevertheless indisso-

luably connected with, and responsible to, all

members of the group and, in the last resort,

to all men. As an experience of liberty [i.e.,

freedom], it rightly stresses its two sides--

i.e., negatively, the power of resisting oppres-

sion, and positively, the genuineness of choice

and the responsibility of this choice. . . .1
In short, Sartre attempts to reinterpret human nature in
terms of human subjectivity, a condition in which human
values and problems are created out of a human situation.
While it is true that certain factors (e.g., social, his-
torical, geographical, political, economic, etc.) are held
to be of vital significance in determining the scope and
limits of the choices that an individual can make, the
essential point is that it is a choice within a totally
human situation, not just the situation itself, that makes
the man. In providing meaning to man as a significant
being, the clarification of the condition of man is essen-
tially that of description, interpretation, and explanation.
Thus, we now turn to how this became articulated by examin-
ing what has come to be known as Sartre's atheistic exis-
tentialism. (Thereupon, we will supplement this examina-
tion by the literary works of Sartre and Camus.)

In October, 1945, Sartre presented a lecture to the

Club kaintenant in Paris entitled, "L'Existentialisme est

un Humanisme" (Existentialism is a Humanism") which was

well attended and favorably received. We learn from Thody

 

1Heinemann, op. cit., p. 115.

105

that "it was delivered under rather exceptional circumstan-
ces at the height of the vogue for existentialism [and that]
the room where it was delivered was so crowded that fifteen
people fainted and thirty chairs were broken."1 In the fol-
lowing year, the essay was published in book form and met
with immediate success, as indicated by the sale of 120,000
copies.2

The purpose of this talk was to defend existentialism
against its attackers--notably, the Catholics and Communists
--by refuting their charges that existentialism was "unduly
pessimistic" and prone to "quietism." As we shall see, exis-
tentialism can be characterized as "rugged individualistic"
adventure and encounter in daily concrete situations, whereby
the formulation of Sartre‘s "doctrine" of "existence precedes
essence" takes on new meaning and demands. As such, Sartre
attempts to posit a doctrine that permits human life as well
as to declare "that every truth and every action implies a

human setting and a human subjectivity."3

 

lPhillip Thody, Jean-Paul Sartre: a Literapy and
Pplitical Study (New York: Macmillan Co., 1960), p. 253.
In addition, Simone de Beauvoir relates that 5,000 people
attended what I take to be Sartre's talk at the Club
Maintenant in her book entitled The Mandarins (New York:
The World Publishing Company, 1956), p. 222.

2Ibid.: this essay was translated into English by
B. Frechtman under the title of Existentialism (New York:
Philosophical Library, 1947). The same work also appears
in Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions
(New York: Philosophical Library, 1957), pp. 9-51.

3Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, p. 10.

106

This element of human subjectivity sets man apart
from objects that are manufactured--e.g., a book, house,
etc.--for man is a subject who becomes aware of himself,
reflects on himself, intends or plans for the future, and

creates his own being through the free choice of his pro-

jects. With man, "existence precedes essence" and this can

be true only of man. Sartre gives the example of a paper-

cutter, a material object, in contrast to man, a conscious

subject. Thus, a paper-cutter is first conceived of in the

:form of a design, an idea in the mind, and only then is pro-
ciuced and manipulated as an object in the performance of
:some specified function for which it was designed. Hence,

'Nessence precedes existence" for those objects as things

tihat are manufactured from an idea or design. In contrast

'tno a fabricated object, man exists first and only then does
he possess an essence in the sense of what he is going to
1363, in becoming his authentic self, but his being (essence)

i.es not predetermined by any superior artisan (God) or

tlxaiversal concept (Kant) or by apy other absolute, deter-

Inzlduing preconception pp promulgation that demands pp

Lizzgphangeable structure 9: essences. Sartre depicts the

53<>Indition, not essence, and meaning of man as follows:

. . . First of all, man exists, turns up,
appears on the scene, and, only afterwards,
defines himself. If man, as the existen-
tialists conceive him, is indefinable, it
is because at first he is nothing. Only
afterward will he be something, and he him-
self will have made what he will be. Thus,
there is no human nature, since there is no

107.

God to conceive it. Not only is man what
he conceives himself to be, but he is also
only what he wills himself to be after this
thrust toward existence. Man is nothing
else but what he makes of himself. Such is
the first principle of existentialism.l

At this point, we might as well face squarely the impli-

cations of Sartre’s idea that (1) God does not exist, and (2)

his refusal to accept the functional andepiritual power of a

lnythical concept of God. Let us first note that he, follow-

.1ng Nietzsche's lead, reasserts in Being and Nothingness that
"God is dead" insofar as "everything happens as if the world,
than, and man-in-the-world succeeded in realizing only a missing
God."2 Hence, the death of God, for Sartre, meant that there

ins no longer any absolute (e.g., God, theology, psychoanalysis,

égcrvernment) to which man can appeal for certitude, reality,

meaning, and value. Man, since "God is dead," regains his

true existence by creating his own raison d'etre through the

eacztions or projects that he alone chooses. Thus, Barnes con-

tzeends that the answers to the above two questions may be
C>JLearly given, though Sartre himself has not posed and answered

titlem. She relates that Sartre "rejects the notion that God

a<3-tually exists because the idea appears to him false on logi-

CLElJL grounds."3 The "logical grounds" that she talks about

_____y
11bid., p. 15. Cf. Barrett's analysis of the "exis-
1. eirlce precedes essence" issue of priority, op. cit., pp. 101-
tJLO here, the relevance of this issue and its affinity to
k1¢3:; "Sociology of Knowledge" is apparent but not articulated

2Sartre, Beinggand Nothipgness, p. 623.

31bid., p. xxxiv.

108

dictate that the existence of God cannot be demonstrated
because a concept of a being which is by itself and is its
own cause is structurally inconceivable and logically con-

tradictory. In short, logic cannot lead to the affirmation

that God exists.

Sartre, we have said, denies the possibility of tran—
scending the generic, existential human experience. Any-
thing beyond this is supernatural, meta-human: therefore,
‘we again find no assistance either from logic or empirical
(demonstration. Progressing, we become aware from Barnes'

zaccount that:

He [Sartre] refuses the myth [of a concept of
God regardless of its inspirational or func-
tional power] partly because of his stern con-
Viction that we must face reality and not hide
behind myths which tend to blur the sharp edge
of the human dilemma. He refuses it also
because it is, at least he believes, inevitably
accompanied by a belief in absolutes and a
theory of a human nature which would determine
our destiny, because it conceals the fact that
each man must discover and affirm his own values,
that there is nothing to guarantee the permanent
validity of any one set of ideals as compared
with another.

We have included this brief discussion at this point
IDeacause (1) Sartre's "interpretation of existence postulates
the pursuit of God"2 (i.e., the desire of man to be God),
£113Kfl_ (2) with no God to support, aid, and justify man's exis-

tence, man has absolute freedom in creating his own essence
\

llbid.
2Ibid.

109

in the projects that he chooses even thoughthis involves

man's total responsibility for them.1

As indicated above, man is not subordinate to any idea
of essence: he exists insofar as he creates his own essence
in the projects of his free choice. For Sartre, this con-
stitutes one of the meanings of subjectivism: the second
incaning, then, is that "it is impossible to transcend human
subjectivity."2 In what follows, Sartre summarizes the mean-
.1ng and implication of this notion of human subjectivity

twhich differentiates man from inert and self-contained

objects:

For we mean that man first exists, that is,
that man first of all is the being who hurls
himself toward a future and who is conscious
of imagining himself as being in the future.
han is at the start a plan which is aware of
itself, rather than a patch of moss, a piece
of garbage, or a cauliflower: nothing exists
prior tg this plan: there is nothing in
heaven [or in a heaven of ideas as well]: gap
will be what he will have planned to be [the
first meaning of human subjectivity]. Npp
phat he will want to be. Because by the word
"will" we generally mean a conscious decision,
which is subsequent to what we have already
made of ourselves. I may want to belong to
a political party, write a book, get married:

1The problem of freedom and evil is also given by
C34Etluus: ". . .either we are not free and God the all-
13C>1verful is responsible for evil. Or we are free and
1’53£3ponsible but God is not all-powerful." For discussion,
See Albert Camus, The Mthh of Sisyphus and Other Plays,
3E‘E1ns. Justin O'Brien—TNew York§_Alfred A. KnOpf, 1955),

p- 42 ff.

3L7> 2Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, pp. 16-

110

but all that is only a manifestation of an
earlier, more spontaneous choice that is called
"will". But if existence really does precede
essence, man is responsible for what he is.
Thus,_existentialism's first move is to make
every man aware of what he is and to make the
full responsibility_of his existence rest on
pim. And when we say that a man is responsible
for himself, we do not only_mean that he is
responsible for his own individuality,_but that
he is responsible for all men. . . [which] is
the essential [and second subjective] meanin

of existentialism. . . . [This is so because

if we grant that we exist and fashion our image
at one and the same time, the image is valid
for everybody and for our whole age. Thus, our
responsibility is much greater than we might
have supposed, because it involves all mankind.1

 

jBecause man validates his being solely through meaning
twhich he creates in his human situation, he finds himself
as stranger, an outsider, in nature because of his unique
exnd individual consciousness. Breisach notes that Sartre
posits:
. . . the emergence of consciousness out of the
world of beings as an established fact or primary
position. . . [whereby] man is no longer safely
imbedded in any whole: his being stands irrevo-
cably separated from everything which surrounds
him.

In a world without preconceived meaning, preordained
cxzrder, or ultimate justification as well as lacking any
eJI‘C‘ternal support, aid, and security, man-~in his total iso-
llaLizion from all other beings--is now capable of becoming

tails: master, rather than a voiceless and manipulated object,
\

11bid., italics added.

2Breisach, op. cit., p. 98.

111

of himself and of his human situation. In short, we can
say that, for Sartre, man is the being who is what he is
not and who is not what he is1 in the Heideggerian sense
whereby the condition and situation of man can be character-
ized as "no longer" what he was but is "not yet" to the
point of complete fulfillment of his authentic existence:
man is constantly making himself. Hence, he transcends his
present situation in the creation of cognizant possibilities,
and his present being has meaning only in reference to the
future toward which he intends, creates, and projects him-
self. As the trajectory of a bullet, an arrow, or any pro-
.jectile is not determined precisely at a specified, immobile
Iooint at a particular time in its kinematic path, so it is
vvith man: he is or exists in the present, but he is always
lbeyond himself by striving for this or that object to be
Ibossessed, allocated, manipulated, or used.
Our above discussion constitutes a brief insight into
12223 aspect of Sartre's idea of Being: consciousness which
1.ss transcendental of human existence by its very nature.
1153 such, consciousness is coextensive with Being-for-itself
‘Vlfulch Sartre calls pour-sol, the authentic being of man,
W1"1ereby he creates meaning out of an absurd and orderless
w(Darld in an attempt to realize those possibilities available

13C) him. Sartre's literary and philosophical works relate
\

ID le. Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions,
~ 95-

112

that man is nothing more than what he has done and what he
is doing to eventuate his created meaning, value, and possi-

bility. In this sense, his philosophy is harsh, demanding,

and activistic: it is "rugged individualism" par excellence.
If man is the being "who is what he is not and who is
not what he is," there is also the possibility, however, that

;man will eschew the demand of creating his own meaning where-

‘by he is no longer the master of himself and his world. In

‘this case, we find that man is not an authentic being, but

:rather, he is that of a mere self-contained, de trop object,

can inauthentic being (Being-in-itself or Sartre's en soi),l
lFor he denies his potentiality or refuses to accept his

Jresponsibility of the creation of meaning wherein man makes

Plimself: insofar as man evades his freedom, he is guilty of

'rbsd.faith," of "self-deception."2

We have seen that man is what he makes of himself and

1:11at he alone is responsible for what he is and for what he

Clcoes. How then, it might be asked,can man really exist

1.xaauthentically? As briefly noted above, the answer, for

Sartre, is simple: man does nothing, he exists in the man-

tléizr of any other self-contained, nonconscious being, such

5153 a tree, a posie, a katydid. In this case,nan finds

refuge in the security, comfort, and identity provided by

._____i
1Cf. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 88-89,

59 ~60, and 83.
2Ibid., pp. 44-45, 47-70.

113

the various "isms," dogmas, and systems of ideas that spe-
cify and point to a way of life in unambiguous terms. Man.
gets carried away into the "mainstream"--i.e., a stagnant
condition--of compulsive conformity and routine, into that
which is considered to be the "normal-way," the adjusted
life within the "sane society." No longer is there a mys-

tery as to what is acceptable, legitimate, and desirable.
Nevertheless, "to live and to pretend to be an en-soi is to
live in estrangement from what one can be:"1 existence, as
such, is both jejune and pusillanimous.
In addition to the prescribed and acceptable patterns
(of behavior that are provided by agents or agencies external
130 the individual, which comfort and secure the feeling that
cxne has a definite niche in the world--in contradistinction
t:o the continual individual struggle to create his meaning
and world--there are certain "basic dispositions that grip
Ilixland remind him of the futility of his endeavor to escape
1:11e freedom he pp."2
These dispositions, among many, are contingency,
Ellixiety, forlornness, and despair.3 We have heretofore
I"Saferred to them without specifying the implications that

Stem from them. These dispositions or fundamental exper-

______
1Breisach, op. cit., p. 98.
2Ibid., p. 99.

IBJL 3Sartre, Existentiglism and Human Emotions, pp, 18-

114

iences are not mere capricious moods, feelings, emotions,

or expressions of the irrational. Rather, we find that

"they are dispositions in which the full dimensions of

human life become visable."1 The point is that even though
some rationality is evinced in these basic, personal exper-
iences, reason alone is unable to comprehend their complete-
ness and full importance.

Existentialism does not discard these dispositions

simply because they are unpleasant to recognize. Instead

of avoiding or repressing them, one must become aware and

(deal with them, for man does encounter them in the drama of
ILife regardless of his choice to abnegate or abrogate them.
Iuore importantly, however, these dispositions, when taken
ian the existentialist perspective, permit man to recognize
llimself for what he is--a contingent, temporal, but noble

losing. "Existentialism is a personalistic philosophy in

tine sense of always being concerned with the whole, the
Ilg1ving person."2 The emphasis on these experiences occurs

1><ecause they constitute significant dimensions in each

I><3rson's existence.
Contingency is one such basic experience. Man becomes

EI‘Vrire of his own fragility in a world that is foreign to him

Ettisi wherein man encounters his finitude, temporality, and

_____yi
lBreisach, op. cit., p. 192.

21b1de, pp. 192‘93e

115

death. Man initially exists, appears on the scene, but
without his approbation or disapprobation (in this sense,
Sartre claims that man is condemned to absolute freedom and

responsibilityl). As we have noted on numerous occasions,

the French "world-situation" that many encountered prior to,
during, and especially after World War II was one of turbu-

lence, ambiguity, anxiety, uncertainty, despair, and disil-

lusionment. Life in those times confronted man daily with

the possible annihilation of his being, and if he did sur-
vive, he encountered a number of inescapable, hostile forces
that prevented or hindered his endeavor to find meaning in
life: all too often, the unending maze that he dealt with

“was that of hardship, terror, and acute disappointment.

Death, we know, is an event which faces all men though

:it is uncertain as to its precise moment:2 it is both a ter-

IIuinal and personal event for, as yet, no one can die by

k

lsartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, pp. 52-
.5559.

2For a discussion of the problems and attempts to
define both the "certainty" and "time" of death in a bur-
‘Eiaaucratic institution, see Barney G. Glaser and Anselm L.
=E3‘trauss, "Dying on Time," Trans-action, XII, No. 4 (May-
-;I‘llne, 1965), 27-31. For an engaging science fiction account
<:>:t‘deferring all temporal satisfactions based on self-imposed
ZI:><:verty--having diverse sociological consequences, such as
‘t3d11e demise of war, religion, competitive sports, social
‘Eiztntertainment, as well as changes in political and economic
i1:><=>wer concentrations--for assurance of "inter-life" mobility
{EIJFECI thus immortality via human "deep-freezing," see C. D.
S imak, Why Call Them Back from Heaven? (New York: Ace Books,
:z—f;><57). The existential perspective, however, remains firmly
:fif't31tached to the immediate situation rather than focusing on
‘Jl1ture "bliss" achieved through suspended animation, metemp-
IDSArchosis, or heavenly entry.

116

proxy.l Breisach relates in what follows that instead of
romanticizing the event of death, it is transformed into:

. . . The great force which can lead to an
ennobling of man's life. Indeed it is one of
the paradoxes of existentialism that by giving
finitude a central place, it transforms death
into an enchantment of life. . . . Whether

death is viewed as a purely natural event, the
harvest of what has grown from seed to full-
fledged plant, or as an incidental termination
of a meandering life, it is deprived of its

full impact. It is denied its role of making
for a human life which at every moment is filled
with an intensity of experience derived from the
awareness that every moment is precious because
in it a decision is made as to each individual's
authenticity. The finitude of man's existence
is actually that quality without which he would
senseless vegetate--if in this case he could be
called a man at all. . . . [Contingency and
finitude] alone initiates man's wondering about
the meaning of life, projects him out of super-
ficial comfort, and is the major challenge to an
authentic life. . . .

Libereas Kierkegaard asserted that the fact and experience
(Df'contingency pointed to the bifurcation between man--the
Iffilnite being-~and God,--the absolute being--Sartre "takes

jL‘bas a challenge to man to become man in his short sojourn

\

lBreisach, op. cit., p. 193.

2Ibid., pp. 193-94. For a different view, of course,
‘FPVEE can learn from the Stoics that death is nothing: that is,
1hvilden I am, death is not, and when death is, I am not. Cer-
‘tzasainly, the existentialists deny the legitimacy of this pas-
*E=:1_ve attitude and approach to one of the most basic concerns
<:>G:E‘ human existence, for man reacts in relation to this cer-
1t=:1_tude of life-termination even though the precise time is
1L2-~‘3t':l.c:ertain. See, for example, Sartre's depiction of the con-
JEP<>ntation of death experienced by three prisoners in his
‘5i1:l<>rt story, "The Wall" in W. Kaufman (ed. and trans.),
-—_E§EELstentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre (New York: World
‘talishing Co., 1956), pp. 223-40.

117

in this absurd world."l
Another disposition or basic experience is anxiety
(often called anguish), which is closely allied to contin-
gency. It is imperative to note the distinction between
the social scientists' idea of anxiety from that of the
existentialists. The former view anxiety as the result of
maladjustment, whereby man does not adequately learn or act
according to certain specified and expected patterns of
appropriate behavior. As such, anxiety may result when
institutional means are inaccessible or unavailable for the
express purpose of achieving certain goals.2 Or again,
anxiety may be considered as a deviation from the "normal,"
the adjusted life, whereby anxiety may result from an inabil-
ity to know of or conform to the legitimate, proper, and
ciesirable patterns of behavior.
For the existentialist's notion of anxiety, we learn

:from Breisach that enxiety is not:

. . . explainable as a vague fear of physical

nonsurvival or as a product of experiences

resulting from incomplete adjustment. . . .

Anxiety is linked to the emerging awareness

of nothingness. . . . Always nothingness is

experienced in the contingency of man's life

and with it as the awesome certainty of the

"not to be," an experience not to be forgot-
ten because of itssupposed unpleasantness

lBreisach, op. cit., p. 193: cf. Sartre, Existen-
;tialism and Human Emotions, pp. 60-67.

2For discussion, see Robert K. Merton, Social
fIheory and Social Structure (2d ed. rev.: New York: The
Free Press of Glencoe,‘l957), pp. 121-94.

118

but on the contrary to put at the core of
man's life. Nothingness in this sense becomes
the great positive force in man's life through
its challenge to live authentically. With it
anxiety is no longer the feeling of being
threatened in one's physiological survival but
is transformed into one of the most important
guides man has to what he is beyond his organic
life. Consequently, anxiety is the call to
become oneself rather than the si nal for an
increased or improved conformity.

One must, in Sartre's view, never fail to bear in mind
that the human condition is one of freedom, choice, engage-
ment, and responsibility. Herein, the problematic condition
of man is man himself--in his paradox, in his contradiction,
in his dialectic.2 That is to say, in each aspect of life
there is happiness but also sorrow and the absurd,3 there
is the positive but also (indeed because of) the negative,
and there is the perpetual opposition to and reconciliation
of freedom that is both painful and glorious.“

Man is free, we have noted, because he is conscious,
makes decisions, and can act on that basis. However, it
is evident also that this freedom can produce a deep, unset-

tling experience of anxiety. Anxiety or anguish means,

E

lBreisach, op. cit., pp. 195-96.

2Négatités is the term that Sartre uses for kinds
<>f’kmman experiences (or realities) and objects of judg-
Jllent which blend the negative and positive (inwhich nega-
‘tiion is the condition of positivity) such as absence,
(Zahange, otherness, repulsion, regret, distraction: see
Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 21.

3Camus, op. cit., p. 90.
“Barrett, op. cit., p. 246.

119

then, that man can never know the goodness or correctness
of his choice nor escape the consequent burden or respon-
sibility of that choice: man cannot be sure when his respon-
sibility is complete since there is no handbook or study-
guide available to tell one what his responsibility is or
when it is complete. Since no proofs, signs, or assurances
are to be found a priori, man still is forced to make up
his mind--to make decisions--and this entails risks and
consequences. This is so even if one may be blamed (or
praised) regardless of what he does. In this context Sartre
provides the example of the military officer who experiences
anguish when forced to make a battlefield decision:
. . . when a military officer takes the respon-
sibility for an attack and sends a certain num-
ber of men to death, he chooses to do so, and
in the main he alone makes the choice. Doubt-
less orders come from above, but they are too
broad: he interprets them, and on this inter-
pretation depend the lives of ten or fourteen
or twenty men. In making a decision he can
not help having a certain anguish. All leaders
know this anguish. That doesn't keep them from
acting: on the contrary, it is the very condi-
tion of their action. . . .1
From the above, it is apparent that one's existence,
3L1? free, is one of continuous choice and responsibility:
Illean is what he makes of himself: his life is nothing else
but the sum total of his acts.2

Another point, however, is that this highly demanding,

1Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, pp. 20-

210

2M" pp. 150 32-339 36: [4'99 .590

120

rugged individualistic venture into an "unconditional accep-
tance of an absolute, objective uncertainty" is just too
difficult and painful for many people to bear: the price of
freedom is too high. The result, says Sartre, is that they
try to flee or escape from freedom.l Instead of the quest
for freedom, many men search for identity, meaning, security,
or community in which pre-established issues and answers
are already provided. Thus, in order to "escape from the
freedom of the lonely crowd," a man may become a "true
believer"2 of some externally created value, belief, or
project, or he may avoid making painful choices by fetishly
following the pattern of compulsive conformity and adher-
ance to societal dictates.

While we will have more to say about the "escape from
freedom" at the conclusion of this chapter, we point out
here that while many men attempt to escape from freedom,
:many others find their lives devoid of meaning as a result
'of the oppressiveness of rationalism and the abstractness
<3f life evidenced in modern bureaucratic and technocratic
zsociety. Man becomes viewed as an object as well as mani-

ltrulated and used as an instrument to some end not of his
(Blaoosing. Again, the reestablishment of the free indivi-

‘5L11al becomes possible insofar as he recognizes the situation

1Ibid., pp. 18, 46-47.

2Eric Hoffer, The True Believer (New York: New
Jilmerican Library, 1958):

121

for what it is, namely, nothingness; it is not eternal and
necessary but temporal and contingent.

It is precisely thus [says Sartre] that the
for-itself apprehands itself in anguish; that
is, as a being which is neither the foundation
of its own being nor of the Other’s being

nor of the in-itselfs which form the world,
but a being which is compelled to decide the
meaning of being-~within it and everywhere
outside of it. The one who realizes in
anguish his condition as being thrown into a
responsibility which extends to his very
abandonment has no longer either remorse or
regret or excuse; he is no longer anything but
a freedom which perfectly reveals itself and
whose being resides in this very revelation.

The last two dispositions to be noted are forlornness

.and despair. We have already given extensive treatment to
:Sartre's idea of forlornness: since "God is dead," man is
'totally free and responsible for his acts that he chooses.
.Puan is alone, without any comfort, aid, or security and is
tinereby obligated to create his meaning continuously; man
.1Hs abandoned and is forced to decide the meaning of his
eezxistence.

The meaning of despair is that man must act on less
tl'lan certainty. Since he has to act on inadequate evidence,
flee cannot tell or figure out all of the consequences; hence,
“15113 must rely on the "ensemble of probabilities which make

(31241: action possible."2 Furthermore: "man should act with-
\

f‘ lSartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, p. 59:
B03: Sartre's more formal treatment of anguish, see his
-§iggnggand Nothingness, pp. 29-45.

2Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, p. 29.

122

out hope for any meaning and regularity in the world other
than what he introduces."1 Hence, man no longer can rest

at ease or feel "at home" under the security and comfort of
any "ism," philosophical system, social institution, or
daily routine for all of them may eventually turn out to be
not only illusory and oppressive but the annihilation of man
himself. In the matter of man's attempt to validate his
being, it is he alone who is responsible for this endeavor
of being aware, of choosing, of active engagement; no sur-
rogate can ever take this yoke of responsibility that befalls
man.

For Sartre, it is always the concern for the unique
individual and the immediacy of his experience in a thor-
oughly human situation. Man's true and ultimate choice is
'between nihilism or the regeneration of himself for if "God
is dead," as asserted by Sartre (and Nietzsche), it is up
“to man to provide meaning, reason, and purpose in his world.
fIhus, Sartre, one may contend, goes beyond what Green main-
‘tains, namely, that "existentialism does not go beyond the

.IDosition of the early Nietzsche, where we are faced, ethi-
<3£ally with a choice of honest despair or self-deceiving
:Plcape."2 The point is that Sartre's message was to challenge

IIlean out of the abyss of despair and disenchantment, and

\

lBreisach, op. cit., p. 101.
2Green, op. cit., p. 149.

123

rather than to articulate to man a "self-deceiving hops,"
Sartre asserts that there is no ultimate hope or justifica-
tion for man in the traditional eschatological sense.
Nevertheless, man's challenge and hope is in the creation
of meaning in a world without pre-set meaning or purpose.
On the level on which the "spirit of seriousness" chooses
to live--i.e., the quest to conform and adjust to the exter-
nal dictates which provide a false sense of security-~"life
is absurd, but the absurditygconsists_precise1y in maintain-
ing life at this level."1

Finally, we can now specify the demands that are ende-
Jnic to the challenge of existentialism whereby man can authen-
‘ticate his being: 2

There is first the challenge to overcome one's
inertia, present in the temptation not to
decide, not to act or at least to follow slav-
ishly suggestions by various agencies of cer-
tainty in order to avoid the struggle true
decisions require. Second, the challenge to
accept one's uniqueness rather than to betray
it at every moment for the sake of comfort.
Related to this, third, is the demand that one
fulfill one's potentialities [Sartre's idea of
transcendencej. . . . In every case man is
never finished, he is never that which he is
at’a given moment. Lastly,. . . . he must
decide and act with a strong sense of personal
involvement.2

Hence, man revolts against the oppressive and debilita-

tzj-Ing social forces as well as against the pressurizing social
\

lSartre, Beinggand Nothingness, p. xlii: italics
E*clcied.

2Breisach, op. cit., p. 223.

124

agencies that prevent or hinder his attainment of authenti-
city. Man must first recognize his truely human condition
whereupon he ventures out in self-chosen projects. The
ultimate demand of Sartre's challenge to man is the call to
action, a total commitment to and engagement in action.
From a point of nothingness, which faces all men at one
time or another, appears the basis for the will to action
in which man's destiny is within himself since "the only
hope is in his acting and that action is the only thing that
enables man to live."1 Rather than to resolve oneself to a
meaningless world and to "quietism," man involves himself
by acting on the aphorism, "Nothing ventures, nothing gained."
Sartre relates in summary fashion:

Quietism is the attitude of people who say,

"Let others do what I can't do." The doc-

trine I am presenting is the very opposite

of quietism, since it declares, "There is no

reality except in action." Moreover, it goes

further, since it adds, "Man is nothing else

than his plan; he exists only to the extent

that he fulfills himself; he is therefore

nothing else than the ensembie of his acts,

nothing else than his life."

The key for overcoming oppression, estrangement, des-

pair, and the life is solely in the free choice and commit-

ment to whatever type of action that is made personally

meaningful. In short, Sartre's existentialism explains

 

1Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, p. 36.

21bid., pp. 31-32.

125

man's place in the universe, whereby he is given a definite
meaning in it as the basic unit of measure and the creator
of values; hence, self-worth and predictability may be
attained in times of crises and uncertainty.

The call to action through
existential literature

 

 

Sartre.--Through literature, as it is in his philosophical
treatises, Sartre's aim is to stress the human condition,
man's freedom, and to explicate the implications of that
freedom. His message never wavers from one of protest and
challenge; most important of all, it was to reestablish the
value of the individual and to articulate the basis of
authentic being: conscious choice, freedom, commitment,
and engagement. The distinction between en-soi (in-itself)
and pour-sci (for-itself) again is pertinent: en-soi is
the non-conscious being which rests in itself or is what it
is, such as a tree, a rock or a poseur: pour-sci is that
being which is conscious of itself or "coextensive with the
realm of consciousness" and of such a nature as to enable
man to transcend himself.1

We have seen that, for Sartre, man disallows and bas-
tardizes his being whenever he looks beyond his inward sub-
jectivity for his freedom--i.e., the act of "bad faith:"

whenever man surrenders and becomes enslaved to his past--

 

1See Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 79-102:
Tiryakian, op. cit., pp. 131-33.

126-

e.g., to his "bundle of drives," instincts, philosophical
systems, or any other pre-set essential structure; and
whenever man becomes the victim of his own self-deception
rather than the victor over his mode of activity or pursuit-
object.
Rather than allow man to be an en-soi in which he is

* unaware of himself as a unique, conscious person, a highly
valued "single-one," the literature of existentialism
demands that man provide meaning and purpose in his human
situation. Thus, in Sartre's book, Nausea, man (Roquentin)
becomes so forcefully aware of his existence as nothingness
and of his vacuous role in society, that he feels overwhelm-
ingly insignificant in a de trop (absurd)world that even
slimy, lifeless objects crush or overpower him. Sartre's
hero, Roquentin, realizes that:

Being in general and he himself in particular

are de trop; that is, existence itself is con-

tingent, gratuitous, unjustifiable. It is

absurd in the sense that there is no reason

for it, no outside purpose to give it meaning,

no direction. Being is there, and outside it

--Nothing.1

In Being and Nothingness Sartre relates that man all

too often fails to inwardly reflect on his raison d'etre,
and consequently, he exists solely as an object for "others."

Here again, the concept of nausea refers to the "revelation

of my body to me and of the fact of my inescapable connec-

 

1Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. xvii.

127

tion with Being-in-itself;"1 en-soi is only that which is
--nothing, inert, self-contained, absurd. Nevertheless,
man is, he exists, and thereby must choose the way of his
being. In the Cartesian fashion of doubting everything
that is not absolutely clear and distinct, Sartre's notion
of nausea is a reaction against:

The selfish quietude of a life and forces

the mind to start abruptly again ex nihilo

and to revise all its values. . . . The

veneer of falsehood, which concealed authen-

ticity in things and persons, is scraped off.

From mere existence, the victim, who is also

the victor, of the nausea passes on to being

and reaches toward his own essence.
And further on, Peyre cites Sartre's acerbic, symbolical
revolt against the oppressive external social forces and
sanctities--e.g., the bourgeoisie:

Farewell, beautiful lilies, elegantly en-

shrined in your painted sanctuaries, goodby,

lovely lilies, our pride and our reason or

living! Good-by, you bastards Galauds)!

Here, then, the implication is clear: there are no
values external to man, and he is free from any obligation
to fulfill any pre-set idea of what it is to be man. He
exists insofar as he makes himself in the creation of mean-

ing and purpose, in which he is no more, but no less, than

what he is and what he does freely and responsibly for his

 

11bid., pp. xvii and lii-lxvii.

2Henry Peyre, The Contemporapy French Novel (New
York: Oxford University Press, 19557, pp. 22Q-25.

31bid., p. 225.

128

own mode of existence. The essential point is that out of
nothingness in which one experiences the absurd, the bore-
dom of his existence, etc., man revolts by asserting his
freedom. Indeed, man gpg man can always revolt by saying

No. Always, the existentialist's concern is in relation to
the individual's existence, so it comes as no surprise that
the existential literature, as a mode of action, consistently
stresses the need to preserve the immediacy of those exper-
iences-~nausea, absurdity, anxiety, risk, boredom, despair,
nothingness, death, etc.--that man feels in his daily sojourn
through life, for an awareness of them forces man to "take
conscious stock" of himself to where he may then begin to
strive for authentic existence. Only then is man able to

overcome his alienated condition.

§§pp§.--Closely allied to the ideas of the absurd and the
contingent, which are the themes of Nausea (and of rele-
vance in Being and Nothingness), is Albert Camus' literary
work: Caligpla, The Myth of Sisyphus, and The Stranger,
among others. Contrary to Camus' assertion that he is no
existentialist,1 we can feel justified in including him as
at least sympathetic to existential ideas and to the style
of life it suggests. We indicated above (under the "Social
Setting") that one of the basic themes of existentialism

might be depicted as follows: to exist is to suffer, to be

 

1Albert Camus, "Non, je ne suis pas existentialists,"
Les Nouvelles Litteraries, November 15, 1945.

129

in agony, to die; to survive is to find meaning in suffer-
ing, agony, and death. We can now see that Camus has a
much closer link to existentialism even though he asserted,
"Non, je ne suis pas existentiale" for he repeatedly arti-
culated his concern (before his untimely and absurd death
in 1960) with the existing individual and his struggle to
assert himself against intolerant and coercive systems of
any kind--e.g., nationalism, fascism, racism, colonialism,
bureaucraticism, positivism, and so on.

Another link that identifies Camus with existentialism
is his contention that man is an alien, a stranger, in a
world without aim, meaning, benevolence; man is alone, with-
out external verities to guide him, so that he alone is
responsible for creating his values. Thus, Camus shares the
general assumptions of existentialism: "the death of God,
unconcern for essence and stress on existence, the absurd,
humanism in the sense that the man freed from belief in God
must love and serve men all the better, and so forth."1 Con-
sequently, we shall consider his existential thought expressed
in the above mentioned literary works. Categorizing Camus
as an existentialist is primarily for our convenience,
although the category is not deemed absolute or even neces-
sary: we are interested in what he had to say to those who

yearned for the guidance he provided directly or indirectly.

 

1Peyre, op. cit., p. 243 fn.

130,

(We might add that he certainly does not agree with Sartre's
thinking at all times--e.g., their differences over the
forced labor camps in Russia; however, both may be said to
be in agreement concerning the positive value of man and, at
the same time, pessimistic concerning the destiny of man.)

Central to Camus' thinking is the concept of the
absurd, whereby life is without hope and without clarity of
purpose; myths and illusions may be functionally beneficial,
one could say, when routines are harmoniously ordered and
all is copesetic, but the plunge to the profound depths of
despair after their collapse warrants their fraudulent expo-
sure in their incipient stage so that man may then realisti-
cally recognize the "world-situation" for what it is--irra-
tional, absurd, contingent. (In this context one will recall
the despair of the Frenchmen when the myth of "another Munich
will save us from war" collapsed: when the myth of the "impen-
etrable Naginot Line" collapsed.)

We have noted that the political instability that pla-
gued France from 1789 onward led to the appearance of every
conceivable form of government, none of them of lasting dur-

ation.1 Again, man and his human situation are not eternal

 

1For additional discussion, see Pertinax, op. cit.,
p. 565 ff.: on page 568, he enumerates them: ". . . an abso-
lute and (for a few days) a liberalyzed form of imperial
power, constitutional monarchy, an almost socialist republic,
a reactionary republic degenerating into dictatorship, an
authoritarian empire, a government of national defense impo-
sed by the Parisian mob under the fast growing shadow of
German invasion, a National Assembly with the Commune at its
heels, a conservative republic, a radical republic, a popu-
lar-front republic, and, under the fire of the enemy, a
counter-revolution. . . ."

131

and necessary but only temporal and contingent. As Sartre
noted that "man knows himself as a Nothingness" until he
recognizes himself as a subjective, free person, Camus
asserts the need for an awakening to the fact that his
"secure" world gives no ultimate answer to the question of
why some event or situation occurs in such and such a way.
What is the meaning of man's "know-how"--i.e., skill--in a
world that is becoming increasingly conquerable by science,
technology, etc. when man does not "know that"--the reason,
purpose, value, and so on--of his being and where he is
going.1 Peyre provides the meaning and implications of
these basic questions in reference to the concept of absur-
dity:

Man wants rationality, and he is faced every-
where by the irrational. He is impelled by

the will to control and steer his fate, but

he is chained by blind and evil forces. He

is athirst for freedom, fraternity, solidar-
ity, and everywhere he encounters a selfish
social order, a dried-up bureaucracy, a mechan-
ized world readied for the impersonal slaugh-
ter of modern war. Nan waits for a voice from
Heaven but receives only the answer of eternal
silence. He feels dissonant in this cruel
world (dissonance is the original meaning of
absurdity), de trop, unwanted and insignifi-
cant, and the temptation of suicide follows
fast upon the realization of such all-pervading
absurdity.2

 

1Cf., among others, Barrett, op. cit., pp. 1-10,
23-41, 268-80; J. Nehru, "The Tragic Paradox of our Age,"
in A.P. Grimes and R.H. Horwitz, Modern Political Ideologies
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1959), pp. 194-203;
E. Fromm, The Sane Sociepy (New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston, 1955).

2Peyre, op. cit., pp. 241-42.

132

Camus would say, however, that man is never justified
in succumbing to the temptation of a permanent flee from
life or in subscribing to this sincere form of self-criti-
cism, for he would thereby consent to the absurd; rather
than renounce life, man must defy, protest, revolt against
the absurd (of injustice, suppression, senselessness, etc.)
by transcending it isrns daily struggle to assert and affirm
his true self. Nevertheless, the absurd is always near at
hand to confront man in "the discrepancy between man's
aspirations and his possibilities, and to the lack of any
ultimate, external justification of man and his projects."1
Camus' literature as a mode of action points to man's avail-
able possibilities to modify and to improve the absurd situ-
ation that stifles him. The underpinning point is that
Camus attempts to reappraise the concept of what it is to
be man.

In Caligula, a play written in 1938 but produced in
1945, Camus' central theme focuses on the problem of suffer-
ing in a world without reason, without meaning, without jus-
tification. "hen die and they are not happy" is the lamen-
ting cry of Caligula.2 Through this acknowledgement one dis-
covers the truth of his human existence, which is always

tainted by the feelings of absurdity and misery of human life:

 

lHazel Barnes, The Literature of Possibility: A
Study in Humanistic Existentialism (Lincoln, Neb.: Univer-
sity of Nebraska Press, 1959), p. 23.

‘ 2Albert Camus, Caligula and Three other Plgys,
trans. S. Gilbert (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1947), p. 8.

133

the stage is then set for his spiraling plunge into despair.
Caligula is a historical figure, a Roman Emperor from
A.D. 37-41, who discovers the basic absurdity of life upon
the death of his sister (and mistress), Drusilla: the world
is no longer satisfactory. Whereas he had been gentle and
modest prior to Drusilla's death, he thereafter tyrannizes
his subjects; he attempts to transform, by destroying, the
nature of the traditional and acceptable values (e.g., he
inverts the values of the good for evil and evil for good),
and all certainties; and he tries to persuade and force all
people to think of the world's absurd state of balance. In
short, man can find nothing that is absolute and certain:
"the basic quality of the absurd world is that it reinforces
man's solitude and renders all actions equally unimportant
and insignificant."1
Caligula confronts his world of nonmeaning and absur-
dity even though he does not conquer it. In fact, he is
killed because he has not done so; he is adjudged by conven-
tional forces and declared guilty for instilling despair among
the young and for denying life of its meaning. While others
fkailed to face an absurd world without meaning (Cherea) or
we"—‘:re unwilling to deviate from a belief that viewed a har-
mohious world (Scipio), Caligula embodies two attitudes

tl‘lat are, for‘Camus, legitimate and partially positive:

\

1Phillip Thody, Albert Camus: A Study of His Work
(ILondon: Hamish Hamilton, 1957), p. 17; Camus, op. cit., p. 11.

_ 134

(l) the idea that man frees himself only when he recognizes
that the world is meaningless in and by itself, and (2) the
idea of revolt against, rather than submission to, the
absurd which is essential to the self-realization of one-
self.1 Barnes provides a summary of and additional meaning
to these two attitudes in relation to Caligula's attempt
to "capture the moon" as a symbol of the impossible:
He pursues the impossible for the very reason
that it is impossible. He has a need for the
~impossible because "things as they are do not
seem to me satisfactory.". . . He realizes at
the end that he will not have the moon and that
all his efforts have merely resulted in refer-
ring him back to himself and the knowledge of
his failure. Yet it is Camus' fundamental prin-
ciple that man's grandeur and possible happiness
lie in his refusal to give up his desire for the
impossible. If man is to save himself, he must
never cease to revolt against the limits of his
condition at the same time that he refuses to
pretend that they are not there.2
Here again, then, we find the recurring idea that man
must not pretend that there are absolute values and fixed
certitudes in a meaningless world: man is isolated from
others and all of his hope for a rational universe and pur-
sniit for certainties inescapably fade when one encounters
tdde experiences of suffering, despair, and death.
Camus quickly emerged as a prominent literary figure
W1 th the publication of The Myth of Sisyphus (1940) and

£2115; Strapger (1942). He became an articulate spokesman
\ ' '

lBarnes, op. cit., pp. 163-64.

2Ibid., p. 164: Camus, Caligula and Three other Plays,
pp 0 7-80

135

for those who had encountered the events and consitions

we described under "The Social Setting." Thody provides
an indirect confirmation to our discussion by noting the
reasons for Camus' rise to fame and leadership in those

troubled and chaotic times:

[His] success is easily accounted for. His
automatic assumption that life had no meaning,
his denunciation of hope, his determined refu-
sal of any comforting transcendence exactly fit-
ted the mood of the time. Cataclysmic defeat
had drifted into the monotony of occupation, the
prospect of liberation seemed almost infinitely
distant, and a philosophical view of the uni-
verse in which all paths to the future were rig-
orously closed and optimism suppressed, corres-
ponded exactly to the historical situation of
the French people. L'Etrapger (The Outsider)
conveyed the atmosphere of the time before the
philosophical essay Le Mythe de Sisyphe (The
Myth of Sigyphus) offered an analysis of it

and fuggested a provisional attitude to be adop-
ted.

In The Stranger,2 for instance, Camus again3 deals
with the theme of absurdity by representing Meursault, the
protagonist, as the victim of degenerate and hostile social

forces. Meursault, who leads an uneventful life as an

 

1Thody, Albert Camus. . . , p. 1.

2Albert Camus, The Stranger, trans. S. Gilbert
(lNew York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1946).

3The existentialists prefer the word again to that
(31‘ continues for they view each new experience as an affir-
Ination or denial of their authentic existence rather than
hauling any "carry-over" from previous decisions, commit-
IHex—Its, or state of being. Man can neither "hold-on" to past
glories nor entertain any idea of "doomed-failure;" the

fssence of the matter is that he exists insofar as he makes
liumself in the free choice of each of his projects.

136

uneventful life as an office cleark in Algiers, is por-
trayed as being, and remaining to his death, completely
honest and indifferent to everything which should be impor-
tant to him--i.e., his immediate physical and social envir-
onment-~while others seem to be engrossed in a world of
conformity, mediocrity, and myth.

The Strapger consists of two main parts: (1)
heursault's prosaic and unemotional account of the events
that took place after the death of his mother in a home for
the aged, and (2) his detached and indifferent account
while in prison awaiting trial and the consequences of the
verdict.

In the first part,then, heursault is granted time
off from work to attend the funeral. At the funeral home,
he is without sadness, remorse, affection but he is aware
of the inconvenience and embarrassment, rather than grief,
that comes over him. When it is suggested that he go out
for dinner, he indifferently notes his lack of appetite,
but he does accept a cup of coffee with cream. While yet
.sitting at his mother's casket, he wonders if it would be

Ciisrespectful to smoke and decides that there is no reason
‘Vle he should not. The next day he meets Maria and together
they, in turn, see a movie, go swimming, and go to bed.
liegain, he displays no "real" sign of affection or feeling.
Ifiesursault then reluctantly promises to help his new acquan-

‘tiance, Raymond, who is having mistress-problems and is

137

threatened by her Arab brother. It is at the beach on the
following day that Meursault accidentally kills the Arab.

The second half of the book relates Meursault's impri-
sonment, trial, conviction of premeditated murder, and pre-
death attitude that in-the-end it is only life that is
important-~life and pleasure and natural beauty.

The tenor of the story relays Camus' idea that the
world lacks a basic, coherent meaning and order. This is
reflected throughout the story by Meursault's apathy and
indifferent attitude towards life. He finds that the con-
ventional values-~e.g., family ties and affection, ambition,
friendships, etc.--that others hold and cherish to be pas-
sing and insignificant. ~He is interested in life--in nature,
in beauty, in sensuous pleasure-~and this confirmation seals
his date with death. This is his tragic fate in an aimless,
pointless, and absurd world. One gets a fairly clear idea
that Meursault is not convicted and executed because he had
killed the Arab, for if this had been the case, a plea of
self-defense could have been invoked. He is executed
knacause he had not wept and played the conventional, expec-

ted, "bereaved" role at his mother's funeral.1 After all,
one could ask, what respectful son would desecrate the
memory of his mother by having an illicit and indifferent

"3L<Jve affair" with a prostitute on the same weekend of his
\

lCamus, The Stranger, p. 152.

 

138

mother's death? What about his response to his question of
the appropriateness of smoking while sitting at his mother's
casket and-receiving condolences from those people "viewing
the last remains"? What about his indifference concerning
the "obituary" details? (He did not even know how old his
mother was, but when pressed for an answer, he "guessed"
that she must have been about sixty.) All of these issues
led to his fateful destiny with death. Once again, Meursault
is interested in the pursuit of happiness that consists of
his immediate physical sensations. The absurdity of it all
is that he condemned himself even though he was the onetn
face up to reality, to what he was, and to what he wanted
out of life.

Thus, heursault represents the hopelessness and aim-
lessness of man's situation in the world; he is a stranger,
an outsider in an alien and hostile world. Even if he did
not weep over the loss of his mother, Camus seems to ask
if Meursault's insensitivity warrants his condemnation and
execution when "others" mythologize their world of justice

exnd concern for man. Here we see the vast gulf between the

'Clipmservice" that many speak of in reference to traditional
‘Vfilues and the difficult task of applying or incorporating
't13£sse same values into concrete social action, in everyday
JRidfe situations. Barnes provides an extended meaning of
W1That we have indicated-~heursault as the absurd hero--by

‘Sllggesting the following implications of The Stranger and

 

139

by citing Camus' statement from an unidentified source:

Evidently Camus intended to portray in heursault
not a poor individual who irritated society but
a man who seriously threatened it. He is con-
demned because he will not play the game. And
this is the explanation of the novel's title.
"In this sense, he is a stranger to the society
on whose outskirts he wanders, living his own
private, lonely, sensual life." But in what way
does he refuse to play the game?

[Barnes now goes on to cite Camus' statement.J
"The answer is simple: he refuses to lie. Now,
lying is not only saying what is not. It's also
saying more than ig, and in matters of human
heart, more than we feel. We all do this every-
day, in order to simplify life. Neursault, con-
trary to appearances, does not want to simplify
life. He tells the truth, he refuses to exag-
gerate his feelings, and immediately society
feels itself threatened. For instance, he is
asked to say that he is sorry for his crime,
according to the conventional formula. He an-
swers that he experiences more annoyance on its
account than genuine sorrow. And this nuance
condemns him.

"So, for me, heursault is not a mere drifter
but a poor, naked human being, in love with
that sun which casts no shadows. He is far
from being completely without sensibility; a
profound passion, though a tacit one, moves
him-~a passion for the absolute and for the
truth. The truth at stake is as yet only neg-
ative, the truth of being and feeling. But
without this truth, no conquest over oneself
and over the world will ever be possible."

(Zamus' main preoccupation is to herald the importance of

Inexn himself and to refuse the legitimacy of an inhuman and

\

lBarnes, op. cit., pp. 177-78. The unidentified

SO'urce referred to by Barnes apparently is Albert Camus,
.ll:;Etranger, eds. Germaine Bree and Carlos Lynes, Jr. (New
Ctrk: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1955), for which Camus him-

SE51f, at the request of the editors, wrote the Foreward,

which was published for the first time in this edition (p.vi).

140

absurd world that strikes out against the autonomy of the
individual in his self-choosen mode of existence. Neverthe-
less, there is no "eschatological" transcendence that man
can look toward, for his life ends in the certainty of death,
but, at the same time, man, through the awareness and exper-
ience of the absurd, can consciously experience the fullness
of the present, the here and now life situation in all of
its intensity and exhaustability.
In The Myth of Sigyphusl Camus expresses the same

experience of absurdity that we discussed in The Stranger,

 

but he also formulates a tentative attitude to be taken
toward life. The entire essay, in fact, is an attempt to
relate an attitude of constant refusal to the absurd and of
contumacious perserverance to that destiny which man con-
sciously chooses for himself. Let us note something about

the reception of The Myth of Sisyphus by Camus' fellow

Frenchmen. Thody remarks that:

The considerable success of the essay at the
time of publication [1940]--and in the imme-
diate post-war period--was due very much to
the fact that in insisting upon the absurdity
of the world, Camus was expressing the his-
torical experience of his generation. . . [and
of an] intellectual and emotional atmosphere.
. . [ofJ despair and defeat.2

While it is apparent that Camus takes great pains in

ex8.1:nining the philosophy of the absurd,3 we are limiting

\

lCamus, The Myth of Si§yphus, pp. 88-91.
2Thody, Albert Camus . . ., p. 99.

‘N' 3For a discussion of the philosophical premises, as
63:11 as Camus' "Logic of the Absurd," see Barnes, op. cit.,

7DI3. 164-70. For a critical examination, rather than in the

141 g

our discussion to the provisional attitude that Camus pre-
sents in relation to man's confrontation with the absurd.
Indeed, it is this encounter with the absurd that forces
man to decide either to commit suicide or to reaffirm the
importance of his existence in three ways: (1) by revol-
ting against the absurd, (2) by asserting his freedom to make
himself in the projects of his choice, and (3) by becoming
aware and engaging in the full intensity of experience,
regardless of its quality: ". . . What counts is not the
best living but the most living."1 Hence, the individual
chooses the mode of existence that has meaning for him. If
life and the world is absurd in its aimlessness, pointless-
ness, and meaninglessness, then, it is the duty of man to
assess the situation and to prescribe sense into it; thus,
the revolt against the inanities that comprise the absurd
life and human situation.

The above discussion leads us to consider Camus'
depiction of Sisyphus as the symbol of absurdity.2 Instead
of’picturing man in a fight against one meaningless disas-
tner after another, Camus describes Sisyphus condemned to

Push a huge stone to the top of a mountain. It is a fight

 

 

expressive merit, of Camus' philosophy of the absurd, see
1'1c>dy, Albert Camus . . ., pp. 94-120. For Camus' own

eJilbosition, see The Myth of Sisyphus, pp. 3-48.

cially p. 45.

1Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, pp. 38-48, espe-

ZIbid—o’ pp. 88-910

142,

without any hope for success because Sisyphus, when nearing
the top of the hill, finds that the stone inevitably rolls
back to the bottom. Though condemned to this task because
of his defiance of the gods, Sisyphus represents not only
the absurd hero, but also the grandeur of man. As Sisyphus
decides in each new situation to roll the rock up the moun-
tain, he consciously creates whatever meaning there is in
what he is doing. In short, Camus is reaffirming the neces-
sity of exhausting the availability of what is in the imme-
diate here-and-now in its fullness rather than to hinge one's
hope on any pollyanna-producing future; therein, man affirms
lais own individual importance, asserts the existence of his
lasing, and overcomes his condition of alienation by finding

Ineaning for life.

ESartre revisited.--What we have thus far encountered in the
"call to action" can be appraised by noting Peyre's comment
c>n Sartre's fiction (but it is equally appropriate for
Camus' literary work as well):

The main postulates of Sartre's philosophy
are to a certain extent present in his fiction.
But they are no longer assertions dialectically
presented; they are lived situations. There
are no essences, and therefore no types, no
general categories, no universal human nature,
no harmonious consistency in man. There is no
determinism, and man is not to be "explained"
ponderously by all the shackles that bind him
to his environment and to his past. Freedom
alone, slowly and painfully conquered, can con-
stitute an exit from a world that would other-
wise be a purposeless, loveleis, derelict abode
of viscousness and cowardice.

__.~_____ .

lPeyre, op. cit., p. 234.

143

We can now examine briefly Sartre's two plays that

were first produced under the German Occupation--The Flies

 

and No Exit. The Flies1 is a play based on the Greek legend
of Orestes who returns to the city of Argos and avenges the
death of his father (Agamemnon) by killing his oppressive
uncle (Aegisthus) and his crafty mother (Clytemnestra). In
this play, then, Sartre deals with the myth of Orestes and
the Furies (or the Flies).. Orestes eventually realizes
that he is created free and thereby becomes the spokesman
for the Sartrian view of freedom by revolting against the
hostile forces, the Flies. which hinder and limit his freedom.
Barnes suggests that in The Flies Sartre is concerned

'with "the situation and the characters choice of themselves
‘within the limits of the situationuz rather than in a lit-
erature of characters. Further on, she informs us that this
jplay, as well as Sartre's other literary works, employs the
Iise of myth and case history in addition to his comment on
tahe social situation:

. . . Like any myth it takes up the question

of man's place in the universe. In opposition

to Aeschylus, who claimed that there is a

divine Justice concerned about the affairs of

men, Sartre's Orestes declares, "What do I

care about Zeus? Justice is man's business,

and I need no god to instruct me in it.". . .

Sartre's hero leads a humanistic revolt against

the whole concept of deity and says that man
must make himself responsible for his destiny.

1Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays,

tre— . _ f
1_22_;>ns. S. Gilbert (New York. Albert A. KnOpf, 1948) pp, 49-

 

2Barnes, op. cit., p. 21.

é———_

144

At the same time, although Orestes is in one
sense any human being courageous enough to
accept the full responsibility of being human,
and while he cares enough about his fellow

man to suffer for them voluntarily, still
Sartre is concerned to show us the inner feel-
ings of a man thus discovering himself [thus.
Sartre's use of social or case history]. . . .
Three positions of Sartre's LtheoryJ are par-
ticularly delineated: the inevitable sense of
futility in the man who tries to avoid in any
way engaging or committing his freedom (Orestes
in Act One); the anguish with which a man first
realizes that his freedom is absolute and ines-
capable but paid for by estrangement from the
world of nature (Orestes in Act Two): the con-
cept of "bad faith" by which man tries to escape
being responsible for himself (the townspeople
throughout and Electra Lwho is Orestes' sisterJ
in Act Three).

Finally, this humanistic doctrine of man's free-
dom is developed in such a way that the political
reference is inescapable . . . [for] it is a plea
to the French people to have the courage to work
for national freedom against their oppressors. In
a broader sense, it is also a manifesto for free-
dom against social or economic oppression. . . .

Here we see that Zeus (or God) cannot determine human
:reality, that the world is, by implication, contingent, tem-
gporal, and meaningless, and that man can find freedom by
Ioecoming aware of the fact that the gods can give only illu-
suory comfort--i.e., "Aegisthus, the German invader, and

Cllqytemnestra, the French collaborator [e.g., the Church, the
V’i-czhy government] who accepted the invader and welcomed him

14r1._u2 In short, The Flies is a literary work that contains

1311.3. basic formulations of Sartre's existentialism which
\

lIbido, pp. 22’230

2Thody, Jean-Paul Sartre. . ., p. 73.

145

we discussed under his "Existentialism is a Humanism": that
is, man is responsible for what he is and for what he does,
since there are no absolute values outside of what man chooses
in the creation of his projects; man is nothing else but the
sum total of his acts.

In addition to a study of what constitutes "bad faith,"
Sartre's No Exit1 graphically "illustrates his statement
that the basis of any human relationship is a conflict of
subjectivities, each trying ceaselessly to assert his own
subjegpive supremapy by making of the other an object."2 The
three main characters-~Garcin, Inez, and Estelle--in this
one-act play are dead and find themselves in hell. Hell is
not the Jonathan Edwardian hell of "fire and brimstone" but
here on earth, in a hotel room. Though they are condemned
to spend eternity in this locked room, the only punishment
that is to be meted out is that which they inflict on each
other in their triadic struggle that inevitably leads to
tension, conflict, and suffering. Thody, in picturesque
fashion, extends this thought and provides additional mean-
ing; to this pursuit of one, as subject, to possess the

'Wthher" as an object:
. . . [But] if by any miracle two people man-
age to reach some kind of co-operative coexis-

tence, the arrival of a third person immediat-
ely destroys this harmony. This third person

 

 

lSartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays, pp. 1-48.
‘it 2Barnes, op. cit., pp. 27-28; of. Tiryakian, loo.
0 .

146.

judges the couple, and they can no longer be
content with the mutual reassurance that they
had been giving to each other. Instead, each
tries to captivate the third person's conscious-
ness as well. Normally, when we are alive and
constantly changing our projects, perpetually
hoping to imprison new people in our world, we
can avoid recognizing the really unbearable
nature of all our relationships. Once we are
dead, however, all hope disappears and we are
forever given up to the critical and hostile
judgement of other people. . . .

[Thus,] each of the characters in In Camera
Li.e,, No Exit] comes to be judged by the
others not for what he or she tried to do or
hoped to become, but for what he in fact did

or was. As they gradually reveal the truth about
themselves, all pretence is cut away, and the
natural hell of human relations becomes a moral
hell where they are punished for past cruelties,
lies, and self-deception. Hell is like a self-
service restaurant where no waiters are needed
because the customers look after themselves.
There is no need for tortures because hell, as
Garcin realizes, is simply other people.1

 

At this point in our discussion of No Exit, we are
able to clarify some of the threads presented earlier in
the chapter: the situation of man, his dispositions, and
the nature and remedy provided by Sartre.

Sartre's indictment against those who engage in "bad
Ihtith" rather than in what they do is clear: they forsake

their inalienable right to be free for they are no longer
aw{are of themselves as persons; they exist, as objects, in
reil'lation to how "others' think of them. Excuses that are
InSuzie after death for failures in life's sojourn count for

rflilaght. Man's life is not judged by what he dreams, hopes,

K

lThody, Jean-Paul Sartre . . ., p. 80.

147

and expects but in what he has done or is doing in the
immediate project of his choice. Hence, we come face to
face with Sartre's vitriolic condemnation of those who
seek excuses for their de trop existence behind the life-
less masks of the environment, the molding and shaping
forces of society, the providence of the supernatural, or
the fate of an inexorable past dominating and ruling the
present.

Clearly, however, Sartre is not at issue, for

instance, with G. H. head's account of the origin of the

 

self arising in social experience.1 The polemic centers

not on the determinants of personality formation2 in the
early stages of one's life (or in the origin of one's
socialized self), but on man's persistent denial to assume
his contemporary function of asserting his freedom to estab-

lish the range of possible alternatives that are open to

 

lSartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, pp. 15-
17. While Sartre does not formally analyze the relation of
the individual and society in Being and Nothingness,
Tiryakian comments that Sartre does discuss this issue from
the point of view of the "subjective self in relation to the
Somzial object, alter;" Tiryakian op. cit., p. 131: specifi-
Callly, Sartre's discussion of the "we-subject" and "us-sub-
Je<:t" is in Being and Nothingness, pp. 413-30.

2Two classic treatments of a conception of person-
aJ-fiLty and its formation are "A Conception of Personality"
albca "The Formation of Personality" in C. Kluckholm, H. Murray,
eLnC3D. Schneider, Personality in Nature, Society, and Culture
23<i ed. rev. and enl.: New York: Alfred A. Rnopf, 1953),

I“? - 3-67. In an attempt to place greater stress on the
inclportance of the role of social structure in personality
‘fcfirmation than that of the Kluckholm and Murray account, as
we1.1 as to present an interdisciplinary approach to this
general area of interest, see the recent presentation by

3. Milton Yinger, Toward a Field Theory of Behavior (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 1965): Part 11.

148

him and to choose and engage in some meaningful act as well
as to bear sole responsibility for his action.1
Sartre really seems to be saying that while man is

determined, yet, he is determining: though he is acted upon,
he is still a self-actuating being; he is shaped, molded,
and formed by biological, environmental, and sociocultural
variables, but, nevertheless, he can be no less than a
shaper, molder, and formulator of his own destiny as well
as responsible for his destiny.2 In simple and unequivocal
terms, we learn from Kaufmann just what this burden of res-
ponsibility entails:

All man's alibis are unacceptable: no gods

are responsible for his condition; no original

sin: no heredity and no environment; no race,

no caste, no father, and no mother; no wrong-

headed education, no governess, no teacher;

not even an impulse or a disposition, a complex

or a childhood trauma. Man is free: but his

freedom does not look like the glorious liberty

of the Enlightenment; it is no longer the gift

of God. Once again, man stands alone in the

universe, [and is solely] responsible for his

condition. . . .

From this perspective, then, we find the real mean-

ing;of his denunciatory reaction against the supreme value

triat is placed upon expediency and efficiency in which

‘r8iutionality reigns while reason plays an increasingly

1IULsignificant role in the matter of human affairs--i.e., in

be» th public issues and private concerns. That is to say,

\

1Cf. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 83.
2Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, pp. 34-

3Kaufmann, op. cit., pp. 46-47.

 

149 m

for example, that industrial, commercial, and governmen-
tal pursuits are firmly grounded on the values of ration-
alism, abstractionism, and impersonalism. Hence, there

is an increasingly precise calculation of the means in
order to attain some specific end while the "average
citizen" becomes lost in the larger organizational set-
ting: he works, expropriates, votes, etc. but without
any apparent idea of his contribution to, or control of,
or power over the overall Operation or outcome. In such
instances workers are not considered as people but per-
sonnel; personnel that are to be allocated, manipulated,
and used as necessary resources; they are not viewed as
possessing unique qualities, needs, interests, and aspira-
tions but become abstracted into dull, bald, and lifeless
categories and statistics-~e.g., the "labor force," our
"manpower resources," unemployment rates, military forces,
civilians. In short, they are viewed as instrumental,
segmentalized "situational facilities" analygous to the
usefulness of machines and capital for they permit or, at
lneast, facilitate the realization of some desirable goal
0::- objective.

Regnant evidence of this argument,1 in one fashion or

Ei-Inother, is contained in, though not limited to, the socio-

\_

1Peter Blau, Bureaucracy in hoggrn Society (New
fifork: Random House, 1956). Also see J. Davis, "Existen-
tlialism: A Reaction to an Age of Organization," Western
liolitical Quarterly, XVI (1963), 541-47.

150

logical literature. On a general level, we become aware of
the categories dealing with social control, conformity, and
socialization topics and more specifically in encountering
G. H. head's "he," Cooley‘s "Looking-Glass Self," Whyte's
"Social Ethic," Fromm's "Automaton," Riesman's "Other-
Directedness," C. W. Mills' "The Cheerful Robot," and so on.
Perhaps of equal importance or at least a very heal-
thy complement to the above, the interpretation and assess-
ment of the ascendency and consequences of the previously
noted "alter-orientation" to the "life-lab" have been soberly
depicted in many fictional (and hence, grossly exaggerated
and horrifying) novels: the two best known being, perhaps,
Huxley's Brave New World and the very ultimate in Orwell's
12§4. In all of these accounts one major theme is that the
individuality, individual assertiveness, and personal worth
of the individual become defeasible without recourse. At
the same time, of course, this does not gainsay that pro-
nounced differences of description. interpretation, and
assessment appear in varying intensity and scope. For
Ilmstance, Fromm, Orwell, and more important for our purposes,
Sartre would hardly disaffirm Cooley'a1 notion that the
Siajpegorized human infant becomes human, a social being, only
1r1. an on-going social order, namely, within the primary

EEIP<3up of the family (or functional-surrogate group), play

\

1Charles H. Cooley, Social Organization (New York:
Scribner, 1902), p. 139.

151

group, and neighborhood.

Here the individual, in Head'sl thinking, forms his
self out of a social experience as he acquires language,
interacts with others, and learns to take the role of others.
Again, Sartre readily grants and stresses the fact that man
is born into a definite social and historical condition even
though he had nothing to say about it; he comes upon the
scene but not of his own choosing. However, Sartre would
and does question the function performed by dedicated adher-
ence and compulsive compliance to an "alter-orientation" in
which collectivized man becomes "only an abstract fragment
of man."2 The value of man, the human man, can never be
judged on the basis of his usefulness or contribution to the
effectiveness and functioning of any social system: hence,
it is necessary to reestablish man as his own measure.

This concern for man and his rightful role in society

 

1head's idea of the distinction between the origin
or emergence of the self and the functionally "autonomous"
self is given in Anselm Strauss, (ed.), The Social Psycho-
logy of George Herbert Mead (Chicago: The University of
Chicag Press, 1956T, p. 217. It is interesting to note,
too, that Durkheim had repeatedly insisted on this neces-
sary differentiation between the origin and persistence or
validity of phenomena. In rejecting the primacy of individ-
ualism and biologism, for instance, he had asserted in arti-
culate and forceful fashion the importance and necessity of
the group (society) for the emergence of the individual as
a social being (in headian language, the society is essential
for the development of the mind and self): Robert Nisbet,
Emile Durkheim with Selected Essays (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:
Prentice Hall, 1965), pp. 10-16, 49-59.

2Barrett, cp. cit., p. 30.

152

is not new, for Socrates had indicated milennia ago that

to fail to examine one's life is to have a life not worth
living, and a failure to actively engage oneself in life is
to have a life hardly worth living. Parenthetically, it is
not the ultimate acquisition or finding of truth that is of
utmost importance; rather, the critical importance lies in
the contingent, ever-temporal, and persistent search for
truth (or authentic truth). In this sense, then, truth is
not to be thought of as a thing but as an expression of a
dynamic, non-terminating process; there is no truth but
only truths, one of which is man's existence. For Sartre,
in this fundamental sphere of the problematic, man's exis-
tence is contralized in the immediate and contingent pheno-
menological present situation which, nevertheless, is the
"simultaneous" attestation of his essence or being 1p,
Kipp, and p: the world in which he is the measure; the
measure, however, is certainly not one in which the need-
dispositions become isomorphic in relation to the role-
expectations in the Parsonian sense. In other words, the
essence of man is his existence, for it is never completely
forged or realized ("Man is the future of man"l). Here,

in his conciousness, his choice, freedom, and responsibil-
ity man asserts, affirms, and realizes his authentic self,

his dignity, his justification in the life-drama. Sartre,

 

1Sartre, Existentialism and Human Emotions, p. 23.

153

in short, denies and rejects the legitimacy of an easy,
static-free, gelatin-coated life of noncommitment and non-
engagement. On the other hand, and in a positive vein,
Sartre demands the absolute right to affirm life for what
it is in his contingent, temporal, but chosen sojourn.
Life, then, is absurd only to the extent that man, wholly
or partially, relinquishes this inalienable human right.1

Regardless of the situation in which man finds him-
self, despicable and hopeless as it may seem, he can always
react (choose, say no, revolt, rebel); indeed, Sartre says
man must come to terms with this issue of being-for-itself
by denying the legitimacy of external values, standards,
and certitudes as well as to forsake excuse-ridden wishes,
dreams, and good intentions. What is important is for man
to venture out into some self-chosen endeavor, for if not,
he is condemned as Garcin (in No Exit) who can never undo
or justify his cowardly acts or evade the illusion that:

. . . For thirty years [says Inez] you dreamt

you were a hero, and condoned a thousand

petty 1apses--because a hero, of course, can

do no wrong. An easy method, obviously.

Then a day came when you were up against it,

the red light of real danger--and you took

the train to Mexico.

Garcin: I "dreamt," you say. It was no
dream. When I chose the hardest path, I

made my choice deliberately. A man is what
he wills himself to be.

 

lor. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. xlii.

154

Inez: Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It's
what one does, and nothing else, that shows
the stuff one's made of.

Garcin: I died too soon. I wasn't allowed
time to--to do my deeds.

Inez: One always dies too soon--or too late.
And yet one's whole life is complete at
that moment, with a line drawn neatly under
it, ready for the summing up1 You are--
your life, and nothing else.

We now conclude our examination of "The Intellectual
Setting." The attempt has been to show that French exis-
tentialism presented a message of hope and meaning for man
in overcoming his alienated condition from God, nature,
society, and himself by becoming aware of his inalienable,
subjective being; by recognizing that man is the being who
is what he is not and who is not what he is in his continual
pursuit to make himself; by being the victor over, rather
than the victim of, the absurd and degenerate social forces
that thwart and limit man and his choice to be whatever he
decides. It is man alone that chooses and is thereby respon-
sible for the mode of his existence, whether he commits and
engages himself in politics, in resisting the oppressor, in
acting to alleviate the sorrow and stress that confront
mankind, or in enhancing his own individual interests. In
short, Sartre spoke of a rugged individualistic orientation

to life that many Frenchmen were eager to and did accept,

for he restored their sense or human dignity, he provided

 

1Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays, pp. 44-45.

155

meaning and purpose in their otherwise chaotic life situation,
and he instilled in them a hope, a confidence, that enabled
them to become their own master, their own measure, as they
sought to "pursue the unknown" in their thoroughly human
situation. The immediate task at hand now is to consolidate
the discussion thus far in relation to the rise of existen-

tialism as a social movement.

CHAPTER III

THE RISE AND FALL OF EXISTENTIALISM:

A STUDY OF A SOCIAL EOVEHENT

Introduction

 

A little over a century ago in the introduction

to his Critique of Political Economy, Karl Marx articu-

 

lated that it is not the consciousness of man that
determines his social existence, but rather, it is his
social existence that determines his consciousness.1
There are a number of ways in which one might consider
this dialectical polemic. In effect, Narx was saying
that man thinks as he lives, not lives as he thinks.

Or in yet another fashion, man's "life-chances" (and
"life-style"), vested interests, etc. are a consequence
of his occupational (class) position in society instead
of metaphysical abstractions or rational formulations
possessing a priori primacy in delineating his being
and purpose in the life-drama and struggle. The main
point that Marx was trying to convey is that man's
condition--i.e., his social, political, and intellectual
life--is almost exclusively determined by his economic

relationship in the social order.

 

1Karl Marx, A Contribution to the Critique of
Political Economy (Chicago: 0. H. Kerr, 1904), p. 12.

156

157

While Marx's academic position has been modified
by time, events, situations, and responsive dialogue,l
his stress on studying the changing nature of institu-
tions is clearly recognized as essential for many socio-
logical inquiries.2 It is in this context that it was
deemed essential toidentify and trace the major factors
of France's historical past which contributed to her
weakened state as a nation in the late 1930's and early
l940's--z$§., "The Social Setting." Numerous factors--
e.g., France's truncated political and social revolutions,
her ideological bi-polarization, her lack of an extended
industrial revolution, her weakened and shaken traditions,
her manifest social ruins concomitant with collapsing
institutions, etc.--were all deemed significant in her
devastating fall and collapse in 1940. These facets,
while not mutually exclusive, account in large part for
the social condition that Frenchmen encountered in their
personal experiences and daily life. From this vantage
point, it seems merely academic to ask if man thinks as

he lives.

 

1For discussion and critical appraisal of Marx's
theory, see M. N. Bober, Karl Marx's Interpretation of
History (2d ed. rev.: New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1965),
Part IV: Leonard Reissman, Class in American Society (New
York: The Free Press, 1959), chap. 2, esp. pp. 35-69. The
role played by Marx in the "Sociology of Knowledge" is
discussed by Robert Merton in his Social Theopy and Social
Structure (2d ed., rev.: New York: The Free Press, 1957),
chap. 12.

25cc, for instance, c.w. Mills' analysis of "The
Uses of Histor ," in his book, The Sociological Imagina-
tion (Englewoo Cliffs, N.J.: Spectrum, 19591, chap. 6.

158 _

There is, however, the significant reciprocal of
the above: "All that we are is the result of what we
have thought."1 That is to say, men also live as they
think.2 Men have beliefs, values; they do think; they
hope, aspire, plan, and intend which serve as guides to
social interaction and engagement in concrete activities.
In short, Weber (and many others) have recognized and
related how idealism and ideology become influential and
powerful social forces in society: W. I. Thomas taught
us the value of the "definition of the situation;" Merton
reintroduced this significant concept in "the self-fulfill-
ing prophecyg" words such as hope, opportunity, and rising
expectations have become key frames of reference in contem-
porary social-psychological analyses. Ideas, indeed, are
weapons.

The chief concern of the preceding chapters, then,
has been to emphasize and demonstrate that an orientation

or philosophy of life has been given by men of thought

lKaufmann, Existentialism: From Dostoevsky to
Sartre, p. 46; Kaufmann is citing a radical Buddhist dictum,
but this idealist position also has a long history in phil-
osophy from the time of Plato to Descartes to Hegel.

2Weber's classic work constitutes another major
reaction against Marx's monistic "economic determinism."
See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of
Capitalism, trans. TalCott Parsons (New York: Scribner,
1930). Weber's approach was to ask exactly what require-
ments must be met in order for capitalism to emerge. His
findings, though controversial, indicated, in the most
general sense, that Protestant religious ideas played an
important role in the emergence of capitalism; that is,
religious ideas constituted a necessary but not a suffi-
cient condition for the rise of capitalism.

159-

in the philosophical and literary spheres and that their
articulate expression has been guided, even dictated, by
the situation in which they lived. At the same time, we
have been keenly alert to the problem inherent in separ-
ating the origins from the persistence (and validity) of
existentialism as a social phenomenon. Thus, efforts to
identify and describe the particular historical stages
and comparison of development were deemed necessary, as
was the explanation of its persistence and present func-
tion. Specifically, we had to identify the men behind
this phenomonen and analyze the social conditions which
permitted this century-old philosophy to reappear in its
dynamic fashion during the forties in France.

From this frame of reference we are able to under-
stand more easily the role of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche
in this movement. This is especially true when we
encounter the French existentialists' intellectual debt
to their existential predecessors and their contemporary
secularized and ontologized effort to transcend, for
instance, Kierkegaard's stress on the religious and
personal factors by dealing with these elements as gen-
eral terms (themes) which depict the human situation as
a whole. It should be apparent, then, that the approach
in this research has been guided, in sociological parlance,
by the perspective of the sociology of knowledge and empha-

sizes, therefore, historical, intellectual, and structural

160

analysis. Thus, our concern focused on the social and
intellectual settings which together found pronounced
expression in France during the 1940's in order to show
that Existentialism was a result of conducive social
conditions which produced diverse and intense strains

and that this social movement constituted an indictment,
commentary, and resolution of these social strains, and
resolved the problem of otherwise meaningless experiences
for members of that social movement.

In consequence, then, we have profited indirectly
from the many responses and reactions to the ideas set
forth by Marx. Summarily, the fact that man thinks as
he lives and lives as he thinks must be viewed in con-
junction with each other as a necessary marriage (just as
theory and methodology are reciprocally related in empir-
ical research). Both aspects contribute to a better
understanding of the problematical inquiry as well as a
dissolving of the needless confrontation in ascertaining
which of them is most important, most determinate. That
is to say, both man and his ideas are, at one and the
same time, socially rooted and located in a specific, tem-
poral and spatial situation; hence, both are to be viewed

as a function of human association and interaction.1

 

1It may be of some interest to note that this
approach reflects Charles H. Cooley's pioneering resolu-

tion of the nature versus nurture or the heredity versus
environment issue: one dimension may be "perceived" to

161

The relevance of the above rationale for our study
then is clear: the nature of the specific historical y,
context and the message, appeal, and remedy of existen-
tialism must be considered in relation to each other. In
the broad perspective, these two dimensions, taken toge-
ther, may be viewed as both necessary and sufficient gen-
eral conditions for the rise of existentialism as a social
movement. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to clar-
ify this statement. In short, the task now is to syste-
matically organize the data already presented under the
social and intellectual settings in order to explain the
rise of existentialism as a social movement. This means
that we will not give primary attention to existentialism
as an end product inasmuch as an idea of freedom or value
of man in itself is not a social movement;1 rather, our

approach is to give stress to the emergence of a collec-

 

be of greater significance than the other, but the nexus
is undeniable and crucial to the study of the social being
of man. For a philosophical exposition on this matter, of.
Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reaiipy: An Essay in
Cosmology (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1960); for
instance, on page 30, Whitehead remarks: "The ultimate
facts of immediate actual experience are actual entities,
prehensions, and nexus. All else is, for our experience,
derivative abstraction."

lSmelser implies that there is the distinction
between the collectivity or entity and end product of
social movements; of. Ibid., pp. 315-19. One can note
that existentialism, protestantism, science, etc., may
be Viewed best as the end product of many different kinds
of movements, as well as to stress the fact that it is a
collectivity that moves against something (such as the
legitimate political, economic, or religious systems) in

 

162

tivity attempting to promote the reestablishment of the
individual as the sole unit of measure. It also means
that our task will be made easier and more rewarding if
we can be gpided by a conceptual framework that is syste-
matic, clear, and economically useful. Summarily, the

sociological model presented in Smelser's Theorygof Collec-

 

tive Behavior meets this criteria.

 

Let us hasten to add that our aim is neither to
review the entire literature with respect to the generic
field of collective behavior nor with the theorists who
are specifically concerned with social movements; the
interested reader will find that general reviews and dis-
cussions of these areas have been written recently by

Turner and Killian, respectively.1 In addition, our use

 

which deliberate and widespread change is envisioned and
--under certain conditions--brought about. For a state-
ment and distinction "between the structure of a belief
and the kind of action or social mqygment into which the
belief ultimately is incorporated." see Smelser, op. cit.,
pp 0 120-21 0

 

lRalph H. Turner, "Collective Behavior," and Lewis
M. Killian, "Social Movements," in Robert E. L. Faris, Hand-
book of Modern Sociolo, (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1964),
pp. 382-455. While Kil ian explicitly states that he is
not attempting a definitive and exhaustive review of social
movements in the Handbook chapter, there are notable omis-
sions: e.g., J. Ortega y Gasset, The Revolt of the Masses
(New York: W. W. Norton, 1932); Emil Lederer, State of the
Masses (New York: W.W. Norton, 1940): Karl Mannheim, E22
and Soplety in an Age of Reconstruction (London: Kegan
Paul, 1940). Also, in an effort to synthesize the "aris-
tocratic" and "democratic" criticisms of mass society,
see William Kornhauser, The Politics of Mass Society
(Glencoe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1959); his entire book is
highly germane to the study of mass (social) movements.

 

 

 

. .I(~-Ah.ll

163

u

of Smelser's conceptual framework does not require that

it constitute the hermetic ultimate of collective behavior
theorizing as some critics imply:l having said this, how-

ever, we shall not hesitate to take advantage of the theo-
retical contributions made by others when required for

completeness or amplification.

 

1Ralph R. Turner, Review of Theory of Collective
Behavior by Neil J. Smelser, American Soggplogical Review,
Vol. 28, No. 5 (October, 1963), pp. 826-27; Lewis N.
Killian, Review of Theory of Collective Behavior, by Neil
J. Smelser, American Journal of Sociology, Vol. 69,
(November, 1963), pp. 297-98. Killian contends that
Smelser disregards the "differences in the spatial and tem-
poral dimensions of compact and diffuse collectivities."
Both Turner and Killian find that Smelser placed too little
attention on collective behavior as a consequence of inter-
action--characterized by differential participation--within
the collectivity. It is interesting, however, to learn that
while Turner adjudges Smelser's analysis as "primarily
psychological," Killian sees his analysis as being "rigor-
ously sociological, sometimes [to the extent] that it be-
comes sociologistic." Carl Couch, a rough draft entitled,
"Collective Behavior: An Examination of Some Stereotypes,"
(Department of Sociology, Michigan State University, June,
1965), pp. 1-2; Couch feels that Smelser's framework (the
same criticism, however, applies to those works by Brown,
Blumer, Turner and Killian, Lang and Lang, etc.) is largely
a restatement, though a highly sophisticated one, of LeBon's
"classic" thesis since he examines the "basis of level of
conduct." In short, he implies that Smelser is laden with
a conservative bias (of. Smelser, op. cit., pp. 8, 227, 316).
James R. Hundley, Jr., "A Test of Theories in Collective
Behavior: The National Farmers Organization," (unpublished
Ph.D. dissertation, Dept. of Sociology and Anthropology,
Ohio State University, 1965), pp. 280-84, 288-314, and
especially pp. 307-314. Most of the above criticisms seem
to reflect a concern, in one way or another, at the high
level of abstraction involved in Smelser's theory; at the
risk of gross oversimplification, the dialogue continues
within the problematic of the "Mac and Mike Show" (i.e.,
between the macrofunctionalists and the microfunctionalists).
For discussion of this "problematic," see James B. McKee
"Some Comments on the Theory-Research Nexus from a Histor-

 

 

 

164

Smelser's conceptual framework.--The social action formu-

 

lation presented by Smelser is such that it permits one

to classify, describe, and also explain both institution-
alized and uninstitutionalized behavior. We take as
axiomatic, however, that both are part and parcel of the
social fabric. In the case of patterned and recurrent
social behavior, for instance, the analysis may focus upon
its static and inert nature-~e.g., analyze the distribution
of and relationship among the parts comprising the social
system; look for consequences, etc. However, we have come
to recognize and accept change, expansion (e.b., differen-
tiation, specialization), and conflict, for example, as
dynamic elements (processes) in our bureaucratic and tech-
nocratic society.

In this on-going, dynamic process change in the
social order--e.g., values, norms, roles and organiza-
tions, technology, or all of them-~may take place under
certain specified conditions. This means that both cul-
tural change (values and norms) and social change (roles
and relationships among groups and individuals) are a
function of social human beings who feel, think, and act
relative to problems that emerge and are deemed temporally

important. It also means that some groups and individuals

 

ical Perspective," edited version of a talk presented at the
Department of Sociology Colloquia Program, Michigan State
University, November 2, 1962. (Mimeographed): and, among
others, George C. Homans, "Contemporary Theory in Sociology,"

in Faris, op. cit., pp. 956-59, 963-67, and 973-76.

165

profit by these changes at the eXpense of other groups
and individuals. The recognition of this dynamic, social
phenomenon suggests, then, that any political, social, or
economic "progress" produces as many demands or strains
as it resolves (especially if qualified by a condition
of rising expectations in a period of development and
growth).1

What groups are affected and in what way is a key
issue to be posed; that is, change is functional for whom
and for what? The point of all this is that even if most
social change is assumed to take place according to estab-
lished patterns and well-defined procedures, there are
other cases in which particular members (as well as
numerous groups and collectivities) become dissatisfied
with certain features of their social existence and find

it necessary (e.g., when social malaise is not reduced by

 

lNote that our view and statement of the problem
is concerned only with reference to collective behavior.
While our conceptual framework is by its nature restric-
tive, one can easily see the relevance of the above issue
within a racial minority relations approach as well as
within the area of social stratification which many con-
tend comprises the core problem of social conduct. With
respect to the latter, a recent nutshell articulation of
national interest and aim in Vietnam was given by Presi-
dent Johnson at Camp Stanley, Korea: "Don't forget,"
said Johnson, "there are only 200 million of us in a
world of three billion. They want what we've got and
we're not going to give it to them." Ramparts, January,
1967, p. 12 (cf. also, pp. 12-16). For a discussion of
science, theory, and "deformation professionelle," see
I94?) Lynd, Knowledge for What (Princeton University Press,

166

dissent alone) to create a new social order, or a part of
it.1 Hence, any attempt to circumvent the established
channels and procedures in order to reconstitute a per-
ceived disturbed social order, in whole or part, may be
viewed as a function of inadequate, inflexible, or unres-
ponsive social control agents, agencies, or mechanisms.
Agents may be unaware of the problem; they may be unwilling
to cope with or even recognize the problem; or they may be
unable (for any number of reasons) to resolve the problem.
The discussion to this point suggests, then, that
there are certain necessary and sufficient conditions
that must be met in order for any collective behavior
episode to emerge in concrete form. Hence, we need to
know two things: (1) Does a collectivity attempt to
reconstruct the total social order or only a part of it?
and (2) under what conditions does a given outcome take
p1ace--i.e., what are the necessary and sufficient condi-
tions? These are the crucial questions that Smelser
attempts to answer by employing two constructs: (1) The
"Components of Social Action,"2 which describe and clas-

sify human behavior, and (2) the "Value-added process,"3

 

lCouch, o . cit., pp. 21-23. See also, Wm. Bruce
Cameron, Modern Social Movements: A Sociological Outline

(New York: Random House, 1966), pp. 7-13; Smelser, op. cit.,
p. 23.

ZSmelser, op. cit., pp. 9 and 23-46.
31b1do, pp. 13-200

167

which serves as an explanatory model for why and in what
way a given type of collective behavior occurs.

The utility of these two constructs becomes clear
when viewed from our above discussion; that is, certain
members of society are dissatisfied with it, in whole
or part, and attempt to remedy the situation by creating
a new social order (again, in whole or part). We learn
from Smelser that the defining characteristic of collec-
tive behavior is the kind of belief under which behavior
is activated. A more formal statement of his thesis is
that "people under strain mobilize to reconstitute the
social order on the basis of a generalized belief."l
In turn, Smelser's formal definition of collective behav-
ior is specifically identified. Collective behavior, he
states, "is an uninstitutionalized mobilization for action
in order to modify one or more kinds of strains on the
basis of a generalized reconstitution of a component of
action."2

What, then, are the general "Components of Social
Action" that may be modified or changed? In a hierarchy
of increasing specificity and concreteness, they are (1)
values, (2) norms. (3) mobilization of motivation into

organized action (i.e., the type of organization), and

 

1Ibid., p. 383.

2Ibid., p. 71.

168,

(4) situational facilities. Values, while broad and
abstract, give guidance to legitimate ends; norms refer

to certain necessary rules and regulations for human inter-
action if values are to be attained; mobilization of moti-
vation intocrganized action refers to roles, organization,
and rewards for responsible and effective performance; and
situational facilities become identified with those means
(e.g., knowledge, skills, technology, general resources)
that are instrumental or facilitate in the actual attain-
ment of desired ends or goals. Hence, these components
constitute the make-up of any kind of social action; a
flow shart of action is thus evidenced.

While all four elements are temporally manifest in
any social context, they may be classified and described
analytically as independent of each other. Furthermore,
we want to know which component under question (strain)
may be subject to reconstitution via collective behavior.
In this case, we again are alerted to Smelser's major
proposition: "People under strain mobilize to reconsti-
tute the social order in the name of a generalized belief."
Smelser then goes on to identify the kind of belief asso-
ciated with a given type of collective behavior1--yl§.,
the panic, craze, hostile outburst, the norm-oriented
movement, and the value-added movement.

Since we are concerned with existentialism as a

 

lIbid., p. 9.

169

social movement, we will limit our focus to the value-
oriented movement. The omission of the norm-oriented
movementposes no problem once we relate Smelser's notion
of a social movement: a social movement is a collective
"attempt to restore, protect, modify, or create values

[or norms] in the name of a generalized belief."l Since
we have noted that each type of collective behavior is
oriented toward a specified component, it then follows
that a social movement may be either value-or norm-
oriented depending upon which component is to be recon-
stituted; therefore, the movement of existentialism is

to be analyzed as a value-oriented movement inasmuch as it
constituted an attempt to reconstitute the entire socio-
cultural system. Once the value component becomes recon-
stituted, however, the less general components also become
reconstituted. Thus, a change in values necessarily
involves a reformulation of (l) norms; (2) roles, organ-

ization, and rewards; and (3) situational facilities.2

 

lIbid., pp. 270 and 313.

21bid., pp. 23-46; 79-130; and especially, pp. 33.
43. Note also that while we have been concerned with the
relations among the components, the same logic applies with
reference to relations within each component. Since Smelser
posits 4 components and each component contains 7 levels of
specificity, the model then consists of 28 categories that
are hierarchically arranged to that any redefinition of any
component at any point "necessarily involves a correspon-
ding4redefinition of all points below and to the right."
p. 3.

170.

So, to sum up, we have given Smelser's defining character-
istic and definition of collective behavior; we have iden-
tified and discussed the four components of social action;
and we have noted the major types of collective behavior
that are treated by Smelser.

If the above permits one to classify and describe
social action, it does not permit an explanation for the
emergence of collective behavior episodes (of any kind,
including existentialism as a social movement). Consequen-
tly, we are now aware of the need to identify the social
conditions under which any kind of collective behavior occurs:
hence, our return to Smelser's notion of the "value-added
process" (or his second construct), which facilitates the
organization of determinants in a systematic fashion.

Smelser's value-added scheme or model contains six
necessary conditions or determinants that must be activa-
ted and combined according to a definite pattern. As was
shown for the components of social action, the determinants
also are ordered in a hierarchy of increasing specificity.
The first necessary condition is structural conduciveness;

the second necessary condition is structural strain; the

 

third is the growth and devevelopment of a generalized

belief; the fourth is precipitating factors; the fifth is

 

the mobilization of participants for action; and the
sixth and final determinant is the endogamous or exogamous

‘gperation of social control that is weak, absent, or

171

vacillatory either prior to or after the emergance of some
kind of collective behavior.

It is important to stress that all determinants must
be present, activated, and combine according to a definite
pattern if any collective behavior outcome is to be realized.
Each determinant adds its value or assumes its significance
only within the limits set forth by the prior, more general
determinant. when all necessary conditions are met, there
is a sufficient condition for a given type of collective
behavior. Let us note, however, that Smelser also stresses
the need to distinguish between the "occurence or existence
of an event or situation and the activation of this event
or situation as a determinant [sincej any or all of these
determinants may have existed for an indefinite period
before activation."l Moreover, any event or situation may
create one or several of the necessary conditions for col-
lective behavior.2 To summarize, we indicated that the
"components of social action"--i.e., values, norms, etc.--
may 93 subject, in whole or in part, to uninstitutionalized
collective intervention and change. In order to remove this
"maybe" or indeterminacy, the value-added process provides
the basis for an explanation of when a given component may
be reconstituted--zig., when all necessary conditions,

taken together, are met, they constitute a sufficient con-

 

lIbid., p. 19.
21bid., p. 20.

172 _

dition. However, it is instructive to emphasize that while
structural conduciveness is the most general necessary con-
dition for any collective behavior outcome, the "components
of social action" (i.e., values, norms, etc.) point to the
major types (and elements) of conduciveness; hence, both
constructs are supplementary to each other. Smelser's
method of studying collective behavior, then, is (1) to iden-
tify empirical events or situations which can be classified
and described (zi§., the components of social action), and
(2) to eXplain the significance of those identified events
and situations which occur under definite, specified social
conditions.1 On the basis of our documentation and discus-
sion of the previous chapters, finally, we can reaffirm

that the identification of existentialism as a social move-
ment was classified and described as an attempt to reconsti-
tute the entire French social order (i.e., the value com-
ponent, and hence, the other three components as well), and
that it took place under the general conditions examined

in the "social setting" chapter.

The rise of existentialism
as a social movement

 

Our presentation to this point has been focused on
three major aspects: (1) the social setting, in which

social aspects were traced from the French Revolution to

 

1For a discussion of rejection of his hypothesis,
see Ibid., pp. 385-87.

173

the Post-World War II period in France; (2) the intellec-
tual setting, in which intellectual aspects were considered
from the philosophical roots of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche,
the phenomenology and philosophies of Husserl, Sartre,
Camus, and other literary writings; and (3) the theoretical
perspectives guiding our analysis. Hence, origins, back-
grounds, conditions, and theoretical formulations already
presented are essential to bear in mind as we now attempt

to provide a concise but formal analysis for the rise of
existentialism as a social movement. Accordingly, major
factors, documented in the preceding chapters, will be iden-
tified and interpreted as we apply the Smelserian model,
with particular emphasis on structural conduciveness, struc-

tural strain, generalized belief, and precipitating factors.

Structural conduciveness.--This general condition refers to
a given structural arrangement that permits the emergence
of a value-oriented movement, for other options are not
available. We will be concerned with three aspects of this
condition: (1) the differentiation of the value component
from other components of social action, (2) available grie-
vance channels, and (3) the possibility of communicating

shared dissatisfactions.l

(1) The differentiation of the value component from other

components of social action.--This suggests a rather simple

 

10 lSmelser, op. cit., pp. 319-38: Cf. Cameron, 22a_2LE°v
po .

174

notion: that is, values are analytically separate from

or different than norms, organizations, and situational
facilities. Ran is not created out of any ultimate idea
(Hegel), nor do ideas pop out of manikins. Gillin, cited
in Smelser, informs us that "religious sects will arise
only when religion is the dominant interest. When poli-
tical interests predominate, political interest will
spring up."1- In the same vein, we suggest that the exis-
tential movement in France was able to emerge because, for
many Frenchmen, humanistic interests and concerns held
priority over other values. Moreover, specific dissatis-
factions and protests against political, administrative,
economic, and social policies and regulations (often)
became defined in existentialistic (humanistic) and value
terms. That is, values and norms were no longer being
differentiated, the result being a value protest as well
as an expression for a change of values. (At the same
time, our range of explanation must be clearly delineated:
we do not wish to imply, even remotely, that existentialism
was the only vibrant movement in Post World War II France;
our avowed aim was to identify and discuss how existen-
tialism operated as an alternative of several social phe-
nomena-~such as communism, socialism, épurationism, etc.--
and how it provided specific outlets for a segment of that

French society.)

 

lsmelser, op. cit., p. 320.

175

(2) Available grievance channels.--Another essential con-
dition of conduciveness for the rise of existentialism as
a social movement "is the availability of means to express
protests or grievances among [the French] population suf-
fering from any kind of strain."1 Not only must groups be
potentially available to the dissatisfied, but in addition,
different--i.e., selective--channels must be potentially
available for any change of the value component. Granting
that a value-oriented movement must be perceived asrossible,
Smelser delineates the significance of the further qualifi-
cation that there must be a structural closing off of ave-
nues for other kinds of collective behavior:
Value-oriented beliefs. . . arise when alter-
native means for reconstituting the social
situation are perceived as unavailable. . . .
EThisJ unavailability has three main aspects:
a) The aggrieved group in question does not
possess facilities whereby they may reconsti-
tute the social situation; such a group ranks
low on wealth, power, prestige, or access to
means of communication. (b) The aggrieved
group is prevented from expressing hostility
that will punish some person or group con-
sidered responsible for the disturbing affairs.
(0) The aggrieved group cannot modify the nor-
mative structure, or cannot nfluence those
who have the power to do so.
However, it is one thing to say that a part of the
French p0pulation felt powerless to reconstitute those

components less general than the value component-~since

 

lIbid., p. 324.

21bid., p. 325.

176

they were perceived as closed--and it is another matter
to elucidate the nature of these unavailable grievance

channels, which, in turn, permit, encourage, and force the

 

crystallization of a value-orientgd belief; if grievances

 

are not heard or social reform is not met, value beliefs
may easily arise. At this point we will largely restrict
our consideration to those situations in which a part of
the population was unable to express their grievances or
to have access to means of reform.

One of the situations that poignantly illustrates
the above is France's defeat and consequent period of
Occupation by the Germans. Earlier, we examined in detail
the manifold strains that resulted from this condition of
German domination. What is important here, however, is
the effects of the German's legal, economic, and military-
police response, as well as the able assist given by the
extensive Vichy legal and police machinery, in effectively
thwarting the French attempt to ouster the power dominance
of the foreign invaders. This does not deny the heroic,
and at times successful,l undertakings by the Resisten-
tialists, but it is a fact of national record that they

failed, in and of themselves, to eXpel the Germans by

 

10f. Werth's report of the leading Resisters' com-
ment and appraisal of their success eight years after the
Liberation of Paris, op. cit., pp. 173-78. For instance,
the resistence "was not constructive. . .; but it was val-
uable as a refusal, as a protest. . . Stephane went on to
say that] what mattered most was not he action of these peo-
ple, but the attitude they adopted. . . . The resistence was

not so much an ac ion as a refusal . . . and it was this
refusal to sumet§“WHich savsamour humanCdignity."

177

brute force since they lacked the necessary means of men,
materials, organization, and so on.

If the above account shows that the Germans--assis-
ted by the Vichy Government and the Church--were effective
in eliminating attempts to expel them from French soil,
there is another important and closely related dimension;
the lack of available means to influence the Germans to

reduce situations of strain through normative reform. Here

 

again, however, the point of issue is whether the French
people were able to express_grievances or to secure social
reforms. Another way of posing this is to ask in what ways
did the Germans--again assisted by the Vichy Government and
the Church--eliminate the channels for reform, and thus,
force the creation of value-oriented beliefs.

The most obvious means of suppression was political
disfranchisement, such as the right to vote, to representa-
tion, as well as to engage in party politics. Political
and economic subordination was also apparent with the sup-
pression of labor unions, the enactment of heavy levies
and high taxes, the need for a rationing card as well as
meager rationing standards, and other means of exploita-
tion that prevented the development of social services and
adequate means for other than basic survival.

Another factor that hindered the French from having
access to channels for reform was their consequent decrease

of freedom in their social activities, partly due to the

178,

war Operation itself, partly due to the policy dictate by
the Germans and the Vichy Government. Of importance too
was the blockade, travel restrictions, the disorganized
transportation system, numerous kinds of censorship as well
as the German attempt to vivisect the entire French social
fabric which, in turn, engendered mutual suspicion, hostil-
ity, and pronounced cleavages. Finally, we can point out
the fact that two million Frenchmen had been held in Germany
as prisoners of war--indeed, as hostages. In addition,
another one-half to one million Frenchmen had been deported
to furnish the industrial labor in Germany under the "Com-
pulsory Labor Service Act." (It seems evident that one
cannot altogether discount their instrumental value for
practices of blackmail and bribery of the Frenchmen at
"home"--e.g., the demand for them to adhere to the German
rules and policies.) In all of these examples the role of
the German authorities, the Vichy Government, and even the
Church was one in which peaceful reform activity was largely
suppressed. In other words, the incumbent authorities, as
social control agents, were effective in blocking channels
of protest and unresponsive to reform demands.

This examination of the Occupation period has two
important aspects for us. First of all, we showed that the
attempt to expel the Germans by force failed, and that they
further lacked direct access to means that would enable

them to redress their situations of strain by normative or

179

other reform. Secondly, (while this period produced the
emergence of the underground Besistence movement,) the

most significant point is that it set the stage--i.e., it
was conducive--for an early phase of the development of
existentialism as a social movement. Thus, for many, this
Resistence experience provided the impetus for membership as
existentialists. In short, since channels were closed for
redress of grievances within the facilities, organizations,
and normative components, a part of the population was forced
to turn to value-oriented beliefs that envisioned the elimi-
nation of numerous strains; this entailed the reconstitution
of the entire social fabric.

We now want to analyze the social conditions after the
Liberation of Paris and the following post-war period, des-
cribed under the "social setting," that were also conducive
for the rise and spread of existentialism as a social move-
ment. We may well agree that the Liberation of Paris, ini-
tially, was a time of sheer happiness for the Parisians; it
was a time of gay celebration, of hugging and kissing, of
laughter and emotionalIelease, of climatic ringing of the
bells: of excellent military-civilian rapport. Political
‘weakness and inflexibility on the part of the authorities as
‘well as their incapacity to meet demands for reform, however,
changed all this conviviality by dashing their recently
raised hopes.

These major weaknesses, one will recall, were:

180

(1) Weak executive and ministerial guidance

(2) Rigid executive stance in military, diplo-
matic, and imperial affairs

(3) Weak and corrupt regional and local admin-
istration

(4) The re-emergence of France's traditional
political divisions, factions, and rivalries

(5) Inadequate economic policies in face of a
shattered and near-bankrupted economy

The outcome of this was political and economic deadlocks

in which protests went unheeded and channels effecting re-
form became blocked; Frenchmen had been promised economic
and social reform but encountered an unresponsive and "do-
nothing" government. Hence, lacking access and ability to
influence those in positions of authority and decision-
making, more and more Frenchmen began to redefine the basic

values of their sociocultural system.

(3) The possibility of communicating shared dissatisfac-
ltigg.--Value-oriented beliefs associated with existential
thought were communicated by diverse means. One method
involved the publication of newspapers. Foremost of these
was Combat as attested to by Werth's appraisal:

As regards the immediate and early post-
Liberation period, . . . [I quote] Combat
much more frequently than any other paper.
This was deliberate. Combat represented,
and expressed more brilliantly and coher-
ently than any other paper, the hopes,
anxieties, disappointment and growing frus-
tration of the non-Communist elements in
the Resistance, who had hoped and believed

181
that a New France would really be built on
the foundations laid by the CNR Charter.l
During this time Combat was being run by Albert Camus
and Albert Ollivier. Combat had been started in 1941 as
the official organ of "Combat" a resistance movement. Even
then, Camus, Sartre, and Bernanos were active contributors
to it. From a circulation of 30,000 three times a month in
1942 it had grown to 69,000 actual (as distinct from prin-
tings) daily sales in 1948.2
Sartre--in addition to contributing to the Le honde,

Liberation, and L'Humanité, among other dailies, as well as

 

 

the weekly, Action--edited the highly influential Des Temps

 

hodernes. Many of these monthly issues constituted valuable

 

monographs, such as the "special issues on North Africa,
Indo-China, The French Left," housing, the working-class
conditions, etc.3

Other methods included lectures, the clubs and socie-
ties of the Resistance movement, the ubiquitous cafe talks,
intellectual circles, dramatic play presentations, and the

published books, essays, and plays themselves.

Structural strain.--Smelser defines strain "as an impair-

znent of the relations among and consequently inadequate

 

lWerth, op. cit., p. xxx.

2Ibid., pp. 139-h0, 736. For a discussion of "The
French Press from the Liberation to the Present Time," see
ibido . pp. 735-14’20

31bid., p. 7M6.

182.

functioning of the components of action."1 Strain is a
necessary condition for the rise of existentialism as a
social movement, but it is significant only when considered
relative to the prior conditions of conduciveness as we
have outlined. The task in this section is to outline
those strains discussed under the "social setting." We
also should bear in mind that "strain always expresses a
relation between an event or situation and certain cultural
and individual standards."2 Thus, strain is important inso-
far as it is perceived as strain as well as when it occurs
in situations of relative deprivation rather than in situa-
tions of absolute deprivation. While the sources of strain
are diverse and of varying intensity, the framework that we
will follow is the same, in the main, as that used earlier:
the components of social action.

For the sake of convenience, the major kinds of strains
that were produced by the Germanfl invasion, defeat, occupa-
tion, and exploitation of France are reviewed below. It was
shown that with the collapse of France's army, her capital,
her position as a great European power, and her cherished
values, beliefs, and institutions, she had become an occupied
country that had been bombed, ravaged, starved, suppressed,
oppressed, and divided into two zones--physically, socially,

and psychologically. In short, France emerged from the

 

lSmelser, op. cit., p. #7.

2Ibid., p. 51; dissatisfactions, rising expectations,
and escalation of demands are of crucial importance from this
frame of reference.

183

Occupation period in a ravaged, humiliated, and demoralized
state. The consequences of this Occupation period were
categorized as being fourfold: (1) value strain was a
matter of conflicting claims made on the Frenchmen's ideo-
logical commitment; (2) normative strain concerned competing
demands on their form of human interaction and conduct; (3)
numerous deprivations were experienced as rewards for effec-
tive role performance and were disproportionately allocated
or lacking altogether; and (4) adequate knowledge and other
means were absent or lacking in the attainment of food,
clothing, housing, and so on.

Following the Liberation of Paris, the strains, we
have noted, became intensified. Hence, strain affected

facilities, organization, norms, and values.

(l)gStrain and situational facilities.--The principal kind

 

of strain here "involves a condition of ambiquity as to
the adequacy of means for a given goal;"1 a concern arises
as to the adequacy of available skills, knowledge, and
other kinds of resources that facilitate some aim or objec-
tive.

First of all, resources were meager, indeed. There
were shortages of food, materials, housing, schools, hos-
pitals, and essential services, such as transportation,

communication, medication, and administration. Economic

 

lSmelser, op. cit., p. 51. The discussion to fol-
low adheres closely to Smelser's formulation, pp. 51-5".

184-

activity was severely restricted and housing and food con-
ditions were especially unwholesome. Overriding all of
these factors was the matter of inflation, the black mar-
ket and governmental vacillation.

Another capstone source of anquish emerged as the
A-bomb was drOpped on Hiroshima. Werth notes Combat's
reaction to this: "If Japan capitulated as a result of
the Hiroshima bomb, that's all right; but it goes far
beyond that, we fear. . . ."1 (The fear, of course, was
an accurate premonition of the Cold War and its many con-
sequences.)

The above strains, in short, produced an ambiguous
situation among the French sectors, organizations, and roles
with respect to various kinds of objectives that involved
the allocation, use, and manipulation of scarce resources.
The crucial point is that ambiguity was produced from these
conditions of strain. In turn, many people who were adver-
sely affected by this chain of events lost confidence in
their ability to predict or control their situation; that
is to say, uncertainty and anxiety were direct outcomes of
an ambiguous situation where inadequate skills and know-
ledge precluded the attainment of some desirable aim or

objective.2

 

l0p. cit., p. 256.

2See Smelser, cp. cit., pp. 52, 29-39; note also
Smelser's point that not all individuals will be similarly
affected by various posed threats, p. 51.

185

(2) Strain and organization, roles, and rewards.--Strain
on this level "concerns the balance between motivated
activity and its rewards"--e.g., wealth, power, prestige,
privilege, status.l
One identification of strain is de Gaulle's snubbing
of the major Resistants and the following phasing-out of
the Resistance organizations, including the FFI Army.
Another is the stacking of the Court with ex-thwites per-
forming magisterial duties--a gross absurdity for many
Frenchmen-~while prominent Resistants were barred from same.
Inflation and the black market also served as sources of
strain since the buying power for those people having frozen
wages and fixed salaries was greatly reduced. Still another
fource of strain was the family institution; on the return
of the prisoners and deportees, many of their families were
broken, dislocated, or in the process of being dissolved.
The lack of ministerial, administrative (both regional and
local), and legislative power (as well as the racketeering
within their domain) constitutes an additional source of
strain. Finally, one of the most important sources of strain
was the perceived misallocation of resources for foreign
affairs rather than for immediate recovery efforts; the con-
sequence of this was the deprivation of all other sectors
except for those sectors that would directly benefit from

this activity, such as the military, industry, and high

lIbid., p. 64-65.

186 -

finance and investment. In short, severe physical depriva-
tions--e.g., hunger, disease, etc.--were encountered, and
the statement--made by Combat upon de Gaulle's resignation
in early l946--could have been made at any time following
Liberation Day that "there was no cataclysm, and the empty

plate didn't CI‘BCK."1

(3) Strain and norms.--"Normative strain concerns the inte-

 

gration of human interaction."2 One of the most important
factors to consider here is that France had emerged from
world War II without any administrative and political appara-
tus; it had to be created on the spot before it could func-
tion properly, since the Third Republic was in disrepute
and the Vichy government had been eviscerated by the CNR
Charter. In addition, the anachronistic economic, fiscal,
and administrative systems that had plagued France prior to
the war were in the post-Liberation period especially una-
menable to the immediate recovery efforts. In short, the
restoration of the social order was particularly hindered
by the absence of a firm, unified, and effective political
and economic policy; while de Gaulle was concerned with
foreign affairs, his ministers and administrators were left
struggling with domestic problems. This situation produced

a sterile "do-nothing" government characterized by politi-

 

1Cited in Werth, op. cit., p. 282.

2Smelser, op. cit., p. 64.

187~_

cal and economic deadlock. The Frenchmen had been led to
expect social and economic reform, but the ontic social con-
ditions provided ample testimony to the pronounced discre-
pancy between the two. Another devastating effect of the
war and its aftermath of disruption and disorganization was
the severing of relations from both families and voluntary
and communal associations. ‘The consequence of this was
that traditional ties to authority, work, the community,
family, and so on, were severed_concomitant with social
obligations, demands, and rewards that normally reinforce
meaningful social relations and human conduct. In turn,
isolation, rootlessness, and uncertainty became manifes-
ted as a daily experience for many people.

We are well founded within the scope of existing
sociological theory when we note these enormous societal
effects in the lives of its members when the society mani-
fests a widespread norm breakdown under the conditions of
war, unstable governments, or other social upheavals. Norms
may be inadequately defined (or weakly internalized), they
may be inconsistent with the demands of the immediate situa-
tion, or they may be lacking altogether. Social rules not
only regulate and allow for predictable behavior but also
are essential for an individual's sense of personal worth
and feeling of being "rooted" with others; when lacking, both
social and individual life becomes disorganized, insecure,

and marked by confusion and an inability to order their des-

188

tiny. Durkheim's study of "anomic suicide" is based on this
premise: that life loses its meaning when man is free from
all social ties and is thus abandoned, isolated, despondent,
and wants to end it all.1 Mannheim has also explored the
correlation between the disorganization of society and the
disorganization of personality,2 as has Romans. In his
examination of social disintegration, Romans says that it is
a condition "marked by a decline in the number of activities
in which the members of a group collaborate, by a decrease
in the frequency of interaction between these members, and
by a weakening of the control exercised by the group over the
behavior of the individuals."3 With respect to the indivi-
dual, Homans goes on to say that if an individual's "group
is shattered around him, and if he leaves a group in which
he was a valued member, and if, above all, he finds no new
group to which he can relate himself, he will, under stress,
develop disorders of thought, feeling, and behavior."“

Other theorists,5 as well, have dealt' with these prob-

lems of social instability and what this means for members

 

1E. Durkheim, Suicide, trans. J. A. Spaulding and
G. Simpson (Glencoe, Ill.: The Free Press, 1951), pp. 219ff.

2hannheim, loc. cit.

 

3G. C. Homans, The Human Group (New York: Harcourt,
Brace and Co., 1950), p. 369.

”Ibid., p. 457.
5Among others, see Kornhauser, op. cit., and L.

Gross, "System Construction," in Behavioral Science Vol. v,
(October, 1960), pp. 281 ff.

 

189

of the group or society. Under these conditions, under-
mining both the society and the individual, a conducive
situation for the acceptance of existential values would

appear enormously appealing indeed.

Qualifications.--At this point, we must interject two qual-
ifications concerning what we have been referring to as a
"normless" situation:

(1) To say that there is a "normless" situation means
that it is in relation to an integrated situation, and this
is "arbitrarily" established because of its very nature.
Documentation, at best, is established according to the can-
ons of scientific research, but the line separating "cogency"
and "proof" of argumentation is in itself difficult to tran-
scend when examining social phenomena. We rely on ideal
types, correspondence, categories, statistical aggregates,
and the like to guide us, but to measure how far norms have
"slipped," collapsed, decreased, etc. is an extremely diffi-
cult task. Thus, while our conclusions, concerning "norms
and strain," must remain as an open issue, insofar as a
definitive verification cannot be fully established accor-
ding to the strict canons of scientific research, we rely on
the documentation already presented under the examination of
political, economic, and social instability;1 and,

(2) The "normless" situation would vary also according

 

190.

to those quantitative factors being of a "conditional"
nature. To illustrate, we merely point out that the German
Occupation was largely urban (and regional); farmers were

left relatively alone in relation to the urban population.

(4) Values and strain.--"Value strain poses the issue of

 

commitment":L Smelser relates that "in many cases [value]
strain results from the spread of other types of strain in
society."2 Thus, we have suggested on repeated occasions
that numerous conflicts of interest became generalized as
a direct challenge to the basis of legitimacy of the Oppos-
ing groups (e.g., Gaulists vs. anti-Gaulists, monarchists
vs. republicans). When strains between these factions
were less diffused, we noted the conflicts between the ex-
tremes of representative government and autocratic rule as
well as parties competing among themselves over particular
issues, such as taxation, aid to Catholic schools, housing,
social security measures, and so on.

While there is a definite distinction between the
problem of securing (and maintaining) a majority within a
governing body and the solution of the real issue (e.g.,
what to do in recovery efforts), the fact that political
paralysis resulted from politicians being unable to reach

a solution or even to accept any policy at all, constituted,

 

lSmelser, loo. cit.; see also, pp. 62-64, 341-42.

 

21bid., p. 62.

191

for many, a need to protest against this social system that
allowed such practices to occur and continue; that is, prac-
tices which made them unresponsive to public needs and dis-
tantly removed from the concrete struggles of daily life

and personal experience. Though the existing heteronomic-
autonomic balance was perceived to be decidedly weighted
toward a heteronomic orientation, a deliberate and conscious
effort to reverse this balance was clearly necessary if both
self and society were to be reconstituted and if the ambiva-

lence and disjunctures of everyday life were to be overcome.

The crystallization of existentialism as a value-oriented
belief.--"Before collective action can be taken to recon-
stitute the situation brought on by structural strain, this
situation must be made meaningful to the potential actors."1
The relevance of the "Intellectual Setting" is now clear:
existentialism as a value-oriented belief provided this
meaning by identifying the source of strain, by attributing
certain characteristics to this source, and by specifying
certain responses (both institutionalized and non-institu-
tionalized) to the strain(s) as possible or appropriate.2
Besides the content of the belief itself, then, we want to
focus especially on how it prepared individuals for collec-

tive action; that is, what did it do or what functions did

 

lIbid., p. 17.
21bid.

it perform as a message of protest, revolt, and challenge?
From "a condition of ambiguity rising from condi-
tions of strain,"1 we found, in turn, that anxiety was
suscitated on the psychological level. Protests, then,
became characterized as a criticism of those who led France
down to defeat and national humiliation. We have seen that
existential thought and literature was also highly critical
of the role played by the Church and other collaborators
during the Occupation. Another response was a sustained
protest against the representatives of the reigning ortho-
doxies and ideologies (i.e., the bourgeoisie, the military,
the politicians). Further, the custodians of the ruling
systems became anathematized for their unwillingness to
engage in seeking a viable solution to the pressing prob-
lems at hand as well as to vilify their act of "bad faith"
in undelivered promises. Protests were geared toward cor-
rective action in the immediate present, not for the distant
future. Hence, we have the incipient emergence of a human-
istic literature: a literature of necessity, of social
protest, and of individual challenge. This demanded a
decisive and resolute rejection of and dissociation with past
orthodoxy, determinism, myths, deceit, as well as a ceaseless
chatter of articulated platitudes and meaningless cliches.
Failure to do so would result-~as indeed it has, so it was

believed--in a chaotic and unstable form of existence as

 

lIbid., p. 122..

193

well as a threat to the "values of civilization as a whole."1

Both Sartre and Camus reflected in their writings a
concern for the powerless condition that enveloped their
fellow countrymen. Their form of expression keynoted a
willingness to take the existing person and his human sit-
uation seriously, to specify the problem, and to establish
a meaning and remedy in which one could find his sense of
purpose, his dignity, and his identity in the community of
human concern, response, and association.

Further, both Sartre and Camus take a realistic
approach to the human situation. They, as "rugged indivi-
dualists," actively practiced what they exorted others to
do and refused to pretend that man's problems are merely a
figment of the imagination; such a belief, in fact, can only
result in what may be termed as "ragged individualism." They
refused to take hope in empty and passifying platitudes that
point to a better world Just around the corner because man
always has had difficulty in being able to make the turn
around this enigmatic corner; instead, the life drama must
be faced squarely and forcefully. Only then can there be a
regeneration of values and a reconstitution of self and
society.

Thus, the message and value of existentialism is both
simple and profound: it gives meaning to man as a signifi-

cant being. man cannot deny, distort, or hide from the real

meanining of his experience as a conscious and free existant.

 

lIbid.

194

Ran first exists and only then does he define or make him-
self out of his freedom and place in a given social milieu.
Only then does he possess an essence in the sense of what he
is going to be, in forging out his authentic self; this is
the meaning of "existence precedes essence." Ran alone,
then, is reSponsible for himself for if God is dead, there
is no longer any absolute or human nature to which man can
appeal for certitude, reality, meaning, or value. At the
same time man is no longer restrained by these absolute,
determining preconceptions or promulgations that demand an
unchangeable structure or essence. Kan regains his true
existence by creating his own raison d'etre through the
actions or projects that he chooses, and thus transcends an
otherwise meaningless and absurd situation. Again, man
makes himself, and he is no more than the total ensemble of
his acts; he must be totally committed to a self-oriented
life venture in which he stakes his very existence on an
unconditioned acceptance of an absolute and objective uncer-
tainty, for there is no handbook to lead him or tell him
what to do.

Hence, existentialism as a value-oriented belief
served to explain the universe, the universe of man who is
the measure of all things, for all things emanate and are
evaluated from his central position. As such, he is given
a coherent frame of reference. Ran then becomes the primary

virtue in which his moral duty is made meaningful only from

195-

his core position in the universe. This constituted an
awakening to a special way of life in which the individual,
in the here and now, found meaning, purpose, and dignity in
an otherwise chaotic life situation. Man-~as his own master
in the pursuit of the unknown embedded in human experience--
could act as if his actions made a difference. He had no
alibis nor could he evade the responsibility of his choices.
This was the awakening and promising challenge presented and
the hope given for a more satisfying life experience and the
forging of new personal identities.

The basis of this value-oriented existential belief,
then, was both a negative assessment of those factors, events,
and agents threatening the French social order in its entirety
as well as a positive assessment that envisioned the elimina-
tion of those sources of strain and the establishment of the

importance of the individual as the central, primary value.

Precipitating factors.--"A precipitating factor is an event
that creates, shapens, or exaggerates a condition of strain
or conduciveness."l The interpretations and solutions
given by Sartre and Camus in the context immediately above
is to be emphasized, for by their articulation of them,
they also created (i.e., accentuated) selected areas of
strain. Thus, their functioning in this capacity can be

identified as the key precipitating factor. Their use of

 

lIbid., p. 325.

196

ideas as weapons well illustrates this point. By doing so,
they effectively linked the general existential belief to
their immediate situation.l Another key factor could be iden-
tified as Sartre's talk at the Club Maintenant; however, we

view this as subsumed under the above classification.

hobilization of the movement for action.--The final deter-
minant in the value-added process for the rise of existen-
tialism as a social movement is the activation of its members
for action. Two aspects of this process will be related: (1)
the leadership, organization, and spread of existentialism;

and (2) the fall of existentialism.

(l) The leadership, organization and spread of existen-
tialism as a social movement.--We should like to emphasize,
first of all. that it is not our intention to entertain any
"great man" theory in the form of Sartre and Camus, for
their leadership role must be considered according to its
place in the value-added process. Having said this, how-
ever, we again note that they contributed partially to the
creation of various strains, insofar as they identified

and accentuated them. Moreover, we entertain the notion
that the confluence of their early part played as concerned

spokesmen for the oppressed and disillusioned, their belief

 

1For a discussion of the intellectual role in this
matter, see W. Kornhauser, op. cit., especially pp. 183-87:
E. Hoffer, op. cit., pp. 119-31: and w. Cameron, on. cit.,
pp. 71-82: and R. Turner and L. Killian, Collective
Behavig; (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1957),
pp- 332-33. 454-57. 464-66-

 

l9?

formulations, and their personal involvement in direct
action programs served to telescope "several determinants
of the value-added process-~crystallization of belief, pre-
cipitating factor and mobilization-~into a single empirical
phenomenon, leadership."1 While this may be likely, no
absolute determination of this is possible.

At any rate, their role as leaders in organizing mem-
bers for direct action takes on various forms. For both
Sartre and Camus, this leadership role is identified in their
numerous publications (novels, plays, magazine and newspaper
articles), lectures, play presentations, café discussions,
and the like. Particular programs of action included parti-
cipation in the underground Besistence movement, the creation
of a new political party (KLN: National Liberation Fovement)
in 1945, and various public opinion promotions.

By identifying these forms of leadership and strate-
gies, we are not suggesting that the existentialist move-
ment possammda.highly formalized organization or singular
program of action, as characterized by political parties.

On the other hand, its organization structure was not limi-
ted to widely-dispersed individuals, who interacted on an
infrequent basis. Evidence points to the contrary, such

as the tightly knit groups who resided in the Latin Quarter,

Montmartre, and Montparnasse districts, as well as other

 

1For discussion, see Smelser. 02- cit., pp. 355-56:

198

Parisian enclaves. moreover, a legitimate point may be
made for the establishment of a quasi-formal organization
of the existentialist movement; namely, the highly influ-

ential Combat and Des Modernes Temps newspapers, edited by

 

Camus and Sartre, respectively.

We now focus attention on the spread of existentialism
as a social movement. while we cannot assert with dogmatic
confidence the precise stages of growth of this movement,
we can provide calculated guesses concerning them. Gener-
ally speaking, these stages conform to the pattern, invol-
ving three basic phases, of most social movements: according
to Smelser, they are "the incipient phase, the phase of enthu-
siastic mobilization, and the period of institutionalization
and organization."1

The first phase of the existentialist movement is
much more difficult to identify than the second because of
the conditions in which it occurred. It is suggested, how-
ever, by differences in the nature of structural conducive-
ness and strain, and we have tried to document it by con-
trasting the Occupational period with the post-liberation
period; recall, thus, that social controls were much more
effective, although not totally, during the Occupation
period than later. In short, it is contended that this

first phase occurred during the Occupation, but in a limited,

 

lIbid., p. 298.

199 ,

struggling fashion. We conjecture this primarily on the
basis of the participation within the underground forces
and the nature of the reception of Sartre and Camus' writ-
ings, including the Combat newspaper. Additional support
for this is given by Heinemann. He argues that most of
the French existentialists were members of the Resistence
and that their participation went beyond a given class or
the boundaries of a specific group.1

The second stage, following the Liberation of Paris,
changes direction as existentialists enthusiastically
engaged in.gpgn activities. The enormous increase of exis-
tential books and increased newspaper circulation, the vast
audiences listening to Sartre's talks, the packed theaters
playing long-running existential plays, and the ardent
political participation, among others, were elements point-
ing to a movement attempting to improve or change their
sociocultural system as well as their own individual lives.

Because of these various kinds of interaction, and
thus reflecting differential levels of individual parti-
cipation and involvement, the form of the movement can be
characterized as being bothdiffused and compact, both
involving action based on the incorporation of existential
beliefs. Both Sartre and Camus were humanistically and

politically oriented and had followers of a heterogeneous

 

lHeinemann, op. cit., pp. 166-67.

200 ,

nature. These included the avant garde intellectuals,
authors, journalists, playrights, movie directors, and so
on; all of them being highly influential in the spread of
existentialism. The social composition of this movement,
however, also included politicians, communists, workers,
taxi-drivers, cafe waiters, entertainers, artists, among
others.1

It is in this context that we are led to believe that,
on the whole, membership and participation in mutual concerns
transcended class lines even though very little evidence is
available regarding social origins by class. Still, the
movement was not all-inclusive; it did not, for example,
include the aristocratic or peasant segments of French
society; thus, we again stress that existentialism may best
be characterized as a basic intellectual movement.

Nultiple motivations inevitably account for their
becoming adherents to this movement. While some held views
similar to Sartre, Camus, and de Beauvoir and engaged in
mutual tasks and interests, others Joined groups in order
to secure geniality and fellowship or to enhance their

status by being identified as one of the existentialists.2

 

lSee,among others, S. de Beauvoir, op.cit., p. 222,
ff; H. Peyre, The Contemporary French Novel, pp. 013.,
p. 220 and appendix; Werth, op. cit., pp. 230 and 301;
Ruggiero, op. cit., p. 25; and Barrett, op. cit., pp. 7-8.

2For a classification and discussion of these rea-
sons, see Cameron, op. cit., pp. 52~55.

201.

Thus, as in most social movements, the participants reflec-
ted a motley group, and in this case, ranged from univer-
sity professors (no value judgment intended) to the color-
ful Bohemians with their "half—faces," their carefree

life experiences and environment, and their unconcern for
and even rejection of bourgeois life-styles. Hence, both
real and derived1 aspects of this second phase become appar-
ent, and increasingly so with the institutionalization of
a formalized existential philosophy in philosophy, psycho-
logy, and religion courses in the universities as well as
by the emergence of the New Bohemians, the Beatniks, the
Hippies, and, finally, the New Left and Yippies in France,
the United States, and elsewhere, in which each group
increasingly degenerates or "flattens" the existential

belief and life-orientation.

The fall of existentialism as a social movement.--The mean-

 

ing of this heading is as it says. We want to show why
existentialism is no longer a value-oriented social move-
ment; we do not want to say that it is dead as a general
movement of thought.2 What conditions had to change in
order to produce the downfall of this social movement? If
we were required to answer in three words or less, the

response would be "instability to stability."

 

lSmelser, op. cit., pp. 356-58.
2For discussion, see Ibid., p. 273.

202

Any commentary on French post-war politics would be
a huge task in itself, as crises succeeded crises in
government, political parties, constitutions, economic
realms, and so on. In this sense, it was living up to its
pre-war tradition. De Gaulle, for instance, has lived
under three different Republics and through almost a hun-
dred different governments.

But it is also de Gaulle who has achieved stability
for France since he came to power in 1958. He received
wide support from the Communist left and he crushed the
Royalist anti-Republican right. His settlement of the
Algerian problem also increased the unity of the country.
In addition, the United States has relieved the French
from the burden of Vietnam.

Further, de Gaulle's role in the European Common
harket has given France notonly prestige but also access
to a much needed international market.

Other enormous economic gains have been made:
French farmers are now the world's third most
efficient, after America and Canada. France
is also the world's third producer of automo-
biles and fifth in machine tools.

The economic achievements since de Gaulle's
return to power in 1958 are impressive.
Workers pensions, up seventy per cent; gross
national product, up from $45 billion to $92
billion; industrial production, up forty per
cent; agriculture, up thirty-four percent,
while, astonishingly, reducing the number of
people engaged in agriculture by 2,000,000

workers who shifted to industry-~whether or
not this has advanced the pursuit of happi-

203

ness is another question. Veteran workers

are not happy with some of the new methods.

But they do not doubt that change had to

come. Not only change in methods and struc-

tures, but inevitably, change in attitudes and

values.

For example, in its origins, French labor was

not principally trade unionist. Instead of

concentrating on demands for better wages and

conditions, the unions were politically mili-

tant, functioning mainly as the spearhead of

the class struggle. But this is changing.

The workers want the union to fight for higher

wages and welfare benefits, and not for the

dictatorship of the proletariat.l

The interpretation of the above is not that France has
solved all of her problems, she hasn't. Housing remains one
of the major ones, and there are others, such as business
and industrial modernization and need for greater concentra-
tion in order to remain internationally competitive. Educa-
tional reform is another serious plaguing concern, and the
list could be extended, as in any modern industrial society.
what can be said concerning the role of de Gaulle and

the French setting is that the social institutions-~politi-
cal, economic, and social (familial, communal, religious,
etc.)--appear to be functioning to the extent that the indi-
vidual's needs are met and he is provided predictability
and order in his life rather than being forced to rely on
himself as the measure of his worth and identity. By estab-

lishing these stable and durable social relationships-~with-

in the family and among friends, co-workers, and so on--

 

l"France Is Dead; Long Live France," N.E.T. Journal,
(January, 1967), n.p.

204

the individual is forced to pay the social costs for these
anchorages. Thus, inasmuch as existentialism remains a
viable force, it appears to be influential with respect to

a world outlook, for many people are guided by it in limi-
ted and specific participatory endeavors, rather than as

an all-inclusive orientation to life and basis for every-
day existence. It is in this context that we can say that
the seeds of its own destruction were contained in the
existential belief itself in that it asked too much of man
and gave no recognition, no acceptance, no guide, aid, or
comfort--man was indeed alone. While still an open issue--
insofar as a definitive verification for our thesis cannot
fully satisfy the strict canons of scientific research--this
explanation for the fall of existentialism as a social move-
ment is reasonably sound and firmly rooted within the scope
of existing social-psychological theory.1 Finally, if this

interpretation has validity, we find that the last phase of

 

1For instance, consider the following: "Responsive-
ness," on the part of the authorities (social controls),
means that they attempt "to reduce the sources of strain
that initiated the value-oriented movement." Specifically,
"if authorities behave in these ways, we should expect the
value-oriented movement either to disappear, to Change into
some other less threatening kind of movement (e.g., a norm-
oriented movement) or to assume a value-oriented form which
is containable within the system. . .;" Smelser, op. cit.,
p. 365 and of. pp. 364, 344-45, and 273. Also, see G. Homans,
op. cit.; K. hannheim, loo. cit.; L. Gross, loo. cit.; E.
Durkheim, loc. cit.; w. Kornhauser, 0p. cit., pp. 102-113
(of. pp. 119-128); and R. Bendix, "Compliant Behavior and
Individual Personality," gig, (November, 1952), pp. 292-303.

 

 

205

this social movement does not conform exactly to the third
phase of institutionalization and organization as suggested
by Smelser, though it is consistent with his notion of social
control which can function as a counter-determinant either

prior to or after the emergence of a social movement.

:Ju .

1.1!.

.II

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