V .- . F x . I I .. ‘- ~_-AJ-;:-:qmtcg.y_i ‘.‘. . .. 4 4 ¢ - . J. J'. . ”W" ‘ ' " “-3 '.‘.....‘~.' :2;.;..-.‘. .'.‘.-'.-:_ 132:. ,,,,,,, AN EXAMINATION OF JFAN- PAUL SARTRE S CONCEPTION or FREEDOM ” 0-169 This is to certifg that the It \ r # thesis entitled An Examination of Jean-Paul saitreKs —w "1"; a Conception of Freedom w” presented by David R. Burke has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for ___Eh_.D.._ degree in Rhilnsophy Major préfessor Date August 13, 1965. 1.1 B R A R Y Michigan State University A I! ‘ Lou-"I 1-,,‘1' MA ( 1:41;. by David R01 the purpose of this “detail the theory of hum My Jean-Paul Sartre. f Wendence of the Egol t .la Raison Dialectifle. \ :detemine to what exten‘ E'tre‘s philosophy based @are still sound wi 3— ABSTRACT AN EXAMINATION OF JEAN-PAUL SARTRE'S CONCEP T I ON OF FREEDOM by David Ronald Burke The purpose of this dissertation is to examine hidetail the theory of human freedom which is devel— opaiby Jean—Paul Sartre, from his earliest work, The Transcendence of the Ego, to his latest, the Critigge dela Raison Dialectigue, Volume I. An attempt is made to determine to What extent critical evaluations of Smfixe's philosophy based solely upon Being and Noth- hgness are still sound with respect to Sartre's later prmxmncements and more completely developed world-view. The thesis is divided into five chapters, each of which treats of one specific phase of Sartre's philo— somfical career. The first chapter, for example, deals WIHISartre's theories as expressed in Transcendence of l ”resin. and his notions o meant, as well as his n filth. and authenticity a: includes with an enumera' his criticisms of Sartre Chapter Three dea ll! expressions of Sartrt ire to he found in such ‘ David Ronald Burke the Ego, Nausea, The Emotions: Outline of a Theorijm and Psychology of the Imagination. Attention/is di— rected to those seminal ideas which attain to further expression in Being and Nothingness. Chapter Two treats of Being and Nothingness niconsiderable detail. Sartre's conception of “Being- nritself,“ ”Being—for-itself,” his basic doctrine of fleedom, and his notions of situation, choice, and en— gagement, as well as his notion of responsibility, bad faiUL and authenticity are dealt with. The chapter concludes with an enumeration of some of the more ser— ious criticisms of Sartre's theory. Chapter Three deals with some of the more popu- lar expressions of Sartre's views, especially as they are to be found in such works as The Flies, No Exit, Roads to Freedom, "Existentialism Is a Humanism,” and AntbSemite and Jew. Chapter Four focuses upon the crucial expressions of his theory which are to be lo— cated in Sartre's shorter critical works and essays, as well as in his lengthy study of Jean Genet. iischapter and Serve as i inldxapter. the files“ ‘ hteruorks necessitate a silosophical posture. e5! isnpon human freedom- The most importan" saresult of this study hiperhaps has always an aillicitly, a dual-track 3!: earlier pronouncemeni ialuith one mode of fr at e. the freedom which we L! as a conscious bei .L' sHOSOPthEl activity is came to be stressed David Ronald Burke The fifth and final chapter deals with the latest phase of Sartre, the period during which his rmo—Marxism came to be enunciated in an explicit fashion. Search for a Method and the Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue are the main works treated of in this chapter and serve as its foundation. Within this fhml chapter, the thesis is put forward that Sartre's later works necessitate a re-evaluation of his basic mfilosophical posture, especially as this has a bear— hg upon human freedom. The most important single conclusion reached as a result of this study is that Sartre now employs and perhaps has always employed, either implicitly or explicitly, a dual-track theory of freedom. Thus viewed, his earlier pronouncements are seen as expressions which deal with one mode of freedom, namely its ontological Hmde, the freedom which is man's in virtue of his char— acter as a conscious being. As Sartre continued his mfllosophical activity, the second mode of human free- dmncame to be stressed and the importance of man's 3 i i l fij re" :11 To 593.5973 en‘s-cw nJ-r-vc mi! ri.'.:3'._i.' _.v'=--- l ' -' : ""1 ' ' when as representing ' hung dialectical (levelI itself. Such a procedure muting for the ilPPare oihis earlier views whit Sartre's more recent tecl dissertation does not re the investigator still i Suggestion might be of I he‘swork as a whole a t° Prevent serious misu to ' ' arise in connection Philosophy. David Ronald Burke 'practical” freedom gradually increased in Sartre's estimation, until the present time, in which this latter, “practical“ mode occupies Sartre almost ex— clusively. The suggestion is also made that Sartre's earlier work, especially Being and Nothingness, should be taken as representing earlier ”moments“ of an un— folding dialectical development within Sartre's thought itself. Such a procedure is of considerable value in accounting for the apparent shifts and renunciations of his earlier views which critics have detected in p , Sartre's more recent technical writings. While the dissertation does not rest upon this single suggestion, the investigator still is of the opinion that such a suggestion might be of much worth in approaching Sar— tre's work as a whole and that it might further help to prevent serious misunderstandings which are likely to arise in connection with other approaches to Sartre's philosophy. 3'811188 55d: shew: wife‘- a; an - ' '- -- . .. - - :J'-."-I .: -u.-.‘;'-.-J.'I I?" f..." . -. Sui . Michigan in Partial fulfill: for ' DOCTOR Departmr I ‘77 immeasssaan SARTRE‘S I-eencEPTIeN.eF€FREEseM .-'\ C'fi . l- BY 'David Ronald Burke A THESIS \‘: Submitted to Michigan State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of ' I l _ DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY ' i Department of Philosophy 1965 4-7:. Am the author wishes 1 1m- Harold Walsh, Dr. J lllhrrell, whose critic dinsights into Sartre's invaluable in the preparai ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The author wishes to express his appreciation "“ ojraer Harold Walsh, Dr. John F. A. Taylor, and Dr. Paul Hurrell, whose critical remarks, encouragement, and insights into Sartre's philosophy have proved so invaluablein the preparation of this dissertation. D . R. Burke ii r ' Winona: In use} 'I-.r'.as':q-:(.-. ': . '- --'-.:~:: mumucrrou . . - Jl' '. Centrality of 1 Philosophy . Justification Negative Chara A Note on Pror . .' .:;'_1:¥——r" __... _-; . I. use EARLY PERIOD Wm Nausea . , . I l . i] m ‘v‘ I". (k? 1 , BE-- « CONTENTS »A”f.. ’GWLEEGMENTS............... 3*Chapter INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . Centrality of Freedom in Sartre's Philosophy. . . . . . . . . . . Justification of This Study. . . . Negative Characterization. . . . . A Note on Procedure. . . . . . . . I. THE EARLY PERIOD. - . - . . — . . . . Transcendence of the Ego . . . . . Nausea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Emotions: Outline of a Theory The Psychology of Imagination. . . Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . II. BEING AND NOTHINGNESS. . . . . . . . . Being-in—itself. . . . . . . . . . Being-for-itself . . . . . . . . . iii 10 12 12 20 27 35 41 43 43 49 . _ I sum' simuion. mice Immibility. l Criticims of 3a Concluding Rama! 111. ill! MIDDLE PERIG). , m. . . No Exit. . . . The Republic 01 Roads to Freed: _ _,_-_.... Existentialism Anti-Semite ar 1“. um musmom 1 . r ..__ W —-. - :SIIu-__--_~='- f . Dirt Hands . V' THE LATER punron I . I l Table of Contents—-continued Chapter III. THE IV. THE V. THE Page Sartre's Basic Doctrine of Freedom . . . . 55 Freedom and the Other. . . . . . . . . . . 86 Summary: Sartre's Basic Theory of Freedom 121 Situation, Choice, and Engagement. . . . . 125 Responsibility, Bad Faith, and Authenticity 141 Criticisms of Sartre's Theory of Freedom . 166 Concluding Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 MIDDLE PERIOD. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 The Flies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 NO Exit. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214 The Republic of Silence. . . . . . . . . . 215 Roads to Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Existentialism is a Humanism . . . . . . . 234 Anti—Semite and Jew. . . . . . . . . . . . 240 TRANSITIONAL PERIOD. . . . . . . . . . . . 257 What is Literature?. . . . . . . . . . . . 278 Dirty Hands. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 Saint-Genet: Actor and Martyr . . . . . . 289 LATER PERIOD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328 iv .. ..9‘aqafl00fl ‘ a'szJ':53 sure-1mm? ESL .. I n - I Juwt- 59‘23 £1.25 ‘ 99".].171 ._ n L": .. ' I l -. _. --.'.I'J:'!-':...l"=.. J' ..=: .31": .i .- - Hurtreandthe Reva I. lotion and Sartre's Immuonnoao .._.....__.._ _. .. - '_':E.—hl-‘- , .—_"-."-_€_‘.'_.-——-I_'—.— _._- W,ng.gppelu§iens. ..- _. . . . 73$.- -Sartre and the Revolutionary . ‘ =13. Action and Sartre's Drama. . B IBLImR-APHY O O o o o o o o I o sun!) has tram-'3 centralit of 1 Phil Jean-Paul Sartre': utpit has been so vast, ' ainltiformed, that one hoary one of many dire i that equal value or re? “Problems are merely p1 hoblique fashion to th | mil°5°Phical position. J Med cluster of key cc : i ' lthine understanding . l“? flaveloped fom_ . ; this concepts directly l . w AN EXAMINATION - or» JEAN-PAUL SARTRE ' s coNCEPTIoN OF' FREEEQM FEM UBuifr'e3*t-: . \ '5’“ ’ INTRODUCTION .Centrality of Freedom in Satre's Philosophy Jean—Paul Sartre's literary and-philosophical output has been so vast, his published works so various and multiformed, that one could approach his thought from any one of many directions. Not all approaches are of equal value or relevance, however. Some themes or problems are merely peripheral, or are related in an oblique fashion to the true nucleus of Sartre's philosophical position. Only a small, carefully se— lected cluster of key concepts can lead directly to a genuine understanding of Sartre's ideas in their flilly developed form. The theme of human freedom and those concepts directly related to it, constitutes 1 1T? :I—f. ‘-.._ .-_._.a.. ..- = _-_=_- -.= W this View: "This (his novels and the very pp'l Maurice Natanson a isugqests that if the w] W (perhaps Sart such a cluster, and has been chosen to serve as the basis for this investigation. Critics of Satrean existentialism have long been aware of the centrality, or at least, the import— ance of freedom in Sartre's philosophy. Robert Camp— bell, for example, holds that one of Sartre's main goals is to convince men that they are free. As Campbell ex— presses this view: "This is . . . the message in all of his novels and the very foundation of his philoso— 1 phy. Maurice Natanson advances the same thesis when he suggests that if the whole of Sartre‘s Being and Nothingness (perhaps Sartre's most important single work) could be reduced to a single sentence, this sen- tence would be: ". . . the tragedy and dignity of man . . _ . 2 . . lies in the dictum: to be is to be free." Colin Wil- son maintains that Sartre's basic aim is ". . . to lRobert Campbell, ”Existentialism Since the Lib— eration," Philosophical Thought in France and the United States, Marvin Farber, ed. (Buffalo, New York: Univer— sity of Buffalo Publications in Philosophy, 1950) , p. 138. 2Maurice Natanson, ”Sartre's Philosophy of Free— dom,” Essays in Existentialism and Phenomenology (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1962), p. 75. ; la' 1“. l-. 1: If. —qmn3 Janina -- 15'3"“ f‘l' .. I" _u'. 35-10 .‘ijildzfinau in: 3.1 hut-v.4». '.;-.:I'. . r.-1-.3r:n-;:i;rig —'. I 13‘! :Ililfld chines '11:" - ,3 m “was: with reaii later of fact, Zuidem a hotSartre's philosopl misr'.'4 Albert Levi a this states that for Sa has as an instrument to itlot human choice.“5 Emanuel Mounier I that there should be a net hnplace the more tradi "Itself.“ The new dictum emphasize man's freedom and to explain the workings of 3 that freedom . ” S. U. Zuidema holds that Sartre's analysis of existence is postulated upon his conception of freedom and its encounter with resisting, contingent being. As a matter of fact, Zuidema argues, "The real existential theme of Sartre's philosophy is the history of this 'en- counter' ."4 Albert Levi agrees with this view of Zuidema, when he states that for Sartre, ”The analysis of Being serves as an instrument for the assertion of the central— ity of human choice."5 Emmanuel Mounier even goes so far as to suggest that there should be a new existentialist cogito advanced to replace the more traditional Delphic dictum: ”Know thyself." The new dictum, which Mounier would offer in its place, clearly reflects existentialism in general, 3 . . . Colin Wilson, The Age of Defeat (London: VlC- tor Gollancz Ltd., 1959) , p. 109. S. U. Zuidema, Sartre, trans. Dirk Jellema (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing Company, 1960), p. 47. 5Albert Levi, Philosophy and the Modern World (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1959), pp. 395—396. _'I” .9. . '- , 1‘53““ 15.1 10qu been ""."1: "'1 .- - at: .E-i‘r.‘ 5*! Jim '5‘.- W“ “1°" mp1s, amen Sartre conclud duke discovers one-4 Flaps the person closest Idiutellectually, reinfl {when she declares in 1 till: "Freedom is the so than all values sprin if- 0f all justification of e x 6 Manuel Mounie: I if. Ininduction, trans.F.ric W19“): p. 57. and Sartre's thought in particular. This dictum is 6 "Choose thyselfl " Although Sartre's name has become all but syn— onymous with the rejection of absolutes, especially in the realm of value, Temple Kingston argues: ”At the moment when Sartre concludes that there are no absolute . 7 . . values he discovers one——freedom.” Simone de BeauVOIr, perhaps the person closest to Sartre both personally and intellectually, reinforces this assertion of Kings— ton when she declares in her book, The Ethics of Abmig— uity: "Freedom is the source from which all significa— tion and all values spring. It is the original condition of all justification of existence."8 6Emmanuel Mounier, Existential Philosophy: An Introduction, trans.Eric Blow (London: Ranking Brothers Ltd., 1948), p. 57. 7Temple Kingston, French Existentialism: A Christian Critigue (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1961), p. 153. 8Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: The Citadel Press, 1962), p. 24. a .Eédh‘fioadn 3:: autism-"+1": ‘3'” 2”” spa-5151"“ minim“ are and of militia”93 ”unwed, he could metical attitude tm directly traceable to his lots, in the words of Jo hafixed, imobile exist tre's attitude is based u] thief science (and ther that it is not) , the fact ddsuith what he holds t Alfred Stern summarizes the importance of free- dmnto Sartre's outlook in the following manner: Freedom is the all—powerful triumphant ideal in Existentialism . . . . This idea shaped Sartre's ontology, his axiology, his ethics . . and dominates his conception of liter— ature and of politics.9 HmdStern wished, he could have added that even Sartre's mmithetical attitude towards science is perhaps most dhfictly traceable to his conviction that science at— tempts, in the words of Julien Benda, "to reduce man . . . . lO U>a fixed, immobile eXIstence.” Whether or not Sar— tre's attitude is based upon an accurate characteriza- timaof science (and there is good reason to believe flmt it is not), the fact remains that he has been at cflds with what he holds the scientific endeavor to be, since almost the very beginning of his philosophical career, and this because of the manner in which science treats of human freedom. (The effects of such a rejec— tion of science, have in turn had serious repercussions 9Alfred Stern, Sartre: His Philosophy and Psycho-analysis (New York: The Liberal Arts Press, 1953)/ p. 74. 10 . . . . . . Julien Benda, Tradition de EXIStentialism Waris: Bernard Grasset, 1947), p. 41. I: I!!! it edit 3i what's-1"“. c v o ‘. ”"Lil-FI‘J-“JJ'L: '-.'..' -'- __ '1' .YF-Tllolxtg =.‘ i..'. . {sf-T -'u'.' :-2 ':- t'. .- -. “us-Til To coidqs‘wrwu --r - .-=.r_--- 2:. =- - 3 a} . _ _ . mm by Hazel 331') .ia- 1m. She decli thofGod, especially as trade necessary for Sart infringe upon man's total in is not only shared b1 '- prtions of this study wh A three himself in his alllluhis two plays, Th I w ' ,Sgrtrefs general dutlook and has weakened the fab—‘ of his thought at crucial points along @pg course)u One of the last major indications of the.cen— trality of freedom in Sartre's philosophical perspective isnmde cleargby Hazel Barnes, the translator of Bplpg and Nothingness. She declares that even Sartre's rejec- pggn of God, especially as He is traditionally conceived, isnmde necessary for Sartre because such a Being would infringe upon man's total freedom.ll (Barnes' conten— tion is not only shared by many critics to be cited in portions of this study which follow, but is made explicit by Sartre himself in his literary expressions, most not— fifly in his two plays, The Flies and The Devil and the Good Lord). ’ Justification of This Study If so many critics are obviously aware of the centrality of freedom in Sartrean existentialism, what llHazel Barnes, “Translator's Introduction” to Being and Nothingness (New York: The Philosophical Li— brary, 1956), p. xxix. lo 931 can}: said if: 530 .ii -" ‘ :"- mm yet been cmpll a: .---_ .- . mandariticshave min dolely upon Sartre flmémes . A much S hrtre's theory has underg networks as Search for ; hlsonhialectige, espec :_ trite their attention upo : The interesting a mutators seem to be < llr‘mply) that Sartre‘s .._'a' m ““96 since Being l inert to the contrary, Tlieltly repudiated hi Mir one. need is there for a separate study devoted exclusively to an examination of this single problem? The answer is, that to this investigator's knowledge, no unitary and complete study of Sartre's theory (or theories) of freedom has yet been completed. Most of Sartre's com— mentators and critics have preferred to focus their at— tention solely upon Sartre‘s views as presented in Being and Nothingness. A much smaller group, convinced that Sartre's theory has undergone significant revision (in such works as Search for a Method and Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, especially) have tended to concen— trate their attention upon his later pronouncements. The interesting and puzzling result is that commentators seem to be divided between those who assert (or imply) that Sartre's views have undergone no import— ant change since Being and Nothingness, and those who assert to the contrary, that Sartre has now at least implicitly repudiated his earlier theory in favor of another one. The present study represents an attempt at evaluating both of the above approaches and also an effort at dealing with material which neither camp has its in 35mm: an” M 15d? Hui-:57: '72-. -.-.-':M 5455 :2- -. a in}. xfzosdn :- mis study, then. 1 .- , _ _ . Innate: 1) To present Harm's views, as they infirm 1938 to approxin htSartre's theory of f1 Imiementation and develt suel'ength how such supp Mfected Sartre' s has l“ °f human freedom. V" "5‘,.,~.~, 1. a ._I 5'," ~"(W‘i'thin‘ the" 9an L; “L S\‘ N, ghis vestigator will at'tempqi 1:0 shew , .; {gigs-st ‘ef the above" aJE-ternat‘ives must be re— S‘éfk‘ ‘ did“ and“ that even the ‘s‘écbnd must. be carefully qual— . t b This study, then, has three specific objectives. gfiles'e' are:' 1) To present a fairly detailed discussion lif'S‘artre's views, as they are to be found in his writ— ings from 1938 to approximately 1960; 2) To show clearly that Sartre's theory of freedom has undergone significant supplementation and deve10pment; and 3) To examine at some length how such supplementation and development has affected Sartre's basic outlook concerning the prob— lem of human freedom. Negative Characteriz at ion To be certain that the nature and scope of this investigation be understood, the following negative I characterization specifying what this thesis is not, my: Iii-WE “‘5' ‘° 1:. Jr, 11? if” .15 ‘.': It- wads 9"? -13U[‘ V.-l£u’91'f:;") gri H i'“ «“55? fir' ' £- I I '1‘: I'd: this investigation (the traditional free-vi m. Sartre himself ‘ Iinhinsically misguided Mat different mold. istorical, in that questi finances, and related is31 l 'i 1. 'ii tdealwith; the study i l i y fine that a chronologica I Healing with Sartre ' 8 HI I livesngation is not bioc seemed necessary. First: this investigation is £131; a literary study of Sartre's fictional creations. Second, this investigation is M a political study as such, although a consideration of Sartre's politi— cal theories will enter into the discussion obliquely. Third: this investigation is E; conducted in terms of the traditional 'free-will' vs. determinism con- troversy. Sartre himself views the traditional approach as intrinsically misguided and casts his theory in a somewhat different mold. Fourth: this study is $1; historical, in that questions of antecedents, key in— fluences, and related issues have been left for others to deal with,- the study is 'historical' only in the sense that a chronological approach has been adopted in dealing with Sartre's own writings. Fifth: this investigation is _r_10_t biographical; facts of a biograph— ical nature are alluded to if and only if they can be shOWn to have a direct bearing upon Sartre's theory of freedom. Sixth and last: this investigation is Egg SynOptic; although most of Sartre's writings are re— ferred to, no synopses of his works, plot or thematic SUMaries, found a place in this study. rain)“ 5 am: .n-r'" p 6:119“ ‘ 353 in mkiazaL-ranon '5 “9‘5”“3“ ' " ;,~_:;y-r:,-;v¢rnfimd 0f Pm, 16:. .vlsupilu‘o H"..5:ae.r.v-Jeii"- 5-.“ - -"' ?‘=='- .ainhamative methods " f"? " ""'" 'I ‘1' ilydusenvas to deal wit 'ndronological order. diction of each work b} . . trim} upon his theory of Elite in the thesis. (“hi hi this order is strictl iii"; ifinitive bibliography of mprocedure is proba] i i ”(Elite POSSibly the m0: ii}. i it in. IE _ iii! The date Of Sartr i *'. “seems t° be 1937, wi W. Bet I Mist major work, the 10 A Note on Procedure Because of the vast amount of material over much this study was obliged to range, some economical amieffective method of procedure was required. After several alternative methods were considered, that fin— ally chosen was to deal with Sartre's theory of freedom in a chronological order. That is to say, the date of publication of each work by Sartre which has a direct bearing upon his theory of freedom, determined its place in the thesis. (While there is no guarantee that this order is strictly accurate, there being no defhfitive bibliography of Sartre's work available, such a procedure is probably even so, the most natural and quite possibly the most illuminating technique at hand. The date of Sartre's earliest philosophical WOflcseems to be 1937, with his publication of Trans— cmndence of the E 0. Between this date, and that of hiSlast major work, the Criti ue de la Raison Dialec— tuflw Volume I, published in 1960, a continuum was M in ' t Put : 9': “fist-51.5.6.0 sew glands and r‘” ?-.-n 13313315519“: '33 not 0 resin l-bb::.-[UVJQIT 2614 921351.: Lu_' ’32. ' ‘ intent to Ierit discuss; ' i I -j'i'."'l'i‘li.'""." '-'n - his). mere greater (1‘ themes of violating djnstnents were perform tier seeming less harmfn violence to the conceptu ."fi'o- merit discussion-within the body of the , thEesi'si) . ‘Wherie' greater clarity could be achieved at the expenseof violating strict chronological order, adjustments-were performed, violence to the temporal -" order seeming less harmful to this investigator, than violence to the conceptual order. i a -.o m :Inem Jana on: .5491»: ___1 351' ”mailings do net-n =:.=.=..' .P-IHC’- red.) 36 IFS-LI" -:\.'| :". . ' '-=:=.-.:-- The Transcend Sartre began his p an the publication of hi ”Harper, among other: Benched as a phenomenoln as, during this period. classified as a phencmenc I I l. ! E' n I, J. “Emile during his pt star of some dispute- i I i n. .. ! CHAPTER I THE EARLY PERIOD The Transcendence of the Ego Sartre began his philosophical career in 1937 wiflnthe publication of his Transcendence of the Ego. RahflnHarper, among others, argues that Sartre should bendewed as a phenomenologist, an analyst of conscious— rmss, during this period.1 Whether Sartre should be classified as a phenomenologist without qualification “3222 time during his philosophical endeavors is a matter of some dispute. In any case, Sartre's thought dam bear the marks of Husserl's influence throughout Um earliest phases of its development, especially with reSPeCt to Sartre's key concern in Transcendence of the Ego,namely, consciousness. ____________________________________________________ 1 Ralph Harper, Existentialism: A Theory of Man (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1949), p. 96. 12 lug-3' him mt finality: of camel .;.i - . . “m1. '1“ Stated j Mity which character hintentionality Husse nity of experiences 'to Sartre saw in thi Hand valuable conceptn ;" Mean that consciousne: histancelike entity wh whiten assumed, but ra haacterized by its flu 13 As the translators of this brief work point out. for Sartre: ". . . consciousness is a great emptiness, a wind blowing toward objects. Its whole reality is ex— hausted in intending what is other."2 This notion of intentionality, of course, is obviously taken directly from Husserl, who stated in his Ideas: ”It is inten- tionality which characterizes consciousness . . . . ."3 By intentionality‘ Husserl means, "the unique peculi- arity of experiences 'to be consciousness 9f something."'4 Sartre saw in this notion of intentionality‘ a new and valuable conceptual tool. For him, this seemed to mean that consciousness is not the fixed essence or substance-like entity which traditional philosophy had so often assumed, but rather, that consciousness is best characterized by its flux and movement. This movement of consciousness, moreover was not . . . the passage Robert Kirkpatrick and Forrest Williams (trans.) , The Transcendence of the Ego by Jean—Paul Sartre (New York: The Noonday Press, 1957) , p~ 22- Edmund Husserl, Ideas, Trans. W. R. Boyce—Gibson (New York: ‘The Macmillan Company, 1958), p. 242. 4Ibid. . " gees-an :03 031 in hnfiwon flfijVOL' “FL“ I l." in-HOIJDu aifiT "".asfinm hi nrnfl at"; - Ll .n r .en a! 1.--._ -_:I f. .1 ':._._I‘ ‘.'j..'. ' ' musserl's the! may or not) his own ally to the conclusion t‘ manta. All content is hacimsness then became an activity,8 So anxion intensity intact, that 1 mid introduce into consl i deity and substance. '1‘ i ! 14 from one fixed state to another fixed state, but the 5 I! very absence of fixity, continual instability . . . . From this idea, Sartre could move easily to his view of man's consciousness as being a ”moving system of intentions . "6 From Husserl's theory, Sartre began to draw (correctly or not) his OWn inferences, and came even— tually to the conclusion that "consciousness has no contents. All content is on the side of the object."7 Consciousness then became for Sartre a sheer spontan— eous activity.8 So anxious was he to preserve this spontaneity intact, that he rejected any theory which would introduce into consciousness the least bit of opacity and substance. The most important single re— sult of this demand on Sartre's part was, of course, 5Julien Benda, "Jean—Paul Sartre, Pour et Con- tre L'Existentialisme, Collette Audry ed. (Paris: Edi— tions Atlas, 1948), p. 118. H Arturo B. Fallico, Art and Existentialism (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, Prentice Hall Incorpor— ated, 1962), p. 4. 7 Sartre, Transcendence of the Ego, p. 21. 81bid. .m was: m3:- 9:: 13.5.2 .t-Dh: aurh ram-2'4. metiwl .., . _.. g._.. A. in mujawa grain-om" a garner: L- ".2 _ I. “159135.31. naely the n for missed was “nece: idmains absolume sn psible experience . . . here}9 Sartre denied th undertook this denial. is. 'hewas afraid of f< ifilthy allowing it to ban ahsseri's Transcendent ’ Having denied Hus 'n intaltgo and its egoloc n . ."ni', Sllimmune another the 15 his denial of the Transcendental Ego, upon which Husserl had insisted. For Husserl, after the so—called "epoche" or "phenomenological reduction," there would remain an in— dissoluble gu_i_<_i_, namely the Transcendental Ego. This Ego, for Husserl was "necessary in principle"; was "that which remains absolutely self—identical in all real and possible experience . . . is permanently and necessarily there."9 Sartre denied the existence of such an Ego. He undertook this denial, because, according to Van Meter Ames, "he was afraid of forfeiting the freedom of the self by allowing it to have any original structure such as Husserl's Transcendental Ego would have.”10 Having denied Husserl's notion of the Transcen— dental Ego and its egological structure, Sartre was free to substitute another theory. Instead of viewing the Ego as a stable and permanent nucleus of all psychic activity, Sartre came to treat the Ego as ”nothing other 9 Husserl, Ideas, p. 172. 10 Van Meter Ames, "Mead and Sartre on Man," The Journal of Philosophy, LIII (March, 1956) , p- 217. . rise-m1 ll -".m..-..— but! I. sas- ind: insane .huasm-n' we I .V. ‘14} hr: the m; 0 I 12 ‘ . . f.. _"_.‘.___ H.- .. . .| -'-'- , '"I-_f_ _- —' ‘fli .I'J" retinal iolia'OW 917'”.- ..i. J fig emsciousness.“ that this rejectic. hunt to Sartre's then Herbert Spiegelberg. i Reasoning the 690 from this means to Sartre thingness in favor of his implies that tra is in itself imperson of our conscious life out of nothing . "13 his repudiation of Husse [the taken as a denial m in any fOrm. howev. Stine, as Hazel Barnes ' .\ :-.' . of Aron Gurswitch c°nsciousnesS u . , Philc m I (1941). p.73. l6 thmnthe concrete totality of the actions and disposi- Uonsit supports; it may be found nowhere outside of 11 flmse psychic unities." The Ego became for Sartre, hishort, ”not the owner of consciousness, but the ob- . . 12 ject of conSCiousness." What this rejection of Husserl's notion of the Egonmant to Sartre's theory was most succinctly stated by Herbert Spiegelberg. Spiegelberg wrote: Removing the ego from the transcendental field thus means to Sartre a final liberation from thingness in favor of a pure, free spontaneity. This implies that transcendental consciousness is in itself impersonal and that "every moment of our conscious life reveals to us creation out of nothing.”13 Thisrepudiation of Husserl's view of the Ego should nottm taken as a denial by Sartre of the Ego's exis— tence in any form, however. The Ego still exists for Sartre, as Hazel Barnes makes clear; but it exists for 11 . . Aron Gurswitch, ”A Non—egological Conception of Consciousness,“ Philosophy and Phenomenological Re— search, I (1941), p. 336. 12 Sartre, Transcendence of the Ego, pp. 96—97. 13 . Herbert Spiegelberg, The Phenomenological flgfiflent, II (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960), p. 466. I DIM}: "-351IJU1N. aid-ave.) z-a: -"-- C. . ..I 419' mi: Sad .esanauoieen :- -. then I l. l - , island. 1:? ':',-!:'-s.' - '_-| .c , ... gm of 'snbjectiv mnesan accused his his point having hits proper field, so : ham stands as “the c: astains its qualities i , serving spontaneity . "16 (I ass excluded with the a transcendental field, Se consciousness is a moth: Wen .- Piysical and psychic ob xii: . its ‘ . . |I§I input-Side 1t . . ' .n :lIIIIII \ 3i . l4 . q S Barnes' “Tra Hi i n l7 himcflfly as the object of pre—reflective consciousness, raflmr than as an entity contemporaneous with the pre— . . 14 . . . reflective conSCiousness. (If such a qualification is not kept in mind, then Sartre would in fact be guilty ofspeaking of subjectivity without a subject,” as Wilfrid Desan accused him).15 This point having been reached, the Ego is now nnits proper field, so far as Sartre is concerned. The Ego now stands as "the creator of its own states and sustains its qualities in existence by a sort of pre— serving spontaneity.”l6 With the last vestige of thing— ness excluded with the expulsion of the Ego from the transcendental field, Sartre announced: ”In a sense consciousness is a nothing since all physical, psycho— physical and psychic objects, all truths, all values are outside it . . . ."l7 (In short, Sartre has arrived l4Barnes, ”Translator's Introduction," Being and Nothingness, p. xxxvii 15 . . . . Wilfrid Desan, The Tragic Finale: An Essay on the Philosophy of Jean—Paul Sartre (New York: Harper Brothers Torchbook, 1960), p. 158- l6Sartre, Transcendence of the Ego, p. 78. 17Ibid., p. 93. 'mm ,_ SI -ate-Jsuc i worms 9%? Joel 1‘ r. till-Fug ad TIDE-3 ".1 iniud‘n' 9131153 iii-1d) .'.I 21:; = I. '-_-,- ‘l_. "” ' ' II m, consciousness Inn time both nothing impossible man's freec' it this time in Si uclassic ontological d: i . int non-conscious reality _ ihasionsness) had not be it between consciousness tilled out in Transcende I inseacould be derived : 18 atlfls famous view of consciousness as a lack or void afbeing. He has located within man, Heideggerian Noflfingness,) In poetic language, Sartre once referred to fins pure consciousness as "without ego, a mere puff ofvmrm air."18 In the technical language of Being and Noflflhgness, consciousness became for Sartre at one and Hm same time both nothingness and freedom, that which mamm possible man's freedom as a "Being—for—itself.'I At this time in Sartre's career, however, his nmvclassic ontological dichotomy of ”Beingein—itself" (or non—conscious reality) and "Being—for—itself" (or unmciousness) had not been developed. The relation— shu>between consciousness and freedom had not been spelled out in Transcendence of the Ego~ _Two_important flwses could be derived from Transcendence of the Ego, lumever. These were: first, that freedom is to be . , . 19 \newed as a relation of conSCiousness to the world 18Jean-Paul Sartre, The Age of Reason, trans. Eric Sutton (New York: Bantam Books, 1959), p. 211. l . . 9Pierre Thévenaz, What is Phenomenology?, trans. James M. Edie (Chicago: Quadrangle Books Incor- porated, 1962), p. 74. Luv: exam . .’J?J" 3.1:;131w” .- onus. gs last lazior W has of free“ in 3‘ “within the Em 'utiginma freedm- ' 3* meiousness. being pure iiqhtened by this very 5? «pie from the psycholo infeared performing ind ill the roan. What had lat there was in fact 3 “NO the window and sul M H as a "monstrous f h' l ' the °PPOrtunit l9 and;second, unreflected consciousness can be limited mfly by itself and consequently is free and autono— 20 mous. The last major idea of particular interest to Um theme of freedom in Sartre's thought, which can be hmated within the Transcendence of the Ego is that of "vertiginous freedom.“ Sartre first pointed out that mxmciousness, being pure spontaneity, is actually flightened by this very spontaneity. He then cited an exmqfle from the psychologist Janet, of a young bride Mu>feared performing indecent actions when her husband left the room. What had apparently frightened her, was thm:there was in fact nothing to prevent her from walk— ng to the window and summoning passers—by like a pros— tinue. Her freedom, in this instance, then appeared Uiher as a ”monstrous freedom,” as a ”vertiginous free— dmn. . . the opportunity for this action which she was l21 afraid of doing.I 20Sartre, Transcendence of the Ego, pp. 39-and 58. ZlIbid., p. 100. i1.- 03 Jasia1nr ' l 15fu91115§ to n:nj :4 aspect of free [ailments in his tech‘ heftect that man “is co qectof his entire thee: flpsychological dimensiw m‘s reaction to the aw “conscious being. 26 ..4 ‘flu‘is theme later'became incorporated into Sar— w Whim- L f,- . ' ' Eiders: 7"“_,.‘e‘é of "bad faith" as asflight fish see refs‘fr'e‘edom, especially in B‘e'ing’ “an-d Nothingness. The ‘mOnstrous aspect of freedom also underlay Sartre's pronouncements in his technical and fictional works to the effect that man "is condemned to be free." A basic ia’spect of'Vhis entire theory, especially in its moral and psychological dimensions, became an analysis of man's reaction to the :awful burden‘ of his freedom as a conscious being. Hm Nausea, Sartre's quasi—autobiographical novel published in 1938, reinforced some themes to be found in Transcendence of the Ego. In addition, this novel, . written in the form of a diary, also contained signifi- | cant foreshadowing of ideas yet to be expressed in their c explicit form in Being and Nothingness. Sartre himself has declared that "Being and Nothingness . . . was the 1.} :2: iii; Of ‘ ' in! ne__1_g____J' and 1'. ”pars. This does: 5 2131-38 3's! .uhm; :r_.':-. rad-e .-": .. --'-'.' '. " --' ._ _ 'inlizedversion ofglgjg litdoes justify the ’d mentions at least in t1 wt. One of the recurr‘ uh. is the threat pose I '. I. .--, L. l a. I tonal non-conscious wor 3335 most clearly: Vegetation had crawl: cities. It is waiti: dead the vegetation V 21 .pfva study begun in 1930." Consequently, byy ,jmm Nausea had been published, Sagggefihadflbeeno~ emuemplating the set of probhems which provided the fondation for Being and Nothingness for some seven Uneight years; oThis does not make Nausea into a fic— tnnmlized version of Being and Nothingness, to be sure; Vbutj¢.does justify the idiscovery‘ of some significant cmmmptions at least in their embryonic form, in this work. One of the recurrent themes of Nausea, for ex- mmle,js the threat posed to human freedom by the ‘ma- tmfial‘ non-conscious world. Sartre's own words reveal this most clearly: Vegetation had crawled for miles toward the cities. It is waiting. Once the city is dead the vegetation will cover it, will climb over the stones, grip it, search them, make them burst with its long black pinchers; it will blind the holes and let its green paws hang over everything.23 22Jean—Paul Sartre, Search for a Method, trans. Ifimel Barnes (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963), p. 38. 23Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea, trans. Lloyd Alex— mfier (Norfolk, Connecticut: New Directions paperbook, 1959) . p. 208. gin: ad: at:- 35-: Mb pn3.m.i-1:ns-‘-r-'-'?‘ \ nous»? smne 1:13. EEEFT‘W' "lo-l: {Li-"LP"; " -2. Li r .3-_."'_ = .. _ .. --| _-I I an, though burdensome i ucooquer that which was place among human creation Home of man‘s free : man's own materialit‘ Ii William, can serve as a ‘Host clearly revealed 22 gveéttation" here of course, has both literal . I . yntiho'lic s igni f ic ance . Jung les' newsrooms. {dozrtéaiee ‘Zéyelr'v deserted build ings ; bunt tosf" far vmores' importance , svegetationzsymbolizest the threat of imatter‘ (that which is to become Being—in-itself‘ in Being and Nothingness) t-o man's precious consciousness, and val-— mahdewthough‘ burdensome ”freedom. Just as vegetation can conquer that which was once man's by taking his place among human creations, so can 'materiality' serve as a snare of man's free spontaneity and consciousness. Even man's own materiality, his dimension as a bodily organism, can serve as a threat to his freedom. This is most clearly revealed in the words: "There is a white hole in the wall, a mirror. It is a trap. I know I am going to get caught in it . . . I can no longer get away . " 24 Presumably, in the above cited passage, man's free consciousness has allowed itself to become :fas— cinated by its associated bodily manifestations. Be- coming intrigued with its own incarnat‘ed image reflected -——-———————————————————————-————_ 24Ibid., p. 27. M1! I161! fli-‘ti’o::lvd.lraen¢bliud bs‘xennb 19v: . '4 75.1135!“ ‘1: was-1!!! ' 5’»- transcendent imn WHY Over‘ in. the constant self stuttering-Wall: "hi fineness, has been slows they and Nothingness. hebecune ’clogged wit) in of consciousness ha: According to Sart “Ming, “human consc reflection that plays on Wives them meaning . “2 o‘ lusness were. even f0] 23 from the surface of the mirror, consciousness has lost its translucid quality and has come dangerously close to being swallowed up in the material non—conscious world. The transcendent features of consciousness have been temporarily overcome by man's immanent dim— ension. The constant self—creative movement, that constant tearing-away, which for Sartre typifies con— sciousness, has been slowed. To employ the language of Being and Nothingness, the 'pores of consciousness have become ‘clogged with materiality' and suffoca- tion‘ of consciousness has resulted. According to Sartre, especially in Being and Nothingness, “human consciousness exists only as a free reflection that plays on the surface of petrified things and gives them meaning. "25 Such being the case, if con- sciousness were, even for an instant, to fail to confer a meaning upon the brute world of existing things which surrounded that consciousness, terrifying results might 25R. M. Albérés, Sartre: Philosopher without Faith, trans. Wade Baskin (New York: The Philsophical Library, 1961), p. 52. was nod? mt qu tam-nu awn s-nieuv oi _ws;-.u:.----r--- - Bi fines-o i'"?r'.-.."_' '.'- .--. Fun-3551' l ‘ .I-"_. I .. . the diversity oi duality. were only a his veneer had meltec stroosnasses. all in frightflfl. obscene 1131 Month had discovered Dining in the world, is Hui to be fulfilled. j. ; his its meaning—conferr 1'31: ' ilexperienCe could be S R°quentin beam. i2: :1 1y in its negative d I h . iii" 5 " b“he obligations w] ‘h uh densome PreSence, . g Wuently, for him, .. 268 ll 27 artre, Nau\m- 24 weM.follow. As Sartre's hero of Nausea discovers, Um usual appearance of things can suddenly be radic— Miy altered if consciousness 'forgets' to confer mean— hg upon this realm. To Roquentin, the central figure of Nausea, suddenly: . . the diversity of things, their indi— viduality, were only an appearance, a veneer. This veneer had melted, leaving soft mon— strous masses, all in disorder——naked in a frightful, obscene nakedness.26 Rmnmntin had discovered that man's freedom to find a memfing in the world, is at the same time an obligation, atask to be fulfilled. When human consciousness neg— lects its meaning—conferring role, Roquentin's unnerv— hg experience could be shared by ggy consciousness. Roquentin becomes aware of his freedom essen— tiaUy in its negative dimensions. He discovers free— dmnby the obligations which it thrusts upon him, by HE burdensome presence, its nihilating possibilities. Cmmequently, for him, ”freedom is rather like death.”27 26 Sartre, Nausea, pp. 171-172. 27 . Ibid., p. 209. W “‘3 v7. eaenuu'cI-MIQm 3 ! Erna-115 ‘4‘“, 19:1 . 'e‘-1311") adj .‘trzfrzelrL-c s: arr .n:.'-.-'r"' - ' I | J ' I. .l‘ _' - I - - unsuw' vie“ °f m “my represented t] he, lobhio would have 1" me. it does MI at iiications. Amore adequate intention in writing PaS cited. is provided by R« that Sartre wished to s} ! i. hdlucidity are worthlt Wentin's prounounceml c r u I “Presentations of Sart I I Euse. according to Man 25 Freedom is empty, itself without meaning, experienced only in the solitude of each man's consciousness. Little wonder that Norberto Bobbio accuses Sartre of having a "destructive and annihilative" rather than a positive and creative" view of freedom.28 Had Roquentin‘s view accurately represented the developed conception of Sar— tre, Bobbio would have been quite correct; but, of course, it does n_o_t, at least without significant qual— ifications. A more adequate interpretation of Sartre's real intention in writing passages in Nausea, such as those cited, is provided by R. M. Albérés. Albéres suggests that Sartre wished to show in Nausea that "our freedom and lucidity are worthless until given a meaning."29 Roquentin's prounouncements upon freedom are not genuine representations of Sartre's theory of human freedom be- cause, according to Maurice Cranston, Roquentin is in fact not really free. "Roquentin is dégage or 28Norberto Bobbio, The Philosophy of Decadent— ism: A Study in Existentialism (Oxford: Basil Black— well, 1948), p. 56. 29 , . . Alberes, op. c1t., pp. l6—l7. as} who .. ' ':‘.7" m “1: ohm erred-2cm .1911: 10521th ’_ ~ " .; has marativelg ss-Id'iaoca“ -'~: rrm’.‘ ”wrist-.1 ir- .t.:r..--u- i11- ‘g-mlin citizens of l ”in. who at least mad suing of his existence used, without questio istiiied. As Sartre de 'lothing was left of him “lit. Areal case of 1 i I ““0“ had, according to E? (D < (‘D Q ’0 H 0 rt- 0 :5 (D O _,.._.;: _ " f: 5‘:- pr ,_._ g a. m ’53 26 I indeed . . . dégagement is only a mockery of free— (dbrnn- a form of running away from freedom."‘3®‘ Roquentin, to obey Sure,» "is. certainly uncommitted, but he is a comparatively estimable perSOn compared to the solid se-i‘t‘izens‘ ,of'Beauville. In contrast to R0— quentinrwho :at least made an effort to understand the one-anin‘g of his existence, these city fathers pompously assumed, without question, that their existence was justified. As Sartre described one such individual, "Nothing was left of him but bones, dead flesh and Pure Right. A real case of possession . . . ."31 Such a person had, according to Sartre, used the notion of his sacred rights to protect him from an awareness of his freedom and its subsequent responsibility. Such a man is the very prototype of what Sartre terms the "serious" attitude. (The "serious" attitude is basically an at— tempt to hide from oneself the consciousness of his freedom; to treat oneself as a substance with determinate W 30 . Maurice Cr'anston, Jean—Paul Sartre (New York: Grove Press, 1962), P- 14- 3l Sartre, Nausea, p. 121. fins! 9 men .n- «awe at" a: .atgnsupofl 1 .: fa'J' ' i=3 heanqmr-o All-E3511 E-'I.L.I'-7-357HL3 2: :- - . ' .- -,, . - g._ I.. _._l ... . Ihdseen the abyss of 1 Hot every intellectua We to this discover M11 to emulate. Roqu 5 hi1'lIKJsuay be is at lea 27 3368432 to deliberately lose oneself in a Welter _‘ cheesy" activities and projects. calyx: we?“ tear-c 11-min: . Roquentin, while? he? became aware of." freedom from only a limited perspective, at least is not to be counted among-the members of the ‘Serious World. He had seen the abyss of freedom which lies at the sees-or every intellectually honest man, even if his response to this discovery was not held up by Sartre for all to emulate. Roquentin, in short, whatever his failings may be is at least on the road to "authenticity." The Emotions: Outline of a Theory The Emotions: Outline of a Theory, written the year after Nausea (1939), had very definite tasks to per- form with respect to Sartre's unfolding theory of free— dom. In this brief work, Sartre was attempting to show that man's emotions are not to be viewed as obstacles W 32 . . . . . Hazel Barnes, Humanistic EXistentialism: The Literature of Possibility (Lincoln, Nebraska: Univer- Slty of Nebraska Press, 1959) , p. 194. 'I I i l |. I , .| quanized system of N tiualstates, for exampl htasdisorders or forcc abide. but rather as f: toachieve a particular Muuple, when a girl We, just as she is a 28 orifindrances to his freedom. In this psychologically oriented work, Sartre tried to "analyze even emotional states in terms of our free project, as modifications "33 ofcmr freedom . . . . As he went on to argue, "emotional behavior is not a disorder at all. It is . . . "34 an organized system of means aiming at an end. Emo- tional states, for example, fainting, must be analyzed rwt as disorders or forces imposed upon one from the outside, but rather as freely—chosen actions designed . . 35 to achieve a particular purpose. To employ Sartre's mulexample, when a girl faints in the psychiatrist's office, just as she is about to tell him of some pain— ful experience, this is, for Sartre, an action« chosen to allow her to postpone her confession. The same would hold true, of course, for hysterical crying and the like; for any behavior which would prevent or postpone the dreaded revelation.36 33 . Marc Beigbeder, L'Homme Sartre (Paris: Bordas, 1947), pp. 167-68. 34 . . Jean—Paul Sartre, The Emotions: Outline of a 31m, trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: The Philo— ‘ sophical Library, 1948), p- 32- 351bid., p. 38. 36Ibid. I»; i'virthat a”! shame-m : 9513. 190 to tame: Ill $9.2“:- 1-1' ‘I I. I - - "_ I |~EUD 1“ '73.! 3': 31-153?- _"_'( EA '. . _ . 1.1: ‘I_",-_._- _ _|l-:- is ruled by Ilslationehips betwec this is radically alte1 however, 'this is no call and we throw ourse in all the strength we Mody directed by cons Month the world in a E ticsof this world. Th1: I: ' i uisijOke we believe E . While to this ju Eil E hen directed to What mi :3. , lualyzes "Passive" en 29 4 Emotion then becomes for Sartre, a "transfor— mation --of the world. " Through emotion, {anew attempfismw to change the world, thatszisr he attempts to live in a world which isst’rurled by "magic, " a world where the usual relatfionships between things and their potenti— alities is radically altered.37 Sartre. is quick to eddy-however, "this is not a game; we are driven against a wall and we throw ourselves into this new attitude with all the strength we can muSter."38 In emotion, the body directed by consciousness, changes its rela- tions with the world in an attempt to alter the quali- ties of this world, This means, "if emotion is a joke, it is a joke we believe in.”39 While to this juncture, Sartre's remarks have been directed to what might be termed " active " emotion, he analyzes "passive" emotions, such as fears, along the same basic lines. For Sartre, passive fear, such as that exhibited in fainting before a terrifying M 3 7Ibid., p. 58. 38Ibid., p. 59. 39 Ibid. , pp. 60-61. ojoco, is viewed as an e iothis instance becomes othedenial or annihila consciousness of, the ter stances, Sartre suggest roobeeliminated as an eliminating consciousnes The true origin concerned, is a "spontan consciousness in the fac consciousness is unable to endure in another, by ofsleep. dream and hyst ioa later work. trans 15 o lost always consent to 2 self. . . we 'put ourso \fi 40 . Ibld.. pp. 62 41 . Ibld': P- 77' 42 Ibid. 43 Jean-Paul Sar &. trans. as Anti-S oSewy '— ork: Grove Press 3O dfiect,is viewed as an effort to escape. The fainting hothis instance becomes a refuge, a refuge constituted by Um denial or annihilation of one's relation to, and cmmciousness of, the terrifying object. There are many hmtances, Sartre suggests, when the terrifying object cmibe eliminated as an object of consciousness only by . . . . . 4O eliminating conSCiousness itself. The true origin of emotion, so far as Sartre is concerned, is a ”spontaneous and lived degradation of consciousness in the face of the world.“41 What the cmmciousness is unable to endure in one way, it attempts UDendure in another, by approaching the consciousness ofsleep, dream and hysteria.42 (As Sartre was to argue H hia later work, translated as Anti—Semite and Jew, we I . . Hmst always consent to anger before it can manifest it— . u 43 self .. . we 'put ourselves' into anger . . . .) w 40 . Ibid., pp. 62—63. 41 . Ibid., p. 77. 42 Ibid. 43 Jean-Paul Sartre, Réflexions sur la uestion QEEZEI trans. as Anti—Semite and Jew by George Becker (New York: Grove Press, 1962), pp- 17‘18- it use a! t”'9nié’"§a' hams; than; _z.,.-o «if; v , use {m law“ ’§fi‘ m w“ 5- ' A} :ffiaQ‘T‘T’fi ‘jdw'zu h ‘ we losing-t1 9"” A Apparently this a him had roots in Sarto: lore writing The Emotions impede Beauvoir, cons my years, wrote (re fer or various moods we of inevitable sympto but as a species of in a perverse moment on.“ These remarks by analysis of emotional s situation, seems to so oaybe thought of in ter role, even though in SOT lnisvas probably Sartro his expressed such a vi urtsof one of his dra llivby Sartre of the 5 under if real emotion: K.“- 44 . Simone de Be Tie! Green (New York: 462). p. 21. 31 .;, 4' Apparently this approach towards emotional be- hmflor had roots in Sartre's general outlook even be— fmm writing The Emotions: Outline of a Theory. As Snmme de Beauvoir, constant companion of Sartre for mmnryears, wrote (referring to herself and Sartre): Our various moods we regarded not as a kind of inevitable symptom engendered physically, but as a species of disguise that we assumed in a perverse moment, and could discard at will.44 These remarks by Beauvoir, coupled with Sartre's mmlysis of emotional states in the work now under con- sideration, seems to suggest that emotional behavior may be thought of in terms of action or of playing a role, even though in some cases, an elaborate role. fins was probably Sartre's intention, and he himself has eXPressed such a viewpoint most succinctly in the Womb of one of his dramatic characters. Kean, in the ( playby Sartre of the same name, says: IISometimes I I wonder if real emotions are not merely false emotions W 44 _ . . Simone de Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, trans. ' Petm:Green (New York: The World Publishing Company, 1962), p. 21. 45 impacted" The them you further, When Kean soothing my child. 1 line to time, Kean himse Not only is emot items of role-playing further, the contention stricted or weighed do loosed upon a basic misu suggested, one should n tions as having weight mupon employing o Sartre maintains, “reco ( loch weight as we give ontention when she wrc themselves; they are m M 45 Jean—Paul Sa ‘ Good Lord, Nekrassov a \ Sllvia and George Lees i- 167. 46 . Ibid., p. 19 47 Robert Olsor 1&3 (New York: Dover 32 {badly acted."45 The theme of role playing is extended still further, when Kean says later in the. play: "I am nothing my child»; Esplay at‘being what I am. From time to time ,».'_.'~Kean himself plays a scene for Kean."46 Not only is emotional behavior to be analyzed _in ter‘msro-f role—playing, according to Sartre, but, further, the contention that freedom is somehow re- stricted or weighed down by emotions is seen to be based upon a basic misunderstanding. As Robert Olson suggested, one should not talk about passions or emo— tions as having weights in the first place. If one insists upon employing such a mode of speech, he should, Sartre maintains, "recognize that passions have only so much weight as we give them."47 Barnes reinforced that contention when she wrote: "Emotions are not things—in— themselves; they are not even drives or forces which 45Jean-Paul Sartre, Kean from The Devil and the Good Lord, Nekrassov and Kean, trans. Kitty Black and Sylvia and George Leeson (New York: Vintage Books, 1962) , p. 167. 46Ibid., p. 195. 47Robert Olson, An Introduction to Existential— Efl (New York: Dover Publications, 1962) , p. 114. hisistibly overwhelm on “muffle! um- parent as one chooses I? * ' estinl en .b-Iitiv we lgnloijmro ova Inter g y - 013M i'fi '{EJSL’ I ' I i. 3 , , nameogy, Sartre deal tons'of freedom. Psych uyother emotional stat olotic, unable to change chosen instead to change he only real difference deception and that of on behavior, is that his 5 Emulate. The psychotic / ‘ / meltion that he requin l is reality which he ha< J“ ‘ 0f considerable HE'S analysis of freed Email” is the followi M 48 Barnes, ppm 49 . ‘ Ibid., P- 301 L 5 0Ibid. 3 3' . V 'izsltibly‘ overwhelm one. One makes an emotion moment - 48 , . ‘Eytimoment as one chooses oneself ." mm “some Interestingly enough ,- .in The Emotions: Outline 5ft ‘I‘ u...- of a Theory, Sartre dealt- 'even with psychotic states in”: terms of freedom. Psychosis is to be dealt with much as any other emotional state, according to Sartre. The psy— chotic, unable to change the environment as it is, has . . . . . 4 chosen instead to change himself in relation to it. 9 The only real difference between the psychotic's self— deception and that of normal people in their emotional behavior, is that his self-deception has become more complete. The psychotic has been so successful in his deception that he requires help in order to return to the reality which he had previously rejected.50 Of considerable relevance with respect to Sar— tre's analysis of freedom and its relation to psychotic behavior is the following anecdote related by Beauvoir. MN 48Barnes, Humanistic Existentialism, p. 57. 491bid., p. 301. 5oibid. II as fulfils-2d '11: «means 'gimflaouw-ri a a . II'J-l’. .. . as we drove in' ware, Sartre sudde! tired of being mad. the lobsters had bee behind them, and tha sent them packing. henceforward, he dis imperturbable happir. 30th in his own memPloyed his ’discov 34 7 pH According to her, Sartre had been suffering from hallu— “ cinations due to his having taken mescaline from a fidend, as part of an experiment. These hallucinations took the form of lobsters, or crabs, following Sartre on his walks. One day, Beauvoir writes: .. . as we drove into the colonnaded main square, Sartre suddenly declared that he was tired of being mad. Throughout this trip the lobsters had been trying to trail along behind them, and that evening he had finally sent them packing. He kept his word too; . henceforWard, he displayed an absolutely i imperturbable happiness.51 are». :‘~‘ . Both in his own life, and in his fiction, Sar- tre employed his ‘discovery that psychosis has its , . roots in free choice. In his short story, ”The Room," iqumx for example, Sartre employed this insight in his des— cription of a woman living with her insane husband. 'Hm heroine, Eve, realizes that the hallucinations ,‘ é experienced by her husband never seem to catch him i by surprise. She thinks: "He's warned every time flmw come; how does he do it? He's never wrong.”52 ' 5 . . lBeauvoir, The Prime of Life, pp. l77—l78. 5 . 2Jean—Paul Sartre, ”The Room” from Intimacy , amiOther Stories“ trans. Lloyd Alexander (Berkeley ;‘ V M PubliShing Corp., New York), p. l83. .fi I ”096 minute defamation! ms do 31.54: 2., -'-.a ': 5;”. .-'.o..9-2 913359. pniwr -...u . . -'1l ""'"-"'_'..-r‘--.'_—_.r_,-.. '..::._.-:—.- - s- . _——-—.—.__ . '5": xi The Psychol We 1940. further advanced E ulmsness, and contains one to recur many time: Eslocially in connection hoot these features w 35 V;;_e'odes‘::never,wrong, of course, “because for Sartre, the insane, man himself cooperates with ethoshaikdsuciniations.' He first helps to conjure themzup, and then falls, or pretends to fall", victim to them. a , The Psychology of Imagination The Psychology of Imagination, published in 1940, further advanced Sartre's theory of human con— sciousness, and contained important features which were to recur many times throughout his later work, especially in connection with his view of freedom. One of these features was Sartre's insistence upon the absolute autonomy of consciousness, a reinforce- ment of a view which he had already expressed to some degree in Transcendence of the Ego. Sartre concluded in The Psychology of Imagination, that "a consciousness does not have any opaque and unconscious surface by which it can be seized." Further, "Between two con- . . . . 53 seiousnesses, there is no cause-effect relationship.” W 53Jean-Paul Sartre, Psychology of the Imagination, trans. anonymous (New York: The Citadel Press, 1961), p. 35. , N w,;;'j.;:¢g,_;;:s is z can. one.“ . ,_ . F . -..' _ f‘. 4!-.-,. _-'.-,-.ii.] _II‘; I m IQ‘F ”951 6191_.uc\ C' ’ I I I gator-aurora, flurmghq . _ . ._ ___‘_,,_ pp...”- Jnnrij UL? -.-:- -.-... o- _ oipofluisserl's influ oimouess is to be anal museum refers to t] iocousciousness g sum leiousness."54 Sartre being itself without cc hold, in Order that it Iotld provides the in unity of consciousness | a tivedimensions, 00115124 I . l. .. . ' ‘ '9“ in 111 Its movement. is if; 9 15!; i - I“; I Sartre also be S“ influence, and e Jilin iiililtingness (althou 54 . Ib\id., p. 98 i 55I . i: I M” p. 26 36 mm consciousness cannot be grasped by another, and neflimr can it be restricted by physical coercion; hence consciousness is free and autonomous, for Sartre. Sartre, throughout his work, still showed clear signs of Husserl's influence upon his theorizing. Con— sciousness is to be analyzed in terms of intentionality. Sartre even refers to the statement: "All consciousness is consciousness of something,” as ”the great law of con— . 54 . . . seiousness." Sartre also inSisted that conSCiousness, being itself without content, must be "situated" in the . . . . 5 wmfld, in order that it might be able to imagine.5 The world provides the indispensable 'target‘ for the ac— tuflty of consciousness, even when, as in its imagina- tne dimensions, consciousness transcends this world 1n its movement. Sartre also began to show clear signs of Heideg— QEI'S influence, and employed Heidegger's conception Cf Nothingness (although Sartre did not call specific W 54 Ibid., p. 98. 55 . Ibid., p. 268. “.5 1.351 at"- misfits. «we-'1'? 31 BF-Eflluci’xenuf; smurf LI_9:.-; brat-IQI'EE I'_|' 3:395. .flfil‘l'd :r'. f ."‘: . J1. .I-I __-.-_! -' -__'_| J I. '- ‘-‘}§L‘s::“.‘,.= wt 1“ dial! this Parm‘ical‘ ables mcimsness ‘5 mid. Sartre. as we toview the statement ‘ 'Being is; Non-being 1‘ : less, since consciousnc ii I I hming to the known. E I - sciousness, Sartre fel idea of nothingness ir ! by avoiding total coir the knowing-known disl 37 attention to this fact within Psychology of the Imagin— ation) . Nothingness for Sartre, however, is _not an ob- jective or transcendental reality. Instead nothingness is a factor immanent in the human consciousness.56 Pre- cisely this paradoxical ingredient (of nothingness) enafles consciousness to distinguish itself from the world. Sartre, as one of his critics suggests, seems to View the statement of Parmenides to the effect that ‘Being is; Non—being is not,” as condemning conscious- ness, since consciousness implies a movement from the knowing to the known. To safeguard the notion of con— sciousness, Sartre felt it necessary to introduce the idea of nothingness into the concept of being.57 Only bY avoiding total coincidence with the real world could the knowing—known distinction be maintained, and the identity of consciousness preserved intact. ____________________________________________________ 56T. Alec Burkill, God and Reality in Modern Thought (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice‘Hall’ Incorporated), p. 195. 57 , , Hubert Juin, J. P. Sartre ou la Condition EflEflflé (Brussels: Editions Boetie, 1946): PP- 63‘64' amm- '- ,eé91-I1r:. Isj:ar.b-'as-.-m.sv.v 1m s.-.t-_"‘-‘-"' , . animal *2 I ms .58 spiqa, .. 31‘] I éafidasne fnl'.‘lf.nU'_'- mm 1,. .. é' -' a: ' " \ _ _ . Mead“ “Feet °f whit}; another 13an buses the terms SYN-m? lately related is the n with consciousness, tha consciousness as "entix Freedom and cor negative characterizat, l i 38 One of Sartre's commentators has suggested that Sartre introduced negativity into his view of conscious- rmss because he tended to identify positivity with de— teUMhism and wished to preserve a free and spontaneous mnmciousness.58 Spiegelberg argued that for Sartre, 'fhe negative aspect of consciousness is closely con— rmcted with another basic feature, its freedom; in fact, . 59 . . he uses the terms synonymously at times." So inti— mately related is the notion of nothingness or negativity wifliconsciousness, that Sartre typically characterizes . . . . . 6O conSCiousness as “entirely tearing away, non-COinCidence.” Freedom and consciousness (especially in its negative characterization) are intimately related, be- cause “it is the nature of consciousness to distinguish itself from past and present and to posit future ends w 58 . . . Sister Mary Aloysius, “Freedom and the I : hiExistential Critique,” International PhilOSO hical Quarterly, III (Dec. 1963), p- 578- 59 . Spiegelberg, The Phenomenological Movement, II, p. 415. 60 Gilbert Varet, L'Ontologie de Sartre (Paris: Presses Universitaries de Frace, 1948), P- 138° 591m iii-imam '3‘! bonus: ”.1 .--.v- new" We" -..- 'I_.'-- a» :-_.—~.!_,_ ' ' --'-7 .- ___-.' . :?-_"'! al‘t. .I-EJ- ‘1".‘Ca Dita 5911'. u _._.L._ " Mfruit. in “'01 assented Sartre's id his ability to set its threal that constitut Sartre relates the two has even more direct-.11 For a consciousnes i it must be able to '1...” II My nature, it mu ff; efforts to withdra I. "01d, it must be f I .;I Indeed, as Iris Murdoc int. . _ III I thennbility of the or IL'.| ' ..-_~:.. i \ tit. -' 61 III.Ii.I ie‘ David 0. R0: i!“- M (New York. 0 lI-n. “Wk 19 . X ' 59). p. 209. .I 62 I Sartre, LSY 63F ernando Mc {991°in Cliffs N. I nous, 1962) ' I I ' P. 84. 64 Sartre, pg, 39 asrmm yet actualized. Consciousness is, as such,pro— "61 jection toward possibilities. Consciousness, in order to perform the imaginative function proper to it, must,Sartre argues, "hold the real at a distance, free . . . . 62 . Uself from it, in a word, deny it." Fernando Molina inflerscored Sartre's idea, when he wrote: "It is just Hus ability to set itself over against the totality of Hm real that constitutes the freedom of consciousness.”63 Sartre relates the two concepts of freedom and conscious— ness even more directly, when he wrote: For a consciousness to be able to imagine, it must be able to escape the world by its very nature, it must be able by its own efforts to withdraw from the world. In a word, it must be free.64 Indeed, as Iris Murdoch pointed out, ”~ - - freedom is ‘Um mobility of the consciousness, that is our ability W 61. . .. .. DaVid O. Roberts, EXistentialism and Religious §§ll§£ (New York: Oxford University Press; a Galaxy Book, 1959), p. 209. 62 . , Sartre, Psychology of the Imagination, p. 266. Fernando Molina, Existentialism as Philosophy (EHQlewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall Publica- tlons, 1962), p. 84. 64 63 Sartre, Psychology of the Imagination, p. 267. I-' J I ., ga __dguiwi I.I-'1 9‘0 ijbni'E-VJF'i {..er m-m‘. 4n: -: .1 11bit; filial“ “ihihtion q M the use it makt meimsnese lives up l is real with meaning - " Existentialist Thought, irinsiey wrote: It is only because pacity of detaching than itself that ii I relation with objei I as “table“ because I I myself.“ kaqlnative consciousn 4O u>withdraw from absorption in the world, to set things . 65 at a distance." This freedom gained by the imaginative conscious- nessin its nihilation of the world, is of crucial im- gfltance to human action. As Siegfried Kracauer declared, “Umough the use it makes of its freedom, imaginative consciousness lives up to its intrinsic task of endowing the real with meaning.”66 Ronald Grimsley, in his book Existentialist Thought, underscored this same suggestion. Grimsley wrote: It is only because consciousness has this ca- Pacity of detaching itself from what is other than itself that it can come into meaningful relation with objects. The "table” appears as ”table” because I treat it as other than myself.67 Imaginative consciousness, in short, is ”not an empirical amisuperadded power of consciousness; it is the whole ——______________._____———— 65 , . . . Iris Murdoch, Sartre: Romantic Rationalist (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1959), p- 56- 66 . . . Siegfried Kracauer, “ConSCiousness, Free and Spontaneous,” Saturday Review of Literature, XXXI (June 26, 1948), p. 22, 6 . . I 7Ronald Grimsley, Existentialist Thou ht (Car- dlfifl Wales: University of Wales Press, 1960), p. 96- Irma-151 sis _l-Qd’sJ-‘9ntdflmi- eff: -_-d i‘mr'l-Erg tut-99:1 .=...‘i'|' Eu 5 ’h. ' nJ aw'. Ifimflhfin t s. u. Zuidema's .- . . . I " ." mri IEIHJI" 1o 5; .m. thin to this discuss action between freedom height: he philosophy of j at the same time a ness. Human subjet and the existential into one.70 b . “ - .- . f i‘, .i‘ u 68 , , togsaxltneasllzes :Lts Lfr‘eefdiom- "r ;'_ As, ~ 4 ashort While, 'gfliicilik‘fiiifinfime‘fieflimuen because man:isutn§n§g§ndentally free thatghe is” ~Z-»,- ' " , "69 ears maslne- e » _§. i 3*. 3§m fl. zuddema's words serve as a fitting con— 'gfl§§ien to this discussion. As he summarized the con— nection between freedom and consciousness in Sartre's ; thought: The philosophy of freedom found in Sartre is at the same time a philosophy of conscious— ness. Human subjectivity is consciousness and the existential act of freedom rolled into one.70 Concluding Remarks ' ’ By the time the four works discussed in this chapter were completed, Sartre had provided himself I : Wflflithe conceptual framework upon which the foundations I ____________________________________________________ 6BSartre, Psychology of the Imagination, p- 270- 69 . 1 Ibid., p. 271. I 70 Zuidema, Sartre, p. 19. {If '03:? wilasnshrrhoanees c? r." I I himtpurpose in writ . '.:!'i I . I I My termination of i ' this investigation. i p7, " its: ease guess-'11.: 1': .m sfiintttained implicitly in his earlier whitest-7e and synthesize these ideas and theories '76:? meaningful, coherent whole. ~ Such was Sartre's dominant purpose in writing Being and Nothingness, a lengthy examination of which follows in Chapter II of 5 this investigation . I. 'e',“ : “I w” I 11!)” I.I!!TI' in!” .11. ilflibflqnfl rye:..t5'rn¢-.:: an-niJ-TBE'PL'E Ex": I - .II I . '.'.|.-- -'. .-,v- ' I l'-- 1.3-111 {sue aha-c... _., ' ""“L'fl' A - 3| Free activity ca tribackdrop provided 1: Satire. Human freedom 1 liar relation to this i it could not exist out: in maintains, in fact, ' l ,_. i l .. ~33 , ie‘%;. a M!9_¢4_.u: ‘ THU,- 1....11' z! abs! " " ' .- v‘: I I ‘ I7 .~\'_ I ~ 5. . ._:,r ih-Il‘..'.-.1-‘-:' ,ansTER II 2:05 'ISEING AND NOTHINGNESS Be ing—in- itsel f IFree activity can be understood only against the dark backdrop provided by Being-in—itself according to . foe. . . Sartre. Human freedom (Being—m—itself) is bound in a polar relation to this somber partner, Being-in—itself, and could not exist outside of this polar relation. Sar— tre maintains, in fact, that Being—for—itself without Being-in—itself is a mere abstraction and could no more l exist, than a color could exist without a form, or a . i ' i sound could exist without pitch and timbre. Being-for ' I itself is, for Sartre, synonymous with free and spon— taneous consciousness. Since like Husserl, Sartre main— \ tains that "all consciousness is consciousness of some— \ thing," there must of necessity be a something,of which M l Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 621. 43 to halvith itself, and c? homestesflz Hurdor‘ Homeless; it escape: iivlich we imagine it llsloquentin discovers Ill-itself in J. M. Spie the chaotic and mea it is not related t transcend itself . reason or cause, or John Wild sugge Ititself shows intere: 44 Being—for—itself can be conscious. This something is, in Sartre‘s theory, Being-in—itself. Being—in—itself (to be henceforth abbreviated In-itself) is, in the words of Jean Wahl, "always iden— tical with itself, and corresponds with what is extended 2 . . for Descartes." Murdoch describes In-itself as ”brute and nameless; it escapes from the scheme of relations in which we imagine it to be so rigidly enclosed."3 (As Roquentin discovered, much to his horror, in Nausea“)£ In—itself in J. M. Spier's words is: the chaotic and meaningless being of nature; it is not related to itself . . . does not transcend itself . . . is only there. without reason or cause, only by chance.4 John Wild suggests that Sartre's conception of In—itself shows interesting parallels to materialism even though, as Wild himself points out, Sartre rejects 2Jean Wahl, A Short History of Existentialism (New York: The Philosophical Library, 1949), p. 28. 3 . . . Murdoch, Sartre: Romantic Rationalist, p. 26. 4 . . . . J. M. Spier, Christianity and EXistentialism, trans. David H. Freeman (Philadelphia: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing House, 1953) , P- 72' ' .uilmef: awn-ma mi Iii-"13613306” ed on) That-flint:L-l'ln‘iisfi . mic .. i- 'r —,...;w.’s" [stat-I -n'.-.l_ ..- -- . ..' . '.- ' - ‘ ' ’3' -. '. ain.” at 'i 59.1. r. ._..- . \ “Hun “Half: a be): —. I l I nights, and thusifl '7' structure.5 ' ‘ h-itseli seems to coinc hiartre (although he lisvnsatisfaction, hi thin-itself is like ‘ In, the free For—itsel i” i WPhous realm. He tr in."- . i {'5' I held characterized by I I Might] ! i ,. Iii-f same thus der i, i 5 ctitre ‘l'i! , ' and causal l is; / 5 45 materialism in its unqualified form. In—itself for example is: .. . inert and inactive. It is fully com— plete, with no room for potency. Finally it is a huge atomic plenum, wholly enclosed within itself, a being—in rather than a being—to, and thusis non—relational in structure.5 ' hritself seems to coincide with materiality in general for Sartre (although he has never clarified, even to ins own satisfaction, his notion of matter). Even bet- . . . . . 6 ter,In—itself is like “Aristotle's prime matter.” Mam the free For—itself, brings form and order to this mmmphous realm. He transforms brute In—itself into a wmfld characterized by the law and structure of rational . 7 thought. Sartre thus denies physical potency, internal structure, and causal powers to In—itself, all apparently 5John Wild, The Challenge of Existentialism (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1959), p.92. 6 . . . . . AlVin Plantinga, ”An Existentialist's Ethics,” Renew of Metaphysics, XII (December, 1958), p. 246. 7Ibid. 1,,1 tr: l 3% , unlike the ire is'lissive, full, dense‘ mud no past and it me.'10 These temporal vuthis silent realm 1: inelf provided this (1: this novel The Repr iei There had been, and cold glare upon tho: the black sky; the a ahsolute without car tilthout past or futi .ortuitous, splendii :short, In-itself sim 46 t he can restrict genuine action to the human . 8 . ,. , . ,.. . . sphere Even the becoming reek Ericsritsrelzf; 311$ a‘hsrssgaid - ”he” and immobile becoming,‘ according to Sartre's theory.9 In-itselfI, unlike the free and s-pontane'ous-For—itself, is "massive,*:full, dense and compact; it has no his— tory rand-.,no past and it has neither present nor fu- lO . . ture." These temporal dimenSions are conferred upon this silent realm by man, the For—itself. Sartre himself provided this dramatic description of In-itself in his novel The Reprieve: There had been, and forever would be that cold glare upon those black stones under the black sky; the absolute forever; the absolute without cause, or sense, or purpose, without past or future, save a gratuitous, fortuitous, splendid permanence.ll In short, In-itself simply _ip; it is Being itself, pure positivity, pure coincidence. 8Wild, op. cit., p. 161. 91. M. Bochenski, Contemporary European Phil— osophy (Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1961), p. 175. l . . ODesan, The Tragic Finale, p. 36. llJean-—Paul Sartre, The Reprieve, trans. Eric Sutton (New York: Bantam Books, 1960), p. 272. .u ‘L‘i'jlilt - I 0 an engul ' :12 Indeed. the “I05 is itself as typically desc fictional and philosophf ature; the quality In-: uenglue the free spon uetstion which threat h-itself stands ready Eli'i‘lhood of In-itself liiiidity of the For- it iiiraSp of Being, the “.I . ~44 S CORSClOllSl’lESS am In-itself, in - 47 This very positivity, Sartre associates with a threat to the freedom of the For—itself. Being, con— ceived of as In—itself becomes for Sartre the "enemy of freedom, . . . an engulfing trap, a snare of free— dom.“12 Indeed, the most outstanding feature of In— itself as typically described by Sartre, both in his fictional and philosophical accounts, is its viscous nature; the quality In—itself possesses which threatens to englue the free spontaneity of For—itself. Like the vegetation which threatens to engulf deserted cities, In—itself stands ready to engulf For-itself. The brute thinghood of In—itself stagnates and solidifies the liquidity of the For-itself's freedom.13 The smother- ing grasp of Being, thus viewed, promises to extinguish man's consciousness and destroy his free spontaneity. In—itself, in the form of human flesh, repre— sents the same basic threat as has already been sugges— ted with reference to a fictional example chosen from 12Aloysius, op. cit., p. 579. l3Stern, Sartre: His Philosophy and Psycho— m, p. 169. 9‘ 0f the conscil Mamie: "The nudit riseninto her face? the sine reabsorbs fOISake this instance had bee ill-itself. The For-itself recarious position of i sin-itself for his ex tires consciousness by hatvhich threatens to sclnsness. man, the For aver ' ' finally-Victorior \ l4 Sartre, The l 48 s Nausea. Fleshly desires clog the pores of {@QHSciousness, slow its selfecre’a‘tive movement, and. sap ‘ 1 {‘1 i‘k '2‘ ‘t‘fi' ,3 ‘f‘ " a. a, ”I .» ". "a ,n p its Very life—blood. Sartre described such a case of 17113? smothering of the consciousness by bodily desires in 30:. II .. . these words: "The nudity of that feminine body had riSen into her face; the body had reabsorbed it, as ’ l4 . nature reabsorbs forsaken gardens." ConSCiousness l in this instance had been swallowed up in the womb of In—itself. The For—itself (man) then finds himself in the precarious position of being dependent upon the realm of In—itself for his existence, and yet threatened as a free consciousness by its sucking grasp. In need of that which threatens to destroy his spontaneity and con- sciousness, man, the For—itself,fights an unrelenting, never finally—victorious battle with In—itself. l4Sartre, The Reprieve, p. 300. hicontological dichoti naps, more than anyth igthrough when nothing hinconsciousness and isnothingness which re hn's lack of total seli liable his consciousne fit of this paradoxical =slur-itself is conscit icanbe separated fror hitis. and from what ‘ 158a 16 rtre, Beinc Ib\1d,' p. 28 17 49 Being—for—itself Being—for—itself (which Sartre takes to be co— exUnmive with man) forms the second half of Sartre's basic ontological dichotomy. Man, the For—itself, is pefiums, more than anything else, for Sartre, ”the be- hm through whom nothingness comes into the world."15 mmmn consciousness and freedom are made possible by flm nothingness which resides in the heart of man. Mars lack of total self—coincidence, that which makes possflfle his consciousness and freedom, is a direct re- mflt of this paradOXically valuable nothingness. Man asEbr—itself is conscious and free to the extent that hm cmibe separated from his own past or future, from whatis, and from what will be. ”Freedom is the human behg putting his past out of play by secreting his own noflflhgness . . . .”16 Sartre adds: ”Freedom coincides Wiflithe nothingness which is at the heart of man. Human ' ' ' ' I117 reality is free because it is not enough. 15Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 24. l6Ibid., p. 28. l7Ibid., p. 440. i as pori inerpetual tension; Fei pits past, present 9 stated “suspense, a ct Ii ambivalence . “ 18 As Sartre himsel :declear. For-itself 1 '71 its double-separat io sliousness. the most be sited, the For- itself i v: its negative relatic 50 The For—itself, because of this lack, this void, this rift of being which is within him, is in constant flight; he is in constant pursuit of Being and of self- hood. For—itself as portrayed by Sartre is in a state of perpetual tension; For—itself, because it never is jps_t its past, present or future, finds itself in a state of "suspense, a condition of imbalance, anguish and ambivalence."l8 As Sartre himself, and his critics as well, have made clear, For—itself may perhaps best be characterized by its double—separation. As Sartre‘s analysis of con- sciousness, the most basic feature of For—itself, im— plied, the For—itself is first of all defined in terms of its negative relationship to the opaque realm of In— itself, that is to say, For—itself constantly renews its spontaneity and individuality by declaring of each manifestation of In—itself in turn that if: is not a, nOt b, and so on. For—itself, then, is first a separ— ation, through negation, from the world of In—itself; 18Patka, Existentialist Thinkers and Thought, P- 36. n _ transcenden hepast and the present vtte future, the For-i sin-itself, leaves it The law of the l suscend without ceasir native movement which as. spells the death 1 i‘iStruction of freedom. tote. "For-itself neve 51 it separates itself from this phase of Being by its very conscious activity, but also from its own (past and present) self by projection into the future. By its power of transcendence, For—itself constitutes l9 . . . . the past and the present. By prOjecting itself in— to the future, the For—itself constitutes its own past . . . . . . , 20 as In-itself, leaves it behind as solidified Being. The law of the For—itself is: "To be is to transcend without ceasing.” Cessation of this self— creative movement which characterizes human conscious— ness, spells the death of this consciousness and the destruction of freedom. As one of Sartre's critics wrote, "For—itself never is, but continually has to 21 . . - be.” Man E his freedom, in the Sartrean schema; but this freedom is not the freedom to be a thing, to l9 . . Frederick Copleston, S. J., Contemporary Phil— osophy: Studies in Logical Positivism and Existential— fl (London: Burns and Oates, 1956), p. 187. 20Ibid. 21 Helmut Kuhn, "Existentialism,’ in A History Of Philosophical Systems, Vergilius Ferm ed. (New York: The PhiIOSOphical Library, 1950) , P- 413' I I II I I 61:15,"). 3;: m fibula-airway , . . .. ": .. ‘ - H i. '3' 'aagzq b"; ".mrflb‘i 5H1 01M! {10:15-31:32 ., Ed NJ; I '1 - 0' 'h ' pl' '5 “:1“in is lden l -=-' ' ' ;r,- 1' nu -'-'..!'.'.*' -'! i = '. z'. ._ an; . 1 t1 7....L'Iufij £11.?" .. _-a - . . finitely. For-itself ‘ I nlogical sense of that hsaid to stand out fr herest of reality.23 For-itself requires thi ”We simply identi even his own conduct. t-—-—,.-1.'.*:r: :r-'_ ":. 'condemned to exist fo: his COHdemned to be canbe achieved by any Essence of the human 13 ; i 52 be as In—itself is, for such would constitute the death . . . . 22 of.&eedmnand the elimination of conSCiousness. In the strict sense of the term, For-itself lg not,if Being is identified with pure positivity. More acmuately, For—itself can be said to eszist in the ety- nmlogical sense of that word. That is, For—itself can be said to stand out from, to separate itself from, . 23 the rest of reality. The fundamental structure of For—itself requires this constant refusal on man’s part to become simply identified with anything whatsoever, evenlfis OWn conduct. As a free For—itself, man is “condemned to exist forever beyond his essence . . . . . 24 . . . Heis condemned to be free.” No solidified essence cmibe achieved by any living For—itself, because ”the essence of the human being is suspended in his freedom.”25 2 . . Collette Audry in Pour et Contre L'EXisten- tialisme, p. 21. 23Olson, An Introduction to Existentialism, p. 55. 24Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 439. 2SIbid., p. 25. h. for freedan define: iichthrusts the For-i1 mf'mal definition. ! orrealizes its essence That which defines is past (as if esse predetermining one' and ' V . ”Ref (LOHdon: 53 For—itself, then, is "Human reality, Freedom, Abmflute Freedom, Nothingness (compared to the massive beng of In—itself) or even Nihilation."26 No fixed amifinal essence can rob the For—itself of its free- dmm for freedom defines the For—itself, a freedom much thrusts the For—itself constantly ahead of his own final definition. The For—itself defines itself, or realizes its essence by the choice of his ends. That which defines a person is not that which is past (as if essence were already possessed predetermining one's existence)but the future. 27 Human reality, lacking a predetermining essence, must create its own essence through freely-directed ac— timn For Sartre, “first there exists finite man, only . . . . 28 . . later does he gain his pos1tive essence.” This “p051— tive essence” gained through decisive action should not beregarded as being strictly definitive of man in any 26 . Desan, op. Cit., p. 23. 2 . . . . 7Regis Jolivet, Les Doctrines EXistentialist de Kierkegaard a J. P. Sartre (Abbaye Saint Wandrille, France: Editions de Fontanelle, 1948), p. 221. 28 . . . J. Von Rintelen, Beyond EXistentialism, trans. Hflda Graef (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1961), P.29. misting of his solidi mung future dimens atactions might point rdsignificance of suc In; as the For—itself hly after that For—its ationshecome past (t1 stable and immobile) c: Ming him be derived 54 ail Sense, however. Even though for Sartre "being , . . . . . 29. . an is an articulated «unit-y of, actions, " no For— ..v 5.: itself can be reduced Simplyto his actions as such. 13!; ‘..' 52‘ Any particular For—itself is a synthetic whole, a whole consisting Iof his solidified past and his meaning- bestowing future dimension. While an action or series ofba‘ctions might point in a given direction, the meaning and significance of such actions lies in abeyance as long as the For—itself in question is still alive. Only after that For—itself has died so that all of his actions become past (that is to say become In—itself, stable and immobile) can any definitive statement con- cerning him be derived. For the dead,‘ and only for the dead, "the chips are down.” This is because at death man loses his power of transcendence and sinks to the level of total self—coincidence; joins once more the realm of In— itself . 29Justus Streller, Sartre: To Freedom Condemned: A Guide to His Philosophy (New York: The Philosophical Library, 1960), p. 22. mm and forever fl housing the first 0f ‘1 timofman's total fre heme to qualify and 1 leecritics have note total freedom of the F shift from the more Re In Sartre's earlier 1)! Reinhardt, for exampl‘ thewit'ness, the serv For Sartre man become 5‘5 "Sartre’s Basic Doctrine of Freedom ' CU! Mum: am: W- r. In Being and Nothingness/\Sartre declares: 3 . , ‘1 , ' C . 1 "Man cannot he sometimes slave and sometimes free; he H 5. is wholly and forever free or he is not free at all."30 - I Choosing the first of these alternatives, the asser— . 3 tion of man's total freedom, Sartre's greatest task became to qualify and defend this absolutistic thesis. \ {Some critics have noted that this emphasis upon the total freedom of the For-itself, marked a significant shift from the more Heideggerian conception implicit in Sartre's earlier persuasions. According to Kurt Reinhardt, for example, in Heidegger's View, man is \ -,\\ the witness, the servant, the "shepherd” of Being./J For Sartre man becomes (inStead “the master of Being. ,--. H'Man's absolute freedom knows of no obedience, no r ‘, . . . . 31 . 1 serVice, no humility, no response to Being, " in the \ \ . . (work now under conSideration. M 30 . Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 441. l . . . Kurt Reinhardt, The EXistentialist Revolt (New York: Frederick Ungar, 1960) , P- 175- \ mm. for its W“ “1 insistence upon such a hisreassertion of a th Kierkegaard; namely, th raggests that Sartre' s cm set limits to humal aardian in tone.33 ‘Such a view of iammatible with a be haially a God who be: iaissac smmarized San iEllis free, then the “1 eliSts, then man \ 32 ’Gonzague T1: = Editions Tis 33 [Paris 56 V 0”" I Faiths-ideal of Sartre, at least during this phase A" is career) became a total and radical- freedom, an absolute freedom which depended upon nothing, not even 32 “V" itself, for its own existence. For Molina, Sartre's insistence upon such a radical view of freedom is only his reassertion of a thesis first proposed by Soren \\ €1,352“ Q.5_,L(xr.,.,glfe6..e;'.ebi’ F,” ., Kierkegaard; namely/)‘that freedom is infinite.i Molina - if. “.6! ‘ are. 1......- suggests that Sartre's conviction that only decisiveness /. x) can set limits to human freedom,(is essentially Kierke— . . 33‘ gaardian in tone. f: 1>Such a view of freedom was, at least for Sartre, incompatible with a belief in the existence of God, es— pecially a God who bestows a nature upon man. As Henri Paissac summarized Sartre's ideas in this respect, "If man is free, then the hypothesis of God is absurd; if . . 34 God eXists, then man is not free." In the words of '“ ’Gonzague Truc, De J. P. Sartre a L. Lavelle (Paris: Editions TissSt, 1946), p. 97. 33Molina, Existentialism as Philosophy, p. 111. 34Henri Paissac, gnaw (Paris: Ar- thaud, 1950), p. 14. m we point, 331’“: ...itis inhis feels his greatest God's non-existenc an essentialist G< his existence and by the necessary 1 has Collins wrote 81 the beginning of man' Godhas been banished bscene free. “37 Whether or nc 57 J. M. Spier, "If the idea of God is seriously considered, human freedom requires, therefore the death of God . . . ,35 as its necessary corollary.' Kingston, speaking to the same point, expressed Sartre's attitude thus: . . . it is in his avowed atheism that Sartre feels his greatest freedom, not in proving God's non—existence, but in revolting against an essentialist God whose essence involves his existence and who governs His creatures by the necessary laws of His nature.36 James Collins wrote succinctly, "The denial of God is the beginning of man's self-development . . . only after God has been banished as a living belief does man really become free."37 ./ ' Whether or not Sartre's rejection of God was as necessary to his doctrine of freedom as he seemed to be- lieve, is a matter of some dispute. One might wish to argue, for example, that Sartre is actually rebelling against only one particular conception of God, namely, 3 . . 5Spier, op. Cit., p. 64. 36 . . Kingston, Op. Cit., p. 135. 37 James Collins, The Existentialists: A Criti- cal Study (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1952), p. 79. a. snaps his views couli uthat they could ac( hiddiffered from, o: ureestablished relig While such a 1 enmgh, it will not be estigation. The reas he first is that bee: based his ideas, bol [1955}, any conclusi01 teal. He has been s 'ims Of his system t My of any tllPe, an 58 the stylized essentialist God of the more orthodox Christian tradition. Such being the case, Sartre's atheism is postulatory only in a qualified sense. Perhaps his views could be interpreted in such a man- ner that they could accommodate some notion of God which differed from, or was even at odds with, the more established religious traditions. While such a line of argument seems plausible enough, it will not be pursued any further in this in- vestigation. The reasons for this are two in number. The first is that because of the way Sartre has ex— pressed his ideas, both in 1943 and at the present time (1965) , any conclusions reached would be purely conjec- tural. He has been silent concerning possible altera— tions of his system to allow for the existence of a Deity of any type, and like LaPlace, seems to ”have no need of that hypothesis.” Second, and perhaps more important, is that Sartre in fact felt the rejection of God's existence to be necessary, and this apparently because of his view of human freedom. Since the goal Of this study is, after all, to examine Sartre's ' J intakes at key junch rm. Such speculati senate study-I; \Sartre's athei: this study essential thnegativistic manne: conceived human freedo ii: philosophical care 59 developing conception (or conceptions) of freedom and the consequences which followed from it, the tracing of alternative paths of argument which Sartre could have taken at key junctures in his theory, seems super- fluous. Such speculations are best reserved for a separate study.)L 5‘ Sartre's atheism is of considerable interest to this study essentially because it further reveals the negativistic manner in which Sartre has typically conceived human freedom. Even from the inception of his philosophical career, freedom (and consciousness) have been characterized negatively. Freedom is, Sartre suggests, synonymous with non—coincidence, tearing away, unrest, nothingness, void of Being, lack of external restraint, and pure autonomy. , 5 (Several reasons have been offered for Sartre's choice of this basic approach, the most current of which is related to his experiences under German oppression. F. H. Heinem‘ann, for instance, asserts that, "Sartre's Philosophy arises from the experience of freedom under ah! the German occupa us that Sartre's vid isoppressive forces w' hand his fellows. E [at that both Fichte a the notions of freedc being occupied by enemj unoccupation of the llSoccepied by the Fr Philip Thody a litre was behind bar}: 38 F. H ' liedicam . Heine] “13% (New York 39 Stern, 9L 60 the [German] dictatorship."38 Alfred Stern, who him— self served in the French Army, suggests that Sartre did not develop his doctrine of radical freedom while infler the German occupation, by mere chance. Stern holds that Sartre's views were in direct reaction to flm oppressive forces which were being exerted upon hnnand his fellows. Stern calls attention to the fact that both Fichte and Sartre developed their ex— treme notions of freedom while their countries were behm'occupied by enemy troops; Sartre under the Ger— mmioccupation of the 1940's and Fichte while Prussia was occupied by the French troops of Napoleon I.39 Philip Thody argues succinctly, ”It was while Sartre was behind barbed wire, he says, that he dis- covered the true nature of liberty and decided to be- 40 Ill come a 'militant democratic writer. Georges Lukacs, F. H. Heinemann, Existentialism and the Modern Predicament (New York: Harper Brothers Torchbook, 1958), P- 113. 3 9Stern, op. cit.,‘p. 84. 4 . . . OPhilip Thody, Sartre: A Literary and Politi— EiLnggy (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1960), p. 41. lil desire was eSPeCi IDigests, because Fran cutie republic. Sar'c mm, for Lukac desire for freedcm in Simone de Beal my help to cast lighi conceive of freedom m hing insistence upon Sartre had been held suewhat over a year, ieauvoii noticed some side. She writes: 61 a Marxist critic of Sartre, holds that Sartre's theory of freedom represents more than anything else, the strong desire for freedom which was felt in occupied France. fins desire was especially strong in France, Lukacs suggests, because France had traditionally been a demo- cratic republic. Sartre's pronouncements in Being and Nethingness, for Lukacs at least, simply reveal this desire for freedom in its most intense form.41 Simone de Beauvoir relates an incident which may help to cast light both on Sartre's tendency to conceive of freedom negatively, and upon his uncomprom— ising insistence upon absolute freedom as pure autonomy. Sartre had been held prisoner in a German Stalag for somewhat over a year, and immediately after his release, Beauvoir noticed some significant changes in his atti— tude. She writes: What did disorient me was the stringency of his moral standards. Did I buy things on the black market? A little tea, occasibnally, 41 . . , . George Lukacs, EXistentialisme ou MarXisme? (Paris: Les Editions Nagel, 1948), p- 104- la Itold him- Even Gradually I began t of affairs had cane daily confronted w: and quietists, the lag formed a sort temity, whose m spoken oath--never all concessions .42 (his nation of the "o ruler external pres sur lySartre in his Criti Freedom thus conceived anything else, the fre ‘.ilePrometheus, reali magainst a backgrc stifle it. To argue simp] lSthe mere resultant if the Germans, or lai Imce, would be both : her. A more adequat‘ 5hire is concerned, ' \_______________ 42 . BeauVOir, ,T_ 62 I told him. Even this was too much . . . . Gradually I began to understand how this state of affairs had come about. Since they were daily confronted with Germans, collaborators, and quietists, the anti—Fascists in the Sta- lag formed a sort of small, tight—knit fra— ternity, whose members were bound by an un— spoken oath——never to compromise, to reject all concessions.42 (This notion of the "oath" as a means of forming groups under external pressures, was to be employed extensively by Sartre in his Critigue de la Raison Dialectigpe.) Freedom thus conceived, became for Sartre more than mwthing else, the freedom to say no; to reject. Man, like Prometheus, realizes the true depth of his freedom pply against a background of consistent attempts to stifle it. To argue simply that Sartre's theory of freedom is the mere resultant of his experiences while a prisoner Oftme Germans, or later an active agent in the Resis— tmkm, would be both specious and most un—Sartrean, how— ever. A more adequate approach, certainly so far as Sartre is concerned, would be to suggest that the German W— 42Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, p. 381. eupation furnished th htwithin which Sartr lillions of people, aft pition, but they did no not, like Sartre, emplo neatedSartre's theor meet of external fac iceFor-itself Sartre upon these facts, empl in: his free projects. c\ Regardless of l the fact remains that E imdoes typically take ivinPlantinga has sm lihas some five aspec rid of freedom from. in the passions (for hand, For—itself is 31-0 centrum or Ego t l“filer-itself is free 63 occupation furnished the material and outlined the con- text within which Sartre then freely spun out his theory. Millions of people, after all, were also under the occu- pation, but they did not react as did Sartre. They did not, like Sartre, employ the very experience of oppres— sion as the basis for a theory of human freedom. What created Sartre's theory of freedom, in other words, was no set of external facts,- but the manner in which as a free For-itself Sartre conferred meaning and significance upon these facts, employing them as the inert material for his free projects. a Regardless of how such a perspective was attained, the fact remains that Sartre's characterization of free— dom does typically take the form of freedom from. As Alvin Plantinga has summarized Sartre's view of freedom, it has some five aspects; each of which is cast in the mold of freedom from. First, the For-itself is free from the passions (for reasons previously discussed). Second, For—itself is free from motives because there is no centrum or Ego to which motives can adhere. Third, the For-itself is free from the In—itself which can P...” touch only being , not existence precedes and free from his essence. isiree from antecede ates values; he does For Sartre, a lothingpess, freedom flected in all of his addressed himself to This freedom esta petite for split cons. my fear of inferiority compl of this affirms S, Herbert Marcuse expre When he wrote: Freedom is the ve being and cannot most adverse cond in the hands of t \~_______ 43Plantinga, 140441. 44Roger Tr6is glen Expose et Criti 2litions Montaigne, ‘ 45Herbert Ma Eileen-Paul Sartre' ‘ enomenolo ical 64 tmxm only being, not non—being. Fourth, For—itself's existence precedes and formulates essence, so man is free from his essence. Fifth, and last, the For—itself is free from antecedently fixed values; For—itself cre— ates values; he does not discover them.43 I n For Sartre, at least the Sartre of Being and Nothingness, freedom permeates man's being and is re— flected in all of his activity. Roger Trgisfontaines addressed himself to this persuasion as follows: This freedom establishes all . . . . My ap— petite for split peas, my horror at the vis— cous, my fear of bombs, a nervous tick, the inferiority complex from which I suffer; all 44 of this affirms Sartre, I Choose freely . . . Herbert Marcuse expressed this notion even more strongly when he wrote: Freedom is the very structure of the human being and cannot be annihilated by the most adverse conditions; man is free even in the hands of the executioner.45 4 . . . . 3Plantinga, ”An EXistentialist's Ethics,” pp. 240—241. 44Roger Tr6isfontaines, Le Choix de J. P. Sar— tre: Exposé et Critique de L'Etre et le Néant (Paris; WW Editions Montaigne, 1945), p.28. 45 . . . Herbert Marcuse, ”EXistentialism: Remarks miJean-Paul Sartre's L'Etre et 1e Neant,” Philosophy dmiPhenomenological Research, VIII (March, 1948), p. 311. hatrengtb required appropriately enough, litanaon wrote: . . . man is comp lost everything, him. On a shatte without script, d ience, the actor mm scri 46 pt. Perhaps Natanson shou uSartre's view, to lines to speak at a Because his f Should view the world fies. He should rega aSthe prime matter f form his own world,- 6 Values, and create hi u’ For-itself extends \m—__ h. \' 46Natanson, ?- 73. 65 Maurice Natanson detects a genuine note of hope in Sartre's extreme doctrine of freedom, even in its absolute form (hope, that is, if For—itself can summon the strength required to assume this burden). Using, appropriately enough, the language of the theater, Natanson wrote: . . . man is completely free; since he has lost everything, everything is possible to him. On a shattered and deserted stage, without script, director, promoter, or aud— ience, the actor is free to improvise his own script.46 Perhaps Natanson should have said, “the actor is forced, in Sartre's view, to improvise if he is to have any lines to Speak at all." Because his freedom is absolute, the For—itself should View the world as a boundless field of possibili— ties. He should regard the quiescent realm of In—itself as the prime matter from which he, as For itself, can form his own world; establish his own hierarchy of values, and create his own meaning. The creative power of For—itself extends, paradoxically enough, Sartre M (L V 46Natanson, "Sartre's PhilOSOPhY Of Freedom," p. 73. liefrsedm of the For Our freedom: itself which we suffer. bypositing its en as inaccessible or causes our placing as unsunnountable to be surmounted To speak of obstacles ufar as Sartre is c- enents do not wear th- lhstacles are revealed thosen by a free For-1 Ban obstacle to one uclimb it. Even when one In is "too difficult" 5the does not take Liiinst the reality 0 \h_ m “Sartre, he; 66 maintains, even to the creation of his own obstacles. Obstacles and barriers to man's freedom are not super- imposed by some alien force; they are the results of the freedom of the For—itself. Sartre asserts: Our freedom itself creates the obstacles from which we suffer. It is freedom itself which by positing its end and by choosing this end as inaccessible or accessible with difficulty, causes our placing to appear to our projects as unsurmountable resistance or a resistance to be surmounted with difficulty.47 To speak of obstacles apart from freedom is nonsensical, so far as Sartre is concerned. Objects, states, and events do not wear the mark of obstacle on their sleeves. Obstacles are revealed only in terms of a project already chosen by a free For—itself. No mountain, even Everest, is an obstacle to one who has not made it his project to climb it. Even when one abandons a particular task because it iS "too difficult" or ”is impossible to accomplish, " Sartre does not take such instances to be evidence against the reality of man's freedom. Sartre argues W 47 . 0‘\ Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p- 495- like :11 Befilg'in'itSJ significance: positiv‘i drilent and opaque E _‘I For example. i has performed a given success. does not in : is project, decide t] dared. Indeed, depen‘ Proposed results had odd spur the resear 67 that For-itself must, even when he admits defeat still choose at which moment he takes the task to be proven impossible; the task itself remains dumb, inchoate, like all Being—in-—itself. Man and man alone can confer significance, positive or negative, upon the brute realm of silent and opaque Being. {For example, the fact that a particular researcher has performed a given experiment one hundred times without success, does not in and of itself, without reference to his project, decide that the experiment should be aban- doned. Indeed, depending upon the importance which the Proposed results had in his estimation, each failure could spur the researcher on to a still greater effort. That there have been past failures (also defined in terms of his free project) he cannot deny. That these failures by themselves necessitate one course of action, rather than another, he can deny as afree For-itself. ,X‘ There are for Sartre no absolute obstacles; no Obstacles, that is to say, to any and all free For- itselves regardless of their projects. There are only relative obstacles; obstacles which depend for their 4' 'r' “fairs, and then h hint such a state of inhes an enlightening Hy place or locat' freedom only if I the choice of an in Milwaukee and . my place in Milwa only because of m Ichoose simply t waukee to another, obstacle .48 Sartre' s thes: sistance which the For . ii! Wild, nor is this Sa , vstacles certainly ex' C - . .or their exrstence ‘_~_ reWires the exis ten States. "There can b m 48 _ ‘ Joseph Mlh intialism Thinkers 68 adstence upon a For—itself first having employed his Maginative consciousness;to project himself into the fumue in order to contemplate a yet unactualized state of affairs, and then having chosen to attempt to bring abmnzsuch a state of affairs. (Joseph Mihalich furn— ishes an enlightening example in this connection: My place or location is an obstacle to my freedom only if I make it an obstacle through the choice of an end. If I am a poor worker in Milwaukee and desire to go to Paris, then my place in Milwaukee is an obstacle——but only because of my chosen end or goal. If I choose simply to move from one part of Mil— waukee to another, then my place is not an obstacle.48 Sartre's thesis does not dissolve away the re— sistance which the For—itself discovers in the existing world, nor is this Sartre's intention. Resisting ob— stacles Certainly exist for Sartre; but they depend for their existence upon freedom. Conversely, freedom requires the existence of obstacles. Sartre clearly states, ”There can be a free For—itself only as engaged 4 . [D 8Joseph Mihalich, "Jean—Paul Sartre” in Exis— tmufialism Thinkers and Thought, Frederick Patka, ed., PolBl. fibfimhitoelf, is iinif. His being and slated to In-itself . ness. Just as conscio seething. so freedom rally, for Sartre, fr lactical. bi—polar, r- sciousness nor freedom For-itself, can exist Even the pres birth, heredity and e hmish proof that th Sartre maintains , " I Wen towards ends , inst as the given . ' l' I 69 in a resisting world." He soon adds, "Outside of this engagement, the notions of freedom, of determinism and . . 49 of necessrty lose all meaning." The world, the do— main of Innitself, is the complement of man, the For— itself. His being and his freedom stand inextricably related to In—itself. Freedom thus parallels conscious— ness. Just as consciousness is always consciousness o_f something, so freedom is always freedom to or more typi- cally, for Sartre, freedom from. Outside of this dia— lectical, bi—polar, relational context, neither con- sciousness nor freedom, those defining features of For—itself, can exist. Even the presence of factual givens such as birth, heredity and environment, and the like, do not furnish proof that the For—itself is unfree. In fact, Sartre maintains, ”It is by the very surpassing of the given towards ends, that freedom causes the given to exist as the given . . . the given is assumed in order to be surpassed."50 The given is, then, to be thought- M .;349 ! Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 483. 5 1,01bia., p. 508. 'l/ Hymnal ends. ouisunfree, or tha- some by a world of p chosen from the monol cue obstacles if and stacles by a free For mhis part, they rem lore strictly. sink b quagmire of In—itself What of those “it for man‘s free “Ch as one's birth, iesaid to be absolu thefact of his own doeSnot, of course, itself, a trivial a Whim, to be sure hose actions after 70 of not as a barrier to freedom, but as the tangible sign that ‘For—itself has conferred upon the domain of In—itself the character of obstacle because of his freely posited ends. The given does not prove that man is unfree, or that he is restricted in any a priori sense by a world of pre-established barriers. Things, chosen from the monolithic block of In—itself, can be- come obstacles if and only if they are made into ob— stacles by a free For-itself. Prior to such a choice on his part, they remain brute, impassive things, or more strictly, sink back into the undifferentiated quagmire of In—itself. What of those factual givens which seem not to ‘ at, wait for man's free selection, however? What of facts such as one's birth, for instance? How can For—itself be said to be absolutely free if he has no control over the fact of his own birth? Sartre answers that man does not, of course, ask to be born; but this is, in itself, a trivial admission. Man's birth is thrust upon him, to be sure, but he freely chooses to perform those actions after his birth which will enable him to afree and self-creati life, Sartre admits, b with involvement i chooses the world, th iii. and even erects his free activity. M temine for himself jl by, he will bestow u} The For—itsel: escape is to be found tits, and in his view EErethen seems to be liberty. Of course, 50h wrong in holdin hen its occurrence 1%, nan ' 5 freedom b 7l perflnmithose actions after his birth which will enable hhnto prolong his life. Even more important, man as a fine For—itself, chooses the meaning and significance much every action after his birth will have for him as afree and self-creative For—itself. Man is thrust into life, Sartre admits, but from what point on, his choice andlfls involvement in the world become his own. Man dxmses the world, the meanings things are to have for hhm and even erects his own hierarchy of obstacles to his free activity. Man can, if he so chooses, even de— tethe for himself just what special significance, if any,he will bestow upon the simple fact of his birth. The For-itself is condemned to die, however. No escape is to be found from this fact,as even Sartre ad— mits, and in his view there is no hope for immortality. fibre then seems to be a serious limitation upon man's hberty. Of course, if Kierkegaard and Heidegger Were bofliwrong in holding that death is a human possibility, flmn its occurrence would not detract from man’s free— dam man's freedom being defined as the For—itself's oftbe biman person . Death, for S the peculiar possibi n it was for Heideg isuerely a continge some a fact as bi side and trans forms in Sartre's view, t positivity of In-it iecmes the outside: ofBeing. When thi! to be Foreitself an: At death, t7 defined as a not-ye \m 511401 ina, 9 Ibid. 53 Sartre, l 72 . . . . . . l 'bapaClty to choose which pOSSibility to realize."5 Sartre argues that these two thinkers were both wrong, and that death is not to be viewed as a possibility 52 of the human person at all. Death, for Sartre, is not to be considered as the peculiar possibility of any individual For—itself, as it was for Heidegger. Rather, Sartre argues, death is merely a contingent fact. Sartre writes, ”Death is as pure a fact as birth; it comes to us from the out— .53 side and transforms us into the outside.’ At death, hisartre's view, the free For—itself merges with the positivity of In—itself, achieves total self—coincidence; becomes the outside; is swallowed up into the massiveness of Being. When this has occurred, the For—itself ceases to be For—itself any more. At death, the For—itself, which during life is defined as a not—yet, achieves the fullness of Being "o 51Molina, op. cit., p. 109. t 52Ibid. 53 Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 545. aim-itself. At th at last truly $.55 . mwords, “the chiP ., undergo its changes ' I for them. "56 If Sartre in heed the end of the sistance undermine He argues that it dc obstacle to my proje counters this limit be aware of anythiru 1ihit, the precious t- 54this” p. 1" 55 " Ibid. 561nm“ p l‘~’57rbia.. p .5, .... oarseughe. '4 _. Death endsvthe suseensi‘e A “ . Flor —«i-t s e I f , tr ansm‘u t ing’v rehefflumd, pressin- ‘e‘ f hsitselfdoAt- the moment- of death, the For-itself 1 e1 - ‘atrlagigyagr-ulye-L-SJSS ‘For the dead For—itself, in Sartre‘s if , r'ewnrweras, "the chips are down and it will henceforward . . - ‘uh'dergo' its changes without in any way being responsible for them."56 If Sartre insists so strongly that death is in- deed the end of the For-itself, does not this very in- sistence undermine his thesis of absolute human freedom? He argues that it does not. In his words, "death is an obstacle to my projects . . . because freedom never en— counters this limit."57 In order that the For—itself I be aware of anything, including its having reached a l I a l limit, the precious lack or rift of being which makes l - i ‘ ii 54Ibid., p. 115. .I '5 SSIbid. i 56Ibid., p. 543. 1i1571bid., p. 547. iisfiitiem easier”: {rid-~19 232 I 65151.65} 1% wt”) ti ‘ t! - 3 Less .1 i "n :“é possible its conscious present. However, dea of this very Iontologic oliiéidenceinto total tam into an i toconsciousness, fre change. Death substi Opaque Being. The co itself to be aware th reached, is consequen here a final, unavoi countered: (“Such a soluti lflpicurus, as Calvi Sartrean treatment of 0f Epicurean material i1. according - to Sch: 1iles, death is not; w 58 . Oahu: 0 . 5t0n, Illinois: Nor .5‘ 98. 74 gmmsible its consciousness and freedom, must still be present. However, death tsetsesssemy tfiegfilfdngiffii of this very ontological eleaVage; the bringing of.nonL coincidence into total coincidence; the transmutation cf a_not-yet into an ig, .Death,in short,brings an end tb consciousness, free reflection, and self—directed change. ‘Death substitutes for spontaneity, silent opaque Being. The consciousness necessary for a For— itself to be aware that a limit to its freedom has been reached, is consequently lacking at just that point where a final, unavoidable limit would have been en- counteredz Such a solution is, of course, basically that of Epicurus, as Calvin Schrag has pointed out. The Sartrean treatment of death is only a slight reworking of Epicurean materialism. This thesis can be summed up, according to Schrag, in the words, "As long as man lhms, death is not; when man dies, he is not.”58 W 5 . 8Calvin O. Schrag, EXistence and Freedom (Evan— Stmh Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1961), p0 98- L9; is," ,f- "7.1—. mar-itself m Fo Even supposin for the sake of argum lain some degree of c not still raise nume - thencre Specific l' . as environment , here tonention only a fe external forces be s one‘s conception of Proaches a mere para Sartre claim the potency or effic life. What he does 0fman's world can lhits to the freed r'lrnish the raw mat Ltself can build up 75 Death, in a sense, is still the final limit of any For- itself, as Sartre himself admits; but death is a non- restrictive limit which is impossible in principle for the For—itself gag For—itself to reach:> V Even supposing that one were to grant, if only for the sake of argument, that Sartre's arguments con— tain some degree of cogency to this point, could one not still raise numerous serious objections? What of the more specific limitations in the human world, such as environment, heredity, economic and social factors, to mention only a few? Can the effects of all these external forces be simply dismissed without turning one's conception of freedom into something which ap— proaches a mere paranoiac dream? Sartre claims that he does not and need not deny the potency or efficacy of such constituents of man's life. What he does deny, however, is that such aspects of man's world can in fact be considered as a priori limits to the freedom of For-itself. That such factors furnish the raw material from which any particular For— itSelf can build up his essence, Sartre never denies. - ..;'. , "' .1' .. I sld'lsntqas a.- .-i. .m‘ 1 m... n 1: 41.9801 .. taintheir status sol linen, the For-itse are an integral part Ian's projects is a - tion of anthropomorp land. Sartre's rea hinself is often car while the projects 0 resistance in the wc , I inadvance what prec / A have upon any given , llavery notion of : - , 0f the context of m in one For—itself a instance, will apps to the scenery . Th 76 That such factors necessitate, in a mechanical manner, mm line of development to the exclusion of another, Sartre repudiates. There could be no such a priori" restriction, Sartre argues, because even obstacles at— tain their status solely through the free positings of man, the For—itself. To maintain that obstacles are an integral part of the universe regardless of mars projects is a specious and dangerous manifesta— tion of anthropomorphism, which Sartre rejects out of hand. Sartre's real thesis seems to be, although he himself is often careless in his statement of it, that while the projects of For—itself will constantly meet resistance in the world, there is no way to determine hnadvance what precise effects such resistance will have upon any given For—itself or group of For—itselves. The very notion of resistance bears no meaning outside of the context of man's free projects. What appears to one For—itself as an insurmountable mountain, for hmtance, will appear to another as an exciting addition to the scenery. This is not because of the qualities 99W ' swan. ”may“ “1%..” ‘ ,... :fi' :“,u'..a:: I $913382 with". an 5‘3 t-‘L’QT .r .-.v" w. u? h ..k' - hich the mountain it in because of the d' valved. (This means, itseible for each Fo different manner, st for himself a differ obstacles-in Sartre cients of adversity. Only if For orseni—fixed essen that features of th stacles, barriers tc creative activity. to Sartre, is not 8‘ Sartre maintains, n ing behind the acti for Sartre. merely its very spontaneit not a given ggid, l \____________ (‘3 sgsartre, _' 77 which the mountain itself possesses or fails to possess, but because of the differing projects of the persons in— volved. (This means, of course, that it may be entirely possible for each For—itself to view the world in a different manner, since presumably, each establishes for himself a different hierarchy of difficulties and obstacles——in Sartrean terminology, differing "coeffi- cients of adversity:") Only if For—itself were an entity with a fixed, or semi—fixed essence, could one determine in advance what features of the brute In-itself will become ob- stacles, barriers to a particular For-itself's self— creative activity. The For—itself, at least according to Sartre, is not such an entity, however. There is, Sartre maintains, not even a Transcendental Ego resid— ing behind the actions of man, the Ego being instead, for Sartre, merely “an attempt of consciousness to mask 59 its very spontaneity." The self of the For-itself is not a given guid, but a semi—total which is based upon 59Sartre, Transcendence of the Ego, p. 100. “\u _ ‘5“ _ q Misuse he is i . methimself only 1) {at least that might hood) is a resultan lotions process whicl The human se future dimension, in ofintrospection, re one to somehow disco least if the self is Wssesses. rl‘he most achieve, within the isadiscovery of wt lone beyond his past that it _ig now past: Which makes him uni« is his future dimen cis transcendental ”18's freedom as a 78 a particular temporal slice of a man's total life span. Thus conceived, the living human being is never—finished, but always finishing. Consequently, any particular For— itself since he is incomplete by definition, can dis- cover himself only by and through his actions. Selfhood (at least what might perhaps be termed authentic self— hood) is a resultant, an achievement of a long and la— borious process which requires renewal constantly. The human self finds its true meaning in its future dimension, in the not—yet—achieved. No degree of introspection, regardless of how great, will enable one to somehow discover his real or essential self, at least if the self is thought of as something which one possesses. The most that such a course of action could achieve, within the scope of Sartre's outlook at least, is a discovery of what one w_a§, but _i§ no more (having gone beyond his past dimensions by his very realization that it _ii now past). The feature of the For-itself which makes him uniquely human, according to Sartre, is his future dimension, for it is in the future that his transcendental dimension lies, in the future that One's freedom as a For—itself is to be discovered. ‘7 x - ‘. ..,~ '- a In" Jen-runs! out vv' u _ V H I “him-mil .vi-Inm-nsa-r-r.’ wufn'eini’l oil-awn and no: -' '.‘3.-' l'.' 7“: '- -315) I'll. :1 ‘1 tions to freedom in . muons, any For-its simulations of h providing that he is which might follow i ciety itself, even ' as nations, is comp- uhose free choice a: unit. Groups are f1 I .'.- theirmembers, an at I" . than free choice. ' I ' Sartre does to deny, that the v ".i i Niles may lead to h the violating For-1' bePunished for n01 tions of his group. 79 The issue of the For—itself's individual free- dom as opposed to that of the society in which he finds himself is summarily dealt with by Sartre. So—called, social pressures are not taken by him as being restric— tions to freedom in any absolute sense. First and most obvious, any For-itself is free to violate the rules and regulations of his society any time he so desires, providing that he is willing to face the consequences which might follow from such a violation. Second, so— ciety itself, even in the case of such large aggregates as nations, is composed of individuals, individuals whose free choice and commitment has welded a single unit. Groups are formed by the combined agreement of their members, an agreement which is based ultimately upon free choice. Sartre does not deny, because he finds no reason to deny, that the violation of many socially-imposed nfles may lead to harsh c0nsequences with respect to Hm violating For—itself. But the fact that a man may be punished for not conforming to the rules and regula— tions of his group, does not refute the contention that ”alpable freedun: fictional works as ° There is no detail the manner in with other attempts as autonomy) is limi suably, his strateg would attempt t0 511' it issue depended f0 project of a For-its show that by so strt the pure autonomy 01 revealed. he a com Point out that free ill the same thing . ifinition in mind, lettuce of resista “it goal cannot be -,_lzt;e’ssure whatever, not even if WakeeSwhea-tfi’efinnefl. I physical and mental ctortur‘e ,1 gciaan fob *man 103E: .'hjysrpirecious un—graspable freedom; 'he'employed this theme in such fictional F'worzk's as Morts sans Sépulture. We» ‘ There is no need to rehearse here in greater detail the manner in which Sartre would probably deal with other attempts to prove that human freedom (viewed as autonomy) is limited by external constraints. Pre— sumably, his strategy would be as follows: First he would attempt to show that the particular restriction at issue depended for its very existence upon the free project of a For-itself. He would then probably try to show that by so structuring one's approach to obstacles. the pure autonomy of freedom of For—itself will stand revealed. As a concluding argument, he would no doubt point out that freedom, in his view, is after all, one and the same thing as autonomous choice. With this definition in mind, the very mg; that any specific instance of resistance could indicate is that a partic— ular goal cannot be attained, not that man is unfree (A simpler - course. would be to no enslaved For-its his freedom. so an tor-itself at all, . ls,even. conceivabl times Sartre's arg ‘ asanewhat sophistiq pllcit a form.) But there i beraised at this j‘ Sartre's qualified Wf action, but ofIII-itself which “Self: what of his llatwhich in "becc \—— ‘2 60 7‘.- Sartre,E . ‘ I . , @afizsense. The freedOm of which.Sartré '.. ~ “1%..“ a; ,- - v - v - : , \ .cher words, is not freedom of obtaingng,w .f'tsfrgedom of choice, and this, Sartre maintains, 6O ihps remained undefiled. (A simpler course for Sartre to follow, of course, would be for him to argue that there can be no enslaved For—itself by definition. For—itself is his freedom, so an unfree For-itself is not really a For—itself at all, but is, perhaps less than For-itself, is,even, conceivably only disguised In-itself. Some— times Sartre's arguments skirt the edge of just such a somewhat sophistic solution, but seldom in so ex- plicit a form.) But there is yet another serious question to be raised at this juncture, one which challenges even Sartre's qualified conception of freedom as autonomy pg: of action, but only of choice. What of the aspect of In—itself which is so intimately a part of any For— itself; what of his own past? Does not his own past, that which in ”becoming what it is" was transmuted into 5% 6OSartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 472. l in no going back on .61 ll‘l Sartre has n or the importance 0 Indeed, his ins iste human reality is st philosophical persu. not conceive of myse can no longer think Wt what I am and thePast of For-its 1rtitself. it can b ' s “Mr-ceaseless m 158xtruded behind the“Muller strand ibuut the task of E \—-——_.____ 1‘1 61 . A- J. A a lime," Y M921» {:1}. 62Sartre, 1 i l —, 25.? lAyer pointed out, that "I am my past because there ,‘ is ”no going back on it. It is the past of this- present .61 -Sartre has never attempted to deny the reality or theimportance of the past dimension of For-itself. Indeed, his insistence upon its crucial importance to P human reality is stronger than that to be found in many philosophical persuasions. As Sartre declared, "I can- not conceive of myself without a past,- better yet, I can no longer think anything about myself, since I think about what I am and I _a_m in the past."62 Just because the' past of ‘For—itself Lg past, that is, has become In-itself, it can be studied. No longer in (constant flux 25% maseles: movement, the past of a For—itself is extruded behind him in a solidified state, much like the gossamer strands left behind by a spider as it goes about the task of spinning its web. [Li 61A. J. Ayer, “Novelist Philsophers: Jean-Paul Sartre,“ Horizon, XII (July, 1945), P- 23- GD 62$artre, Being and Nothingness, p. 496. l nutter of fact, Sa inhis characterizat‘ actions. by definiti n-itselt. they have assumed its immobilt habit of amber. i expressed this idea liter examining his thlch had transpire ailthere, immured Boris, Daniel. Thi been entrapped, am This fixitj “Ply that the sig: 515° been somehow that, Sartre argu \ 63 Sartre, 83 Neither has Sartre denied that the order of past events is to some extent fixed (although his views hathis respect seem to be by no means consistent). As a matter of fact, Sartre has insisted upon this fixity hahis characterization of In—itself. Since all past actions, by definition in Sartre's theory, have become In-itself, they have assumed its properties. They have assumed its immobile state, much like a fly preserved /’ (\ "u in a bit of amber. {In his novel The Reprieve, Sartre expressed this idea in the words of his hero Mathieu. After examining his room and contemplating the actions which had transpired there, Mathieu thinks: ”They Were all there, immured and dead, Marcelle, Ivitch, Bruent, Boris, Daniel. Thither they had come, there they had been entrapped, and there they would remain.”6?) This fixity of spatio—temporal order does not imply that the significance or meaning of the past has also been somehow fixed, however. Speaking to this point, Sartre argues: 63Sartre, The Reprieve, p. 264. l . i I . - ' na- :lJ Q! . - - . . - .1 It?“ 1990:“: at -- 2mm id'd" :5. .Wm - - '0 g;£fi!— 3 _:- ,r-p -. '.n-‘tu FF. 2’ x94 t, E". I - .-- .3 1'}. am 3"! .':u_n hmnmheen total self-coincidi simple identity. I ' loans that man, the he and he alone (t1 caretaker of this 5 ing. Apart from ti itself grants it, I is passive, dead. i force of the For-i‘ PmPel man forward 84 I alone in fact decide at each moment the bearing of the past . . . by projecting my- self toward my ends I preserve the past with me and by action decide its meaning.64 The events of the past (even one's own past), because they have now been engulfed by In—itself have achieved total self-coincidence; they are what they are, in simple identity. Precisely this feature of In—itself I i . . means that man, the For-itself, lS master over it, for he and he alone (there being no God, for Sartre), is caretaker of this silent expanse of self—contained Be— ing. Apart from the vitality and potency which For— itself grants it, In-itself possesses none. The past is passive, dead, and impotent without the sustaining force of the For—itself. The past does not and cannot propel man forward. Only if the past is preserved by a living For—itself in the present moment, and used by him in his free future— oriented activity, does it have any powers of efficacy. The “force and impulsion of the past” of which people so often speak, is in fact not due to the past as such 64Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 498. 1'er m use news and? . mesa: light, b1 ‘u at all. Actually, ‘ mlsion of my past“ ' ‘65. r Choice, 0 3:“: "J ’1 for this light. I] apparent force exe ted power traceabl The pest ; the present, setti and the like; but Past is employed h lhepast, in other the hands of For—: tainment of his f so Well summarize The past is d evaluation re to me, what I in my life. my past or re M“ A; 651bid, 1 66H. J. (New York: Harp 85 at all. Actually, Sartre suggests, "the force of com— pulsion of my past is borrowed from my free reflecting choice. . . ."65 The Moon appears to be an autonomous source of light, but is actually dependent upon the Sun for this light. In the same manner, for Sartre, the apparent force exercised by the past is only a reflec— ted power traceable to present action of a For—itself. The past lg necessary in making decisions in the present, setting into operation chains of activity, and the like; but this is because, being In—itself, the past is employed by the For—itself in his free projects. The past, in other words, is a flexible instrument in the hands of For-itself and is used by him in the at~ tainment of his freely—posited ends. As H. J. Blackham so well summarized Sartre's theory of the past: The past is determined irremediably, but its evaluation remains in suspense—-what it means to me, what I make of it, the part it plays in my life. In a thousand ways, I can choose my past or repudiate it. A 651bid, p. 503. 66H. J. Blackham, Six Existentialist Thinkers (New York: Harper Brothers Torchbook, 1959), p. 132. L Sartre ' s an 3',“ {II lb undoing ' to the freedom of} _ T"? , minor key {9; s then ‘ ‘ * i “ " no 5'?! 0:! ”Essen-cast. nomad at" ' , ”‘mmfl : anagegua i , use»! gmdLllothipgness. l ,1 .2 ad" 1““3' ”Vi?” ‘ ’ J. A y , is tone regarded a v and creates; a darl- auait the coming 01 value and signific Plato, the For—its f x the consciousness world. "permits th shine through the “_4 There is , lenuine restricti Sartre recognizes twee of other fr J 3)2;5wg§ gag§;fihe past @md‘r ' ifTQENchinééess* In—itself (in its multitudinous modes) _. is' tqdci‘i regarded as that with which WE builds ‘ r. and.creates7.a dark and'meaningless%p enum which must await the coming of For—itself in order to be granted value and significance. (ghat the Demiurgos was for Ma page” r ”L ’ g -Plato, the For—itself is for Sartre. For— —itself and C the consciousness which it brings with it into the world, "permits the light of meaning and structure to shine through the dark chaos of Being—in-itself."67 Freedom and the Other There is only one unavoidable obstacle, one genuine restriction to the freedom of For—itself which Sartre recognizes. This is to be found in the exis— tence of other free For—itselves. When I, as a For- 67Collins, op. cit., p. 62. (w F itself confront and a? cords, "I must real a) 1.. limit to my freedom :- .. imposed upon me win tion/'68 The othel freedom of any For. too is transcenden ing as a free agen The Other, realm of In—itself not to be encounte most clearly expre nenace in the fol] It is for and for and by me: can be limite< cannot fix my measiOn for other possibl When the Other me field of my possi M 68 Sartre, 69Ibid. ,1 87 itself confront another free For—itself, in Sartre's words, "I must realize that I have encountered a real limit to my freedom-—that is a way of being which is imposed upon me without my freedom being its founda— . 6 . tion." 8 The other represents a unigue threat to the freedom of any For—itself. Precisely because the Other too is transcendentally free, he threatens my very be- ing as a free agent. The Other, because he too stands apart from the realm of In—itself, presents a danger to me which was not to be encountered in the non—human world. Sartre most clearly expresses the reason for this peculiar menace in the following passage: It is for and by means of a freedom and only for and by means of it that my possibilities can be limited and fixed. A material obstacle cannot fix my possibilities; it is only the occasibn for my projecting myself toward other possibles . . . .69 When the Other merely looks at me, I suddenly find the field of my possibilities limited; my freedom has been _i________________________.________._.____________ 6 . 8Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 524. 69 . Ibid.,p. 270. ., ar . the we " eat at the centd nine and which 1 being. In so f: values which col being able to an even know it, I In-itself,t the freedom and con itself, but this we The threat posed by nature, to its char deliberate, passivi afree and spontane ation, scheming, a: he'll The Other, atne, fixes my fr it as a definite e (it least in princ 88 suddenly and radically altered. In Sartre's words: To be looked at is to apprehend oneself as the unknown object of unknowable appraisals --in particular of value judgments—~I am a slave to the degree that my being is depend- ent at the center of a freedom which is not mine and which is the very condition of my being. In so far as I am the object of values which come to qualify me without my being able to act on this qualification or even know it, I am enslaved.70 In-itself,to be sure,constituted a threat to the freedom and consciousness, the spontaneity of For— itself, but this was not through any action on its part. The threat posed by In—itself was due primarily to its nature, to its characteristic non-responsive, non— deliberate, passivity. The Other, though, also being a free and spontaneous freedom, is capable of deliber— ation, scheming, and plotting to ”steal my world from me." The Other, through the simple device of looking at me, fixes my freedom, freezes my spontaneity; views me as a definite entity whose very action is predictable (at least in principle). Without uttering a single word, W 70. Ibid., p. 267. i i m, a consciousnei itself and became b1 fragment of In-itse, audReturn." he wro Take for exampl stands watching without saying room. All my ated from me. horrible com or am unaware.7 C . E Suddenly a1 vealed; my dimens iv the gaze of the OE. Possibilities have objectivity has b M— 71Jean-Pan trans. Annette Nio Mp (New York: 72Jacques sis of J. P. S State University ,_. 89 making a single gesture, taking even a step towards me, the Other represents a challenge to my very being. In the person of the Other there dwells an alien conscious- ness, a consciousness in which I cease to be a free For— itself and become but another object, another aspect or fragment of In—itself. In Sartre's essay ”Departure and Return,” he wrote: Take for example, the case of a woman who stands watching me, shrewdly, full of hatred, without saying a word, as I move about the room. All my gestures are immediately alien— ated from me, stolen from me. They form a horrible composition of whose existence I am unaware.7 Suddenly another dimension of me has been re— vealed; my dimension as object. I have become, under the gaze of the Other, a ”limited transcendence, whose Possibilities have been turned into probabilities. My . . . . _ 2 . . SUbJectiVity has been objectified."7 Prior to this __________________________________________________ 7l Jean—Paul Sartre, “Departure and Return, trans. Annette Nicholson, Literary and Philosophical me (New York: Collier Books, 1962), p. 173. 72 Jacques Salvan, To Be and Not To Be: An An- alysis of J. P. Sartre's Ontology (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1962), P- 69' ,iwfggmiunn nus-n1!” and; name are; an nos-mg as.” 1 84:11! .'[0 b confrontation with sign power over W- - its, qualities, and (Warrior of my worl himself to be free , self-contained univ jects of my world 13 arrangements by the circumscribed enti commentators wrote, fies me, “empastes' vorld, draws it out ing in my magnetic ulll never be the : strategy, to reducv sewing my own sub The mere f to another subject filndamental struc t \______ 73Arland I York: The Devin—l 9O confrontation with the Other, I had reigned as sover- eign power over my own world; had established its lim— its, qualities, and valuational hierarchy. Now the invasion of my world by another For-itself (who shows himself to be free by his looking at me) shatters my self—contained universe. Not only must I see the ob— jects of my world being ordered into unknowable new arrangements by the Other; I myself also become a neatly circumscribed entity among them. As one of Sartre's commentators wrote, ”The Other transfixes me, petri— fies me, ”empastes” me, "en—glues” me; he steals my world, draws it out of shape like a new magnet appear— 73 Henceforward my being ing in my magnetic field." will never be the same, even if I am able, by clever Strategy, to reduce the Other to an object, thus pre— serving my own subjectivity intact. The mere fact that I have been made an object to another subjectivity, indicates that my freedom, my fundamental structure has been somehow altered. A new w 3 7 Arland Ussher, Journe Throu h Dread (New York: The Devin—Adair Company, 1955), p~ 111- dimension of my bei emslon which I cann live; Ihave became lefore my confronta sary centrum in the purer and meaning . that I am de trap. in his look I expe In other words, to “tell is the other There may , and the Other are lationship, a rela ognition in a posi subjectivity, or 6 turn be radically of yet another For \__—______ 74Blackhai 75Grimsle 76Jean-—P a hart (New York: l- 47. 91 dimension of my being has been thrust upon me, a dim— ension which I cannot get rid of and which I cannot live; I have become something I have not chosen‘to be.74 Before my confrontation with the Other, I was a neces— sary centrum in the universe; was its very source of power and meaning. The Other reveals to me, however, that I am de trop, superfluous, in relation to him. In his look I experience my fundamental alienation.75 In other words, to cite Sartre's own infamous phrase, "Hell is the Other.”76 There may, of course, be rare moments when I and the Other are able to establish a tenuous "We” re— lationship, a relationship of mutual trust, mutual rec— ognition in a positive and enriching manner of the other's subjectivity, or even love. But this relation can in turn be radically altered, shattered, by the entrance Of yet another For—itself who destroys this fragile 74Blackham, op. cit., p. 134 75 . . Grimsley, op. Cit., p. 127. 76 Jean—Paul Sartre, No Exit, trans. Stuart Gil— bert (New York: Vintage Books, Incorporated, 1959), p. 47. ‘r‘é‘lation by viewing instance, as one cr‘ he Other as such, . So crucial the life of every F sane of man's most ForSartre, both fe contact with the Qt than the discovery in so far as it is which are not my p put in the positio in other words, I 1 He, that I am in f, concerning shame: The world wher Other seizes m turns against I am no longer among other 01: \________ 77Ussher , 78$artre , 79Ibid., 1 80Juin, l P- 62. 92 relation by viewing both of us as objects. In such an instance, as one critic put it, "Hell becomes not merely the Other as such, but the Third."77 So crucial is this confrontation experience to the life of every For—itself, that Sartre even traces some of man's most basic emotions to this experience. For Sartre, both fear and shame are derived from our contact with the Other. Fear is actually nothing more than the discovery of my ”pure and simple object—state nnso far as it is surpassed and transcended by possibles . . "78 which are not my poss1b1es. Shame results when I am put in the position of judging myself as an object; when, knother words, I realize that I am as the Other sees 79 me, that I am in fact an object. As Hubert Juin wrote concerning shame: The world where I am and within which the Other seizes me with his look, escapes me, turns against me, erects itself against me; I am no longer a subject; I am an object among other objects and I am ashamed.8O 77Ussher, op. cit., p. 113. 78Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 288. 79Ibid., p. 222. 80Juin, J. P. Sartre ou la Condition Humaine, p.62. .hidlq'l 6113 find .112“: I! 39:96 ant! 3mg“ I "‘- 2. .'f. 50"? "';D.£'.I=i.'J-"."'I:.u'1-J'Z aid: is: .F."‘.-"T.".- 02 81 U" 9 r9 1 ’ m,‘ TheOther, . _ . _ :_ _ r..-' . _ _ _._ _. . .- n. -'. . u .. nun-.1 .1." :1 .. -. . -' ' thehrute world of of transcending ply Itranscendence tram ohjectbefore his 1 When my in are several course; first, the most ob “Y Whom. thus news sadism as ju - ""——‘""—_"‘——‘—_-T—""—— _._____ - - —=‘-Ja-n=-'-i'r-E-i~z--:r'.- -* ‘9 Z; 5* r? s' 0 an" o‘ H H (D U) H I"? o (D ’.D‘ o m o :3 a: s: o o in m a 5' H 0 fi' 52 n 93 Little wonder that one of Sartre”s commentators, Arland Ussher, entitled his chapter on this phase of Sartre's thought, "The Shudder Before the Other Per— "81 son. The Other, because of his ability to transcend the brute world of In—itself also retains the capability of transcending my freedom, of transforming me into a "transcendence transcended,” scarcely more than a mere object before his subjectivity. When my freedom has been so challenged, there are several courses of action open to me. Perhaps the first, the most obvious, is to destroy this threat to my autonomy, thus restoring my sovereign power. Sartre views sadism as just such an attempt. Sadism, in fact, is to be thought of as the effort to appropriate the Other’s freedom. The dream of the sadist SO far as Sartre is concerned, is to be a ”free appropriating 82 power confronting a freedom captured by flesh.“ The goal of the sadist is not merely to destroy the freedom 8lUssher, op. cit., p. 110ff. 8-28artre, Being and Nothingness, p. 82. named-object . " This approp‘ hyno means easily argues that, "even our freedom, when n this reason, the t1 iify his freedom w Iiiiate himself, d Sim: the Other m ation, for if he a aChieved. Sartre's c Lint 0f EPiCtetus, "If he threat; "he c("upels m1 threatens you 94 . gfitheVOther, but for the Other to freely offer over at I his freedom, to become mbfi.mere1y»anheb@eetjsimTfiikfi>' Egg, another bit o$23”%itselfq but a “For—itself?" turned-objects". fie m» 'mhms appropriation of the Other's freedom is 'by no means easily accomplished, however. Sartre argues that, "even torture does not dispossess us of 3 '8 For our freedom, when we give in we do so freely.‘ this reason, the tortured For—itself must freely iden- tify his freedom with his tortured flesh; he must hu— . . . _84 miliate himself, deny what he holds most dear. In short, the Other must become a party to his own degrad- ation, for if he does not, no true victory can be achieved. Sartre's conviction here strictly parallels that of Epictetus the Stoic, who wrote: "If he threatens me with death“ one says, ”he compels me." No, it is not what he threatens you with which compels you, but your own decision that it is better to do 83Ibid., p. 524. 84Ibid., p. 405. ".- 'fl 5’. a J “Wit" ..- Won freed-l he the result.) A similar is to be found bet Ican, providi him to perform tain words. E Wished to get and leaves on] the coat, it j sess, I shall mere body . . and these words wn 95 what you are hidden than to die. It is your own judgment which compels you-—that is will puts pressure on will.85 (Substitute here in the place of "will," "freedom puts pressure on freedom,” and Sartre's doctrine seems to be the result.) A similar and even more interesting parallel is to be found between these words written by Sartre: I can, providing I have the power, compel him to perform this or that act, to say cer— tain words. But everything happens as if I wished to get hold of a man who runs away and leaves only his coat in my hands. It is the coat, it is the outer shell which I pos— sess, I shall never get hold of more than a mere body . . . .86 and these words written by Epictetus: What say you fellow? Chain me? My leg you will chain——yes, but.my wi11——no, not even Zeus can conquer that. ”I will imprison you.” My bit of body, you mean.87 85Epictetus, Arian's Discourses of Epictetus, Book I, Chapter XVII in The Stoic and Epicurean Phil— osophers, ed. Whitney Oates (New York: The Modern Library, 1940), p. 255. 86Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 393. 87Epictetus, op. cit., p. 225. A. imbstantiality. heqrasped nor hen the indirect metho through the infli identify himself | dom has been so c the sadist's hand complete. Sadism ne: actual infliction is often more con mi techniques, d dermine his confi him. and self-cc Especially when c SOught. 96 The reason, of course, that the sadist cannot capture the freedom of the Other by simple technique is that freedom of the For-itself resides in its very insubstantiality. Not being a thing, freedom cannot be grasped nor handled as a thing.88 The sadist must use the indirect method of somehow encouraging the Other, through the infliction of pain and discomfort, to freely identify himself (his freedom) with his body. Once free— dom has been so corporealized, it can be kneaded under the sadist's hands, and his victory seemingly will be complete. Sadism need not take such overt forms as the actual infliction of physical pain, even though Sartre is often more concerned with this approach. Psychologi— cal techniques, designed to embarass the Other, to un— dermine his confidence, to make him feel clumsy, uncer— tain, and self—conscious, are sometimes equally effective, especially when only short term victories over him are sought. 88Indeed, as Dr. John F. A. Taylor suggested, Sartre's entire approach to freedom as well as to re— Sponsibility is essentially a variant of Stoicism, even a sort of modern neo—Stoicism. byt'he m. At any “1' severe Physical t0 veal to the tortur he Other can. eve hind his nihilatin- esce, even to the 5 Sartre had one Of plan. halt—xii: 3‘19 afraid of the tort‘ he torturers. per the full power of freedom be only t1”. When sadis resort to more vi< 0f the Other even his fails, Sartrt my is the tangi? itopriate the 0th 97 No form of sadism, whether overtly physical or psyChological, can provide the means for overcoming the flueat posed by the Other's freedom in any final sense, however. At any moment, even while undergoing the most severe physical torture, the gaze of the Other can re— veal to the torturer that his freedom is still intact. 'flm Other can, even while in great pain, "withdraw be- hind his nihilating nothingness“ and refuse to acqui— esce, even to the point of death. For this reason, Sartre had one of the three main characters in his play, No Exit, suggest that the torturers are more afraid of the tortured than the tortured are of them. The torturers, perhaps better than anyone else, know the full power of For—itself's freedom, even if this freedom be only the power to say No. When sadism fails to attain its ends, one can resort to more violent means; to destory the freedom Of the Other even by murdering him, for example. Even Hus fails, Sartre argues. Resorting to murder not mfly is the tangible proof that one has failed to ap— Propriate the Other's freedom by the use of other mug name mister even if ( never again confro Masochism this confrontation tobe viewed as an the freedom of the from that which w desires to use th vmobjectivity; h anere object pros absolute subject.E ing himself to an finds so painful, tho faints before sciousness in thin ilsochist chooses We: before \ 89 Sartre, 98 techniques; but murder does pp; destroy the fact that one has been made an object before another subjectivity. Ems haunting memory will remain in the mind of the murderer even if (which is highly unlikely) he is never again confronted with another For-itself. Masochism is yet another way of reacting to this confrontation with the Other. Masochism is still to be viewed as an effort to assimilate or appropriate the freedom of the Other, but this assimilation differs from that which was the goal of sadism. The masochist desires to use the Other's subjectivity to taste his own objectivity; he wishes to become nothing more than a mere object prostrate at the feet of the Other as absolute subject.89 The masochist hopes that by reduc- ing himself to an object, the consciousness which he finds so painful, will be blotted out. Like the person Who faints before a terrifying object because uncon— sciousness in this instance is his only refuge, so the masochist chooses to be swallowed up in his own being— as-object before the gaze of the Other. 89Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 379. sane transcended. the Other as an in use the Other as a inactivity, is in e‘ ject. Since only - this attempt to em hisown ends, plun subjectivity once . Love, still dealing with the ct together with 111380! attempts to assimil aflowing it to rem: tre to possess the instead, he demand: \h 90 Ibid. -...._ 91 Cranston 99 Masochism is doomed to failure as surely as sadism, however, according to Sartre. In masochism, one attempts to become nothing other than a transcend- ence transcended. But, in this very attempt he uses flm Other as an instrument to attain his own ends. To use the Other as an instrument to evade one's own sub— jectivity, is in effect, to treat the Other as an ob— ject. Since only a subject can manipulate objects, Hus attempt to employ the Other in the attainment of his own ends, plunges the masochist back into his own subjectivity once again, and his attempt has failed.90 Love, still another alternative approach of dealing with the confrontztion experience, is bracketed together with masochism by Sartre, since ”they are both attempts to assimilate the liberty of the Other, while . . . 91 allowrng it to remain free.” The lover does not de— sire to pOSsess the beloved as one possesses a thing; hmtead, he demands a special sort of appropriation. 9 0Ibid. 91 Cranston, Sartre, p. 56. limitself to beo hotter words, f0 him ing to be boun of her own making. I ically enough, the no longer free. The belove the lover, betray hin to the exclus self-determined, i." surrendered her p . f; I ' ‘ thus destroyed th Since he cannot 1 hand. the beloved refuses to be bet 1 X I 92 Sartre. 93 Ibid. 100 92 The lover wants to ”possess a freedom as freedom.” The love of an enslaved For—itself would be without value; the lover wants the "Other's freedom to deter— mine itself to become love . . . ."93 The lover wants, in other words, for the Other to freely choose to love him Egg to be bound to that choice by unbreakable bonds of her own making. In short, the lover demands, iron— ically enough, that this freedom as freedom should be no longer free. The beloved, by yielding to these demands of the lover, betrays him, however. By choosing to love him to the exclusion of all others, by choosing to be self-determined, she has become thing—like. 'She has I i A surrendered her precious freedom as a For—itself and thus destroyed the love which the lover had for her, since he cannot love a mere thing. If, on the other hand, the beloved refuses the demands of the lover, refuses to be bound to him by self—forged chains, her i i W——A——_§ 92Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 375. 93Ibid. itself. 'the seed .r . .-.-'_" ' ‘ “I”; I i - . _ mostly, love is , are able to avoid than sadism or ma Even if S asuccess, this it nony has been est is pointed out by for revenge; it i triumph over yest . .- dESire for reconc three fail; but e \M— 9 41bid., 9 . 96 ' Mounie / W’P.7 lOl freedom as freedom, the object of his love, escapes him and the lover finds himself embracing only the 94 . . . . Other's body. Love, so conceived, carries Within "95 itself, ”the seeds of its own destruction. Conse- quently, love is no more successful (even if the lovers are able to avoid the threat of the Other as Third) than sadism or masochism. A11 alike are failures. Even if Sartre maintained that love could be a success, this fact would not mean that genuine har— mony has been established between warring For—itselves. As pointed out by Emmanuel Mounier, ”Love is a desire for revenge; it is the desire of yesterday's slave to triumph over yesterday“s master; at no point is it a . . . . 96 deSire for reconCiliation. Thus, sadism, masochism, and love are all vari- ant attempts to assimilate the Other’s freedom. All three fail; but each for reasons of its own. Sartre \—.—————————'—— 94Ibid., p. 377. 95. Ibid., p. 376. 96 Mounier, Existentialist Philosophy: An In— irsdnstign, p. 78. i , -“}\ 1‘ , y I i i I if 4.4—- that's freedom. tion to Being and It is the dee itself to cap It tries to a its own consc itself become ducing the on appeal of the fails, not or ceases to be possession th own pleasure Desire, then, is freedom in an ul failure as were discussed. There an 0f dealing with in, however . '. While the other 102 is not content with analyzing these three relationships, however. He also makes an effort to treat of sexual desire in general as another attempt to assimilate the Other's freedom. As Hazel Barns wrote in her introduc- tion to Beipg and Nothingness: It is the deep—seated impulse of the For— itself to capture the Other"s subjectivity. It tries to achieve this goal by incarnating its own consciousness, letting itself feel itself become almost wholly flesh and so in— ducing the Other to do the same. But this appeal of the flesh to the flesh ultimately fails, not only because satisfied desire ceases to be desire, but because in physical possession the lover still knows only his own pleasure and the body of the Other.97 Desire, then, is an attempt to deal with the Other's freedom in an ultimate or final sense, is as truly a failure as were the other three techniques already discussed. There are at least two other alternative methods Of dealing with the confrontation with the Other's free- dom, hOWever. The first is only implied by Sartre, While the other is treated only briefly by him (at _________________________________________________ 9 ' II ' 7Barnes, ”Translator"s Introduction, Being and Nothingness, p. xli. Since the derivative from nuts upon me, co there is some tea cussed, which we Sartre himself i I do not cho am, but I ca for the Othe appear to th tion.98 One could, in ct] 0f him as true a the'eyes of the u then, presumably which one‘s sell become for the ( °bleCt of his a w 98Sartr 103 least in the work now under consideration). The first of these methods is "elective assumption” and is simi— lar in obvious ways to Sartre's treatment of masochism. Since the threat of the Other, is, after all, derivative from the fact that he bestows value judg- ments upon me, confers upon me a fixed nature, perhaps there is some technique other than those already dis— cussed, which would help to soften this harsh fact. Sartre himself implied such a technique, when he wrote: I do not choose to be for the Other what I am, but I can try to be for myself what I am for the Other, by choosing myself such as I appear to the Other, i.e., by elective assump— tion.98 One could, in other words, take the Other's judgments Of him as true and attempt to then see himself through the eyes of the other, as it were. The Other would then, presumably, become the reflecting surface by which one's self could be revealed. One would then become for the Other, either the passive, unresisting Object of his evaluations, or a mirror by which he \——~_——_—____ 98 . Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 293. tantra himself, a found within the in any but the no the Other are not douain. I would to take as my re roles, depending Sartre himself, ' best example of t this fact. In t1“ There they we grave; they 1 vidnal pictuu sisted that l horrible part flicted.99 Second, internalizing th it the well-bein \_____— 99Jean-P it Sutton (New 104 (the Other) could see his self reflected. Unfortunately, such an approach does not seem feasible, both for reasons suggested indirectly by Sartre himself, and for others which are not to be found within the pages of Being and Nothingness. First, in any but the most unusual of circumstances, I and the Other are not the only two inhabitants of a given domain. I would thus either have to choose which Other to take as my reflecting surface, pp play a series of roles, depending upon which Other I was confronting. Sartre himself, in one of his novels, provides the best example of the problems which could arise from this fact. In the Age of Reason, Sartre wrote: There they were, confronting him, intent and grave; they had each of them conceived indi— vidual pictures of Mathieu and they each in— Sisted that he should conform to it. The horrible part was that the two pictures con— flicted.99 Second, the consequences which could result from internalizing the judgments of Others could be harmful to the well—being of the For—itself concerned. As a M 99Jean—Paul Sartre, The Age of Reason, trans. IV Eric Sutton (New York: Bantam Books, 1959), p- 187. ‘ that" provides through elective him. (In Genet's obviously complex the fundamental s upon Genet were 1 tre's own estima Third, a to be features 0 i the attempt at el difficult or impc for the greater l hector-itself dz ire conferred upt ”Mode of exprn the object of u idle, then I can M— 10 OSartr "'“i 105 matter of fact, Sartre was to treat of just this very problem in his book Saint Genet: Actor and Martyr. Genet provides the prototype of a For-itself who, through elective assumption,tried to be as Others saw him. (In Genet's case, he tried to pg a thief, an obviously complex, if not impossible task, in view of the fundamental structure of For—itself.) The effects upon Genet were little Short of disastrous, even in Sar- tre's own estimation. Third, and perhaps most important, there seem to be features of Sartre’s own theory which would render the attempt at elective assumption as a solution either difficult or impossible. Sartre himself insisted that for the greater part of the time (if not all the time) one Foreitself does not in fact know what judgments are conferred upon him by the Other. To employ Sartre‘s own mode of expression, I am, as For—itself typically '100 ”the object of unknowable appraisals.‘ If such be true, then I cannot even take the first step in ”becoming W lOOSartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 267. i lor-itaelf can ev clearly stated: no way be known 0 astatement, toge the notion of ale ular-itself shou (since this is he ference surely c - ever. His most w appears to b not a thing; but one, as yet unfit oneself, even to: tight result in Price to pay by W 101Ibid. ___.— 106 for myself what I am for the Other." Still more basic, how can one free For—itself ever View himself as the Other sees him? Sartre denies in principle that one For—itself can ever see another as subject. As he clearly stated: ”. . . the Other—as—subject can in no way be known or even conceived as such."101 Such a statement, together with the suggestion implicit in the notion of elective assumption seems to imply that a For—itself should try to View himself as an object (since this is how the Other views him). Such an in— ference surely cannot be what Sartre had in mind, how— ever. His most basic conviction in Being and Nothing— ness appears to be that For—itself is not a mere object, not a thing; but is a self—creative, free and spontane— ous, as yet unfinished being. To deny this fact to oneself, even for the increased social harmony which might result in relations with the Other, seems a high price to pay by the champion of absolute freedom. lOlIbid., p. 293. hartre's View of tre marized hi cend the Other or him. The essenc- ness is not Mits of his thought i the hitsein (tog such a key role by Sartre to a tc qation. {435%.}; Subject" relatio: t0 the cohesiven nothing more the One woul size social haru "hen he tended h \w 102m .0...— 107 In any case, the notion of elective assumption did not play an especially crucial role in Being and Nothingness, and certainly did not significantly alter Sartre's view of inter-personal relationships. As Sar— tre summarized his own View: ”One must either trans- cend the Other or allow himself to be transcended by him. The essence of the relations between conscious- ness is not Mitsein, but conflict.”102 At the stage of his thought in which he wrote Being and Nothingness, the Mitsein (togetherness) relation which had played such a key role in Heidegger's philosophy, was reduced by Sartre to a tenuous and fleeting union, a mere aggre— gation. Mitsein, or in Sartrean terms, the ”We-as— subject“ relation, was reduced in Being and Nothingness to the cohesiveness of subway riders bound together by nothing more than their common destination. One would hardly have expected Sartre to empha— size social harmony and c00peration during a period when he tended to view the whole social process as a 2 10 Ibid., p. 429. Other as object ( ject) is a highl always concentra- off."103 Blackh - Ween myself and by the fact that pects of the 0th ing-as—object) _I}_< course, would ho. Other; I am an a 0bject.") - Precise] a real and ever- 108 constant state of war between absolutely free For—itselves who were desperately seeking to repair the breeches made in the walls of their autonomous universes by the ever— threatening Other. In the words of H. J. Blackham, “The Other as Object (because it can be transformed into sub- ject) is a highly dangerous explosive and my efforts are always concentrated on taking care that it does not go off.“103 Blackham adds that the tension generated be— tween myself and the Other is only further increased by the fact that I can neither reconcile these two as— pects of the Other (his ”being—aSesubject” and his ”be- . . . . 104 ing—as—object) nor reject either. (The same, of course, would hold true for myself as viewed by the 1 ,\ Other; I am an ambiguous ”sometimes—subject—sometimes— object.”) Precisely because the Other does represent such a real and ever—present threat to my freedom, the re- maining technique of dealing with him, namely indifference, \ l t 3 . 10 Blackham, op. Cit., p. 119 lO4Ibid. - I _I I I“ a... anti-WI M13 0* . . ’9‘“ . 1’9”" "' ‘4 '5';'.’.'- '.J'Lif? cliched that even this state of in pay is the loss , reality.106 The teas Sartre's theory, a polar relation m consciousnes for its activity the context of a erally needs the chatracter or nat ("‘9 Pole of the 109 also fails. Indifference to the Other, ”is a transpar— ent self—deception from which I am likely sooner or later to be rudely awakened."105 This same critic then added that even if, by chance, I am g9; awakened from this state of indifference to the Other, the price I pay is the loss of my sense of objectivity and human reality.l06 The reasoning behind this remark is that, in Sartre's theory, I and the Other are bound together in a polar relation one to the other. Just as For—itself ggg consciousness requires In—itself to provide material for its activity, and freedom realizes itself only within the context of a resisting world, so each For—itself lit— erally needs the Other in order to provide him with a character or nature. In each of the above instances, one pole of the bi—polar relation is bound to the other, and in each instance tension is generated by virtue of this very relation. Dependent upon the very creature \ which is best qualified to destroy him, for a dimension M lOSIbid., p. 124. - ,.-"»-; ' ‘ i. E01,. fir-“I‘Jr‘l-‘E’ Viki-"1' EIJ '3'? 1.351 ..a ' _ .- .- ' .e. l§ I'- t 9' put: "' “'fitmnfi—flfl» M heather. or o in. This ire, fundamental stru having seen in a itself is depend "Hegel's brillia the Other in my said, "a being i another. There” heart."107 Prec myself as a free to provide me w: t0 myself unlim but to the Othe Paracloxically , finite and subs \ 107 Sar4 108 Bla 110 of his being, man finds this struggle with the Other, the most brutish of the brute facts which surround him. This ironic need which each For—itself has for the Other, or Others, is a direct consequence of his fundamental structure. Sartre gives Hegel credit for having seen in a clear fashion to what extent one For- itself is dependent upon the Other. In Sartre"s words: ”Hegel's brilliant intuition is to make me depend on the Other in my being.” Sartre then added, ”I am,” he said, "a being for itself which is in—itself only for another. Therefore the Other penetrates me to the 107 heart." Precisely because as free For-itself I View myself as a free, transcendent being, I need the Other to provide me with a solidified image of myself. ”I am to myself unlimited pure possibility, for ever not~this; . . ”108 but to the Others, seen from outside, I am limited. Paradoxically, the fact that the Other views me as a finite and substantial entity is at one and the same % lO7Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 237. 108 . Blackham, op. Cit., p. 119. "therddlo confers has character 0 clares: If there is a maybe, whate me, and witho way except by --then I have My transc in and acquires a Other exists. it escapes me and nature."110 Char iSa relational < lure dependent u} llentators stated 111 time, the reason why he is such a danger to me and the reason why I need him. Indeed, this very fixity which the Other confers upon me is what is commonly referred to as character or nature, Sartre argues, As he de— clares: If there is an Other, whatever or whoever he may be, whatever may be his relations with me, and without his acting upon me in any way except by the pure upsurge of his being09 —-then I have an outside, I have a nature. My transcendence as a free For-itself is closed in and acquires an outside by the very fact that the Other exists. When the Other gazes at me, ”even though it escapes me and is unknowable as such, I acquire a ..10 . y \. / nature. Character,so far as Sartre lS concerned, v is a relational concept, one which is by its very na- ture dependent upon the Other. As one of Sartre's com— mentators stated: The For—itself (or consciousness) does not I know its own character, since it has no char- I acter. Character is the result of a classi— ‘ fication born out of a comparison with Others. M 109Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 263. 11 . OStreller, op. Cit., p. 46. '.I-LL. I nanhnzvemg to his self: the Other il not a mirroring 11 examples of this tre in his novel his fictional ch: Press his need in One fine day were strictlj be that same for myself. at times get ther exasper really are . l Shrtre insists t in "114 Such be 112 Character, consequentl , is something that exists for-the—Other.l l Sartre, like Husserl, maintains that "the 'Other' according to his own constituted sense, points to me my- self; the Other is a mirroring of my own self and yet . . ”112 not a mirroring proper . . . . One of the clearest examples of this mutual relationship is provided by Sar- tre in his novel The Reprieve. There Sartre has one of his fictional characters, in a letter to his friend, ex- press his need for the Other in these words: One fine day, I realized that our relations were strictly mutual. Without me you would be that same insubstantial entity that I am for myself. It is by my agency that you can at times get an occasional and doubtless ra— ther exasperating glimpse of yourself—~as you really are.113 Sartre insists that, “as I appear to the Other so I 1 am.” 14 Such being the case, the Other's judgments lllDesan, op. cit., p. 82. 112 Edmund Husserl, Cartesian Meditations: An Introduction to Phenomenology, trans. Dorian Cairns (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1960), p. 95. 113Sartre, The Reprieve, p. 406. ll4Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 237. a ' ' ' - area Jase-III! salt. .41 [jg ing-f0 . -- . r.- ' ontol i v._ 4'... 1am)" ;‘.'u'..5 ..-' J .'Jj {-51 _..JI\_‘1’7 a! a 'fl .. 1 9 I: 7 'hi .39.:32 5'9 "" ‘l ‘ and 11011 smi _ w.‘ L4. '._' _ - ' 11 , - someway fra ' "_I . c-_ -_ "-‘.'- us: I some kind 0:5 I . to another's‘ Perhaps itself has for t l l statement: ' i It would per ceive of a 1 I! i from all F01 I Without evei II I. II I I being an obj II I I notheama; 'k‘J‘. 31"." .. One F0r-itself : L _111 e e ,1 113 about me form a part, even an indispensable part, of my being. In other words, My being-for—others is a permanent part of my ontological structure as a human being—- and not simply an element that is derived in some way from my original being and then given some kind of objectivity thfpggh its relation to another's consciousness. Perhaps Sartre stated this need which each For— itself has for the Other most clearly in the short statement: It would perhaps not be impossible to con— ceive of a For—itself which would be wholly from all For—others and which would exist without even suspecting the possibility of being an object. But this For—itself would not be a man.116 One For-itself requires another, then, in order to be properly considered human at all. Being an object un— der the gaze of the Other is part of the price which one pays for being a genuine human For-itself. By his lléGrimsley, op. cit., p. 120. ll6Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 282. we use; surnames "5 E -13.: , 9:! ”anti"; .i'. .bi. -' " '91:: F! 3 . _w l y. l ! . .n. '-- r‘ '.I :I "I o . I -'|: I. I- -' .I1 I kept for l andlhatwe sented only 1 tile attitud selves nor 0‘ to ourselves; either nothi The fact subject (conside object (viewed 1 veals a fundamei at the very heaJ wrote concernim I am theref “'0 Opposit \ 117 OfJ. P- Sartre 1948): p. 161. term "hostile" Other can also he ileum 0th er“ 01 this in his minds another t beauty Would be other reveals t can i also reveal tiractivE. 114 statement that For-itself without the Other would not be human, Sartre meant that: Except for the difference between what we are and what we think we are, a difference pre— sented only when others confront us with hos— tile attitudes, we should know neither our— selves nor others as spirits; we should be to ourselves and others would be to us, either nothingness or things.117 The fact that as a For—itself, each man is a subject (considered from his own perspective) and an object (viewed from the perspective of the Other), re- veals a fundamental ambiguity which, for Sartre, resides at the very heart of man. As one of Sartre's critics wrote concerning this basic ambiguity, as For—itself, I am therefore constantly oscillating between two opposites; on the one hand, I am a liberty ll7s. M. Brown, ”The Atheistic Existentialism of J. P. Sartre,“ Philosophical Review, LVII (March, 1948), p. 161. Mr. Brown did not have to employ the term "hostile” in the the passage cited above, for the Other can also confer positive values upon one which he would otherwise lack. Sartre provides an example of this in his play No Exit, in which one character re— minds another that without her gaze, loveliness and beauty would be ”wasted on the desert air.” If the Other reveals to us that We are ugly or repugnant, he can also reveal to one his character as desirable or attractive. . .'. t 1H . . ';: 1 - I ."ll: ' p% .- i'i :It.‘ in. i I l y. l l- ‘I amina-II su‘iu mum? d ”35'in --.!'.-.- an: arm ..w 95:41; nannea‘ :‘rt-nu' 911i? -.-'_. 1o. ." _lfi‘pflffl‘"? =15 h " me mine life . renewed recognit: ation of the jud the Other. Whi] to deny the sigr sist that the f; indqments of hit “”1911 he perhaj be true in a qu J acr Humanis “1‘ II 541. Q 115 and on the other an object. In between the pure fluidity of my liberty and the solidity of myself—as-an—object, I am in an intermedi— ary state . . . .118 The whole life of any For-itself involves a constant, renewed recognition and subsequent nihilation or refut— ation of the judgments which are conferred upon him by the Other. While Sartre does not feel himself obligated to deny the significance of such judgments, he does in— sist that the free For—itself need never take the Other's judgments of him as definitive in any final sense, even though he perhaps should take such judgments of him to be true in a qualified, incomplete sense. As Sartre writes: So long as I live, I can escape what I am for the Other by revealing to myself by my freely posited ends that I am nothing and that I make myself what I am; so long as I live, I can give the lie to what others discover in me, by projecting myself already towards other ends and in every instance by revealing that my dimension of being—for—myself is incommen— surable with my dimension of being—for—others.119 ll8Jacques Hardré, “Sartre's Existentialism and Humanism,” Studies in Philology, .LIX (July, 1952), p. 541. 119Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 544. “...... sense by the 0th lt death For—it Ira-itself and ca; the Other, by hi If God e represent "all c definitive; He v covering this e1 were in an absol discovery: 116 Only when a For—itself dies can he be judged in a final sense by the Other, for then he has "become ill past.” At death For—itself is absorbed (or re—absorbed) into In—itself and can no longer escape the judgments of the Other, by nihilation and transcendence. If God existed, of course, He would in a sense represent “all others.” His evaluation of us would be definitive; He would 'see us as we really are.‘ Dis- covering this evaluation would reveal to us what we were in an absolute sense. The desire to make such a discovery: . . . has been so intense throughout time that men have substituted for the (unrealiz— able) concept ”all others” the concept ”God” which, although also unrealizable, is more familiar to them . . . .l O The idea of God then, becomes for Sartre: either an unrealizable concept by means of which men attempt to determine once and for all, their being as it really is; 9; an impossible synthesis of In—itself and For— itself resulting in an In—itself—For-itself. The latter is ruled out in principle by Sartre, since for him these 120Streller, Op. Cit., p. 145. use: {traumatic-3*. :‘ch b-M.|'.!'.'!'.‘-"'-£- "11:11:11 i my Iii,- and 13 tended to treat above two alter!l this) The con; ing the basic a: conflict, with ' the Other, resu in Sartre's vie closed circle i also present. 0W because of taMy not wit] Sheet to thOSe W. 117 two realms are mutually exclusive. This dreamed—of synthesis involves an explicit and fundamental contra— diction, and is therefore to be rejected. (Sartre tended to treat the concept ggg in the second of the above two alternatives throughout Being and Nothing— ness.) The conjoining of Sartre”s statements concern— ing the basic and inevitable nature of inter-personal conflict, with his insistence that For—itself requires the Other, results in some obvious consequences. Man, in Sartre's view, finds himself in a closed circle, a closed circle in which his mortal enemy, the Other, is also present. The criticism directed at Sartre"s the— ory because of its anti—social theory of man, was cer— tainly not without ample foundation, at least with re— spect to those views to be located within Being and Nothingness. Since the threat of one For—itself to the Other is not empirically based, it cannot be avoided. No ill— will is the cause of this conflict between myself and the Other. The cause, rather, is to be found in our ,, of that limit limit aroun Such a convictil as Pierre Bouta corrosive to a] 1y feeling betv the basic famil in general. Tl tre's For-itse may well have basic intentic during the cor 118 very existence. As soon as I exist, a factual limit to the freedom of the Other is established. I am that limit and each of my pro'ects draws that limit around the other self.1 1 Such a conviction on Sartre's part has led such critics as Pierre Boutang to maintain that Sartre's outlook is corrosive to all inter—personal relationships; brother— ly feeling between men, the father—son relationship, the basic familial relationship, and social cooperation in general. The result, as Boutang argues, is that Sar— tre's For—itself is left alone and isolated.122 Boutang may well have hit upon a crucial aspect of Sartre's basic intention throughout Being and Nothingness. Often during the course of reading this work, one gains the distinct impression that the lonely individual is jpgp what Sartre wanted to portray and that he deliberately dissolved away all which would threaten the strict au« tonomy of this isolated For—itself. Sartre”s treatment of group behavior in general was, whether intentionally 121 . Stern, op. Cit., p. 99. 122 . . Pierre Boutang, Sartre: Est—il un Possede? (Paris: La Table Ronde, 1950), p. 30. James C the radical frei struggle to ret! costs, molded S came to view, “ conflict and he disguised and 5 statement. Col: comrentators an man: that Sart 119 or not, sketchy, ill—developed and obviously incomplete throughout the whole of Being and Nothingness. James Collins argues that Sartre”s emphasis upon the radical freedom of the For—itself and its resultant struggle to retain its precious subjectivity at all costs, molded Sartre's entire social theory. Sartre came to view, ”social action as basically a form of conflict and hatred, although the stark truth may be ”123 disguised and softened in various ways. In such a statement, Collins merely joined a host of Sartre”s commentators and critics who have agreed, almost to a man, that Sartre‘s views are indeed anti—social and des— tructive to human relationships. (Whether or not one feels that Sartre‘s negativistic emphasis renders his views of human inter—action thereby false, or not, will probably depend upon his pyp philosophical and meta— philosophical persuasion.) Francis Jeanson is one of the few critics who takes exception to the view that Sartre's theories as 12 . 3Collins, op. Cit., p. 85. .- @513 a! ' - Jeanson argl the social 1 imness con: inauthentic conversion" A "purifyin in several different f new relatic Spiegelberg imrr than doubtful a Jeanson apparel Parent shifts 1 followed Being 120 expressed in Being and Nothingness, are overly nega— tivistic. Spiegelberg summarizes Jeanson"s rather unique thesis as follows: Jeanson argues that the whole diagnosis of the social relationships of Being and Noth— ingness concerns only man's anonymous and inauthentic existence before that ”radical conversion" at which Sartre hinted . . . . A "purifying reflection” mentioned by Sartre in several places, could lead to an entirely different form of human existence, including new relationships to others.124 Spiegelberg immediately added, however, that he is more than doubtful as to the validity of Jeanson”s thesis. Jeanson apparently was seeking to explain away the ap— parent shifts of Sartre's ideas in those writings which followed Being and Nothingness. Spiegelberg stated that he would personally prefer to argue that there was in fact a modification of Sartre's outlook after his writ- ing of this opus of 1943. This would mean that Sartre"s views were negativistic in this work. Later remarks by Sartre are, then, even when in conflict with the theses Of Being and Nothingness, not merely to be explained 12 . . . 4Spiegelberg, “French EXistentialism: Its Social philosophies, " p- 452- Does Sa the Other revea itself. undermi ho unequivocal for Sartre doe: 121 125 . . away by Jeanson. Sartre"s later remarks indicate genuine changes in his philosophical and meta—philo— sophical stance. This investigator is himself of Spiegelberg's persuasion in this matter. Summary and Conclusion Does Sartre's admission that confrontation with the Other reveals a real limit to the freedom of For— itself, undermine his thesis of man”s radical freedom? No unequivocal answer to such a query seems forthcoming, for Sartre does not address himself explicitly to this problem in Being and Nothingness. Perhaps whether or not Sartre can continue to maintain his theory of abso- lgpg freedom depends upon what price he is willing to pay in order to do so. Sartre could argue that ”since this limit of his freedom is the freedom of another person, he can maintain his thesis that freedom meets ”126 no limit but in freedom. In a somewhat vacuous 125Ibid. l2 . 6Stern, op. Cit., p. 122. Sartre freedom of whie this freedom mi; in connection r‘ autonomy of ch fecting a nihi ments“ has per limits can be For-itself fir Thus construec pure after thr before. 122 sense, then, freedom like Spinoza's Substance, would still be self—limiting and therefore absolute. Sartre could, if he so chose, argue that the freedom of which hp speaks is still absolute, although this freedom might not be what is commonly thought of in connection with the term. Freedom, viewed as ”pure autonomy of choice” or as ”constant possibility of af— fecting a nihilating withdrawal from the Other's judg- ments“ has perhaps still been preserved. No a priori limits can be affixed to this ability, even when one For-itself finds himself confronting the Other directly. Thus construed, freedom in this qualified sense, is as pure after the confrontation with the Other as it was before. A third alternative would be for Sartre to hold that one must distinguish between two types of freedom. The first is man's fundamental freedom, the freedom which coincides with the nothingness which lies at the heart of man and makes his consciousness (and freedom) as a For—itself possible. The second type of freedom is man's practical freedom, the freedom to perform his sartrecoulda7 _ 3‘,J'_H__: ... .- quality of man'; Nothingness (Se work Sartre was I i I ture of For-it: I .' ":.'.i i I g or political qr ' I practical freer Fourth thesis of man ' .. '.i pared, m bec E I '.1 1' heenontologic ._ . It. '1 : is not that e; (n _ are... Ah '13.! Still Wish it : ,r'; 'l 19 5); but as “Writers m i' theOrY must b r 123 chosen role in society, to pursue his freely—elected project without external constraint, and the like. Only the first of these two categories is absolute, Sartre could argue, pp; the second. The absolute quality of man's freedom is emphasized in Being and Nothingness (Sartre might maintain) because in that work Sartre was concerned with the fundamental struc— ture of For—itself, pp; with sociological, economic, or political questions related to the exercise of man's practical freedom. Fourth and last, Sartre could admit that his thesis of man's total or absolute freedom must be al— tered, pg; because his description of this freedom has been ontologically unsound, but because this freedom is not that experienced by real men in their actual affairs. As a purely abstract conception, Sartre might still wish to entertain his earlier thesis (even in 1965); but as an attempt to describe what For—itself encounters in his everyday existence, his earlier theory must be altered or supplemented. immediately aft pes_s_, Sartre we alternatives (c three, since tl 1943, especiali creased social Marxism, Sartr. alternative . this last sugg introduction t hesen tells of indune. 1956. believe that 1‘ Speaking, but comlinced the by Circumstan‘ sophical car e \ l2 7De 124 Which of the above alternatives (if any) Sartre would in fact choose, seems to depend in part upon when the question is addressed to him. Perhaps in 1943, immediately after the publication of Being and Nothing— ness, Sartre would have chosen one of the first three alternatives (or even a complex conjunction of all three, since they are not mutually exclusive). After 1943, especially in the period marked by Sartre's in- creased social and political concern, and explicit neo— Marxism, Sartre might well elect to choose the fourth alternative. (Indeed, there is tangible evidence for this last suggestion provided by Wilfrid Desan in the introduction to his book The Tragic Finale. There, Desan tells of an interview which he had with Sartre in June, 1956. He quoted Sartre as saying: “I still believe that individual freedom is total ontologically speaking, but on the other hand, I am more and more convinced that this freedom is conditioned and limited ,l27 by circumstances.‘ The remainder of Sartre's philo— sophical career, could then be viewed as the explicit 127Desan, op. cit., “Introduction,” p. xvi. hie-I"... ' , - I“; .1 I - I ' —l '4 a W “3 I I. M “a ‘a "J I“... Fun-i 'bi l' . ' OJ 1 a .| .. r. I '--II." ‘:I_-l".b.--- l' . .'"J :I '.- . rm;- - r! - .--.r.r'r._1-.7.P'- [u- p-r,__e_ — .— . Sit The f: and Nothin he stood in isol ally reveals this context dlscussed 1 L Like h i? I! phlloSophy’ j 'II-i I it '. In a Polar re iiS essetlally that seamen the dense , ..Ilu '- Situation, Choice and Engagement The freedom of which Sartre speaks in §§ipg and Nothingness, is not to be found in, nor even under— stood in isolation from, the context in which it natur- ally reveals itself. The elements which go to make up tflfls context are organically related to freedom and any attempt to understand Sartre's developed notion of human freedom without grasping the significance of these con— stituent elements, is doomed to failure. These elements are situation, choice, and engagement. Each will be discussed in turn. Like so many other key concepts in Sartre's philosophy, freedom and situation are bound together in a polar relation. As Sartre wrote, "There is free— dom only in situation, and there is situation only “a {flied-ms ‘ all in” refining and lo .. 'é-i'ifi,1-.=_-.-=. .... . War he yieusly, through th- Sartre maid the same ma For I I a a and the ates . luminat you 111 his owr 13 13 126 128 . . through freedom." Sartre admits that For-itself everywhere encounters specific obstacles and resistances which he has not created, but as has been indicated pre— viously, these resistances ”have meaning only in and . . . . "129 through the free chOice which human reality is. Sartre maintains that situation is to be thought of in the same manner as obstacles and resistances in general. For Sartre, the situation is: . . . a relation of being between a For—itself and the In—itself which the For-itself nihil- ates . . . . The situation is the subject il— luminating things by his very surpassing, if you like; it is things referring to the subject his own image.130 Since the For—itself nihilates the In—itself, he must first come to learn its configurations, to recognize his situation. As Albéres expressed it, ”We must rec— ognize the situation before we can be truly free; and it must be with respect to our situation that we are free to transform it or not.”131 128Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 489. 129 Ibid. l3OIbid., p. 549. 131 . i . Alberes, op. Cit., p. 109. -e1q {saint-tron? mew In! as no: i.e' __ .gfi '. 'ziI. " '.I _: HI. I. c.‘ 4:“ '.'._ ' | I t I. I. II F. I It. . ... . .-;:_ i .... y ..l ' | a“. i‘u. It I II - .I .l I :J . il .1 I I I tum Was 31M dhd'hesmf aff '1 affi 9H dalflh . 119.: $2517."? consciousness selves involi first of all. which the Po: the For-itse surpass and significance anything e1 134 127 Man develops himself through being in various situations. ”His situation includes the 'contingent' states of affairs in which the existential self- consciousness and the existential decision find them— . 2 . . . selves involved . . . ."13 The Situation, then, is first of all a barrier, or reef, of contingent fact which the For—itself finds squarely in his path; next the For—itself surpasses or transcends (or fails to surpass and transcend) this barrier, thus bestowing . . . 133 Significance upon the bare facts themselves. So important is this notion of situation to Sartre's theory of the human self,that he declares, “I am nothing but the project of myself beyond a de— . . . l 4 termined Situation . . . .” 3 This situation of which Sartre writes, is a complex totality or synthetic whole, with its own 132Zuidema, op. cit., p. 32. 133As Dr. John F. A. Taylor suggests, however, man should not be thought of as merely the being who confronts his situation in a relation of bare opposition, rather, in the Sartrean schema, man is perhaps more than anything else, his mode of encounter with his situation. 134Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 553. 1.5.1 .1 11' 5:71:- -' are “’3 595' -M.are the and sconuuio relations wi ments; while situation, i the free prc the situatic with his pr< ends. 128 constituent structures. Among the aspects which are to be considered as structural elements of the situa— tion are the For—itself's body, his past, his social and economic position, his place, and his fundamental relations with others.135 However, each of these ele- ments, while fOrming the boundaries of the For—itself's situation, is still dependent for its significance upon the free project of the For-itself. The For—itself in the situation orders these brute facts in accordance with his project; in the light of his freely posited ends. Geographical, economic, and historical facts which are typically beyond the individual's control, do determine the general scope and limits of the choice which he can make, but ”however narrow these limits, it is still choice within those limits, not the fact that 13 there are limits, which makes the For~itself." The situation is best regarded as the theater or arena in 13 5Ibid. 136 . . . . . Marjorie Grene, Introduction to EXistential- ism (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, Phoenix paperback, 1948), pp. 46—47. truism-NI“ domain-ems «I it ' - - . . .. —- dimmer-itsel lei-ma aid unasq elrl .'.jif-fi-i -.'i'--‘:e..l —--.:-. --.._ 3.11 not: _., an actor may der to carry the situation free activity The I strued as an it is libertj in the ligh I conceivable ." I i 129 which the For-itself acts out his drama of choice. The situation is perhaps a necessary condition of the For—itself's free activity,in the same way that an actor may require a stage and acting props in or— der to carry out his dramatic role; but, in itself, the situation is not sufficient to account for the free activity of the For—itself. The situation in other words is not to be con— strued as an obstacle to freedom simpliciter; ”rather it is liberty itself which defines it as an obstacle in the light of a particular project. Liberty is in— . . . . ,l37 conceivable outSide of a Situation . . . .' The same critic then added a short while later: The fact that I live in a certain locality constitutes a situation for me only inasmuch as I have projected to live elsewhere, or inasmuch as I have adopted a certain manner of being consisting in wishing to be where I am not.138 For Sartre, . . . the self is always in a situ— ation, but a situation that exists in virtue of the self's 137Salvan, op. cit., p. 112. l38lbid., p. 114. is . if. ”- fl tI- - f"; 1' I l‘ . i. i: I I‘" I1 —'I.a"! art: harden, all make up his 9 canbe said ti responsible fi The s‘ 0 o o the surroundi the geogr omy and c who are P Opinions they are Prets the 130 . . . . 139 _ . constitutive actiVities." The For—itself still must give meaning, purpose and direction to his associates, location, cultural heritage and the like (which go to make up his situation). In this sense, the For—itself can be said to choose his situation, and is therefore responsible for it. The situation is, in the words of Natanson: . . . the total content of the For—itself“s surroundings, the epoch in which he lives, the geographical area he inhabits, the econ— omy and culture he lives under, the Others who are part of his world, the meanings and opinions Others put forward——all of these as they are defined by the For—itself who inter— prets them.140 One cannot speak of situation apart from the interpreta— tion of a For—itself, since his projects define the sit— uation. Even one‘s historical situation and his environ— ment are dependent for their value and significance upon one‘s freely posited ends as a For—itself. MW“ 139 . Natanson, "Sartre's Philosophy of Freedom,” P’ 70, 140 . . . Maurice Natanson, "Sartae”s Fetlschism: A Reply to Van Meter Ames,” The Journal of Philosophy, XLVIII (February, 1951), p. 96. A L :‘ra‘ L. or .vhich I ing my_ 16} historica 'lhe hisorical rocal relatio for one's em the materiali 1am. is near values I haw The ( equated with even taken ‘1 is to be tho tion by the S envirc and Valuatic permeated Wj fine hisorical situation, then, stands in a polar,recip- rocal relation to the For—itself. The same holds true for one's environment and as a result, the assertion of the materialist that "my environment has made me what I am, is meaningless; for it is I who have, by the values I have read into it, made it an environment."142 The environment,in Sartre”s view, is not to be P b equated with the bare surroundings of the For—itself, . . . _ l . , hr“ even taken in their totality. Rather, the enVironment .\ | is to be thought of as a product, the result of selec— tion by the For—itself in terms of his chosen endso Man's environment does not exist apart from human needs and valuations, but is structured by these needs and permeated with these valuations. Two For-itselves, in 4 . l lCopleston, op. Cit., p. 190. 142Grene, Introduction to Existentialism, p. 50. I' at. Hindu?“ wuss-135‘!!! . ' '" 't -.- ‘5. w ":3 = . .bfifiib I’m; 1“} :‘ ... - 2111'.er W - E1119: 3 uéh: '.- ' _ . .-— 5' iotthatmat be seen to b ing upon the free For-its Thos be accounted 9e°9raphical - : . left out of .|:- I 3' nored the c, " E!'-" :3 i I“ tilting such 3 3‘}: 4' apparently :- - ;1 i; sociologica '. i- : Went in t 3:!- . “I: i Onshow rem . iv: dlfferently u“Pinge the '3 Sons COHCeI ':i&fiisfbr fihatrmatter). The notion of environment will'thus mefséen to be relational, dependent for its full mean— ing'upon the other member of the polarity, namely the free For-itself and his positings. Those who maintain that human activities can be accounted for purely in terms of economic forces, geographical surroundings, and the like, have totally left out of account a vital ingredient. They have ig— nored the crucial activity of the For—itself in consti— tuting such aspects as decisive. Such theorists have apparently assumed: a) that all persons in a given sociological or geographical setting View their envir- onment in the same way (or that their environment would somehow remain constant, even if they were to view it differently); and b) that the external circumstances impinge themselves directly upon the lives of the per- sons concerned without any valuational step having taken place on their part, almost in a mechanical . 3 f .. 3' = . 3.333.333 m . hf:- am“ 955:- am “unmana- 3 were 1311' ‘I 1 I - 1.- 14-31403 . s .- aI'III -_ . .ai'G' new :9. Ingram. .-.- -- sart .. ! “I parallels his freedom. in 9 Limits a: or rathei jective : to be £01 everywhe: and are 1 that is, referenc. Thus, one ca :_ -|i.I.'I- . I ”35- l I. that in some :-:_ :33. _.u ['1'- 3 : Other brute [.13. I y I i. hIIIIever, to E : '3 human behava 33' " . 0f such fact 33- 5 i . :3 the bare mad . 3| . 133 fashion. Sartre rejects both of these tacit assump- tions in their unqualified form, and the theories which are built upon them. Sartre's treatment of the notion of environment parallels his analysis of obstacles and limits to man's freedom, in general. K. Guru Dutt has written: Limits are neither subjective nor objective, or rather they have both objective and sub— jective sides; objective because they are to be found elsewhere and are recognizable everywhere; subjective because they are lived and are nothing if man does not live them, that is, freely determine his existence with reference to them.143 Thus, one can see that Sartre has not in fact denied that in some sense of the word, obstacles, limits, and other brute facts have an objective side. He has chosen. however, to show that in order to properly understand human behavior, the subjective, valuational dimension of such facts must be taken into consideration. Not the bare matrix of In—itself, but what the free For- itself has done given that particular matrix, occupied Sartre's attention throughout Being and Nothingness. l4 . . . . 3K. Guru Dutt, Existentialism and Indian Thoughg (New York: The Philosophical Library, 1960), p. 49. . -—-1~.~.e.._mm:~. ... _ .. u .. '. ' I .- - its bein organize and live. Hist cal facts ar often excell understand m tute the bar into a situa In no instar thing more I infoImation in which F03 134 As H. J. Blackham declared: . . . being—in-a—situation defines human pres— ence in the world . . . . Human presence in the world is the being that is always beyond its being—there. And the situation is the organized totality of being—there interpreted and lived by being—beyond. 44 Historical, geographical, economic, and politi- cal facts are, even for Sartre in Being and Nothingness, often excellent starting places to begin an attempt to understand man's free action. These factors but constim tute the bare profile of the materials which are made into a situation by man's transcendent action, however. In no instance are such facts to be thought of as any- thing more than points of embarkation. At most, such information can enable one to better grasp the context in which For—itself makes his decisions; it can never explain away this creative choice. Situation, however, is only the first of the three constituents to be dealt with in this section. The other concepts are choice and engagement, or com— mitment (since Sartre typically employs these two terms 144Blackham, op. cit., p. 136. 'mIMhI--1'o---u-v-£waned? . . . . " L's'iq :Ifillnfl'fi' . . Ir. -'-..'-'.-.' ... 3.0119 yam 0th! 11' ‘ . ' - __ I _ _ . ... . I I." .‘ _ ' I :' I ,3: . 3“ bfz',‘_".I .3 ; "all .l'. u- - - ' ‘. .4 '1..- Cons being, is in In fact, Sar 3: are one and .33 conscious be .- ‘ 3 I he is consci E inseparable 3 37' . Wham 1 3.3 : The *5 H m r?— O :3 (I) m r 3 This chOice :33. I' .. , ...147 33 :' ' m I‘ u 3 m h 3‘. M 135 interchangeably). Freedom remains but a pale abstrac— tion until it has been brought into proper relation to these other components. Consciousness, the very stuff of For—itself's being, is in Sartre's View inseparable from choice. In fact, Sartre declares, ”Choice and consciousness . 145 . . are one and the same thing.” The For—itself is conscious because he chooses, and he chooses because he is conscious. As For—itself, then, ”my choice is inseparable from my being and I gm according to the . . ”146 way in which I choose myself. The autonomous choice of how one shall inter- pret one's life and what ends one shall pursue, cannot remain merely at the level of wish or aspiration. This choice ”is not real unless it initiates action "147 . . . . . . Freedom is Viewed by Sartre as a task, not as a property which the For—itself somehow posseses. "Freedom is essentially project . . . project of freeing 145Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 462. 146Grimsley, Existentialist Thought, p. 133. 14 . 7Blackham, op. Cit., p. 132. a, Marlin -a figure it has no ess .ojaauuqnmu mud-:0 era-art’s 01 itself perpetuallyn self.149 One of Sa: ‘ 'I 'i' '.".' " I". ‘1 -_- _'.-_ .- I '.-I\;-.' a'3"-.aJ.n:-:-.-'1'i :l. 3". ..c _ . .. ther clarify this 1. Freedom is no 9 fined in terms . which the self . an actual mode . it can be revea As many critics hav has insisted so con .IEZ'I. .- ... ... ('7‘ :4 ... tn 0 O :3 :3 (D O ('1' H O :3 .. “1s:— .,—_. 136 oneself; it is discovered in action and is identical . . ”148 . . Wlth it. Sartrean conSCiousness, preCisely be— cause it has no essence of its own,is obliged to make itself perpetually, to create, choose and invent it- 149 . self. One of Sartre s commentators helped to fur- ther clarify this issue in the following passage: Freedom is no static essence and can be de- fined in terms of no objective qualities which the self can be said to ”have.” As an actual mode of the self's pro-jection it can be revealed only through the act. 150 As many critics have mentioned, and as Sartre himself has insisted so constantly, man can be defined only by reference to his acts. Even this definition must it- self be placed within parentheses or brackets, however, for man as For—itself is open—ended, transcendent, a constant not—yet in Sartre's View. J. Pouillon wrote in this connection: For existentialism, man exists only in action, and it is in it and by its means that he is made; this action is free because it clarifies 148Thévenaz, What is Phenomenology?, p. 75. 149Ibid. 150 Grimsley, op. cit., p. 130. Hazel Barnes briefly. perhapsr VF alysis, freedom is r; a fact to be experie ienced only through talk of potential 01 could somehow stand meaning. The only : at least that livim tualized freedom, 1. Man's choio bound together . Hi from it, 'cause man World. Action is c that one prefers on. Wherein freedom rea 151J P » - ouil 33% p. 5 152 Barnes, 153 . M‘I F 137 the situation into which man is thrown pre— cisely to act.151 Hazel Barnes stated Sartre's persuasion most briefly, perhaps, when she wrote: "In the final an— alysis, freedom is not a proposition to be proved, but a fact to be experienced."152 This fact can be exper- ienced only through and by means of acting; for Sartre talk of potential or unactualized freedom, freedom which could somehow stand apart from all action, is without meaning. The only sort of freedom that there is, or at least that living men ever experience, is real, ac— tualized freedom, lived-freedom or freedom—in—action. Man's choice and action, then, are inseparably bound together. His choice and the action which arises from it, cause man to commit himself in the concrete world. Action is commitment since ”to act is to assert .153 that one prefers one end to another. This action, wherein freedom realizes itself, engages For-itself l l . . . . 5 J. Pouillon in Pour et Contre L‘EXistential- isme, p. 59. 152Barnes, Humanistic Existentialism, p. 286. 153Ibid., p. 195. 154 of behavior. " Each man. ii for an act bY “huh and thus discover a man also is in ques perform which is th l ”H.555 Manet sonal act as his 0W man's engagement, w from the perspectiv ownsituation. All various manners of lighten the contour contrasting ways ir can be employed. 138 with the world, "to such an extent that man's projects towards freedom are embodied for him in definite acts of behavior.“154 Each man, in Sartre's View, searches not only for an act by which he can commit himself to the world. and thus discover a concrete embodiment of his freedom; man also is in quest of a ”personal act which he can perform which is the act of no other, which is unique 155 . . . . Man attempts to employ this unique per- sonal act as his own principle of individuation. Each man's engagement, which is “simply the situation viewed . . 156 . . from the perspective of the subject,“ defines his own situation. All individuals are in situation; their various manners of engaging themselves, clarify and en- lighten the contours of these situations, and reveal contrasting ways in which the freedom of the For-itself can be employed. 154Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 78. 155 . . . . A BenOit Pruce, Existentialisme et Acte D‘Etre (Paris: Arthaud, 1947), p. 15. 156Pouillon, op. cit., p. 60. WI c°‘ central position in. truly crucial it!!!)or period subsequent t miss, a period mark and political conce his philosophical d to take on more spe specific activities engagement and com to convey to Sartre were no longer mere havior; a distinct Ployment Of them w; animation of this . III. 139 Sartre's notions of engagement and commitment. while of importance to his theory of freedom in Being and Nothingness, could not be said to have occupied a central position in this work. They were to become of truly crucial importance to Sartre's outlook in the period subsequent to his writing of Being and Nothing— pgss, a period marked by Sartre's increasing social and political concerns. During this later phase of his philosophical development, these two notions were to take on more specific content. Sartre was to explore specific activities, for instance writing, in terms of engagement and commitment. These two terms then began to convey to Sartre's reader the impression that they were no longer merely descriptive of For—itself's be— havior; a distinct normative dimension to Sartre‘s em- ployment of them was to be noted. A more detailed ex— amination of this issue will be undertaken in Chapter III. In any case, so far as Sartre apparently was concerned, his doctrine of absolute freedom remained as much intact after his discussion of situation, choice, only now freedom had to facts of man's 6“. now spoken of primar ence to particular c sistances; but it we terial out of which Freedom was still at not be taken away f1 laboration, even whe troduced. Even if z 140 and commitment as it did before. Freedom was still seen to be the source of valuation and significance, only now freedom had been related more specifically to facts of man's everyday existence. In—itself was now spoken of primarily with at least implicit refer— ence to particular obstacles, commonly experienced re— sistances; but it was, for all that, still the raw ma— terial out of which the For-itself carves his world. Freedom was still absolute in the sense that it could not be taken away from the For—itself without his col- laboration, even when the concept of situation was in— troduced. Even if a man is tortured by political police and breaks under such torture, this is still to be re— garded as a situation for his project of informing or keeping silent.157 Freedom, after an elaboration of situation, choice, and commitment still remained the defining feature of For—itself's being; except now this freedom was related more directly to choice, and this choice 157Ussher, op. cit., p. 131. . R. ‘ q} 1’ i v “ l “t 7 ...;7 :1 . ... 3:. still redu this choice was now viously suggested iri freedom as conceived what closer to the m by discussing this f uations which themse external factors. I between the absolute and the practical f] This contrast was t( tre's theory of fret ness \. 141 in turn, to action and commitment. Freedom, further— more, was still reducible to autonomy of choice, but this choice was now more explicitly finite than pre— viously suggested in Being and Nothingness. In short, freedom as conceived by Sartre had been brought some— what closer to the market place of man"s daily affairs by discussing this freedom with respect to finite sit— uations which themselves reflected the influence of external factors. But there was still a discrepancy between the absolute freedom argued for by Sartre, and the practical freedom actually experienced by man. This contrast was to remain a constant feature of Sar— tre's theory of freedom throughout Being and Nothing— ness . Responsibility, Bad Faith, and Authenticity The fact that For—itself is absolutely free involves a direct corollary, one that has yet to be dealt with. This corollary is total responsibility, l i i with which it construg absolute respomiibilif the logical requireme mulSB If man is if then he is thereby re all, Sartre maintains it is a choice and it as 'great' or as 'ba: The For-itself choose then realizes himsel: damental choice . If 158 Sartre, E 159 . Ib\ld" pl 150 . Ib\1d. 161 142 and is in Sartre's View as inseparable from absolute freedom as consciousness is from the realm of In-itself with which it constructs the world. For Sartre, "this absolute responsibility is not resignation; it is simply the logical requirement of the consequences of our free— 158 . . dom." If man is free to create his own essence, then he is thereby responsible for that creation. After all, Sartre maintains that, "whatever our being may be, it is a choice and it depends upon us to choose ourselves I I l I I I I ' ' I "159 as great or as base or noble or humiliated. The For—itself chooses a particular mode of being, and then realizes himself with respect to that basic or fun— damental choice. If he chooses humiliation as the very stuff of his being, then he shall realize himself as 160 humilated. Responsibility thus takes on a very special meaning, namely: the consciousness of being the incon— . 161 testable author of an event or of an object. Man 158 . . ' Sartre, Bein and Nothin ness, p. 554. 159Ibid., p. 472. 1 60Ibid. 161 Heinemann, op. cit., p. 128. does not exist) nor 1 they are denied Objé @162 The respor! is at the same time it is not properly 5 attacked those who a beyond the individui even argues that, "i an expression of hi: for values for whic] ate responsibility. Sartre ' 3 ve; 143 is thus naturally responsible, althought not morally responsible, since he is not responsible to God (who does not exist) nor to moral law or to values (since they are denied objective validity in Sartre's the- ory). The responsibility of which Sartre speaks, is at the same time total and individual, even though it is not properly speaking moral. Sartre has always attacked those who attempt to appeal to any authority beyond the individual's own responsibility. One critic even argues that, ”Sartre's almost blatant atheism is an expression of his disgust at the reliance by some for values for which they themselves assume no immedi— ate responsibility.”163 Sartre's very atheism is, both in his own eyes and in those of Simone de Beauvoir, another way of em- phasizing man's unavoidable responsibility. As Beau— voir wrote: Instead of God's absence authorizing all li— cense, the contrary is the case, because man is abandoned on the earth, because his acts are definitive, absolute engagements . . . . l621bid. 163Harper, W p. 98. does 1 w“. God's absence, .thenll ! no longer respons ibl‘ the opposite to Sart! Han cannot now asser ence upon him, that and the like. In ad responsibility for a must convince his fe silent Deity enthrox Total resp01 based in Sartre's t] | of In-itself is Silt held responsible fo i I! the blame for his a 144 A God can pardon, efface, and compensate. But if God doeslgot exist, man's faults are inexpiable. God's absence, then, instead of implying that men are no longer responsible for their actions, means quite the opposite to Sartre and his immediate followers. Man cannot now assert that God has conferred an ess- ence upon him, that he is "burdened with Original Sin," and the like. In addition, if he is to be excused from responsibility for a given action or set of actions, he must convince his fellow men to pardon him, not some silent Deity enthroned above the clouds. Total responsibility is actually ontologically based in Sartre's theory. Precisely because the domain of In—itself is silent and passive, man alone can be held responsible for his activities. He cannot place the blame for his actions upon the external world. One of the clearest statements of this idea is once again to be located within Sartre's fiction. In this ins— tance, the passage has been selected from his novel The Age of Reason. 164Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 16. if .. '3’ «I o V4) _.‘ nothing I ‘ , this monstr without 35315“ damned to decide. quarter: condem This recurre is to be found not a but also in Being a: in several other of ably in his play E chosen by Sartre be (This is what has C freedom. ") Man ' s f I I course, the reacti< I I responsibility and essence, which sue] 145 All around him things were gathered in a circle, expectant, impassive, and indica— tive of nothing. He was alone, enveloped in this monstrous silence, free and alone, without assistance and without excuse, con- demned to decide without support from any quarter, condemned forever to be free.165 This recurrent phrase, “condemned to be free," is to be found not only in the passage cited above, but also in Being and Nothingness itself, as Well as in several other of Sartre's literary works, most not- ably in his play The Flies. The word condemned was chosen by Sartre because man is not free to be unfree. (This is what has often been called the ”facticity of freedom,”) Man's fundamental structure is at one with freedom, so he cannot avoid freedom and remain truly a . 166 For—itself. The term condemned also connotes, of course, the reaction by man to the crushing burden of responsibility and the need to constantly renew his essence, which such radical freedom entails. This responsibility extends not only to those actions which the individual For—itself has obviously 165Sartre, The Age of Reason, pp. 275—276. 166Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 439. in a war. for install for that group activ through lending his fictional characters When this war st as a disease . . its Longin; its war made in the Group behavior, sucl of every soldier in dier is responsible The fact that he wo fused to join the a for Sartre. The so ground indicates th tion rather than ar ted himself, in 0th 146 initiated. The For—itself is also responsible for ac— tivities in which he participates. If one takes part in a war, for instance, he is to be held responsible ] for that group activity which he has made his own through lending his support to it. As one of Sartre's fictional characters realizes in the following fragment, When this war started, I too thought of it as a disease . . . Its myself, its Pinette, its Longin; its each and every one of us, war made in the image of all of us.167 Group behavior, such as war, requires the cooperation of every soldier in the field. Consequently each sol- dier is responsible for his having agreed to cooperate. The fact that he would have been punished had he re— fused to join the army, is a secondary consideration, for Sartre. The soldier's very presence on the battle— ground indicates that he has chosen this course of ac- tion rather than another. As a soldier, he has commit— ted himself, in other words. He has chosen one end to the exclusion of another, even if he attempts to veil this truth from his own eyes, as is so often done. 167Jean—Paul Sartre, Troubled Sleep, trans. Gerard Hopkins (New York: Bantam Books, 1961), p. 96. Il node of being: for ' ties, and even for ‘ asFor-itself. ”1 ‘3 ture as In—itself. self."168 I am not existence of the we fact that it is wha Responsibil only burden which t is a freedom, For-i stantly renewed obl designates the free 147 For—itself is responsible, then, not only for his personally initiated actions, but for his very mode of being, for his participation in group activi— ties, and even for the world itself. This is because as For-itself, ”I choose the world, not in its contex- ture as In—itself, but in its meaning, by choosing my— self."168 I am not, of course, “responsible for the existence of the world, but I am responsible for the fact that it is what it is.”169 Responsibility of this total sort is not the only burden which the For—itself must bear, however, As a freedom, For—itself 'is characterized by a con- stantly renewed obligation to remake the Self which . . ”170 . . deSignates the free being. For-itself, once again because of its fundamental constitution, can never rest along its course. Freedom means non—coincidence; as For—itself I can never coincide with any form of being regardless of how hard I may try. ”There is no resting 168Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 463. 9 . l6 Desan, op. Cit., p. 121. 170 Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 463. cept by death." ‘ is a part of the li “No act which be cc responsibility of l is."172 Regardless the fact from his e or completed until a1W'c1vs "just a 11s M any one thing in°l°gY 0f Gabriel through this life; Clearly, hi either of his absol 171 11 f Roberts {1 p. 210, 172 Thody, 148 place for man, because he cannot become a thing in the world. The lack which is freedom is interminable ex- cept by death."171 This obligation to renew his being, is a part of the living For—itself's human condition. "No act which he commits can ever free man from the responsibility of having constantly to choose what he is.“l72 Regardless of how much he may attempt to hide the fact from his eyes, no For—itself is ever finished or completed until he is dead. As For—itself, he is always "just a little ahead of himself,” never quite jppp any one thing. For—itself is, to employ the term— I inology of Gabriel Marcel, ”homo viator,‘ a traveller through this life; a traveller who never quite reaches his destination. Clearly, however, not every For-itself is aware either of his absolute freedom pp of the responsibility and obligations which such freedom entails. Such is to 171Roberts, Existentialism and Religious Be- lief, p. 210. 172 Thody, op. cit., p. 98. a special tYPe- 0f e ience, Sartre tYPj-q ing to Sartre, . . l 3 . anguish." 7 "It i sciousness of his f man realizes sudden mines him to follow "175 . . . . . Anguie and not accidental the vertigo of free scendence of the Ec As has alre th1s earlier work, 149 be expected, since freedom, at least of the radical sort of which Sartre speaks, can be revealed only in a special type.of experience. This revelatory exper— ience, Sartre typically refers to as anguish. Accord- ing to Sartre, “. . . freedom manifests itself through . "173 u . . . anguish. It is in anguish that man gets the con— . . “174 . . . . soiousness of his freedom. While he is in anguish, man realizes suddenly that "nothing absolutely deter— mines him to follow one course rather than another . . . ."175 Anguish, thus viewed, bares interesting and not accidental similarities to Sartre's notion of the vertigo of freedom which he expressed in The Tran- scendence of the Ego. As has already been mentioned in reference to this earlier work, Sartre there employed an example from the psychologist Janet, to illustrate his develop— ing theory of freedom. The young woman of Janet's 173Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p.35. 174Ibid., p. 29. 175 Ayer, op. cit., p. 18. fear, Sartre 81199 at ties. She had sudi actually preventedl number of actions, abhorrent to her. separated her from seen by her to be 1 if she so chose, e freedom then appea possibility of per feared, which were had been revealed 150 example found herself suddenly afraid when her husband left the room and her fear was of a peculiar sort. Her fear, Sartre suggests, was a fear of her own possibili— ties. She had suddenly come to realize that nothing actually prevented her from performing any one of a number of actions, including some which were especially abhorrent to her. The gulf which she had so long felt separated her from immoral or obscene behavior, was now seen by her to be no gulf at all. Her freedom could, if she so chose, enable her to bridge this chasm. Her freedom then appeared to her as little more than the possibility of performing those actions which she most feared, which were most repugnant to her. Her freedom had been revealed as a bottomless abyss into which she could tumble, and her reaction was a sort of vertigo; a dizziness before the destructive depths of her own possibilities. Like this vertiginous freedom, anguish too is inner—directed and disturbing to the peace and security 0f the For—itself, experiencing this feeling. Cople— ston provides an example which is most helpful in this f7, . ,. n' _. .- .I J ' ‘I‘ - I. I I Ct _.'rffflta'ae'v. tram 13H 1::- ‘4'89'. r. ...m: adsem'i'fl 5"""5"? '3”! Ear is are I oneself. For i ”M m“ .. “T , J ... ._ _.-'.- Hes-x path aboveaPi _ I'l‘ _.': _... I . - path giving wag if he is afraia possibility of precipice this dread that man dom.176 to the correlative tally responsible. The one who re as being throw extends to his either remorse longer anythin 151 connection: He suggests a manner in which fear can be distinguished from anguish. He declared: Fear is directed toward something other than oneself. For instance, a man on a narrow path above a precipice may be afraid of the path giving way or of a rock falling. But if he is afraid of himself, that is, of the possibility of his throwing himself over the precipice this is dread . . . . It is in dread that man becomes conscious of his free— dom.176 The experience of anguish or dread leads not only to a discovery that one is free, but it also leads to the correlative discovery that one is therefore to— tally responsible. Sartre writes: 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.177 Anguish is thus almost a purificatory phase of the evolution of the For—itself. For—itself must pass through the dark valley of dread before emerging 7 . l 6Copleston, Op. Cit., p. 191. l . 77Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 556. to, if not even idl dagger. A119“ is ' which count for no are authentic, " WI mental, for He ideg Nothing. "179 Inde guish could be sai the direct result ingness. In the c ingness in general nothingness of his 152 into the sunlight of self—conscious free awareness on the other side. Anguish,for Sartre, is thus similar to, if not even identical with,what Angst was for Hei— degger. Angst is a ”liberation from possibilities which count for nothing and a freeing for those which . l 8 wrote Heidegger. 7 Even more funda— II are authentic, mental, for Heidegger as for Sartre, “Angst reveals ,179 180 Nothing.‘ Indeed, in the Sartrean schema, an— guish could be said to be more than anything else, the direct result of the For—itself- confronting Noth— ingness. In the case of Heidegger, confronting Noth— ingness in general; in that of Sartre, confronting the nothingness of his own being as a For—itself. Anguish l 8 . . . . 7 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1962), p. 395. 179 . . .. . . Martin Heidegger, What is Metaphys1cs?," from Existence and Being, trans. Alan Crick and R. F. C. Hull (Chicago: Henry Regnery and Company, 1949), p. 336. 180 The term Angst translated as dread and used by Heidegger, and the term angoisse translated as 3p— guish and used by Sartre, can be used almost inter- changeably for the purposes of this study. I . " ' '- 5 3°” '31 .0: 'I- - " - jg [(3 .[ '.-.' I 3'3 1 3 fi’b.‘ ‘e'-3V -’ -1 at! as aw s».- =V 6' . ' Trish-a new unders — .3 o.-,.,-..-. . tr";f._‘-Bl- “mats negative d, ' ~ ' '-u r - "nu-.13 'n' -- - - -_ Er: ". I ’. ... - M having undei For-itself genuine After pas! anguish," the For- Of the very const: “Wrately be call ' In]- Choosmg. 81 T1 which results from it the Crushing bf 153 results when a For—itself confronts the void or lack in his own being and through this experience emerges with a new understanding of human freedom, at least in its negative dimensions, and responsibility. Only after having undergone the experience of anguish is For—itself genuinely free. After passing through the "dark valley of anguish," the For—itself clearly realizes that because of the very constitution of man, he must choose and choose unceasingly. One of Sartre's critics writes: "What has been called the anguish of freedom would more accurately be called 'anguish before the necessity of choosing.”181 The heightened awareness of freedom which results from the tasting of anguish, brings with it the crushing burden of responsibility and the obli— gation of ever—renewed choice on the part of the For- itself. This burden, of course, often proves too much for a For—itself, which makes Sartre declare that, 181Olson, 0p. cit., p. 51. ' " _ " ' " ‘ - -m '- I J h . bad faith is most '. - _-‘ 1 . .l. . - .5— ' I a - - .l__ I'- ' -- w-gijidrs au- -. :I ' In L- . .. - cape one's freedom which such freedom temptation for a F a lucid self-consc of his painful fre obligations impose demanding, For-its ti‘m - . ~ by imac_ ceaselessly create existence . , . . faith, Iwill not adn and that moti‘ IWish that t1 itEd by me, b1 \ 182 Sartre, 183 Grene, 184 ‘ Alberé‘ 154 . . . . l 2 "most of the time we flee anguish in bad faith." 8 Bad faith thus emerges as the next key concept in the Sartrean analysis of freedom. As implied above, bad faith is most simply defined as the attempt to es- cape one's freedom as a For—itself and the burdens which such freedom involves. Bad faith is a constant temptation for a For—itself; he finds the flight from a lucid self—consciousness into a muffled awareness of his painful freedom most attractive.183 Since the obligations imposed by his absolute freedom are so demanding, For—itself ”prefers to mask this obliga— tion . . . by imagining himself not as a being that ceaselessly creates new significations, but as a fixed 184 existence . . . . In other words, as a man in bad faith, I will not admit that I am completely free and that motives are what I make them . . . I wish that the end of my acts were not pos— ited by me, but that I might encounter them 182Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 556. 183 . . . . Grene, Introduction to EXistentialism, p. 9. l84A1bérés, OE. cit., p. 62 . ._ .. r I..-_.- 1'5 wtnatl ' Such self _ _ — .1: n1 '- — ' ;- ‘ lbnfl I|£51,!ha a ' s - .mbmn’i 30' "I! . evade 59“?!“ fl ' _ . . .. Li duet had maintain. however; -__. :. .-.-.- _'-qm.-1:.Iar- -,. _v . ._ I must the man in bi of his freedom; h which he gives vai who, when reading that she has writ In one se: gagement carried 1 the For-itself em “1*? .. _.'. free activity. T‘, I:' Ii! L ' . phi 111'. “1th the World; 1,, .-'; I . . I I 5 i3 I- ' : the World, he has i. I; I . ._ _- l 5'31 -_ : Orced himself wh m .' . . :53. -. 11‘ l himself as free a, .1 . :I \ t" E" 185 | Strellv 186 Beaqu I , 187 '- . l Fall-1C1 1| I .a _ .'- H" 1. 155 in the world at the time of my upsurge. I want them to originate from God, from nature, from 'my' nature, from society.185 Such self—deceptiOn is extremely difficult to maintain, however, for as Beauvoir points out, not only must the man in bad faith constantly renew the denial of his freedom; he must also ”Mask the movement by which he gives values to himself, like the mythomaniac who, when reading a love-letter, pretends to forget that she has written it to herself.“186 In one sense, bad faith could be said to be en- gagement carried one step too far. In Sartre's view, the For—itself engages himself with the world in his free activity. The man in bad faith is also engaged with the world; but in the acting out of his role in the world, he has "either become that role, or has forced himself whole into it, holding back nothing of . 187 . . . himself as free agent.” His being as a For—itself 185Streller, op. cit., p. 36. 186Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 47. 187Fallico, Art and Existentialism, p. 98. 'N: 'I Inc!!- are; hitting. ' ' -r- . 'uiifi'j. Ll LE (1'9": 9. I , bl. 31.1.5315“ Erlamfini I”: II I” '5 played his role as I.- _,— ‘ . _ I.. . ._: _ 'I _.‘-'--}--.l _ ," l_gi'_I":1 (‘3': _ ". .. . ... lap-L I; - I -..' 1.2.! I 1 Us: -_' .'. -_ _ his theatrical ab: u a M that role then, becomes to 1 that he and his r will become, in 3‘ his own freedom . This flig 156 may be literally swallowed up by the petty concerns and the welter of daily activities which typify ordin— ary living. The man in bad faith has, in other words, played his role so well, that he has been betrayed by his theatrical ability into believing that he is noth- ing but that role. His task from this juncture on, then, becomes to constantly convince himself and others that he and his role are in fact identical. His task will become, in short, the systematic flight before his own freedom. This flight into bad faith is actually encour- aged by society, Sartre suggests. The public demands of each of its members that they behave in certain ceremonious fashions; that they act in a manner which indicates that they are nothing pgp the functions they perform. As Sartre says, "A grocer who dreams is of— fensive to the buyer, because such a grocer is not 188 wholly a grocer." Encouraged constantly to play his role, on the one hand, and tempted by the security 188Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 59. -. ;.'.'-....'* ug' ' ._ . I ‘ ' ‘a ' ‘ . natural. 1:15 aiflW-‘Iétfla at .3511 rfJisi had n.-. ..mnlsfl‘ _a ' ‘ ' ' ""’*"J fines of his role; ' 4 ,---.-' _ '., ' . ... _ _ ‘ “1: '-.-."-'_"_:"'T:?fl '11-! -I: . . - . . ._ ,. explain why so ma: of bad faith, eve} tre writes: Even though t', very precariov the kinds of I might call 'm, theless an au can even be t' a very great 1891bid, 22:39? 5° 2 l1 5 Sudd? s Wn WOrd 1' n ChangeS 0r 1 . "I 157 promised by the flight from his freedom and responsi- bility on the other, the For—itself often falls into bad faith. Social pressures to remain within the con— fines of his role, plus his OWn inner weaknesses, help explain why so many For—itselves can live in a state of bad faith, even for extended periods of time. Sar- tre writes: Even though the existence of bad faith is very precarious, and though it belongs to the kinds of psychic structures which we might call 'metastable,’ it presents none— theless an autonomous and durable form. It can even be the normal aspect of life for a very great number of peOple.189 Bad faith, then, is no mere accident, something which just happens to befall the For—itself. Rather, bad faith is a permanent possibility of the For—itself, and it is made possible by the fundamental constitution of the For-itself. Sartre states: If bad faith is possible, it is because it is an immediate, permanent threat to every 189Ibid., p. 59. (As Hazel Barnes points out on page 50 of Being and Nothingness, ”metastable” is Sartre's own word, meaning that which is subject to sudden changes or transitions.) -' - I II I 'is]: is the f _. J ,_ Id :--.zcnnsciousness r! at b is not and not Consciousn - -I r- the nothingness in sible, prevents it deuce with itself. away, a constant e 0f In-itself. Cor always future-orig cendence, man is - , -- Ff- Ii 1 bility only at the | Only In- itself, the 158 project of the human being; it is because consciousness conceals in its being a perma— nent risk of bad faith. The origin of this risk is the fact that it is the nature of consciousness simultaneously to be what it is not and not to be what it is.190 Consciousness "must pg what it is not"in that the nothingness in man which makes consciousness pos- sible, prevents it from ever coming into total coinci— dence with itself. Consciousness is a constant tearing— away, a constant separation of itself from the realm of In—itself. Consciousness, in its free dimension is always future—oriented. Because of his powers of trans— cendence, man is a “not yet," and can lose this possi— bility only at the price of ceasing to be a For—itself. Only In—itself,the domain of Opaque and somber Being, can "just pg what it is," in Sartre's view. Consciousness ”must not be what it 1;“ in that it must free itself constantly from its past dimension, its solidified dimension as In—itself. Man as a con— scious being must ever escape his essence as this is to be found in his past actions. He must, however pg 190Ibid., p. 70. .’1‘, Past. in transcend these 1) the future where Thus, "wh not-yet actualize For-itself; while past, closed dime ensions exhibited be termed his jm immanent phase is l i l i 159 these actions, since all that he knows about himself is in the past. But, at the same time, he must also transcend these past actions, move beyond them towards the future where his freedom ggg For—itself lies. Thus, "what he is £93” can be equated with the not-yet actualized future, the open-ended dimension of For-itself; while ”what he ig” can be equated with the past, closed dimension of For—itself. These two dim— ensions exhibited by the For-itself reveal what might be termed his immanent and transcendent aspects. His immanent phase is to be found in his past; his trans— cendent phase is to be located in the future. In bad faith, the For—itself merely plays off one phase or mode of his being against the Other, thereby taking advantage of the fundamental ambiguity which charac— terizes him as a For-itself. Bad faith, while taking a multitude of forms, typically involves either the playing off of transcend~ ence against immanence, or the playing off of immanence against transcendence. In the first of these, ”such a For-itself chooses itself without solidarity with itself, _ ' . . "I: .=. a ,, chiseled mam heaved war,- ”sum! ...- ten 5 , .a . --. _.g = '---’1 1."-$."..-_I".I-'. I-.--. .2 . "--". 99.11813 . . \IIIL‘ his. future dimens that his past has of his being. He dom, however, whi faith preferable itself has Simply ties to such an e ”M is (by defi Such an individua aware of the POSS 160 which means not that it abolishes its past, but that it posits its past so as not to be associated with "191 In other words, such a For—itself has pitted it. his future dimension against his past, to the result that his past has been rejected as a real dimension of his being. He hep done this in the name of free— dom, however, which seems to make this variety of bad faith preferable to the second variety. This For- itself has simply been blinded by his future possibili— ties to such an extent that he refuses his own essence, which is (by definition) to be located in the past. Such an individual has, perhaps, become so acutely aware of the possibility of reforming that he has put all of his mistakes behind him and even denied them as his pyp (herein lies his mistake or self-deception). The second basic form involves the converse relation. In this instance, immanence has been pitted has been pitted against transcendence. This form seems to be regarded as a much worse sort of bad faith than 191 Ibid., p. 503. tirely. The For-4 , freedom, jects time and ma past. "192 As Sar; In their desi latter have that which th only an indef tradition. I refusal of f1 refuse. The tion of requj While the For-its two alternatives Past mistake (bec 161 the first, for this maneuver is performed not in the name of freedom, but in order to escape freedom en- tirely. The For-itself who employs this tactic, "re- jects time and maintains a narrow solidarity with the 192 past." As Sartre soon added: In their desire to find a solid ground, these latter have by contrast chosen the past as that which they are, everything else being only an indefinite and unworthy flight from tradition. They have chosen at the start the refusal of flight; that is, the refusal to refuse. The past consequently has thfgfunc— tion of requiring of them a fidelity. While the For—itself who has chosen the first of these two alternatives will admit easily and scornfully a past mistake (because he does not regard it as really hip), the For—itself who has chosen the second tactic, will find such an admission of error all but impossible. He will, instead of admitting a past mistake, “employ all the bad faith in the world and all the subterfuges 194 which he can invent” in order not to break his 192Ibid., p. 504. 193Ibid. 194 Ibid. at! 15310 air sea .m‘bum: ' ' - ens-1' agrees: 1n" .J'Ll'oni' em HYCI'H'I; ..., 2.1.1333 faith freedom, to veil i. engagement to prac However, one shou] ‘ Tor-itself M any other mode of nized in honest a1 bad faith. We caI indecisive, fleeiI but in each instal 162 fidelity with the past, which has now been lifted al— most to the level of religious adoration. Bad faith is, then, the attempt to escape one's freedom, to veil from one's own eyes the fact of his engagement to practice a special sort of self—deception. However, one should keep in mind that, for Sartre, the For-itself chooses bad faith just as surely as he chooses any other mode of his existence. Choice can be recog— nized in honest and lucid awareness, or in flight and bad faith. We can, Sartre argues, choose ourselves as indecisive, fleeing, and the like, as well as heroic; but in each instance, a choice hag taken place.195 To argue, as Sartre does, that the For-itself is constantly in danger of falling into bad faith, is not to imply that the For—itself is doomed to remain forever in bad faith. He can, Sartre maintains, be— come authentic, or rather can constantly renew his efforts at becoming authentic (since one can never be certain of having arrived at truly authentic exis- tence). l95110151., p. 472. 196 his freedom." out, is not only of action; the au! act, but to act w a satisfactory ju authentic man has (UM) justif in the last analy rest ultimately u Authentic choice in the fac \ 196Olson, 197 . Kingse 198Natans 9' 71. 163 The authentic man is "the person who undergoes a radical conversion through anguish and who assumes . ”196 . . . his freedom. The authentic man, as Kingston pOints out, is not only the man often referred to as the man of action; the authentic man is willing not merely to act, but to act without what would normally be termed . . . . . . 197 a satisfactory justification for these actions. The authentic man has come to see that the very notion of (a priori) justification is suspect, and realizes that in the last analysis, the problem of justification must rest ultimately upon his own shoulders. Authenticity is achieved through ”self—conscious choice in the face of anguish, through acting in the 198 world of contingent and modal realities.” Authentic— ity is a kind of courage, a ”clarity of vision . . . 196Olson, op. cit., p. 139. 19 _ . 7Kingston, op. Cit., p. 181. 198Natanson, "Sartre's Philosophy of Freedom,” P- 71. The authentic man makes authentic c are made with per ance of reSponsih very real sense a . . is awah has assumed 1' does not lose cepts total 1 self fully, a from himself Personal so value . 201 Although the term 311th\ent moral tone, II One without arriving 164 It is the successful outcome of the debate of the indi— vidual with whatever is opposed to his integrity.“199 The authentic man is perhaps, most simply, the man who makes authentic choices, choices in other words, that are made with perfect lucidity and with a full accept- ance of responsibility.200 The authentic man is in a very real sense a converted man who: . . . is awakened to his human condition and has assumed it; plunges into the World, but _ 1‘ does not lose himself in the world; he ac— cepts total responsibility and engages him— self fully, and always maintains a separation from himself which constitutes his actions ‘ g i personali so that they have value and give value.20 a I1 1 -".A\ . fig Although Sartre attacked Heidegger's use of eh 1/4- i the term authentic as improper because of its "implicit l moral tone," one can hardly read Being and Nothingness, l I 1 without arriving at the conclusion that, all of Sartre's protestations to the contrary, authenticity has become for Sartre an ideal, even a sort of ultimate value. WW 1 . 99Levi, Op. Cit., p. 426. 200Collins, The Existentialists, p. 83. 1 2 . OOBlackham, op. Cit., p. 147. r-i‘w '.‘s-Em 2:1! --. .irgmia .‘- annl .a-smL- s . - _ "'I .‘i ' I I " ' -. I '5' ' mix? inhisu "W ti" garner-flu this! um: '~ ”9% _ - - . . . 4 “I..: “In. distinct impress " '1! "-'.-.= .'.. -’|:-.. - - positive value 1| " ' ' I 1" "Iii-Jr. ...,“- .. _ “resales" "is serif 'c'anvé'yed' that it -.is of positive value in his view. “i 1 I I. II , .' I -|. . i :'H. -. i. ._ I- i I l-I . in: "‘- I,_ . . ”*- ! '. 5;?” ' . “in i, .. ! Ii I 5'.- .i o :1 'll: . i “I I v I Sartre ' i preceding pages. which are of a 1 present section more cogent obja Spect t0 Sartre The enumeration and is not even pose of ProvidiI those indictmem either the falsj concePtion of f1 Criticisms of Sartre's Theory of Freedom Sartre's theory of freedom, as outlined in the preceding pages, is not without weaknesses, many of which are of a serious nature. The purpose of the present section is to indicate briefly some of the more cogent objections which can be raised with re— spect to Sartre's characterization of human freedom. The enumeration of such objections is not exhaustive, and is not even intended to be exhaustive. The pur— pose of providing objections is rather to present only those indictments of Sartre's views which indicate either the falsity or the vacuity of his developed conception of freedom. The criticisms to be found within this section are applicable only to Sartre's Views as expressed in Being and Nothingness, unless some qualification to the contrary is explicitly stated. This qualification 166 ‘4 might render crit ideas as presents appropriate. Ind present study is Sartre's views ha ies; to demonstra Sartre is absolut pronouncements . tics have mainta; ment, Sartre ' s p} the publication < Wk marked the 1 as an important 1 167 is a crucial one, for this investigator wishes to main- main that Sartre’s veiws have evolved in ways which might render criticisms directed solely against his ideas as presented in Being and Nothingness, no longer appropriate. Indeed, one of the main objectives of the present study is to show clearly the manner in which Sartre's views have now gone beyond his earlier theor- ies; to demonstrate,in short, that a new evaluation of Sartre is absolutely necessary in the light of his later pronouncements. Contrary to what many of Sartre's cri— tics have maintained, even until almost the present mo- ment, Sartre's philosophical career did pg: end with ‘ ,} g the publication of Being and Nothingness; instead this JJWE\ 1%]4; H'i work marked the true beginning of Sartre's emergence 4 Vi}: as an important thinker. To treat all of Sartre's later _ , work as a mere footnote to Being and Nothingness, is a mistake, one which this investigator refuses to help \ perpetuate. \ As the remaining three chapters of this thesis should amply demonstrate, Sartre has undertaken some significant and far—reaching qualifications of his his theoretical a] seems to indicate | | l 1 ently come to see ments which have 1 Second having gram of the charges brl (especially those Ponty), he has tal conceptual framewl dom. In some ins development) took Of his absolutist Chose to merely d 168 conceptual framework since the publication of Being Egg Nothingness. Sartre has, as a matter of fact, developed his theoretical approach to freedom in a manner which seems to indicate two things. First, Sartre has appar— ently come to see the soundness of some of the indict— ments which have been leveled against his earlier views. Second having granted the justification of at least some of the charges brought against his earlier pronouncements (especially those made against him.by Beauvoir and Merleau- Ponty), he has taken to modify his previously employed conceptual framework, his earlier theory of human free- * dom. In some instances, this modification (or further E ‘3 development) took the form of a repudiation of some part .\\ :3]% of his absolutistic outlook, but more commonly Sartre ‘ 'l chose to merely develop further his previously stated views. The precise course which this modification took and the total effect which such an alteration had upon Sartre's philosophical perspective, will be examined at some length immediately after an elaboration of some of the major criticisms of Sartre's theory, which follows. 1. "is n .9“, 511'.in " ' . .'-.-nv_- meija'sat-II'J I“ Whee'dm to d-flhw x‘Jfl-‘fim.§ .n..t mutt-mm: .'z. I I - : ' -. = .3 '. EIF'BISIP- thered- Lelil, fl. . . . - . -- .- J=:‘I."1 '- " ' ' __{ik -' '. - 1_| .| J a freedom is too a7 ate to be believ insistence upon exception, actua freedom. If all C°Pleston argues to the word ac i Many of the attacks directed at Sartre’s theory of freedom have centered around the fact that his theory makes freedom too limitless, too gratuitous and unan- chored. Levi, for instance, charged that, ”Sartre's freedom is too absolute to be realistic and too desper— ‘ ”202 ll ate to be believed. Copleston charges that Sartre s insistence upon labelling all human actions free without exception, actually detracts from the meaning of human freedom. If all actions are free by definition, then, Copleston argues, the word free adds nothing whatever to the word actiop in the term free action. Furthermore. Sartre's extension of the word free to cover so wide a range of man‘s behavior, results in its losing its real contact with the meaning of the word free as commonly 2 3 employed. 0 When one remembers that for Sartre, even the cripple ”freely chooses himself” to be crippled (that is, chooses to View himself as "crippled“), the force of Copleston's remarks is felt. 202Levi, op. cit., p. 421. 203Copleston, op. cit., p. 220. ' ' v - ' P . . f- - q , _ . 5P1."- - _ a! n i '3 .f fl ‘3 _ ‘I l1 .4 I- l 1‘ - . I Earl : '. '-p 2- “i ..m a I‘va's . ~ I l— I. 1‘ ‘- . « ~ Ii . - - - . .- . h . 'l‘ :51 1 I' 4 Q . ’ ties it of conti -r-, :1 _L --n I '. |_ I - 'e-Il'" ' . .' .- ‘ ' ..-- .- word free to pré and even extends erly to be consl "Since freedom j can not be limit Merleau. criticism of Sax just such as his fications and /or POnty argued; the Same in “Li I by breaking i l ' I .1 F that there 1 freedom bein Copleston is joined in this criticism by Hawton, who maintains that Sartre‘s extension of the word free deprives the word free of its usefulness and all but emp— . . 204 . ties it of content. Sartre did, after all, apply the word free to pre—conscious as well as conscious behavior, and even extended it to cover acts which were not prop- erly to be considered voluntary. As Sartre argued, “Since freedom is identical with my existence . . . it . . .205 can not be limited to voluntary acts.‘ Merleau—Ponty provided an even more searching criticism of Sartre's view of absolute freedom. Attacks just such as his might help account for the later modi— fications and/or developments of Sartre's theory. Merleau- \i Ponty argued: ' If indeed it is the case that our freedom is ‘ \ the same in all our actions . . . if the slave displays freedom as much by living in fear as by breaking his chains, then it cannot be held that there is such a thing as free action, freedom being anterior to all actions. In any case, it would not be possible to declare: 204Hector Hawton, The Feast of Unreason (London: watts and Company, 1952), p. 166. 2OSSartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 444. if: ‘ Gui from which absent . 205 Hawton .1 tialists who ini have been carrii trine that they literally. Haw come certain as tioning, Physic: but, he adds, 1;] 171 "Here freedom makes its appearance,‘ since free action, in order to be discernible, has to stand out against a background of life from which it is entirely or almost entirely absent.206 Hawton implies that Sartre and other existen- tialists who insist that freedom is total and absolute, have been carried away by their own zeal into a doc~ trine that they really could not have meant to be taken literally. Hawton admits that man can sometimes over- come certain aspects of his past, his infantile condi~ tioning, physical and mental constitution and the like; but, he adds, this is not what Sartre and his fellow existentialists are maintaining. What Sartre argues for is a theory which admits of no degrees; freedom . . 207 for Sartre is absolute everywhere and at all times. Hawton asks: who among even the existentialists them- selves has exhibited such freedom? Schrag, likewise addressing himself to the abso-w lute character of Sartrean freedom, suggests that when 206Maurice Merleau—Ponty, The Phenomenology of Perception, trans. Colin Smith (New York: The Humani— ties Press, l962), p. 437. 207Hawton, op. cit., p. 167. Lennie; ,0, the exec special sort. Th torture is, for a cept one's fate, marks of freedom, or infinite. "208 ture and psycholc ing, but unless 1 ity to die rathei executioner, to ( misleading . Lukacs , < L tre's insistence l72 For~itself is held to be absolutely free under even the tools of the executioner, that such freedom is of a very Special sort. The freedom of the For-itself.undergoing torture is, for Schrag, ”no more than a freedom to ac— cept one's fate, which, to be sure, still has the ear— marks of freedom, but can hardly be understood as total or infinite."208 The power to withstand physical tor— ture and psychological oppression is indeed often amaz— ing, but unless freedom is something more than the abil— ity to die rather than conform to the demands of the executioner, to call such freedom absolute seems highly misleading. Lukacs, Sartre's Marxist critic, holds that Sar~ tre's insistence upon absolute freedom and its corollary of total responsibility has had just the opposite effect of that intended by Sartre. Instead of freeing man for new possibilities, Lukacs argues that Sartre's absolut— istic emphasis has negated the very meaning of freedom . . 209 and has itself become a sort of fatalism. Lukacs' 208Schrag, op. cit., p. 196. 209Lukacs, Existentialisme ou Marxisme?, p. 112. f'ffismérw“ i l. § condemned to be :3 ism to be sure, h same, a somewhat ‘ pion of absolute Perhaps S lute and his subs Spect to the noti eral, might lead Stated his view ( POintedly when h¢ Sartre's om §°9ether com: lble view of continues to Such an impressi. l73 charges can hardly be ignored when Sartre himself has insisted in at least four separate works that ”man is condemned to be free." This is a new brand of fatal— ism to be sure, but fatalism it may well be just the same, a somewhat ironic note to be struck by the cham— pion of absolute freedom. Perhaps Sartre's thesis that freedom is abso- lute and his subsequent analyses, especially with re— spect to the notion of the Other and obstacles in gen- eral, might lead one to agree with Van Meter Ames. Ames stated his view of Sartre's theory of freedom quite pointedly when he wrote: Sartre's own assertions and admissions taken together come down to something like a sens— ible View of freedom as relative. Yet he continues to speak of freedom as absolute. 210 Such an impression, which is likely to be that of many of Sartre's readers, requires comment. This investigator would like to suggest that Sartre's own terminology has perhaps been his worst enemy. Unless the freedom of which Sartre speaks when 210Ames, “Mead and Sartre on Man,” p. 213. spoken of (prac lute, but rather I10 1% limi limits assigned sult from one's the world). Act really seem to e 0f freedom, rath, The central inSil ___.'— he terms freedom absolute is only the freedom of man purely as a consciousness, then he might better have spoken of (practical?) freedom not as total or abso— lute, but rather as unlimited, unlimited meaning that no a priori limits can be assigned to it (or that the limits assigned are essentially self—imposed and re— sult from one's interpretation of, and reaction to, the world). Actually most of Sartre's own arguments really seem to establish the anti-a prioristic quality of freedom, rather than its quality as total or absolute. The central insight of Sartre, then, seems to be not that man is absolutely free, but that at any given time no one, including the For—itself in question, ever knows for cer— tain just how far his freedom extends. Limits, in other words are to be constituted, not assumed in advance, and these limits are then to be constantly tested and re— tested. The real danger of Sartre's absolution, is that this central insight be lost from View when his theory as a whole is rejected for its extreme and unrealistic emphasis. ennui-BMW I n“ 21M _. _.‘ «lad; ‘£ [.‘.-"3‘ 5‘ ,‘ Ii, ‘.-.!h-'9 I.I . '. I.. --I 'I-L!I JO 1"“. . 'illig '}I_-.i ”.353!" "" ...-q... _ Ethed‘there. T conception is i: refers to Sartr, ism- By fetisc? man and his fre, hovering above above everythini Words, talk of being (freedOm 1 side of the Spa or for that mat more extended f Ames we 175 Sartre's absolutism with respect to his theory of freedom is by no means the only major flaw to be lo— cated there. The next major flaw or weakness in his conception is its empty_or abstract quality. Ames even refers to Sartre's idea of freedom as a sort of fetish- ism. By fetischism Ames means that Sartre‘s idea of man and his freedom ”is without a footing in nature: hovering above the body, above the brain, above society, . . . 211 above everything access1ble to seience.“ In other Words, talk of the For—itself gyg free and conscious being (freedom being taken as absolute), places it out- side of the spatio—temporal locus of man's daily affairs, or for that matter, of scientific pursuits even in their more extended forms. Ames went on to supplement this charge of fetisch- ism by suggesting that there is a basic bifurcation in Sartre's theory between man and nature. This bifurca— tion, which excludes man from his natural habitat, then 211 . . . . Van Meter Ames, "Fetischism in the Existen— tialism of J. P. Sartre," The Journal of Philosophy,ILVII (July 6, 1950), p. 410. into his natural Sartre does insil "but it is as a of the world. "2] Not only natural habitat; from all social isolates man frc and Opposes him vidual, an absoj Critic argued i: would scarcely < causes Sartre and other like—minded existentialists to grapple with the problem of how to get man back into his natural context again. As Ames points out, Sartre does insist upon man's presence—in—the-world, ”but it is as a mind and a freedom which cannot be of the world."212 Not only does Sartre separate man from his natural habitat; his philosophy also ”abstracts man from all social relationships and bonds."213 ”Sartre isolates man from his natural and social environment and opposes him to it, making of him an isolated indi- vidual, an absolute subject . . . ."214 Or, as one critic argued in an even more direct fashion, ”One would scarcely guess from any of Sartre's writings that human beings are fathers, mothers, children.”215 212Ibid. 213 . . Zuidema, Op. Cit., p. 12. 214 August Cornu, “Bergsonianism and Existential- ism“ in Philosophical Thought in France and the United States, ed. Marvin Farber (Buffalo, New York: University of Buffalo Publications in Philsophy, 1950), p. 162. 21 , 5Ussher, op. Cit., p. 121. W' whi ironic conclusion pion of contextual; sophical problems: relate to human a1 nored man's conte: Seemingly of absolute freed all social and fa; in fact deliberat constraining bond “Phh a theory of Leibniz, Sartre . s 177 The conjunction of the above charges, together with those of Ames' which preceded them, leads one to an ironic conclusion. Sartre, often taken to be a cham— pion of contextualistic approaches to analyzing philo— sophical problems (especially where these problems relate to human activity) has himself apparently ig— nored man's contextual relation in the world. Seemingly in order to preserve his doctrine of absolute freedom intact, he has attempted to sever all social and familial bonds of the For—itself; has in fact deliberately cut the For-itself loose from all constraining bonds of any sort. For all of his attacks upon a theory of freedom such as that entertained by Leibniz, Sartre's own conception of the For—itself re- sembles in many ways the monadistic theory of Leibniz. The For—itself is essentially an isolated individual, a single monad. He does come into contact with other monads and does (in contrast to the View of Leibniz) have windows whichefllow Others to peek in; but his basic condition is solitude. The For—itself is first alone and only later encounters the Other. that man must 1: seems in the nei The same thinkei relation to his the next moment dom) as though 1 with a body no 11 his treatment 01 gard the For-its iPheral, quasi-a Alth°u9h Sartre "hOdily conscim though the me C The perplexing thing about Sarte's theory in this respect is that the same philsopher who insists that man must be understood as a Being—in—the—world, seems in the next breath to take man out of this world. The same thinker who analyzes human sexuality and man's relation to his body in some insightful ways, seems at the next moment to treat For—itself (Qua absolute free— dom) as though he were a bodiless shade or phantom, with a body no more tangible than ectoplasm. Even in his treatment of physical torture, Sartre seems to re— gard the For—itself's relation to its own body as per— ipheral, quasi—accidental, almost unworthy of concern. Although Sartre insists that all consciousness is really ”bodily consciousness," he writes at times almost as though the two could part company when the pure freedom of the For—itself decides to "effect a nihilating with- drawal" from its bodily manifestations, thus leaving consciousness in its pristine state. Merleau-Ponty spoke to just this aspect of Sar- tre's theory when he wrote, ”What withstands pain is not a bare consciousness, but a prisoner with his I l 216 he lives." I relevance to flu tion presents mg sible subj ectivi in the world an: it."217 What i: in the absolute: "inaccessible $1 Merleau- add still anoth« abSOIute freedo: comrades or with those he loves and under whose gaze 21 he lives.“ 6 He also made a further point of direct relevance to this issue when he declared, "True reflec- tion presents me to myself not as an idle and inacces- sible subjectivity, but as identical with my presence in the world and to others, as I am now realizing it.“217 What is Sartre's conception of For—itself in the absoluteness of his freedom, but just such an ”inaccessible subjectivity“? Merleau—Ponty's criticsms prompted Desan to add still another indictment of Sartre's notion of absolute freedom. Employing a quotation of Merleau— Ponty's, Desan, agreeing that to be free means to be born in and of the world, then went on to add: ”There is neither a complete determinism, nor a complete or absolute freedom. I am not a thing, and I am not a . . 218 pure consolousness either.” Apparently Sartre’s 216 . Merleau—Ponty, op. Cit., p. 454. 217Ibid., p. 452. 218 Desan, op. cit., p. 172. mot-59'. 9am?” .bawhmfi ml nan-w T:-.E’.-':' usi- ' -. '. __,. .- 'h “was.“ a ".munw fled-.9 m grands-s WEE ; 4 Jedi! hmtial dimensit Sartre's' sulted in his CO] with For-itself i of as a mere thil ence to its attr ted the analysis man's being-in-t? dom and spontane more divorced fr physico—chemical which Sartre spo eal quality and metaphysical poi 180 insistence that For—itself is not to be viewed as a mere thing, led him to emphasize For—itself's insub— stantial dimension in too exaggerated a fashion. Sartre's anti-reductionistic persuasion re— sulted in his concerning himself almost exclusively with For—itself as a free and conscious being instead of as a mere thing or substance definable with refer— ence to its attributes and qualities. He then neglec- ted the analysis of the more substantial aspects of man's being-in—the-world. As a consequence, the free— dom and spontaneity of the For—itself became gradually more divorced from man's functioning as a conscious physico—chemical organism. The absolute freedom of which Sartre spoke began to take on an ever—more ether- eal quality and seemed in danger of dwindling to a mere metaphysical point. Sartre's theory of freedom, which had at first promised to be an analysis of man's existential problems and concerns, seemed to drift further and further from the arena of man's actual affairs. What had at first offered promise of yielding a new insight into human longer a special actions, was exté awake and asleep. tary and non—volt with obstacles tc world, Sartre ch< fundamental puriw which remained a] circumstances . trean freedom (:1 Lukacs 5 quality to be no mere accident . 181 behavior, via a contextualistic approach, gradually abstracted man from this very context. ~Freedom, no longer a Special quality possessed by certain of man's actions, was extended to cover all of his behavior, awake and asleep, conscious and pre—conscious, volun— tary and non—voluntary. Rather than coming to grips with obstacles to man's practical functioning in the world, Sartre chose rather to address himself to the fundamental purity of For—itself's freedom, a freedom which remained absolute at all times and under all circumstances. In short, the ethereal quality of Sar— trean freedom clearly revealed itself. Lukacs suggests that this increasingly ethereal quality to be noted in Sartre's theory of freedom is no mere accident. Lukacs holds that Sartre could maintain his doctrine of absolute freedom only by deliberately making it ethereal. Only by resorting to an abstract theory of freedom, could Sartre gain apparent victories over his challengers. Lukacs argues that Sartre was in fact unable to maintain a doctrine of concrete freedom, the sort experienced by man in the real world.219 The W 219Lukacs, op. cit., p. 104. could not, by de m For-itself . Interest also criticized of her remarks < in Being and N01 If a door r1 opening it 1 ing that, 01 notion of f: tent and of How does Sartre statements of E, tiSes) I When th ing that he can What Price has . cious dOCtrine 220 She did not t° Sartre, CePtion t0 what remo Beau E but of free a great rking of t —J_ fi—W only sort of freedom which Sartre was able to preserve intact was fundamental freedom, a sort of freedom which could not, by definition, ever be taken away from man ggg For—itself. Interestingly enough, Simone de Beauvoir has also criticized abstract theories of freedom, and some of her remarks can apply to several of Sartre's theses in Being and Nothingness. Beauvoir wrote: If a door refuses to open, let us accept not opening it and then we are free. But by do- ing that, one manages only to save an abstract 3 notion of freedom. It is emptied of all con— , \ tent and of all truth.220 .9 How does Sartre's doctrine differ from the most extreme statements of Epictetus the Stoic (whom he later chas- tises), when the cripple of whom Sartre speaks, realiz— ing that he cannot walk, “chooses himself as crippled”? What price has Sartre paid to preserve intact his pre— cious doctrine of absolute freedom? 220Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 29. She did not seem to be addressing these remarks directly to Sartre, but to what she understands by the Stoic con— ception of freedom. However, Beauvoir herself has shown to what a great extent Sartre's theory of freedom is a re—working of the traditional Stoic theory of freedom. or- thl even more seriow purity of freedg theory. That i questionable on‘ Being-for-itsel this foundation like that held ' pretend to be a from a starting words, if a man lutely free) , t time he makes a 183 Not only is Sartrean freedom all but devoid of content (and thus an almost literal nothingness), but even more serious, Sartre cannot maintain the absolute purity of freedom even within the confines of his gwg theory. That is, even if one allows him the somewhat questionable ontological base of Being—in—itself and Being—for—itself, and allows Sartre to develop upon this foundation. Merleau—Ponty criticized a conception like that held by Sartre when he wrote, ”I can no longer pretend to be a cipher and to choose myself continually from a starting point nothing at all.”221 In other words, if a man not only was free, but still i; (abso— lutely free), then he must be able to start afresh each time he makes another choice. His freedom must remain in a pure and undiluted state throughout his entire career. Such is not possible, however, for even Sartre seems forced to admit that the choices of a For—itself build up a residue, and this very deposit means that a For—itself can never return to the same starting point again. He cannot maintain that his freedom is as 22lMerleau—Ponty, op. cit., p. 452. Even if a particular Fo ginning of his , serve to furthe: l1‘he essence whit self through Chl such choice, ca, snake sheds its each decision 0 184 unpolluted at one end of the series of actions as it was at the other. Even if one were to allow Sartre to claim that a particular For—itself was absolutely free at the be— ginning of his life, each subsequent decision would serve to further delimit and circumscribe his freedom. The essence which that For-itself had created for him— self through choice and the action which follows from such choice, cannot simply be discarded by him as a snake sheds its skin. In Sartre's own terminology, each decision of a For—itself has committed or engaged him to the world in tangible ways, and the For—itself cannot pretend otherwise. Unless, of course, Sartre wants the For—itself to be in bad faith; to play off his transcendence against his immanence, in an attempt to erase all decisions and actions which have preceded the present moment of choice. The cumulative effect of past decisions cannot be ignored, even by the exis— tential man, although Sartre writes at times as though it could. .'. m. his; “El??— Jth-id ‘2: sure a state. a- 8 1" as eras-w am) 3'1 new! _fliru this]; I.I'! 911's. .5. . ._ . _ .f.l__ . i ‘.- . :I.J'Jfi-} E -'-' -n=. . did at the begi instead, what i is that no deci While the serie life does perh; WY: this dire the convict in altering his b: the Prison wall extent. The S life: even the long as he liv Constamt (for he is Still fo the F(Jr‘itself of any of his “well (altho 185 Sartre might counter such an objection by assert— ing that he does not maintain that freedom remains in as pure a state at the end of a series of decisions as it did at the beginning of that series. He might hold that instead, what it means to assert that freedom is absolute is that no decision is ever binding in a final sense. While the series of decisions making up a For—itself's life does perhaps indicate a certain direction or tend— ency, this direction can always be altered. Since even the convict in his cell has the same opportunity for altering his basic project as his fellows outside of the prison walls, his freedom remains absolute to that extent. The significance or meaning of any For—itself's life, even that of the prisoner, remains in suspense as long as he lives. Even when external affairs remain constant (for example, even while it remains true that he is still forced to live within a narrow prison cell), the For-itself is still free to alter the significance of any of his past actions and his present conditions as well (although he may not be free to alter the con— sequences which have follOWed from such past decisions). ”WM Tarmth' .m a.» mi m pi" "'=" . 4a: '. O I. It -I . e and l -' ' a 1 1'- 13le withregard tom “J'T '- J.':'~:-3 .- "' -. .. . 1,3. ..i .'.-_. '4'“ . gards himself as A still freedom is yet t in his view of 1‘ The greater part two basic assnm] is autonomous, ; fr 1 I is the true meal _. .7: Fr ... o :7 m n: H (D (D m rl" 186 Such a suggestion on Sartre's part would probably indi— cate that the word absolute has undergone some revision, however, and would seem to imply a somewhat weaker thesis with regard to man's freedom than Sartre typically re— gards himself as maintaining. A still more basic flaw in Sartre's theory of freedom is yet to be uncovered, namely that to be located in his View of human choice and its relation to freedom. The greater part of Sartre's theory appears to rest upon two basic assumptions. The first is that man's choice is autonomous, and the second is that autonomy of choice is the true meaning of freedom. Both of these assump— tions are questionable. Desan questions the autonomy of man’s choice by indicating that choice is not in fact independent of ex— ternal conditions at all. Choice, even for Sartre, must always be made with respect to a given amount of data, and these data are usually determined by factors other than the For-itself's own freedom. Choice, in other words, is £93 unlimited and so the freedom which is ex— . . . . . 2 pressed by means of chOices is not unlimited either. 22 2 . 22Desan, op. Cit., p. 170. iii-ism the m: ing of the word he said to be t Desan c Could take adva and choice. R reSPect to fin“ be expressed o to it that the group of For—it ited. In this reduce the numl under consider; until the choi< duced to a set be to his adva in Such an ins Sartre' 5 sense hUt he would c 187 To be dependent upon that which remains outside of one's own powers (as For—itself is dependent upon available data for the making of his choices) is hardly the mean- ing of the word autonomy. Hence, man's choice cannot be said to be truly autonomous at all. Desan could have added that a clever manipulator could take advantage of this relation between freedom and choice. Realizing that choice is always made with respect to finite amounts of data, and that freedom can be expressed only through choices, he could merely see to it that the data which a particular For—itself (or group of For—itselves) had available were strictly lim— ited. In this manner, the manipulator could gradually reduce the number of choices available to the For—itself under consideration. He could continue such a process until the choices of that For—itself were finally re— duced to a set of alternatives, any one of which would be to his advantage as a manipulator. The For—itself in such an instance would remain absolutely free in Sartre's sense (that is, he would remain free to choose), but he would clearly be a mere pawn in the hands of the when I I “'1'" i_-.. M' - a1- as .I . . iiiéé'dOm so cot of content. Even ‘ choice is in i short-lived. to be free . necessary to ,' it than doubtful. All. I. of man's choic step, to the a or totally fre gue, as Sartre oner) is absol‘ the prisoner ‘1: adds, almost a prisoner my ne have sapped th 223 O Revue Internat 188 manipulator. That one could still refer to such an individual as absolutely free, seems to indicate that freedom so construed is as ineffectual as it is empty of content. Even if Sartre were somehow to prove that man's choice is in fact autonomous, his success would be short-lived. As. V. J. McGill argues, "To choose is to be free. Now everyone will grant that choice is necessary to freedom. That it is sufficient is more than doubtful."223 For Sartre to establish the autonomy of man's choice, and then move from there in but a single step, to the assertion that man is therefore absolutely or totally free, involves a specious inference. To ar- gue, as Sartre does, that a given For—itself (say a pris- oner) is absolutely free, is really only to argue that the prisoner is ”always free to choose x.“ When Sartre adds, almost as an after—thought, "but, of course, the prisoner my never achieve his chosen end,” he seems to have sapped the word freedom of its vitality and meaning. 223 . - V. J. McGill, ”Sartre's Doctrine of Freedom,“ Revue Internationale de Philsophie, III (July, 1949), p. 331. this: the doing-ll,- may he tice, however identical wit Freedom of ch of the chosen lacking value tre to argue . might mean th with those th since the free not the sort w denying. Furthe §_l_l_ choice is of choice itse choose betwee termed free, As Stern argue Voltaire ' 5 being thra To make a cleavage between choice and the achieve— ment of the end which is chosen, as Sartre insists upon doing, may have certain theoretical advantages. In prac— tice, however, choice when so regarded becomes all but identical with wishful thinking or mere daydreaming. Freedom of choice when separated from the achievement of the chosen end, pales into a mere bloodless shadow, lacking value as surely as it lacks substance. For Sar— tre to argue that man is absolutely free in this sense might mean that he has not in fact ever come to grips with those thinkers who have denied that man is free, since the freedom of which Sartre speaks is probably not the sort which such individuals were interested in denying. Furthermore, to maintain, as Sartre does, that all choice is free choice, undermines the very notion of choice itself; when even a For—itself forced to choose between death and continued imprisonment is termed free, the word has surely lost its meaning. As Stern argued: Voltaire's Candide, having to choose between being thrashed to death or shot to death, hotbert - Marc of Sartre's death and en because _bo_th which is supo Seve doctrine of i could be useo dom of man. knows that hi at any one in is of this to making up a F free moments . from oppressi has about the same freedom of choice as Sar— tre's slave, who must choose between dying in a jail-break, or dying in his chains in prison.224 Herbert Marcuse, addressing himself to the same aspect of Sartre's thought, added: ”The free choice between death and enslavement is neither freedom nor choice, because both alternatives destroy the 'réalité humaine' 225. which is supposed to be freedom.” Several critics have mentioned that Sartre's doctrine of freedom, just because of its extreme nature, could be used, ironically enough, to suppress the free— dom of man. If For—itself is absolutely free, then he knows that his freedom will find itself just as free at any one instant as it did at another. If freedom is of this total sort, the whole continuum of instants making up a For—itself's life is composed of equally 226 free moments. What could such a For—itself fear from oppression then? Because as man, he is a For—itself —————__—____—————-————-——————————_ 224Stern, op. cit., p. 215. 225 . Marcuse, op. Cit., p. 322. 226 Merleau—Ponty, op. cit., p. 437. assesses»- liyfaht could ' tyrannical pu argued: If philso ontologic capable o Jew and t and remai self-resp sophical . of a mere itself as persecute Inas time of Castrc Sartre was to had been erect fields to scar of rebellion . tions were in tiny, " the po 227Mc 228Ab (New York: R 229Ma 191 his freedom is inescapable. Such being the case, “all “227 emancipatory struggles become illusory. Clearly a tyrant could ”subvert the philosophy itself to his own . 22 tyrannical purposes," Kaplan suggests. 8 As Marcuse argued: If philsophy, by virtue of its existential ontological concepts of man and freedom, is capable of demonstrating that the persecuted Jew and the victim of the executioner are and remain absolutely free and masters of ; self—responsible choice, then these philo— sophical concepts have declined to the level of a mere idealism, an idealogy which offers itself as a most handy justification for the persecutors and the executionsers.229 In a short book written about Cuba during the time of CaStro's seizure of power published in 1961, " A Sartre was to speak of the ”scarecrow of Destity” which had been erected by the rich of Cuba in the sugar cane fields to scare away the poor, to stifle their spirits of rebellion. Satisfied that their deplorable condi— tions were inevitable, were “merely part of their Des- l tiny," the poor workers would continue to be subservient M 227McGill, op. cit., p. 332. 228Abraham Kaplan, The New World of Philosophy is (New York: Random House, 1961), P- 124° 229Marcuse, op. cit., p. 322. u l I i: . '-. I' l I. II " w- . l'. i ._ h '.lli .. I ' 1' l .- I l I h i - . l: a. I l!‘ ' mental, absol E. {you 3.13313 "'"r'" ... 'xwo n'rfl or ifs-2:11. emigre-Jinn: anti :~eg.-.. . ..... .‘.—r... - JPUL: I ' “'.J. in-V. {. hint at“; Nothingness, b radical doctri a lack of cone sor and by the as his master, Priving the sl tre, to speak Not on 192 230 to the rich landowners who were exploiting them. What, in Sartre's own words, is his notion of funda— mental, absolute freedom as expressed in Being and Nothingness, but just such a scarecrow? What is his radical doctrine of freedom, but a justification for a lack of concern for man's liberty both by the oppres— sor and by those oppressed? If the slave is as free as his master, who is to criticize the master for de— priving the slave of his freedom? Who, indeed, is Sar- tre, to speak of oppression at all? Not only does Sartre's extreme conception of freedom deprive the words freedom and choice of their meaning; in addition, even the idea of responsibility is emptied of its content and significance. Sartre's insistence upon the absolute character of freedom, was accompanied by its corollary of total responsibility. Sartre's view does not admit of degrees. Freedom is absolute or it is nothing. Responsibility is total or it does not really exist. Such a conviction led Sartre to declare: _____________________________________________________ 230Jean—Paul Sartre, Sartre on Cuba, trans. anonymous (New York: Ballantine Books, 1961), p. 43. Hit cm In c‘n‘ls'ul all. are . .. 1t buses-w”- a-r want-.5- '«JI-‘L‘tldi .Isim 1 i; . _-I__- . g , . .e.:.--r.'..-r'.ir'.'-J~'J£.-_ ..nt will I am mobi it is it: 1 35%le 1t. ‘ As if to furt‘ lowed the abo more startlim statement of . victims_ I "232 There man is totall; for What take tiates and f0 lutely free, quite literal is either dir. freedom as a 231 193 There are no accidents in life; a community . event which suddenly bursts forth and involves me in it does not come from the outside. If I I am mobilized in a war, this war is my war; 1 it is in my image and I deserve it . . . . Forzlgck of getting out of it, I have chosen it. As if to further clarify his radical stand, Sartre fol— lowed the above cited statement by one which is still more startling. ”We must,” he wrote, "agree with the statement of J. Romains, 'In war there are no innocent . . 2 2 Victims.'" 3 There could be no "innocent Victims,” because man is totally free and therefore is totally responsible for What takes place in his world, for that which he ini— tiates and for that which he suffers. Since man is abso— lutely free, and since he has ”chosen his world," he quite literally "gets what he deserves.” Whatever happens is either directly or indirectly traceable to his own freedom as a For—itself. 23lSartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 554. 2321bid. 5:. i : ft; 1 a} '3. 5; '. 2:. i .'r- 1' Ill! 1' I I I' i -I w ' I i' 'e‘ M II] ' __J. in .. _ ____,_ ,1”, , sea was 11 ll - 'I ' I ' I) '. I. ‘cigliimu m I asmch as_sar ...a' saw EJ'a-.‘1fi?..-.:-:fi-Wll~'f" -. a? _.1 ' D ‘ . git-h u:..: .4 "-' 3i philosoth-is. .--,.;_g.--._n-. n s: - -- - - ._ . : his insight c1 context of a ' lute freedom : society makes for x," the w' and sapped of surely, when . totally respo If responsibi to be assigne, Hitler himsel 194 That man is more free and responsible than he typically wishes to admit is undoubtedly true, and in— asmuch as-Sartre awakens modern man to this fact, his philosophy is not without some positive value. However, his insight can be destroyed by being placed within the context of a theory which upholds the notions of abso— lute freedom and total responsibility.233 When a whole society makes the claim that "no one is really responsible for X," the word responsible may eventually be undermined and sapped of its meaning and significance. But just as surely, when one claims,1ike Sartre, that 2;; men are totally responsible, the word has become non—significant. If responsibility is only total, then there are no degrees to be assigned to it, and a persecuted Jew or a tiny in— fant is as responsible for the Second World War, as is Hitler himself. There is good reason to believe that Sartre does in fact want to be able to speak of degrees of responsi- 233 As Dr. John F. A. Taylor suggested, Sartre's View of total responsibility is little more than a modern version of the Stoic doctrine that there are no degrees of right and wrong. than those who example.) But cal framework no assignment! sponsibility. at times, ever scene, seems t istic philoso; a man, if not 195 bility and blame. (He holds collaborators more guilty than those who fought in the French underground, for example.) But the fact remains, that his own theoreti- cal framework in Being and Nothingness will allow of no assignment of degrees, either to freedom or to re— sponsibility. Sartre's inclinations as a sensitive and at times, even compassionate, observer of the human scene, seems to be here at odds with Sartre the rigor— istic philosopher. (Perhaps this is to his credit as a man, if not as a philsopher.) Concluding Remarks In summary then, even if one grants Sartre his ontological base of Being-in—itself and Being—for-itself (a base which may itself contain serious flaws, internal inconsistencies, and a dominant arbitrary character), his view of freedom as it is to be found in Being and Nothingness still includes within itself inherent flaws and is structurally weak. His theory of freedom as here snare/assassi- ms word he a w it 1W on. and: -'r:s:ros"H {rm air! 3an -?—“.JI§|'I".“': ms" ._-.-.-,_+ 2:15 6.01“!- . . = in.“ ' l - i7” - " ' '.' 1"! ' .-' . " 'i'f'fi'A'lhlJ'a'j” - ..- 'I 'fJC-‘J '51 - . .- -_.. _.. .. _ pending the c . . . - man's choices' (a fundamental 0 making man to and even for rendered the Sibility impo cal freedom h Pressive forc I “.71 196 presented at least, is too extreme, too absolutistic, too radical, and too empty of content. By applying the word free to the whole of man's actions, and ex— panding the concept of free choice to the totality of man's choices, Sartre has sapped these words of their fundamental or original meaning and significance. By making man totally responsible for all of his decisions, and even for the world in which he lives, Sartre has rendered the assignment of variant degrees of respon— sibility impossible. His emphasis upon man's ontologi— cal freedom has helped to obscure from view those op— pressive forces in the practical sphere of activity. Sartre's assertion that man is inescapably free, plays directly into the hands of oppressors, and betrays the oppressed; furnishes a justification for variant forms of cruelty, oppression and human degradation. Sartre's insistence upon the absolute character of human freedom permeated his whole social outlook and caused him to view all social inter—relationships as either forms of open or veiled hositility. His conviction I ' whim“? man from. his and cultural ensions of ma freedom, remc anyone‘s expe reach of scie The r great a part because Sartz in faCt autor M equatable PreserVe ever that the freedom of the lonely individual is of special value and significance, led him to attempt to extricate man from his natural, social, familial, socio—economic, and cultural context. His focus upon two selected dim- ensions of man's being, namely his consciousness and his freedom, removed the For—itself of which he spoke from anyone's experience and placed this being beyond the reach of scientific investigation. The notion of choice upon which Sartre based so great a part of his theory is intrinsically weak, both because Sartre has failed to prove that man's choice is in fact autonomous, and because autonomy of choice is Q9: equatable with total freedom (if the words are to preserve even a modicum of their usual meanings). The freedom to which Sartre addresses himself in Being and Nothinginess, is not the freedom of a man as a being— in—the—world, but resembles rather more closely a des— cription of freedom as though it (or man) were somehow a Platonic Idea, dwelling in a realm beyond the spatio— temporal matrix of ordinary concerns. For—itself as characterized by Sartre in this work of 1943, seems I «an new one :..-almanac. ls..- 117315,: flirt nay-31 m _ 'I I ' . 5 - ‘ I n '1 . J .0. - -1° . . llfii..‘. \ -bA-l“ 'I ,'§"‘. I 5' " I f I firm if in"- _no_t the freed: I —; 5E1: ”II-'.I ing his physil constitution. which man wouj being. withou‘ tion, family , sl>0ntane0us b Pressed in p;e him in at lea tive manner, is inextrieab Chlture, his man is: one In hdamite . 3 ar than a Charac State . 198 utterly incommensurable with man as a social, biological, and economic being. The freedom of which Sartre speaks is, in short, ppp the freedom of man as a total organic entity, includ- ing his physical, chemical, psychological, and social constitution. Sartrean freedom is instead the freedom which man would perhaps possess if he were an ethereal being, without body, appetite, need, habituation, obliga~ tion, family connection, or past. If man were but a pure spontaneous bit of consciousness, Sartre's theory as ex— pressed in Being and Nothingness would have portrayed him in at least a fairly accurate, if not even defini— tive manner. But alas, poor creature that he is, man is inextricably related to his own body, his past, his culture, his language and his economic context. Sartre's man is, one might be tempted to suggest, almost pre- Adamite. Sartre's For-itself comes very near to being a description of what man could have been if, rather than a characterization of what man lg, given his fallen state. in ness, is re sion, explicat His most basil Being-in-itseI of choice and working, qualJ‘ freedom, then jections raise In short, Sartre's entire theory of freedom as this is to be found within the pages of Being and Noth- ingness, is revealed to stand in need of careful revi— sion, explication, elucidation, and further analysis. His most basic concepts, from his characterization of Being—in—itself and Being—for—itself, to his notions of choice and responsibility, require systematic re— working, qualification, and clarification. if Being and Nothingness were Sartre's definitive statement on freedom, then his views would be open to all of the ob— jections raised in the preceding pages, plus no doubt even more which have not been included there. Such be— ing the case, a study of Sartre's conception of freedom could end precisely at this point. However, although many critics of Sartrean existentialism have in fact chosen to do just this (that is, to allow a criticism of Being and Nothingness to serve as their entire analy— sis of Sartre's theoretical pronouncements), the present investigator chooses a different course. He chooses to maintain that Sartre's Being and Nothingness marks but one phasemf Sartre's total philosophical development, , l and that this persuasion it Such course, and a gation repres Sartre's thec evolution, ar are reflected is being mair “Wilber of Sax to hold that but this inve conviction by reason to. be] and that this work is not definitive of Sartre's total persuasion in any final sense. Such a contention could not go unsupported, of course, and as a result, the remainder of this investi— gation represents a prolonged attempt to show both that Sartre's theory of freedom has undergone significant evolution, and hpy such changes, or supplementations, are reflected in his general outlook. This contention is being maintained in the face of a relatively large number of Sartrean critics and commentators who wish to hold that Being and Nothingness is a definitive work, but this investigator is rapidly being joined in his . . _ . 234 . conViction by other Sartrean critics. There is good reason to believe, furthermore, that those who call for a new look at Sartre's philosophical stance are coming 234As a matter of fact, since the first draft of the present study was completed in the Fall of 1964, two more books have appeared upon the scene, both in early 1965, which argue for the absolute necessity of re-evaluating Sartre in the light of his new perspective. These two books are discussed in Chapter V, and are of special value in understanding Sartre's neo—Marxist leanings. Toa against Sart, Nothingness : outlook, is l of man and 0. recent theor. his Search f. m, for e: culiar flaws studied on t: I sum the thr _.‘“ into their own at last, and that this tendency will soon become the more dominant one. To argue that many of the indictments brought against Sartre's theories as put forward in Being and Nothingness are no longer appropriate to Sartre's later outlook, is by no means to purge Sartre's later theories of man and of human freedom of all stain. Sartre’s more recent theories, such as those which are put forward in his Search for a Method and Critigpe de la Raison Dialec- pggpg, for example, are clearly not without their‘own pe— culiar flaws and short-comings, but they deserve to be studied on their 9gp grounds. Such an attempt will oc— cupy the three chapters which follow. am:- tlmMmb 9:04: eds 1 '. IE. :I 4 ‘d t I A. . . I.‘ I 1"]. .‘J ‘.4.‘ i- -.‘-' 45' -- ‘ i " 1 '.1 .I.‘ ' II‘__' 9"I '_' I .. J1. '- ' - o ' . \— . ~. r-.-. '.1_7___‘ . , The y to m real beginnin tentialist ph sentation of extended roug ' W Jab In thi as W two mOre Play l! l '. I TheMeSh).a .I l-. \ i ll: .6- '.I: :I M), an Hi, 1 p} . ‘ -\ CHAPTER III THE MIDDLE PERIOD The years between 1943 and 1946 (1553: referred to fa=ffits‘ffi€a§a as Sartre's middle period) marked the real beginning of Sartre's popularization of his exis— tentialist philsophy. This period began with the pre- sentation of his first play Les Mouches (The Flies) and extended roughly to the publication of his Reflexions sur la Question Juive (translated as Anti—Semite and ggp). In this period, Sartre completed his trilogy of novels, Lés'Chemins de Liberté (available in English as The Age of Reason, The Reprieve, and Troubled Sleep); two more plays, Huis C105 (No Exit) and L'Engrenage (Ip The Mesh); a scenario Lés Jeux sonts faits (The Chips Are Down), and "Existentialisme est un humanisme" (”Ex— istentialism is a Humanism“). In these works, Sartre supplemented, expanded, qualified, and to some extent 202 Being and No time essentil interest in, logical (and His work was He had attem; two fundamen 203 revised, his theory of freedom as expressed in Being and Nothingness. Sartre's theories as they are to be found in Being and Nothingness indicated that he was at that time essentially a technical philosopher with a keen interest in, and considerable feeling for, the psycho— logical (and ontological) dimensions of man's life. His work was, to all appearances, purely descriptive. He had attempted to characterize what were for him the two fundamental modes of Being, namely Being—in—itself and Being—for-itself. During the course of his analy- sis, the concept of freedom had emerged as the very core of Being—for-itself's fundamental structure. In close conjunction with this notion of freedom, there had emerged in his theory such related ideas as authen— ticity, bad faith, and the like, but Sartre had attempted to minimize any obvious moral or normative content im— plicit in such words. He had even criticized Heidegger's use of the word authentic as improper because he had made the word seem moralistic in tone. main normati‘ of such word authenticity but perhaps 1 view. Such 1 Being and NO‘ his theory rw an undertone stressed by . dom was simp as a conscio In spite of this fact, however, there did re— main normative undercurrents in Sartre's own employment of such words as authentic. There were indications that authenticity had become for Sartre not only g_value, but perhaps had even become thg ultimate value in his View. Such conclusions were only implicit, though, in Being and Nothingness, and the normative dimension of his theory remained for the most part at the level of an undertone. The factual character of freedom was stressed by the Sartre of Being and Nothingness; free— dom was simply a fundamental fact of man's existence as a conscious, self—creative being. In the period from 1943 to approximately 1950, Sartre was to gradually leave behind the purely descrip- tive phase of his theory and was to become, in the words of one of his commentators, ”a propagandist for freedom and responsibility.”1 In his play The Flies, for example, Beauvoir tells her reader that Sartre wished to convey a very definitive message to those who watched its 1S. M. Brown, ”The Atheistic Existentialism of J. P. Sartre,” p. 166. under the Ge tre "wanted their right gime. "2 Thai tre indicate merely descr had been add authentic ex faith. performance. This was a message for the French living under the German occupation. In Beauvoir's words, Sar- tre "wanted them to throw off their guilt and assert their right to freedom in the teeth of the present re— gime.”2 The declarations of such an imperative by Sar— tre indicated that his doctrine of freedom was no longer merely descriptive; a distinct axiological dimension had been added. Freedom was better than slavery and authentic existence was preferable to living in bad faith. Clearly, however, Sartre could not propound such a doctrine without creating serious theoretical diffi— culties for himself in connection with his theory of absolute ontological freedom. As one of Sartre“s critics wrote, “If man is by nature free, then it is impossible for him to evade freedom . . . . But a “norm" which cannot possibly be evaded is no norm at all."3 If 2 Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, p. 408. 3 , . . George Nakhnikian, Introduction to ”Jean—Paul Sartre" in Readings in 20th Century Philosophy, William P. Alston and George Nakhnikian eds. (New York: The Free Press of Glencoe, 1963), p. 754. nition a fre of a normati his "obligat. part of his 4' becomes meani ' At t] one which San never in an 1 Sartre is correct in his assertion that man is, by defi— nition a free being, then how can he raise to the level of a normative imperative, man's "right to freedom" or his ”obligation to be authentic”? Seemingly if the first part of his assertion is correct, then the second part becomes meaningless. At this juncture a distinction has to be drawn, one which Sartre himself seemed to be employing, though never in an explicit fashion. Freedom has not one, but two basic modes. Man as a consious being is free by fundamental necessity, and this sort of freedom admits of no degree.4 But there is a second mode of freedom, one which depends upon the extent to which man is aware of his fundamental freedom and ceases to attempt an es— . 5 . . cape from this freedom. There is, in other words, freedom—as—fact, which is equivalent to man's freedom by virtue of the negativity which characterizes his free consciousness; and freedom—as—value, which 'refers 4Olson, Introduction to Existentialism, p. 109. 51bid. to the delib of fundament Int man was some ways in whic‘ and ineffect dom i_s given cient throug' Writings, fr On his part 207 to the deliberate assumption and resolute living out of fundamental freedom.”6 In the works written by Sartre which followed Being and Nothingness, Sartre did not so much deny that man was somehow fundamentally free, as he stressed the ways in which such freedom could be rendered sterile and ineffectual by evasion and self-deception. Free— dom is given, but this freedom must be rendered effi— cient through an effort on man's part.7 Sartre's writings, from 1943 to 1946 in particular, were attempts on his part to call man back to an authentic existence; to make man aware of the freedom which resided in him all of the time, but which had been buried beneath layers J., 3' of deception. Sartre tried, in other words, to awaken the ”sleeping dread” of which Heidegger had spoken in 8 ”What is Metaphysics?” to show man the full extent to which as a For—itself he is free and responsible. 6 . . Mary AloySius, “Freedom and the 'I': An EXis- tential Enquiry,“ p. 596. a 7 ’ \ . . . ‘ Alberes, Sartre: Philosopher Without Faith, PP. 58-59. l i ing; he must Man is :3 his free these od know it.J not to b If man does , tricked or t mere thing 0 will reflect either as a “P011 himself the more he he becomes f pig. "10 Perh W to reveal fr, 208 Man must not only pg free ontologically speak— ing; he must know that he is free. As Wilson wrote: Man is free all the time, but he confronts his freedom only at long intervals. Between these occasions, he is free, but he does not know it. To be free without knowing it, is not to be free.9 If man does not know that he is free, if he is either tricked or tricks himself, into thinking that he is a mere thing or a laboratory animal, then his every action will reflect this conviction. Man may look upon himself either as a freedom or as a thing. The more he looks upon himself as a freedom, the freer he will become; the more he looks upon himself as a thing, "the more he becomes fit to be viewed as a laboratory guinea . “10 pig. Perhaps Sartre's middle phase, wish—whéeh—éhés chaptes—deaks, is more than anything else Sartre's effort to reveal freedom—as—fact so that it will become for man freedom—as—value. By revealing to man his/fundamental 8 . . . Hiedegger, ”What is MetaphySics?“ p. 343. 9 Colin Wilson, The Age of Defeat, p. 115. 10 . Fallico, Art and Existentialism, p. 56. an far-:1 a: in: nil-s m; mun a+~r~va ‘rr q" -|'- ‘3 (I .'f' pi ' E I 'I. l . - . ' ' - ' I - - I — I‘ - - - ‘ “ Jualcate In . .. .. 1 . ... J - uh‘ . L ' - I ' ' "" ‘ "--"=U':.."- lures-.1351: _ _ _ ‘I I I. "I | - ..' . 1,. _ .:l .. . ..'_ . he simply re hoped to war forces, poli vent him frc Sart tral theses pressed in 3 his attentio ness of this The Sartre c _l 209 freedom as a For-itself, Sartre hoped to encourage man to regard himself as, and to act as, a free being; to indicate in concrete ways that man lg not and can never be simply reduced to a mere thing. Sartre apparently hoped to warn man of the danger of falling prey to those forces, political, social and religious, which would pre— vent him from becoming aware of his indelible freedom.ll Sartre did not explicitly deny any of his cen— tral theses concerning man's fundamental freedom as ex— pressed in Being and Nothingness. Instead, he focused his attention upon basic techniques by which the awaree ness of this freedom could be dulled or even obliterated. The Sartre of the polemical period would have held as certainly as the Sartre of Being and Nothingness that freedom is never murdered, it merely commits suicide. Even under a regime as oppressive as the Nazi's, man still has to cooperate with his oppressors to bring about his own final defeat. Man has to view himself llJohn F. Hayward, Existentialism and Religious Liberalism (Boston: Beacon Press, 1962), p. 19. as defeated either of th a collaborat of this facti to each man I his ability straints of , The . along these he found in 1 Play as his . the Nazi Opp: this fact (a: general mess: the ComPaSS as defeated and unfree before he can in fact become either of these things. Each man is to that extent a collaborator in his own capitulation. An awareness of this fact, Sartre seems to believe, would reveal to each man his capacity for resisting oppression and his ability to withstand external pressures and con— straints of all sorts. w The clearest expression of Sartre's convictions along these lines is, as has already been suggested, to be found in his play, The Flies. Sartre viewed this play as his own form of social action directed against the Nazi oppressors, and every line of this play echoes this fact (although, of course, there is also a more general message, directed to Ell For-itselves,within the compass of this drama). Sartre wrote, "Once free— dom lights its beacon in a man's heart, the gods are then spread "A free man a city acts "13 others . 5 spot" in occ In 3 fellow Frenc dom and his cease wallow ti°hl and tc ible being. as his own, afinal Sens to a\lthentic a to render th \ i lZJe GIllbert in A (New York; ‘ l3Ib \ . . 12 . powerless against him.” Awareness of his freedom can then spread from one man to his fellows like contagion. "A free man [i.e., a man who knows that he is free] in a city acts like a plague spot. He will infect the others.“13 Sartre hoped to serve as just such a "plague spot" in occupied France. In The Flies, Sartre urged man, especially his fellow Frenchmen under German rule, to realize his free- dom and his subsequent responsibility. He urged man to cease wallowing in the quagmire of guilt and humilia— tion, and to stand erect, as befits a free and respons— ible being. He urged man neither to denounce his actions as his own, nor to regard such actions as definitive in a final sense. In short, Sartre called his fellows back to authentic existence; back to a lucid awareness of man's essential liberty and the forces which threaten to render this liberty ineffectual. Sartre warned man 12Jean—Paul Sartre, The Flies, trans. Stuart Gilbert in A Treasury of the Theater, John Gassner ed. (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1959), p. 487. l3Ibid. __.43- . 9.1 ' both of the ' freedom wou ing, “human Ore Ki l"A1" Ethics, I. Ph I, P- 273. \l both of the despair which such a dreadful burden of his freedom would entail and assured him that as a free be- ' n ' ' ' ' "14 ing, human life begins on the far Side of despair. Orestes, like Sartre, "tries to persuade men that they are free and should act for themselves, ac— 15 cepting the anguish which such freedom brings.” Or— estes is, of course, essentially an example of For-itself simpliciter as characterized in Being and Nothingness.:ii The freedom of which Orestes speaks is negative, sterile and vacuous (though real); it is a freedom from every— .16 .. .. thing. SpeCific content for such freedom is still lacking at this stage of Sartre's thought. Orestes is authentic if authenticity be defined as "the engagement of the self with objects without at ’ the same time becoming a slave of the en-soi." Orestes \n C i$d¢ 14Ibid., p. 489. 15 Ludwig Kahn, "Freedom: An Existentialist View and an Idealist View," PMLA 84 (March, 1949), p. 9. IaAntonio Poppi, ”The Background of Situation Ethics,“ Philosophy Today, II (No. 4 — Winter, 1957), p. 273. _ . _ ' . ._ . ' .5th dancer-neg I}. iflim’a mm . "- ethereal state; he ' - - s. . m. m par ' ~ '0 amigos! 3...! ms 1.: 1:1,, “.395; in all; an! M3 .1 o!‘ .- men and commit him a .... .. -; -- '1: i 1' T'- -.-1,'.'? .t.-'-.-.a 19'1”! -1'.'= “=- - ' -- -- - affairs. /Freedom1 just aéicvis for\ in his n e1 The Z dom only in its ne mode of disengagen __ “___— gaged or uncommitt ! points toward ways can take place. ‘1 however, sees freedom only as repudiation. He is fur- thermore concerned with freedom only in its pure, ethereal state; he does not really mingle with other men and commit himself to their common projects and affairs.//Freedom for Orestes is inertia and emptiness, of Sartre's herUBST—Mathieu, U: of Rea on. Each—man sees free- just as itis for in his n el The A dom only in its negative dimension, freedom in its mode of disengagement, non—coincidence and nihilation. caste: W Apparently, neither ugh hafi‘yet discovered that unen— O gaged or uncommitted freedom is of value only as it points toward ways in which engagement and commitment “Q. has . can take place. They have failed to see that the value of pure freedom is merely instrumental, and that like Aristotle's prime matter, its formlessness is of value only because this renders it capable of assuming tan— gible forms (in the sphere of activity). lfiT . E. N0 EXit I study, in dramat and the threat d the fact that eat fer upon him a n threat to his fr Other poses to h play. Hell as c typified by the which is not int in Sartre ' 5 Hell Huis C108 (No Exit) No Exit, Sartre's second play, is a concrete study, in dramatic form, of his conception of freedom and the threat of the Other. The tension created by the fact that each For-itself needs the Other to con- fer upon him a nature or character, together with the threat to his freedom which the very existence of the Other poses to his freedom, forms the nucleus of this play. Hell as conceived in this dramatic work is best typified by the unbroken stare of the Other, a stare which is not interrupted even by a single blink, for in Sartre's Hell, the damned have no eyelids. The re- lationship betWeen one For—itself and Others is primor- dial to this play, but the relation is essentially upon one plane, the plane of consciousness. Each character in the play feels himself attacked, in his consciousness, 2 by the look of the Other. 0 Sartre still insists that the freedom of each For—itself is inalienable, however, so much so that 20Jeanson, Sartre par lui—méme, p. 34. _r. __IP I. pg! ' the sadist who a- For-itself is fr' dom in its most : Sartre's analysi , indifference, rem as in Being and N his approach to t demand of the lov flight from freed fact, is a system the sadist who attempts to steal freedom from another For—itself is frightened by his confrontation with free— dom in its most stubborn and elusive form.21 Similarly, Sartre's analysis of love, masochism, sadism, and even indifference, remain basically the same in this play as in Being and Nothingness. The same holds true for his approach to the We—subject relation, the paradoxical demand of the lover, the threat of the Third, and the flight from freedom. The whole play, as a matter of fact, is a systematic study in bad faith. The Republic of Silence In 1944, Sartre wrote a short article entitled “The Republic of Silence,” in which he advanced several ideas of immediate importance to his theory of freedom. The tendency to view freedom as essentially the power to resist, withstand and deny, dominated this short article. Also of interest is Sartre's analysis of 2 . lSartre, No EXit, p. 9. «I i" ” . _ ...1-"‘i"1m .mai W121!!! tint“ i'.'=.;'.’-.l-- ‘ _wr_ ! . -.- 'S , yi‘ll‘fi-fia l D ,I 115‘. tenses *9 'suppres Pole which seems tre wrote: The more the the more eaCh The more omni our silence, a precious de Freedom, then, re Germans precisely consciousness, wh nihilating withdr perpetual flight, which are designe Faced eve tion at the hands fleeisions. each m freedom in terms of a polar relation; freedom reveals itself only against the dark backdrop created by at— tempts to suppress it, only in opposition to the other pole which seems bent upon its very destruction. Sar- tre wrote: The more the Nazi venom crept into our thoughts, the more each precise thought became a conquest. The more omnipotent police tried to enforce our silence, the more each of our words became a precious declaration of principle.22 Freedom, then, revealed itself to those resisting the Germans precisely in its negative dimensions. Like consciousness, whose very existence depends upon its nihilating withdrawal, freedom preserves itself by a perpetual flight, a renewed denial of those forces which are designed to stifle and to smother it. Faced every moment with the threat of extinc- tion at the hands of the Nazis because of one's own decisions, each member of the Resistance lived in the shadow of his own imminent death. Painfully aware of the consequences to himself and to others of each of _________________________________________—__—————— 22Jean—Paul Sartre, “The Republic of Silence,‘ trans. Lincoln Kirstein, The Atlantic Monthly, 174: (December, 1944), p. 39. suddenly became ‘ and those of 1113, Sartre, himself E true dignity eme] up to the point < theus. revealing ure of his freedc Such men even more crucial faced death alone Alone. Withc or any encoui his choices, man soon became aware of the true meaning of authentic existence. The trite tag "Man is mortal” suddenly became no longer trite when one's own life and those of his fellows were in the balance.23 For Sartre, himself a part of the Resistance effort, man's true dignity emerged as, "his power to resist suffering . 2 up to the pOint of death." 4 Each man became a Prome— theus, revealing through his defiance, the truest meas— ure of his freedom as a For—itself. Such men not only faced death constantly, but even more crucial, so far as Sartre is concerned, they faced death alone. As Sartre wrote: Alone. Without the help of a friendly hand or any encouragement whatsoever. However, in the very depths of this solitude, there were the others, all the others, all the comrades of the Resistance, whom they were defending . . . . This total responsibility in total solitude——was not this the final revelation of our liberty?25 Here in concrete political terms, is Sartre's lonely For—itself of Being and Nothingnepp; the solitary, ‘ M 23Ibid. 24Ibid., pp. 39—40. 25 Ibid., p. 40. a- ..-: ... ._ ‘3‘“..‘w. -. - . ”...—...- -... heat : ‘ W919? (i The Sign tion of freedom in his reference among those of t stead of referri now extended to one's actions mi member of the Re bonds of trust, 30r; the weaknes exterminatiOn of an even broader the well—being 0 Although each me lems alone for t cussions of his fighters and the A new di been added to u 218 resolute and self—reliant individual who has always been so esteemed in Sartrean philosophy. The significant addition to Sartre's concep— tion of freedom and responsibility, was to be found in his reference to other men, to a sort of group among those of the Resistance. Responsibility, in— stead of referring strictly to the individual himself, now extended to his fellows and the consequences which one's actions might have with respect to them. One member of the Resistance was linked to the other by bonds of trust, mutual dependence and a common oppres— sor; the weakness of one under torture could spell the extermination of all. Responsibility was now total in an even broader sense, for it now extended to embrace the well-being of one's comrades in the Resistance. Although each member of the Resistance faced his prob— lems alone for the most part, he considered the reper— cussions of his actions in the light of other Resistance fighters and their welfare. A new dimension to free action had apparently been added to the Sartrean scheme. An authentic man, ‘1 an figh solitude and is of Beino and No tioned by the kn choice on his pa and rely upon hi1 tent at least, 5 if only temporar extent regulated It‘ Since th analysis, no att , nevels either in are only of impc philosophical cc be made to Chara are to he found eSted in this as ' H , ”W '.‘l 219 such as one fighting in the Resistance, chooses in solitude and is to that extent the solitary individual of Being and Nothingness. Yet his decision is condi— tioned by the knowledge of the effects which such a choice on his part might have upon others who trust and rely upon him for their very lives. To that ex— tent at least, such a man is the member of a very real, if only temporary, group, and his actions are to some extent regulated by his group membership. Les Chemins de Liberté (Roads to Freedom) Since this study is not, after all, a literary analysis, no attempt will be made to examine Sartre‘s novels either individually or as a group. These books are only of importance to this study because of implicit philosophical content. Consequently, no mention will be made to characters, plot, action, and the like which are to be found in this fictional trilogy. One inter— ested in this aspect of Sartre‘s thought would be better . ’-fi- easily access ' . In the tion, Mes nificant statenl freedom. One 0 an act (since f action, for Sar "A free conside life and stand Mathieu wants t wholly "engaged his whole life event, and that engaged in his Clearly the one hand, M all men who sea their own, whic Viduation. But M 263al‘tl 220 advised to consult the novels themselves, which are easily accessible and well worth the reading. In the first of the trilogy now under examina- tion, The Age of Reason, there are several highly sig— nificant statements which relate to the theme of human freedom. One of these involves Mathieu's search for an act (since freedom reveals itself in and through action, for Sartre). Mathieu Searches for an act, "A free considered act that should pledge his whole life and stand at the beginning of a new existence."26 Mathieu wants to find something to which he can be wholly “engaged,” wholly dedicated. He realizes that his whole life has been spent in waiting for such an event, and that he has never really felt committed or engaged in his entire life. Clearly, his search is of some importance. On the one hand, Mathieu‘s aspiration is that of all men; all men who search for some act which will be uniquely their own, which will serve as their principle of indi- viduation. But there is another side to Mathieu‘s desire. 26Sartre, The Age of Reason, p. 54. link. i ' cad of my erally absorbed pledged to it. somehow be thrus elevate him to a having really pa tion is both nai tre, since man It to come to him. the rest of his who never comes . Even mor into an act (or very prototype c more than anothe The authentic ma act to which he for a series of vewal on his pal Of his commitmel 221 His aspiration shows genuine symptoms of being a mani— festation of bad faith, for he hopes to be quite lit— erally absorbed into this act, to be wholly and forever pledged to it. Further, he assumed that this act will somehow be thrust upon him, will descend upon him and elevate him to another level of existence without his having really participated in this process. This assump— tion is both naive and fundamentally dishonest, for Sar— tre, since man must search out the act, 39: wait for it to come to him. Such an individual could well Spend the rest of his life ”waiting for Godot,” a ”Godot" who never comes. Even more important, to hope to become absorbed into an act (or anything else, for that matter) is the very prototype of bad faith, for this is surely little more than another form of denouncing one's freedom. The authentic man does not seek merely for a single act to which he can totally commit himself, but rather for a series of acts which will require a constant re- vewal on his part. While the authentic man is aware of his commitment, at the same time he is also keenly 3 1 “V a aware of his fr« . his breaking tam hmdhfh'? The autl acts WhiCh E- cl embrace M' When Sa Mathieu, one Ca here addressing "Come, do What pose that you C theses?"27 Bru or authentic ma festations of b courage to devo to believe that direction and h extent Brunet i however, realiz most pale of al only by those w M 2 71bid. 222 aware of his freedom which entails the possibility of his breaking and otherwise altering his prior commit- ments. The authentic man, in other words, looks for acts which he can embrace, not for those which would embrace him. When Sartre had his character Brunet speak to Mathieu, one can see that in fact, Sartre is himself here addressing his reader. Brunet says to Mathieu, "Come, do what I did. What prevents you? Do you sup— pose that you can live your whole life between paren- theses?"27 Brunet, the Communist, is not Sartre's ideal, or authentic man, and in fact himself shows clear mani— festations of bad faith. Unlike Mathieu, who lacks the courage to devote himself to a cause, there is reason to believe that Brunet has gone too far in the opposite direction and has been engulfed by his cause. To that extent Brunet is living in bad faith. Brunet does, however, realize that purity could be regarded as the most pale of all the virtues, and that it can be achieved only by those who simply do not act. (Sartre here implies M 27Ibid., p. 132. that purity coulg those who have i hidden their comm Albérés 1 w, in th made a commitmen1 fully aware of ii to dissembling t]: wishes to be goth he has not commii he has perhaps nu Mathieu is appare cision-making, 01 mitments, and thl In this respect. men seem to drear Neither realizes 0f Sartre's play SO clearly. The} in this world the M 23A1béré 223 that purity could also be regarded as the virtue of those who have in fact chosen, but who have skillfully hidden their commitment from their own eyes.) Albérés cites a statement by Sartre from Situ— ations II, in which Sartre declared, "Every man has made a commitment, but that does not mean that he is fully aware of it; most men devote all of their time 28 to dissembling their commitment.” The purist who wishes to be both free and disengaged pretends that he has not committed himself by his decisions, that he has perhaps not even really made any decisions. Mathieu is apparently either attempting to avoid de— cision—making, or is trying to hide his own prior com- mitments, and thus preserve intact his pure freedom. In this resPect, Mathieu resembles Orestes, for both men seem to dream of a genuine but disengaged freedom. Neither realizes what Hoederer, the central character of Sartre's play Les Mains Sales (Dirty Hands) sees so clearly. They fail to see, as Hoederer does, that in this world the man of action (the really free man) 28Albéres, Op. Cit., pp. 88-89. always has "dirt of action and 1.6 In this is, ironically e brother Jacques, have been holdin Jacques sees the unanchored View freedom "consist into which one h all one ' s respon conception of fn irresponsible dr all of his actic of inner freedom evaluation is qt fictional triloc_ tentialist philc Mathieu. has see tains between f: H.— 29 Sartre always has "dirty hands." He is involved in the thick of action and leaves purity to the saints. In this respect, Mathieu's insight into freedom is, ironically enough, inferior even to that of his brother Jacques, a bourgeois whom Sartre could scarcely have been holding up for his reader to admire. Even Jacques sees the basic flaw in Mathieu's rootless and unanchored view of freedom. Jacques suggests that freedom "consists in frankly confronting situations into which one has deliberately entered, and accepting all one's responsibilities."29 He implies that Mathieu's V V conception of freedom is little more than an idle and irresponsible dream, his attempt at licensing any and all of his actions in the name of an abstract principle of inner freedom. To a large extent, of course, Jacques' evaluation is quite correct, as later events in Sartre's fictional trilogy go on to show. .While hardly an exis— tentialist philosopher, Jacques, unlike his brother Mathieu, has seen the intimate relationship which ob— tains between freedom and responsibility. 29Sartre, The Age of Reason, p. 118. Even th‘ especially in _Tj some extent unr: acter, his expei without importar ence comes very awakening of dre authentic existe reach the anther seems genuine ju ize, even if din He was alone silence, fre and without out support ever to be i Mathieu, while 6 did, at least mc scope of his frt solitude of the tude places upo ted properly to 30 Ibid . 225 Even though Mathieu's conception of freedom, especially in The Age of Reason, is truncated and to some extent unrealistic because of its gratuitous char- acter, his experience of his radical freedom is not without importance. Mathieu's enlightenment experi— ence comes very near to being the prototype for the awakening of dread or anguish, the first step towards authentic existence. Mathieu does not, unfortunately, reach the authentic mode; but his preliminary insight seems genuine just the same. Mathieu begins to real— ize, even if dimly, that: He was alone, enveloped in this monstrous silence, free and alone without assistance and without excuse, condemned to decide with— out support from any quarter, condemned for- ever to be free.30 Mathieu, while eventually perhaps falling into bad faith, did, at least momentarily, become aware of the full scope of his freedom. He did realize the essential solitude of the free man and the burden which this soli— tude places upon him, even though he may not have reac— ted properly to this revelation. Even this awareness 3OIbid., pp. 275-276. vents them fr phase. Mathiey l Nausea, indicai point for the ‘ The sec (The Reprieve) , because of Sart the nature of 1: into the charac as in so much 0 is provided wit etical concepts his technical p‘ . as case histori psychiatric tex theory which un but the fiction whereby the the Mathieu woman, realizes places Mathieu above those whose self—deception pre— vents them from ever having reached such a preliminary phase. Mathieu's insight, like that of Roquentin in Nausea, indicates a starting place, an embarkation point for the journey towards authentic existence. The second novel of the trilogy, Les Sursis (The Reprieve), is of interest to this investigation because of Sartre's detailed treatment of the look; the nature of bad faith; and Mathieu's growing insight into the character of human freedom. In this novel, as in so much of Sartre's fictional work, the reader is provided with concrete examples of Sartre's theor— etical concepts. The relation of Sartre's fiction to his technical philOSOphical work stands much the same as case histories stand to psychoanalytic theories in psychiatric textbooks. One must know something of the theory which underlies the fictional pronouncements, but the fictional examples often provide tangible means whereby the theory can be better grasped. Mathieu, for example, when seen by a young woman, realizes: She sees :1 and shrink starless sj sees me, at lele. And in a look. 0: in another 5.: an offensive we, chance to objeC' sa_w her. A 100] struggled in tha light."32 Each the reaction to key role in the illustrations oi merely instances of Sartre's Beir employs the look not employed wit cal opus . In Thel explicit fashiox 3lSartr¢ 32 Ibid. 227 She sees me. Swiftly he seemed to harden and shrink. Behind those eyes there is a starless sky, and there is also a look. She sees me, as she sees the table and the uke- lele. And for her, I am a particle suspended in a look, a bourgeois.31 Or in another instance, where the look is employed as an offensive weapon against the Other before he has the chance to objectify Mathieu, "He scarcely listened; he Egg her. A look. A vast look, an empty sky. She struggled in that look, like an insect in a shaft of light."32 Each passage reveals in more tangible terms the reaction to objectification, which plays such a key role in the Sartrean conception of freedom. Such illustrations of the petrifying power of the gaze are merely instances of ideas already familiar to the reader of Sartre's Being and Nothingness. However, Sartre also employs the look in The Reprieve in a manner which was not employed within the confines of his earlier techni— cal opus. In The Reprieve, Sartre brings together in an explicit fashion a cluster of ideas which had not been 31Sartre, The Reprieve, p. 379. 321bid., p. 293. conjunction the the always-subj God's look), an attempts to file God's omniscien upon himself. theory, Daniel 1 sees his every 2 as he would pro} ing. Like the 11 Daniel then expe that look . . . Because can now simply t ast just as an r inner eye."34 15 totally or absol nature by his jl 228 so related in Being and Nothingness. He brings into conjunction the notions of God as the totally Other, the always-subject—never—object; the look (this time God's look), and bad faith. Daniel, a pederast who attempts to flee into bad faith, uses the notion of God's omniscience to confer a fixed, thing-like nature upon himself. In a manner reminiscent of Feuerbach's theory, Daniel posits God as the Absolute Third who sees his every action, and then tries to view himself as he would probably appear in the eyes of such a Be— ing. Like the masochist of Being and Nothingness, Daniel then experiences himself as "quivering beneath that look . . . transparent, transparent, transfixed.“33 Because God "sees him for what he is," Daniel can now simply Q; a pederast. He can now "be a peder— ast just as an oak is an oak . . . . Extinguish the inner eye.“34 By employing the concept of God as the totally or absolute Other, who guarantees one’s fixed nature by his judgments, Daniel is able, like the 33Ibid., p. 103. 34Ibid., p. 101. masochist, to e to cloud the vi ness) . Daniel“ because of the God for his own his M subject will realize th as jL‘at a peder from this prope To assert that, t0 Prove that I 229 masochist, to escape his own freedom and its burdens, to cloud the vision of his inner eye (or free conscious- ness). Daniel's quest will of course fail eventually because of the nature of masochism. He will, in using God for his own purposes, eventually become aware of his pyp subjectivity and its accompanying freedom. He will realize that in the very attempt to View himself as jppp a pederast, he will have to be separated enough from this property to form judgments concerning it. To assert that, "I am jppp x” is already, for Sartre, to prove that I am in fact more than x, since if I were just x, I would be in perfect coincidence with this state of existence and could not speak about it. Be this as it may, Daniel's employment of God in his pro- jected escape into bad faith provides an interesting supplement to Sartre's theory as presented in Being and Nothingness. In The Reprieve, Mathieu comes one step closer to understanding his freedom as a For-itself. He rea- lizes that his quest for an act to confer meaning upon his life from concludes, "Li. near that I cd I am my own fr; in the words 0 His libertj he was it. an illumin Freedom do presents; Freedom is free . 36 Mathieu, a typ m to I has no essenti 230 his life from the outside was basically misguided. He concludes, "Liberty——I sought it far away; it was so near that I couldn't touch it; it is in fact myself, ,35 I am my own freedom.' Mathieu has come to realize, in the words of Henri Peyre, that: His liberty has been there all along, at hand; he was it. It does not descend upon one like an illumination of delight, a tongue of fire. Freedom does not come laden with comforting presents; it is grave and massive . . . . Freedom is exile and I am condemned to be free.36 Mathieu, a typical For—itself, had attempted to discover what it is to be free, but he had failed because freedom has no essential structure (no whatness). He eventually succeeded in discovering freedom by realizing not the what of his freedom, but the fact that he is free.37 Mathieu discovered his freedom (as apparently we all must) not in mere contemplation and introspection as 3SIbid., p. 280. 36 . , . Henri Peyre, "Sartre's Roads to Freedom,” in Sartre: A Collection of Critical Essays, Edith Kern ed. (EngleWood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1962), pp. 34-35. 37Molina, Existentialism as Philosophy, p. 93. such, but in ac The fin m, which is e( philosophical cI direct bearing i with an amplifiI the emotions. 1 reinforced his I Ployed by man fI Man is not seiz, for his purpose: including anger For-itself in q, by anger, for e: and then assume: such, but in action--as lived—freedom. The final novel of the trilogy, Roads to Free- gpp, which is entitled Troubled Sleep, contains little philosophical content. The only ideas which have a direct bearing upon the theme of human freedom deal with an amplification of Sartre's earlier theory of the emotions. By the use of fictional examples, Sartre reinforced his convibtion that emotions are freely em— ployed by man for the attainment of his posited ends. Man is not seized by his emotions, but employs them for his purposes. The generation of any emotional state, including anger, is referable to the free project of the For—itself in question. One is not suddenly overcome by anger, for example, but in fact looks for this state . 3 and then assumes 1t. 8 The Roads to Freedom In his trilogy, The Roads to Freedom, Sartre Still maintained his assertion that man must realize 38Sartre, Troubled Sleep, p. 12. :- “I character . man must eithe external circ rest of nature , But there were tre's view of qualified. He he betrayed by as an organic . ther suggested dom must mingle crete struggles choose, for Sar tended to be th socio—political 39D. J. mrofl'Philolog p.409. 40Sartr 41 Albér 232 his character as a free being. He still insisted that man must either realize this freedom or be governed by external circumstances and become of a piece with the . . . 39 rest of nature, that is,become an object or a thing. But there were indications that in other respects, Sar- tre's View of human freedom had been to some extent qualified. He now explicitly suggested that man can be betrayed by his own physical needs, by his dimension . . . . 40 as an organic being tied firmly to the earth. He fur— ther suggested that man, in order to discover his free— dom must mingle with other men, enter into their con— crete struggles and concerns. Man must still act and choose, for Sartre, but this action and choice now tended to be thought of as taking place within specific . . . 41 SOCio-political contexts. 39D. J. Conacher, "Orestes as Existentialist Hero,” Philological Quarterly, XXXIII (October, 1954), p. 409. 4OSartre, Troubled Sleep, p. 249 ff. 41Alberes, op. cit., p. 95. l? freedom of For- for their commo each other to r grouped ind ivid background. Th orizing, until I of the Criti-l pudiated the ve isolated ind ivi Freedom Sartre's outloo‘. byhim in ever reference to sp The fundamental in evidence, bu trayed a defini cal employment by Jacques of M. Sartre ' s own aw In short, the freedom of the lonely For—itself of Being and Nothingness, began to be replaced by the freedom of For—itselves in groups, working together for their common good (or at least cooperating with each other to resist a common enemy). The wholly non— grouped individual began to fade gradually into the background. This tendency continued in Sartre's the- orizing, until in 1960, with the completing of Volume I of the Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, Sartre re— pudiated the very notion of a non—grouped or totally isolated individual. Freedom still occupied a central position in Sartre's outlook, but this freedom began to be viewed by him in ever more concrete terms and with increasing reference to specific economic and idealogical conflicts. The fundamental dimension of man's freedom was certainly in evidence, but even in his fiction, Sartre had be— trayed a definitely heightened interest in the practi- cal employment of this freedom. (Perhaps the criticism by Jacques of Mathieu's notion of inner freedom reflected Sartre's own awareness of the need to supplement or amend his earlier co and Nothin nes freedom had be which is most crete human. re longer some em In Oct before the Clu show the more 5 existentialist of non~philosop most part—~50 E technical marine apparently with tentialism is a 42Franc tialisme , Colls 4'3Be igk 234 his earlier conception of freedom as expressed in Being and Nothingness.) In short, by the mid—1940's, human freedom had become for Sartre, that sort of freedom which is most clearly experienced in the world of con- crete human relationships and struggles; it was no longer some empty Empyrean conception.42 Existentialism is a Humanism __________________________ In October, 1945, Sartre delivered a lecture before the Club Maintenant, in which he attempted to q show the more positive and optimistic aspects of his ”'3‘ 7g existentialist philosophy.43 This group was composed ihh of non—philosophers-—journalists and writers for the ‘ 1 most part—-so Sartre expressed his ideas in a non— technical manner. This speech was later published, apparently with Sartre's full cooperation, as ”Exis— tentialism is a Humanism." While this short work has M 42Francis Jeanson, in Pour et Contre L'Existen- . I tialisme, Collette Audry, ed., pp- 46-47- 43Beigbeder, L'Homme Sartre, p. 20. 1F been sharply a to it as "a we Kantian moralis to this study. statement of Sa but it does ind general philoso 0f no 1 tre's explicit evade their fre Sartre openly d freedom in a gu: excuses, I shall add, "Those who necessary when 1' race on earth, 1 44Usshei Jean-E ism," from Exist trans. Walter Ks p- 307. 235 been sharply attacked by critics, one even referring to it as ”a warmed up mess of Socratic reason and Kantian moralism,”44 it is still of some importance to this study. This is not because it is a definitive statement of Sartre's position, for it clearly is ppp; but it does indicate a significant shift in Sartre's general philosophical stance. Of no little importance, for example, is Sar- tre's explicit condemnation of those who attempt to evade their freedom. In "Existentialism is a Humanism” Sartre openly declares, ”Those who hide from this total freedom in a guise of solemnity or with deterministic excuses, I shall call cowards."45 He then went on to add, "Those who try to show that their existence is necessary when it is merely an accident of the human 46 race on earth, I shall call scum." (Sartre does, 44Ussher, Journey through Dread, p. 94. 4 . . . . 5Jean—Paul Sartre, “EXistentialism is a Human— ism,“ from Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Meridian Books, 1956), p. 307. .1; is true: @' to imply that . his attempt to not successful . In add' (or even expli- Sartre also ma is a Humanism" stitute for ab his existentia istence. He a . . . it has al counts is to kn name of freedom overt fashion, tre's philosoph freedom serve s 47Ibid. 481bid . 4 9Ibid . 236 it is true, claim that such judgments are not meant . 47 to imply that such persons are morally wrong, but his attempt to evade such normative overtones is clearly not successful.) In addition to what might be termed an implicit (or even explicit) normative dimension to his theory, Sartre also makes the specific claim in ”Existentialism is a Humanism" that freedom itself can serve as the sub— stitute for absolute or fixed standards and rules which his existentialist philosophy has denied objective ex— istence. He announced, “There are no means of judging . . it has always to be invented. The one thing that counts is to know whether the invention was made in the name of freedom."48 Such a statement reveals in an overt fashion, the intrinsic value of freedom in Sar— tre's philosophy and the manner in which, for Sartre, freedom serves as the "foundation of all values.”49 47Ibid., p. 307. 48ibid., p. 308. 49Ibid., p. 307. is made in this fashioning his . lows. Instead, I of For-itself in even declares th free agent is_ th is also a free In made to the inev acterizes human this deletion is In any c 'ated For-itself been temporarily text With in Whicj 237 Interestingly enough, no explicit reference is made in this brief work to the lonely For—itself, fashioning his own essence in iSolation from his fel— lows. Instead, Sartre insists upon the social nature of For-itSelf in every phase of his existence, and he even declares that the discovery of one's being as a free agent is the simultaneous discovery that the Other . . 5O . is also a free being." Furthermore, no reference is made to the inevitable conflict which supposedly char— acterizes human relationships, though the reason for this deletion is by no means clear. In any case, an exclusive concern with the iso— lated For—itself and his absolute freedom had at least been temporarily replaced by an examination of the con— text within which For-itself acts. The free individual is still obviously of crucial importance to Sartre, but his functioning is no longer viewed by Sartre as taking place within a metaphysical vacuum. The For-itself, at least within the confines of this short work, has truly 5Oibid., p. 303. become a being No reference w sion. "51 Inst sibilities, hi creative agent In sho toward an incr‘ political issuq 238 become a being—in-the world with all which this entails. No reference was made to man as being a "useless pas— . 5l . , Sion." Instead, Sartre chose to empha51ze man 5 pos- sibilities, his open—ended future as a free and self— creative agent. In short, "Existentialism is a Humanism“ pointed toward an increasing concern of Sartre for social and political issues, those arenas where man engages his freedom in practical terms. Furthermore, this work in— dicated an attempt (however unsuccessful) by Sartre to develop at least the outlines of an existentialist ethic and likewise indicated an impulse on Sartre's part to bring his views into closer alignment with a humanistic position. All of this does not mean, of course, that Sar- tre simply abandoned the central theses of Being and Nothingness. He certainly did not. Alvarez del Vayo, referring to Sartre's View of freedom during this period, accurately observed: 51Sartre, Being and Nothingness, p. 615. Freedom as the slight gests a pa climber in the abyss impenetrab Man' 5 freedom, den and his re social terms, is yet depende of meaning and he is obliged values . Excep tre's analogue and man must d< no “pillar of : him in his que: human nature) < journey. For I tialism is a H1 after be ing , t] own freedom . 52J. Al lectual,” The I 348. 239 Freedom as conceived by Sartre, offers not the slightest guarantee of success. It sug- gests a painful mountain ascent, with the climber in constant danger of falling into the abyss and the final goal wrapped in an impenetrable blanket of clouds.5 Man's freedom, in other words, is still very much a bur— den and his responsibility, while now thought of in more social terms, is still total in its scope. For—itself is yet dependent upon his own resources for the creation of meaning and significance in a world without God, and he is obliged to erect for himself his own hierarchy of values. Except for the chaotic realm of In—itself, Sar- tre's analogue for prime matter, freedom alone is given, and man must do with it what he can. There is for man, no "pillar of smoke by day and fire by night" to guide him in his quest. Nor is there a fixed nature (even a human nature) or essence, for him to rest in along his journey. For man, even in Sartre's optimistic "Existen— tialism is a Humanism," there is but a perpetual flight after being, the fate of For—itself as a slave of his own freedom. ‘~—_———————————————— 52 . . J. Alvarez del Vayo, ”Politics and the Intel— lectual," The Nation, CLXIII (September 26, 1946), p. 348. Sidney regards Elli); finest studies who found Beig praised Sartre While worthy 0 book will be d i relation to th In An l one of the mor ionions sur la / had been so cl are still to b carious condit in almost ever and fictional quires is , Sar m“ 53Sidn tion, " Partisa 240 Reflexions sur la Question Juive (Anti-Semite and Jew) Sidney Hook, one of Sartre's harshest critics, regards Reflexions sur la Question Juive as one of the finest studies of the topic in recent literature.53 Hook, who found Being and Nothingness ”turgid and dull," praiSed Sartre for his keen insight of this later work. While worthy of a separate study on its own merits, this book will be dealt with here only with respect to its relation to the theme of human freedom. In Anti-Semite and Jew (the English title of one of the more widely available translations of Reflex— ionions sur la Question Juive) some of the themes which had been so clearly in evidence in Being and Nothingness are still to be found. Sartre still emphasized the pre— carious condition of man, for example, just as he had in almost every single one of his previous technical and fictional works. The merit that any For—itself ac- quires is, Sartre writes, "perpetually in question; a 53Sidney Hook, "Reflections on the Jewish Ques- tion,” Partisan Review, XVI (May, 1949), p. 463. false step an a "Without resPi’a the end, we are The sam formed the nucl ioned Sartre ' s W and in we. needs the Jew :1 requires In—its As Sartre decla Semite would ir anti-Semite lit tablish his Q1; that , “The anti having a vita l destroy. "56 54Sartr 55Ibid. 56 Ibid. 241 false step an error and it flies away.” He continued, "Without respite, from the beginning of our lives to the end, we are responsible for what merit we enjOy."54 The same polaristic mode of development which formed the nucleus of Being and Nothingness and fash— ioned Sartre's analysis even in his Psychology of the Imagination and Transcendence of the Ego, is employed in Anti—Semite and Jew. The anti-Semite, argued Sartre, needs the Jew for his very existence, just as For—itself requires In—itself and consciousness requires the world. As Sartre declares, ”If the Jew did not exist, the anti— ”55 This is true because the Semite would invent him. anti—Semite literally requires the Jew in order to es— tablish his gwg identity. This means, in Sartre's words, that, ”The anti—Semite is in the unhappy position of having a vital need for the very enemy he wishes to destroy.”56 4Sartre, Anti—Semite and Jew, p. 27. 55Ibid., p. 13. 56 Ibid., p. 28. The an lation to the anti-Semite ' s chological phe a fundamental anti-Semite. ' own project of freedom which a Semite, in Sar1 a pitiless sta anything excepi become engulfed borne along by fleck of matter he has no contr is trying to 195 that Sartre's f 0gy of novels, The ant a source of pow ‘_‘—_— 57Ibid. 242 The anti—Semite, then, is bound in a polar re— lation to the Jew precisely because, for Sartre, the anti—Semite's reaction to the Jew is not merely a psy— chological phenomenon. Rather, this reaction expresses a fundamental or a basic project on the part of the anti—Semite. The anti-Semite is using the Jew in his own project of bad faith; in his attempt to escape the freedom which characterizes him as a man. The anti— Semite, in Sartre's words, is ”a man who wishes to be a pitiless stone, a furious torrent, a thunderbolt—— anything except a man."57 He is a man who hopes to become engulfed in his own hatred; who wishes to be borne along by it, no longer a free agent, but a mere fleck of matter caught up in a raging flood over which he has no control. The anti—Semite, in other words, is trying to Q; an anti—Semite in just the same way that Sartre's fictional character Daniel, in his tril— ogy of novels, attempted to be a pederast. The anti—Semite attempts to use his hatred as a source of power and being. He employs it to fashion 57Ibid., p. 54. 243 for himself a set of convictions, a character and a nature. His hatred becomes for him a sustaining force, a guarantee that whatever else may happen he is; he ig an anti-Semite, just as a tree lg a tree. The anti- Semite's hatred of Jews thus becomes the very stuff of his being, the explanatory concept for his actions. Even his failures can be accounted for with reference to the omnipresent Jew or to the "international Jewish conspiracy." The anti-Semite employs; his hatred just as other men employ emotional states, namely to hide his freedom and spontaneity from his own eyes. Anti—Semitism becomes for him his very raison d'étre; the hard and sub- stantial core of his being; that which remains constant throughout all change. His irrational hatred confers upon him a fixed nature and serves as an excuse for his actions. He begins to perform acts "over which he has no control,” just "because he hates Jews so much." This places the responsibility for his acts upon himself, where it actually belongs, but in the external world, squarely on the shoulders of the Jew. The anti—Semite 244 may even come to regard himself as a basically kind and liberal person who suddenly "loses control of him- self" in the presence of Jews, of whom he alone even seems to be aware. The solution of his problem then becomes to destroy this external source of evil by whatever techniques are deemed necessary. If the anti-Semite were successful in destroy— ing all Jews, however, he would have at the same time deprived himself of his very nature and his substantial character. In a sense then, he does not really wish in fact to destroy this other pole to which he is so inex— tricably bound. Sartre implies that if the anti-Semite were somehow able to destroy all Jews, that he would most probably erect another pole in the place of the Jew and become a rabid anti-Negro, anti—Communist, and welflm. Anti—Semitism,in short,is, according to Sartre at least, merely an instance of a fundamental quest in bad faith. The motivating forces behind anti—Semitism could not be elminated by eliminating Jews, for as has been already suggested parenthetically the anti—Semite 245 could always find other objects for his hatred and then derive sustenance from this new hatred. Anti—Semitism, then, is perhaps only a more established, easily assim— ilated and more popular form of bad faith. It could easily be replaced (and indeed hgg been so replaced in many areas) with other forms of bad faith. Irrational and total hatred of the enemy en bloc during times of war, for example, could as easily furnish a convenient mode for man's bad faith. One can as easily gain nour— ishment from his hatred of Germans, Japanese, North Koreans, Red Chinese, and the like, as he can Jews. The real constitution of the opposite pole, the object of his hatred, is of relatively little importance. Characteristics not located there in fact, can be pro- jected by one's OWn mind and later discovered in the other as proof that one's hatred and suspicions were well grounded all along. Sartre seems to suggest that as long as there is bad faith (i.e. as long as For—itself exists) one can expect to find widespread manifestations of this flight from freedom taking the form of anti-Semitism, racism, and and expressinc escape his fr continue to be ment. Only i1 tence could st Only if man we sciousness of ties and risks human relation Sartre but the extens 246 racism, and the like. Being metaphysically grounded, and expressing a fundamental project of man trying to escape his freedom, such movements have been and will continue to be, recurrent in man's historical develop- ment. Only if man were able to attain authentic exis— tence could such manifestations be at last obliterated. Only if man were able to possess a "true and lucid con— sciousness of the situation and assume the responsibili— ties and risks it involves,”58 could this blight on human relationships be destroyed. Sartre's analysis of anti-Semitism clearly forms but the extension of his prior conception of bad faith in Being and Nothingness. Not all of the remarks to be found in Anti-Semite and Jew are mere extensions of Sar- tre's earlier theories, however. Some comments are qual— ifications of his previous positions. One .of the more interesting of these regards the freedom of the prisoner. In Being and Nothingness, Sartre had insisted that man gua For~itself is absolutely free, that For-itself is as free in chains as he is in the open fields. In 58Ibid., p. 90. Anti-Semite a same time, qu The priso away, if i risks deat; wire. Is ’ that accou Such a that he now wi his having so could gain his risking his li er accountable Prisoner, even 247 Anti—Semite and Jew, he both underscored, and at the same time, qualified this assertion. Sartre wrote: The prisoner is always free to try to run away, if it is clearly understood that he risks death in crawling under the barbed wire. Is his jailer any less guilty on that account?5 Such a statement on Sartre's part indicates that he now wishes to hold the jailer responsible for his having so structured the situation that the prisoner could gain his (practical) freedom only at the price of risking his life. Sartre now apparently holds the jail— er accountable for limiting the alternatives open to his prisoner, even though Sartre still insists that the pris— oner lg free to choose between alternatives. This quali— fication seems to have the effect of distributing the responsibility for the enslavement of a man both over the man enslaved 33d his jailer. Sartre's theory of radical freedom as expressed in Being and Nothingness tended to place the full respon— sibility for a man's loss of freedom upon the enslaved person himself. Sartre there maintained, much like 591bid., p. 136. be blamed fo prisoner's be of man's defi; sible for dep was forever b very insubsta only if he hi} the enemy, in ‘ itself's free This 4 least part of tre s writingi i reached What i A 248 Epictetus the Stoic, that at most the oppressor could be blamed for imprisoning or otherwise mistreating the prisoner's body. The oppressor, because of the nature of man's definitive freedom, could pg; be held respon- sible for depriving the prisoner of his freedom. This was forever beyond his grasp, elusive by virtue of its very insubstantiality. The For—itself could be enslaved only if he himself became a party, a collaborator with the enemy,in the enemy's attempt to capture that For— itself's freedom. This apparent shifting of blame, so that at least part of it lay on the shoulders of the oppressor, W ‘i “ was a tendency which became increaSingly eVident in Sar- - -y.; tre's writings after Being and Nothingness, until it reached what is perhaps its fullest form in Saint Genet: Actor and Martyr. Freedom was still viewed by Sartre as being directly related to a particular situation. Freedom, furthermore, was still treated as the nihila— tion or transcendence of one's situation; but the ele— ments of the situation tended to be dealt with by Sartre in a different manner. In Being and Nothingness, the impression w to construct his having my lected which I tre which fol the extent to his situation For-i free to choos ternatives th ternal factor trol. The so his Situation that the For- a Situation a; dom was still Situations, b1 more structurv the free posi' (as Sartre hi1 Pitifully few 249 impression was conveyed that the For-itself was free to construct his situation, that it was the result of his having examined a field of possibilities and se— lected which ones to actualize. In the works by Sar— tre which followed Being and Nothingness, however, the extent to which a For-itself was free to construct his situation became more and more limited. For—itself, in Sartre‘s later writings, was free to choose alternatives to be sure; but these al- ternatives themselves were most often functions of ex- ternal factors over which For—itself has no direct con- trol. The suggestion that For—itself totally controls his situation began to be replaced by the implication that the For—itself to a large degree finds himself in a situation and then must act with respect to it. Free— dom was still conceived as the going beyond particular situations, but this very transcendent movement became more structured by the situation itself and less by the free positings of the For-itself within that situa— tion. The choices open to a For-itself are not infinite (as Sartre himself was later to argue) may offer but a Pitifully few alternatives for his choice. A pri does ggt find in any way wh. to it that thi limited, that alternatives : tured the pri: which he coul< were risk on 1 risk his life character as a ment. The pr j , l ‘ni I l. 250 l A prisoner in a German Stalag, for example, does not find it possible to structure the situation in any way which he sees fit. His oppressors have seen to it that the alternatives open to him are strictly limited, that only a bare matrix of say, two or three alternatives is available to him. They have so struc— tured the prisoner's context, that any of the choices which he could elect for himself would involve a se- vere risk on his part. Either he would be forced to risk his life in an attempted escape, or endanger his character as a free being by succumbing to his enslave— ment. The prisoner may still be free to choose which, X, even of two alternatives, he prefers of course, and "ffi ‘r i which he chooses to elect for himself may have shatter— , i ing consequences. But a choice which is thrust upon ‘ i him, a choice between two alternatives, both of which I would be destructive to his being as a For—itself, is free only in an extended and somewhat vacuous sense of that word. Perhaps Sartre has not abandoned his thesis that man's fundamental freedom cannot be acted upon in a direct f mitted that m and that muchl manner, as ini case, then nei need concern t For-itself's f serve as no se asan Oppresso fin oppressed, tent and ineff Even i in a direct fashion. Apparently, however, he has ad- mitted that man's freedom can be acted upon indirectly and that much the same results can be achieved in this manner, as in a direct frontal attack. If such be the case, then neither the oppressor pg; the oppressed, need concern themselves with the elusiveness of the For—itself's fundamental freedom. _Such a freedom could serve as no serious obstacle to attaining one's purposes as an oppressor, and could furnish but little COmfort to the oppressed, since this freedom can be rendered impo— tent and ineffecutal by controlling external factors. Even in Being and Nothingness, Sartre had insisted that man can be understood only as a being-in—situation. He had, however, tended at that time to stress man's power over the situation. A crucial shift in Sartre's stance is to be noted with respect to his conception of situation in Anti-Semite and Jew. There he declared: For us, man is defined first of all as being 'in a situation.' That means that he forms a synthetic whole with his situation——biologi- cal, economic, political, cultural, etc. He cannot be distinguished from his situation, for it forms him and decides his possibilities.6O W 601bid., pp. 59-60. 3 I is though to . above cited 5 book, "Since as a free agen that must be m Extern make up the ba, ation (which h. other words. : Plicit fashion noia) 0n the pa to alter his w< geStion was all Sartre had thel 252 As though to draw out the implications implicit in the above cited statement, Sartre then added, later in the book, "Since he [the anti—Semite] like all men, exists as a free agent within a situation, it is his situation that must be modified from top to bottom."61 External factors, those elements which go to make up the bare configuration of the For-itself's situ— ation (Which he must then surpass), must be altered, in other words. Seemingly, Sartre here admits in an ex— plicit fashion that internal adjustments (short of para— noia) on the part of the For—itself are pg; sufficient to alter his world. In a very real sense, such a sug- gestion was already implicit in Being and Nothingness. Sartre had there insisted that one must first recognize, evaluate, and appreciate the situation before he can transcend it.62 This recognition and the transcendent 61Ibid., p. 148. 62 In Sartre's theory, the world is that which is constituted by the For-itself in his reaction to the situation. The world is thus a resultant which includes within itself, the For—itself and his situation, and is not to be construed as a given which the For—itself merely encounters as already constituted. movement bey- the nature of ent flight wi. even if the Pi extrication. for example, 1 would first ta Even nihilatic for Sartre, or Something . Sartre 253 movement beyond the situation are both dependent upon the nature of the situation itself. One's transcend— ent flight will bear the birthmark of this situation, even if the For—itself is successful in his effort at extrication. (One's project would hardly be to escape for example, unless his situation were such that he would first take himself to be a prisoner of some sort.) Even nihilation is always nihilation of some x, just as for Sartre, consciousness is always consciousness_9£ something. Sartre's emphasis upon situation and the manner in which it must be altered if man is to be altered, is but a further indication of his increasing interest in man's social and political context. The freedom of For- itself,while still being defined as the nihilation and transcendence of a particular situation, was now seen by Sartre as taking place with respect to, or within, a socio—political, economically conditioned framework. Perhaps Sartre had not really ever denied this fact, but he certainly wrote many statements in Being and Nothingness which would lead one to infer that he had. Onef fore leaving ti was Sartre's ’1 and influence wrote: Each man j the profes the daily with, the of real fc orous laws In a sense, th One further qualification should be noted be— fore leaving the work now under investigation. This was Sartre's statement which dealt with the significance and influence of work upon human attitudes. Sartre wrote: Each man judges history in accordance with the profession that he follows. Shaped by the daily influence of the materials he works with, the workman sees society as the product of real forggs acting in accordance with rig- orous laws. In a sense, this qualification is but the complement to Sartre's position on man's situation. Work is, appar— rently, a significant aspect of a man's situation, al— though one would hardly have inferred that such is the case from reading Being and Nothingness. There, one might well have come to the conclusion that the For— itself does not work, or that even if he does, such activity is in principle incapable of shaping or alter— ing his character as a free being. Such statements as that just cited, by Sartre, serve to confirm a suspicion which this investigator had long entertained; namely, that Sartre had always 63Ibid., p. 36. 3 dealt with ma of man in §e_i1 to man's consi he there spoke Conceivably, E first part or‘ man, one whicl theoretical ar man's actual f cerns. Mis int 255 dealt with man at two distinct levels. His analysis of man in Being and Nothingness was solely with respect to man's conscious activity, and the freedom of which he there spoke,was man's freedom as a consciousness. Conceivably, Sartre intended this work only as the first part or phase of a more developed treatment of his own persuasive ability, made unqualified statements concerning human reality. So construed, Sartre's early works, including Ps cholo of the Ima ination, Transcendence of the E o, and Being and Nothingness, are best regarded as Sartre's efforts at characterizing the more general, shareable features of man. These books dealt with human conscious— I ness as such, freedom as such, and 50 on. Sartre 5 later works, beg inn increasingly freedom and cd variant conte: Sartre could c? Jfl, that man his labor w W a-aeme . eespeeleaeaeme w tat-3;" :1.- r" fhtedom and consciousness ta e-hhen placed within variant contexts.and circumstances. Thus it was that Sartre could declare-in such works as Anti-Semite and Jew, that man is directly influenced by the mode of his labor without repudiating his convictions of E2? ing and Nothingness. .ti "orb-=9.- - The pa 1952 will be t the purposes 0 tre's thought a Significant CHAPTER IV THE TRANSITIONAL PERIOD The period which extends roughly from 1947 to 1952 will be termed Sartre's transitional period for the purposes of the present study. This phase of Sar— tre's thought has been so designated because it marks a significant transition in Sartre's philosophical de— velopment, especially with respect to his conception of human freedom and responsibility. Indeed, one would hardly be exaggerating if he were to suggest that the indictments of Sartre's theory of freedom as found in Being and Nothingness become less and less applicable to his later ideas, and that this trend continues even to the present moment. One could substantiate the fact that such a shift began to take place in Sartre's thought by reference to but two articles, namely ”Cartesian Freedom” and "Materialism and Revolution." Other of 257 .. ’.— Sartre's writ however, in a suggestion. Ideall reading the pi transition in be evident to in short, that within Sartre ' context of an period, for ex concern with f the end of his dom, and even apparatu S and addition, this 258 Sartre‘s writings will be cited within this chapter, however, in an attempt to further reinforce the above suggestion. Ideally, by the time the reader has finished reading the present chapter, the fact that a genuine transition in Sartre's thought has taken place should be evident to him. He should be in a position to see, in short, that even if weaknesses are to be located within Sartre's outlook, such flaws occur within the context of an altered approach to the world. This period, for example, marks the real end of Sartre's concern with freedom as a purely theoretical concepti the end of his preoccupation with man‘s absolute free— dom, and even the abandonment of much of the technical apparatus and terminology of Being and Nothingness. In addition, this period marks the beginning of Sartre's systematic concentration upon what has already been termed freedom—as—value in this investigation, as well as a basic and far—reaching qualification of Sartre's notion of total responsibility. -‘—-- - ‘ One . writings com their very toI a "polemical", essentially c‘ deed begin to almost a latt existence. Tj also emerged ; ments, and tel In Shl °Pment tended ment and inteJ F°r Sartre, e5 “Man is I10 10: 259 One of the more obvious alterations in Sartre's writings completed during this period is, of course, in their Very tone. One of Sartre's critics has called him a "polemical” writer during this interval,1 and he was essentially correct in his designation. Sartre did in— deed begin to emerge as a true "propagandist of freedom,“ almost a latter—day prophet of freedom and authentic existence. The notions of engagement and commitment also emerged as dominant themes in Sartre's pronounce- ments, and tended to govern.much of his analytical work. In short, Sartre's post-war philosophical devel— opment tended in the direction of emphasizing involve- ment and interaction in the political and economic arena. For Sartre, especially in the years following 1946, “Man is no longer an isolatedmindividual. He is in— volved in spite of himself in the collective life on 2 which he depends and which depends on him." This is not to suggest that Sartre suddenly lost interest in lLukacs, Existentialisme ou Marxisme?, p. 109. 2Alberes, op. cit., p. 104. -.ii—a,’ either freedg that he now is! l . . l more intimate see collectiv' ment and com In tw, made clear th. human activit; for example, 1 either freedom or the individual, but it is to suggest that he now tended to view the individual as related more intimately to his society or group and began to see collective life as the matrix in which free engage- ment and commitment take place. In two crucial philosophical essays, Sartre made clear the manner in which he now tended to View human activity and commitment. In "Cartesian Freedom," for example, he still argued that man must be thought of in terms of his freedom, with respect to how he employs this freedom in his elected choices. Further- more, Sartre, in this essay, maintained as he had in Iwh Being and Nothingness, that the entire freedom of which 'iw he speaks is not one which admitted of degree and that phig freedom belongs to every man equally.3 But this remark was qualified in a striking manner, later in this same essay, where Sartre wrote, ”Freedom is one and indivisible, but it manifests itself in a variety . . 4 of ways, according to Circumstances." 3Jean—Paul Sartre, ”Cartesian Freedom,” trans. Annette Michelson, in Literary and Philosophical Essays (New York: Collier Books, 1962), p. 183. 41bid., p. 180. Appar what explicit two modes; thl upon in Mg; freedom, lived these two mode degree and bel the freedom wh 261 Apparently, Sartre has here employed in a some— what explicit fashion a distinction between freedom in two modes; the first is fundamental freedom (focused upon in Being and Nothingness); the second is practical freedom, lived or experienced freedom. The first of these two modes is seemingly that "which admits of no degree and belongs to all men equally”; it is, in short, the freedom which a man possesses in virtue of his na— ture as a conscious being. The second of these modes, namely practical freedom, is then that freedom which "differs from case to case according to circumstances." Fundamental freedom, that insubstantial. eSSence— transcending quid which coincides with nothing save man's consciousness itself, can be said to remain always pure and unpolluted. Man's freedom viewed in its practical mode, however, can be thwarted, arrested, and diverted in its course. Here in an explicit form, is Sartre's basic and recurrent attempt to develop a dual—track theory of freedom. On the one hand, man gua conscious— ness, can be said to be absolutely free, but on the other hand, since he is simultaneously a being-in—the I}: world as well, man can be said to be only contingently, or even conditionally free. Interestingly enough, Simone de Beauvoir, has maintained such a dual-track theory of freedom for some time. According to her own statement, her view of free— dom treats of freedom under two basic aspects. She writes: Liberty is the very modal essence of exist- ence, which willy—hilly, in one way or an— other, subsumes to itself all external in- fluences; this internal movement is indivis— ible, and thus a totality for each individual. On the other hand, actual concrete possibili— ties vary from one person to the next. Some can attain to only a small part of those op— portunities that are available to mankind at large, and all their striving does no more than bring them nearer the platform from which their luckier rivals are departing. 5 Sartre's views, as will soon become evident, tended to develop explicitly just such an approach, one which drew nearer to both the outlooks of Beauvoir and of Merleau- Ponty, as he continued to write, concerned almost ex— clusively with man's fundamental freedom (what Beauvoir referred to above as "the very modal essence of exist— ence"), Sartre gradually came to be more and more 5Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, p. 434. concerned with this freedom as it reveals itself in its practical dimensions; as it reveals itself in the con— text of the resisting world, conditioned as it is by socio-economic pressures and resistances. Concerned now with actual possibilities and their concrete actualization, Sartre began to examine, with ever-increasing interest, the factors which had a direCt bearing upon such actualization. Sartre's con— viction that man possesses fundamental freedom has not perhaps been so much denied, as it has been placed in the background by him, relegated to a subsidiary (though still crucial) position with respect to man's lived free— dom. Indeed, one could even maintain that at least for the Sartre of this period, if not even earlier, funda- mental freedom was of interest pply as it manifests itself in the world of man's experience. Fundamental freedom is then,not a self-subsistent value in its own right; rather its true value is derived from its func— tion as a substratum for man's engagement and commit— ment in the everyday world of strife and conflict. .. [\Ir The real alteration in Sartre's perspective is perhaps best exemplified in his essay "Materialism and Revolution, which in some ways is almost a companion piece to "Cartesian Freedom." In this article, Sartre began to narrow and qualify his theory of freedom in significant and specifiable ways. Instead of declaring, for instance, that man's freedom reveals itself as the possibility of ”going beyond any given situation," Sar- tre tended to Speak as though only selected individuals were free in this sense. What he had once applied to all men qua their stature as For—itselves, he now seemed to reserve for the revolutionary in particular. He wrote, for example: The revolutionary . . . is defined by his gohugbeyond the situation in which he is placed. And because he does go beyond it towards a radically new situation, he can grasp it in its synthetic wholeness, or if you like, he makes it exist for himself as a totality.6 Such a statement certainly seems to indicate that Sartre now began to see such transcendence as rare, or perhaps 6Jean—Paul Sartre, ”Materialism and Revolution," trans. Annette Michelson in Literary and Philosophical Essays (New York: Collier Books, 1962), p. 225. . I.Ilurl .l even exceptional, rather than as being common or uni— versally discoverable in any important sense. Such a qualification does not constitute a denial by Sartre of man's transcendental powers and possibilities, but it does indicate an important re- striction. Now the hard—won character of freedom is stressed; instead of suggesting that men are typically aware of their transcendental dimension, Sartre now tended to View such awareness as definitive of partic- ular individuals or groups of individuals. The revo- lutionary, for example, can be distinguished precisely because Q; has attained an awareness of his freedom which his fellow men for some reason have not. Man's freedom for Sartre, during this period, is as surely the "possibility of rising above his situ- ation" as it was before.7 Now, however, only the more exceptional individual is depicted as having attained such a heightened perspective; only the more exceptional individual is truly aware of the depths of his freedom as a For-itself. Just because Sartre now tends to view W 7Ibid. II)...I . I. 266 such insight as rather more exceptional than he had previously, he places more importance upon this aware— ness. He now suggests that upon the shoulders of the man who has transcended the given depends the fate of his fellows. Upon the shoulders of the man whom Sar— tre terms the revolutionary rests the hope of his fellows improving their social and economic condition. Sunk as they are in the sheer givenness of the world of everyday concerns, having lost sight of their true dimension as For—itselves, they have been overwhelmed by the facticity of their world. Even if, Sartre argues, a class is being sorely oppressed and exploited by another class, they may be unaware of this very fact because of their having been engulfed by the facticity of their present situations. (Though being aware that they are suffering, such in— dividuals do not actually even view themselves as the oppressed, for, Sartre argues, if they did this very awareness would indicate implicity their having gone at least this far beyond their present state to the contemplation of another one.) The refusal by this 267 rare man, the revolutionary, to be engulfed by the mere facticity of everyday existence, promises hope to him— self and his comrades (eSpecially if they are members of an oppressed or exploited class). The revolutionary, because he has stubbornly maintained a separation of himself from the facticity of the world, is able to postulate a better state of affairs in the future. Once this has taken place, the present state will then appear to be one of oppression and the revolutionary, by calling attention to this fact, will be able to awaken in the hearts of his fellows, the desire to remedy the evils and inequities of the present system. In short, the revolutionary first tries to help his comrades see their present condition in its true light; he tries, in other words to show them not only that they are suffering (which they probably already knew only too well), but that such conditions are app inevitable. Once they come to see, as he the revolu— tionary has, that such a state of affairs is not either inevitable or necessary, they will (hopefully) undertake the steps required to alleviate present evils. Suddenly :( ,5!!! a: '9i.--.":'IAI! - E '.n ‘1' Z. .i. lusoeqasl aaedrxsm no.5 god uni-:10 ms 10 . . -. .'. ”.5. 268 viewing themselves as the oppressed or the exploited they will be led towards a program of effective action designed to correct their present state. The revolutionary then, unlike Orestes, the lonely rebel of Sartre's earlier views, ”understands himself only in his relation of solidarity with his class.”8 He hopes to liberate himself and the whole of his oppressed class.9 He realizes that in striving for his own salvation, he simultaneously brings about the improvement of his class. He first places his situation behind him by means of a nihilating withdrawal and then employs the insight achieved by this transcend- ing movement to develop a positive program of action.10 The nihilation of the revolutionary is not that of the so—called rebel, nor of the Stoic, who Sartre 81bid., p. 226. 9Ibid. 1 . 0For a more complete discuSSion of Sartre's analysis of the revolutionary and its relation to Marx- ist thought, see Appendix, p. 411. argues "tries to take refuge in himself."11 The nihil— ation of the revolutionary is undertaken because by its means, he can project himself ahead, envision a new and improved state of affairs, and then engage himself to a positive program of action.12 The revolutionary, in short, disengages himself from the present situation in order that he might 3gp, thus bringing about a better state of affairs for himself and his fellow class mem— bers. The rebel, on the other hand, much like Orestes in The Flies, is infatuated with nihilation for its own sake. The rebel thus develops no positive program of action, preferring to remain totally disengaged from everything, save nihilating freedom itself. The rebel, hOping apparently that his precious freedom will remain intact, seeks to avoid all true commitment. Sartre maintains, however, that the rebel will find not true freedom, but a pale phantom, a bloodless and evasive Shibboleth. §__—___________—____————————— 11 Sartre, ”Materialism and Revolution, p. 251. lzlbid., p. 252. . ill- 11 I 270 Still more surprising than the explicit intro— duction of political references, social duties and ob— ligations into his schema, is Sartre's explicit repudi— ation of a view of freedom which sounds strangely like hiw own, as this was expressed in Being and Nothingness, Sartre wrote, almost as though addressing his formerly held convictions: There have always been prophets to tell man that he was free, and each time it was in order to fool him. Stoical freedom, Chris— tian freedom, Bergsonian freedom, in hiding his chains from him, only reinforced them. All of these could be reduced to a certain inner freedom that man could retain in any situation. This inner freedom is a pure idealist hoax.l3 Whether Sartre regarded the above cited state— ment as a repudiation of his own theory of freedom as this was voiced in Being and Nothingness, or merely as the rejection of a common interpretation of his views as found there, remains problematical. In either case, such a clear statement on his part does indicate a sus— tained effort to disassociate himself from such a theory of inner freedom. For the Sartre of the polemical and l3Ibid.. p. 237. ma 1.1,: I . .- 271 transitional phase, now under consideration, gpy theory which guarantees man his freedom under any and all re— gimes, betrays him by this very insistence. Man, argues Sartre, must become aware of his potential or actual enslavement before he can either prevent the loss of his freedom, or regain his freedom once he has been deprived of it. Both those theories which insist upon man's absolute freedom under any and all circumstances, and theories such as materialism in its variant forms, es— pecially as embraced by orthodox Marxists, serve as . . 14 . instruments in the hands of oppressors. Man is not a thing, but he Egg be made to behave like one, through i ‘1/67 betrayal and self—deception. A view which insists too ) much upon man's inevitable freedom, may blind him to ' i the dangers of becoming thing-like, may contribute to the loss of his freedom by insisting too strongly that \ his freedom cannot be lost. On the other hand, a view like Marxian materialism, which emphasizes in an exag— gerated fashion, man‘s thing—like character, likewise l4 Ibid., p. 243. . as 272 deceives him and helps to bring about the verification of its own a prioristic persuasion that man is not really a free being at all. For the Sartre of the period under consideration (and of later periods as well), man in his totality is neither entirely free nor totally determined. Rather, he is at one and the same time both determined and free. As Charles Glickberg wrote: The socio—economic context determines the framework within which the individual makes his Choice, but the act of choice is revela— tory of the essential man in the process of becoming.15 Absolutistic theories of freedom, if they ignore the ,\ XE} context within Which human freedom reveals itself, prove ‘ ‘j: themselves to be inadequate to deal with man's actual functioning in the world. Man does not make his choices in some ethereal, non—finite realm; he makes them within specific, finite domains, whose configurations are shaped by external forces and influences. Materialistic— deterministic theories are to be rejected as being 15Charles I. Glickberg, "Existentialism vs. Marxism," The 19th Century, CILVII (May, 1950), p. 337. 273 totally adequate for the inverse reason. They have properly emphasized the importance of the context of man's choices, but they have, Sartre argues, left out of consideration the element of free resolve itself, which alone renders the context significant and efi— cacious. Sartre rejects "the false Marxist claim that one must choose between materialism or idealism, be— cause there is nothing in between.“16 Man is not a mere fragment of pure subjectivity; but neither can he be regarded as a mere object among other objects in the non—conscious realm. If idealism in its more extreme forms is false, materialism as manifested in Monistic Marxism, fares no better. Man for Sartre is an ambiguous creature. His fundamental ambiguity rests precisely in his dual nature, in his being both a sub- ject (gua his free and spontaneous consciousness) and an object (gua the judgments conferred upon him by the Other, his own body, and the like). l6Levi, Philosophy and the Modern World, p. 431. l||‘ri ’ . I! Neither pole of man's being can be ignored, so far as Sartre is concerned, without a radical dis— tortion taking place, a distortion which may have both theoretical and practical effects. If Sartre's own theory as it is to be found in Being and Nothingness appeared to ignore the objective pole of man (his role as an organic, socio-olitical creature, for example) then Sartre's later writings may be regarded as his attempt at correcting a one-sided view. If the dual nature of man ggg objectivity and subjectivity, was there made only implicit, then Sartre's subsequent declarations can be treated as his effort at rendering more explicit what can be found only in germinal form in Being and Nothingness. In any case, by the time Sartre had written ”Cartesian Freedom” and ”Materialism and Revolution,” a significant trend had been established, a trend which was to be even further enforced by Sartre's Saint Genet: Actor or Marter, Search for a Method, and Critigue de la Raison Dialectigge. Sartre had now come to View the individual's relation to the group in a different light. ._ —‘_——- He had finally come to admit, for instance, that man lé influenced by the group to which he belongs, and in important ways; but, Sartre added, this influence comes from no alien source. Rather, it is derivable from and expressive of, the individual member's own freedom. Each individual constitutes the group as his group by his own free election. Thus construed, the individual and the group stand not in a relation of opposition, but in a reciprocal one, a relation of inter—dependence. The group requires the individual, because it is constituted by a conjunction of individu- als, while the individual needs the group to furnish him with a social perspective, a feeling of solidarity, and most important (for Sartre) a protection against antagonistic threats to his well-being by the Other or Others. This means, of course, that for Sartre,man's natural state now became not isolation, but being—in- the—world, with all which this involves. Man's charac— ter and essence as an engaged freedom is formed solely by virtue of his functioning within a social framework. Only a person who possessed the attitude which Beauvoir (and presumably Sartre as well) disdainfully referred to as the "esthetic attitude," would attempt to ignore man's activity within such a context. Only the esthete, who claims to be related to the world in no other manner than "that of detached contemplation, outside of time ”17 . . . . and far from men, would deny man s ineVitable soc1al" dimension. Sartre did not suddenly embrace a theory of so— cial determinism, however. Sartre was as yet the avowed enemy of such theories, and agreed basically with a re- mark made by Merleau—Ponty. Merleau—Ponty wrote, What makes me a proletarian is not the econ— omic system or society considered as systems of impersonal forces, but these institutions as I carry them within me and experience them.18 In other words, reference must still be made to the free individual and his projects even if one admits the effi— cacy of the social context, for only such a reference l7Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 75. l8Merleau—Ponty, The Phenomenology of Percep- tion, p. 443. enables one to account for man's actions in their to— tality. Impersonal forces, until granted significance and meaning by the individual, are incapable of moti— vating any action whatever. Such forces must be inter— nalized; must be interpreted in the light of man's freely posited ends; granted a decisive role in his life, before they are capable of determining the course of any man's actions. External factors, of whatever sort, Sartre maintains, depend for their real efficacy upon man's evaluation of, and action with respect to them. In and of themselves, they stand as impotent, opaque and dumb as the entire realm of Being—in—itself. Man is influ- enced then, not by external factors themselves, as much as he is by his own personal interpretation and evalua- tion of such factors; by the manner in which incorpor— ates these factors as constituents of his own personal existence. The external world with its variant aspects must be assimilated by man before it can have a direct bearing on his life. This very assimilative process is largely dependent upon man's freely constructed valua— tional hierarchy. (Such, at least, seemed to be Sartre's persuasion during the earlier parts of the period being examined in this chapter, although there were several key qualifications concerning the above views, in his outlook by the time this phase of his thought neared its end). What is Literature? In What is Literature?, written during the period now in question, Sartre declared all writers have but one subject--freedom.19 Sartre also insisted upon the intimate rela— tionship which obtains between freedom and action, much as he had in Being and Nothingness, although he now tended to speak of freedom as earned or won rather than as given. (This suggests, of course, that Sartre was, during this period, addressing himself primarily to freedom-as—value). Sartre wrote: ngean—Paul Sartre, What is Literature? (Trans- lated as Literature and Existentialism), trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: The Citadel Press, 1962), p. 64. 279 There is only one way of attaining it [free— dom]? first by recognizing it, then having confidence in it, and finally by requiring of it an act, an act in its own name, that is in the name of the confidence that one brings to it.20 Furthermore, Sartre was still concerned during this period, with the theme of man's self—deception, the hiding of his own commitment from his eyes. He wrote in this connection, "If every man is embarked, that does not mean at all that he is fully conscious of it. Most men pass their lives hiding their engage- ment from themselves.“21 Such a remark on Sartre's part indicates both his reiteration of earlier views, and also serves to reveal what was most likely his own motivation behind the polemical writings of this period. Sartre's polemical writings may perhaps best be regarded as a prolonged attempt by him to awaken in man an awareness of his commitment or engagement, and via this enlightenment, to become aware of the full extent to which as a man he is free and responsible. 2 OIbid., p. 47. 21Ibid., p. 75. 280 Yet even though What is Literature? contained statements which were reminiscent of Being and Nothing— nggg, there were also marked departures from Sartre's earlier outlook to be noted within this brief work. Much as in Existentialism is a Humanism, Sartre wrote in What is Literature?, ". . . the more we experience our freedom, the more we recognize that of the other.”22 The For—itself had been bound to the freedom of the Other in Being and Nothingness, to be sure; but in \ this earlier work, the relation had negative overtones. My awareness as a free For—itself of the Other's freedom was achieved by a realization on my part that my trans— cendent powers had been suddenly circumscribed and de— limited. So conceived, the basic relation between men became conflict. In What is Literature?, Sartre seems to be not only suggesting, but indeed even insisting, that one For-itself can and even must stand in a recip— rocal relation with the Other; one in which he recog— nizes, by his own choice, the freedom of the Other. More Specifically, the writer and his reader are bound in such a relation. The writer requires his 22 Ibid., p. 51. 281 reader to be free, even though this very freedom places more demands upon him as a writer. This reciprocal re— lation is not only necessary, Sartre argues, but is enriching to the parties concerned. The writer who clearly recognizes the freedom of his readers, benefits more from his writings and the critical evaluations which such writings will receive. The reader, in turn, finds the literature to be of higher quality when written with the realization that it will come under the scrutiny of a reader free to evaluate and criticize. Reciprocal relations are to be found in Being and Nothingness, of course, but in this work, Sartre \f, seemed primarily interested in investigating the nega- ‘4, tive outcome of such relations. He did not explicitly . i suggest the possibility that the parties involved would ; be enriched by reciprocal relations. Since he had in- sisted in Being and Nothingness that, in principle, 1 one For-itself is incapable of viewing the Other as \ anything but an object, the most that one For—itself could hope for when he confronted the Other, was the preservation of what had been his own before the Other had transgressed his private realm. ..I|J... 1: I '_‘—___W 282 Sartre's views concerning the writer and his relation to the reader, as expressed in What is Lit— erature?, seem to imply that at least on this level, some significant degrees of cooperation is possible and even necessary. Such an admission by Sartre, hardly constitutes the wholesale abandonment or re- jection of his previously held convictions; however, it does indicate that other relations are possible be— tween free men than merely conflict. When cooperation can be achieved at one level, then there seems no 3 priori reason to assume that such cooperation, if genu— ine, seems to imply that the conflict between men is perhaps g9: fundamentally based (and hence inevitable). Conflict could then be seen to result from factors other than man's fundamental structure and steps can be taken to determine and, if possible, to correct these external factors. Such a persuasion appears to be that of Sartre in the period which either began with, or shortly fol- lowed, the writing of What is Literature?. Sartre's conception of situation also seemed to undergo some alteration in What is Literature?. In this 283 short book, Sartre was concerned with historical, econ— omic and social frameworks. He claimed that this con— cern was expressive of his interest in situating the freedom of the writer in different ages and contexts. To this point, his views appeared to be little more than elaborations of those already to be located in Being and Nothingness. Sartre tended to emphasize the demands made by the situation more than he had previ- /fi ously, however. The situation,at least of the writer, .'E came to be viewed by Sartre as the attempt on the wri— 5 ter's part to answer the demands of his era.23 The situation, in other words, now appeared definitely limited and circumscribed, n9; by the free projects of the For-itself within that situation as much, as by the demands made by external forces. While Sartre had insisted that For—itself lg his situation even in Being and Nothingness, it was not until several years later, that he declared, "Man is simply a situation . . . entirely conditioned by his class, his salary, etc. 24 23Ibid., p. 151. 24Paul Foulquié, Existentialism (New York: Roy Publishers, 1958), p. 64 (citing a quotation from Les Temps Modernes, October 1, 1945, p. 18). Just a suggestion on Sartre's part serves to point towards new dimensions of his philosophical per— spective. The statement that For-itself is bound to, and even inseparable from his situation, conjoined with the description of situation in socio—economic terms, resulted in Sartre's theory of freedom leaving the Empyrean realms of absolute freedom, as expressed in Being and Nothingness, just .one more step behind. Sartre's For-itself had at last descended from Olym— pus and now stood shoulder to shoulder with his fellows in a world conditioned by factors external to his free projects. For the Sartre of What is Literature?, freedom is a "perpetual movement by which one uproots and liber— ates himself",-25 but this liberation is seen now in terms of particular circumstances, Specifically determ- inate surroundings. Freedom must be earned, earned within these bounded situations and in that arena formed by socio—economic forces and influences. In What is 25Sartre, What is Literature, p. 67. 285 Literature?, Sartre even maintains that, “There is no given freedom.”26 If this be true, then freedom becomes not so much the quality which characterizes man's being, as it is the achievement of man's quest; not so much freedom—as—fact as freedom—as-value. This earned freedom is earned against a backdrop which is now treated by Sartre explicitly in terms of historico—economic conditions. At any given period of man's history, he may be termed free, but in each in- stance, this freedom assumes a mode which reflects the conditions of that era. Even the free writer, in a sense the spokesman of his age, directly reflects such influences. As Sartre declares, "If we no longer write as they did in the eighteenth century it is because the language of Racine and Saint—Evremond does not lend itself to talking about locomotives and the proletariat.“27 The writer, if he wishes to really communicate with his readers, does not assume what Beauvoir has characterized as the esthetic attitude. He is, rather, aware that his readers and himself as well, are intimately 26Ibid. 27Ibid., p. 27. .I‘rlf I]. 286 related to a specific historical matrix. The intelli— gent writer realizes, in other words, that "In actual fact he [the writer] is not an instantaneous conscious- ness, a pure timeless affirmation of freedom, nor does he soar aboVe history; he is involved in it."28 The writer, for Sartre, is himself an engaged freedom, and his literature is or should be,likewise engaged to the actual circumstances of his historical and political context. Even in What is Literature?, Sartre still appears to insist upon man's freedom of choice; but at the same time, he adds that this choice is always with respect to a specific base and that this base itself can be widened or narrowed according to external circumstances. Man can still be said to "define himself by the use he makes of his freedom," but this freedom assumes a form which reflects features which lie outside of this free— dom itself. Man at one and the same time makes and ig made by history; determines and is determined by its 2 81bid., p. 69. 287 movement. It was almost as though Sartre had come to see clearly for the first time what Husserl had already suggested in his Cartesian Meditations. Husserl had there written: Each man understands first of all, in respect of a core and as having its unrevealed hori— zon, gig concrete surrounding world or big culture; and he does so precisely as a man who belongs to the community fashioning it historically.29 Les Mains Sales (Dirty Hands) In Sartre‘s play Dirty Hands, written in 1948, the explicit union of his philosophical ideas and po- #) 3 litical persuasions took place. In this play, the i character of Hoereder, a Communist boss, epitomizes E the true man of action. He exudes a vitality and ’ strength which makes even the things he touches seem more real; the awareness on his part of his freedom I I and responsibility has resulted in his freely assuming this burden. In contrast to Hoederer, Hugo who has i 29Husserl, Cartesian Meditations, p. 133. I? not yet really committed himself, feels that he "lives . 30 in a stage set." For Hoederer, who is in a very real sense Sar— tre's existential man, "purity is an ideal for a yogi "31 or a monk . . . a pretext for doing nothing. Hoederer has realized the depths of his freedom and its resultant responsibility, and has ceased to attempt to find ex- ternal justifications for his actions. He knows that his actions must, at least in the final analysis, be justified by himself. Hoederer knows that the only man worthy of that name is the man of action, the man who "has dirty hands."32 Hoederer, in stating his single most basic con— viction, seems to be stating at the same time Sartre's own conviction, at least at this stage of his philo— sophical career. Hoederer said, "There is no heaven. 33 There's work to be done, that's all." There are 30Jean—Paul Sartre, Dirty Hands (Les Mains Sales), trans. Lionel Abel and Stuart Gilbert in No Exit and Three Other Plays (New York: Vintage Books, 1959), p. 187. 3lIbid., p. 224. 32Ibid. 33Ibid., p. 234. ll‘l. ifl l“. 289 problems, obstacles and tasks for man, and he stands confronting them. The esthete or the purist will re— fuse to enter into concrete struggles for fear of en- gaging himself; for fear that he cannot always justify his actions. The authentic man, however, the man of action, will assume the responsibility for his actions; will roll up his sleeves and engage himself directly with the tasks at hand. As Jeanson has pointed out, Hoederer in Qiggy Hands is actually Orestes plunged into the world of modern man. Hoederer is a modern Orestes, challenged by the existence of a resisting world. But Hoederer, unlike Orestes, realizes that what is necessary in this world is neither withdrawal nor revolt, but revolution.34 Saint-Genet: Actor and Martyr Sartre's lengthy study, Saint—Genet: Actor and Martyr, which was published in 1952, marks the end of 34 . A Jeanson, Sartre par lui—meme, p. 38. I I --M' 'M p" 290 what has here been called Sartre's transitional period. Perhaps better than any other of Sartre's writings, this book reveals the crucial transition in his thought; a transition from his earlier views of Being and Noth— ingness to his neo—Marxist theories of the Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue. Within the compass of this single volume are to be found, side by side, the two most dominant elements in Sartre's fully developed philosophical position. On the one hand, Saint—Genet includes explicit reiterations of earlier theories, reflecting Sartre's persuasions of Being and Nothing— ness. On the other, this book contains definite indi— cations of significant qualifications, revisions and .’ changes of emphasis, in Sartre‘s philosophical and meta—philosophical outlook. 3 Saint-Genet, in spite of some crucial revisions with respect to important philosophical issues, is still I ? clearly the creation of the same philosopher who wrote Being and Nothingness. Sartre still insists, for ex- ample, that the future dimensions of man's psychic life - ' aunt-Mw' run-n! to swim war nun an: is;nrxa adj uI52V91 iood' ' I .Jnguodi Lifi mi noijintaxr 10:?ianl13 1* .:‘£_' 291 are capable of acting upon earlier ones; that man's freely projected future ”envelOps and endows with new meaning,” his past states and activities.351 This very characteristic is, even for the Sartre of Saint-Genet, the most constant quality which can be attributed to man's psychic life.36 A man's actions are to be ex— plained only by reference to his projected future, rather than by an appeal to his past, as such thinkers as Freudian analysts had supposed. Such a statement by Sartre can be seen to be little more than the repe— tition of a principle basic to his whole notion of existential psychoanalysis which was sketched in nggg and Nothingness. Man is an ambiguous being in Saint—Genet, just as he was in Sartre's earlier theories. Genet's bad faith is made possible, as is all bad faith according to Sartre, by Genet's fundamental ambiguity as a man. Precisely because as men, ”we are beings whose being 3 . , . . , 5Jean—Paul Sartre, Saint—Genet: Actor and Mar— ty , trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: George Bra- ziller, 1963), p. 78. 36Ibid. v ‘ "II“ I!” Iv ‘h 292 is perpetually in question . . . whose being is to be in question of our being," We are capable of bad faith.37 Sartre-immediately added, "Nobody is cowardly or brave in the way a well is white or a blanket is green," even though in bad faith, one may attempt to pretend other- wise.38 He might attempt, in other words, to pretend that he ig such and such, pretend that he is a substance. In Saint-Genet, Sartre is as emphatic in his in— sistence upon man's obligation of self—renewal as he was previously. Man, because he is a free being, “holds his ground only by surpassing himself, in the same sense in which it is said that one ceases to love if one does not '39 Man is still ”homo love increasingly every day.’ viator,“ condemned to wander ceaselessly in quest of a tangible essence; his fundamental structure makes rest (short of bad faith, of course) impossible. In- deed, only the man of bad faith even dreams of cessa- tion; he alone desires to attain the substantiality 37Ibid., p. 60. 38Ibid. 39Ibid., p. 216. 'H" . ".311,“ 1'96 10 f; :..: r- \.r .i 5 _" 61': hem _ 1".'_" i I II?‘ l: L': . .‘i ,. :1- =- , I i T. ,l l; ,o' -. 293 of Being—in—itself (although Sartre does not employ his earlier terminology of Being and Nothingness in W). Freedom, although in a markedly altered form, is still central to Sartre's concerns in Saint—Genet. Man is to be characterized by the use or misuse he makes of his freedom. This freedom, at least in one of its dominant or basic modes, either strictly para— llels, or is identical with,man's consciousness, Speak— ing of man's freedom, Sartre explains why it is so rarely encountered, though present to man constantly. Sartre writes: Freedom is, as a rule, imperceptible; when it is inactive, we cannot touch it; when it is active, we lose sight of it; we are con— scious only of the undertaking and of the tasks to be performed.40 Freedom, like consciousness (if the two can in fact, even be separated in the above cited passage) is transparent. One does not, strictly speaking, see” freedom; rather he "sees right through it." While freedom (like consciousness) makes actions possible, 40Ibid., p. 366. 294 its nature does not enable one to distinguish it apart from this action. This is why, earlier, Sartre had suggested that one never encounters the what of free— dom; instead he experiences the that, the fact of free- dom in its mode of freedom—in—action, or lived freedom. Freedom apart from action is but a bare abstraction, and no one realizes this fact better than Sartre him- self. The authentic man realizes that freedom is en— countered only in action, not in passive contemplation. He consequently commits or engages himself in the world, the only arena in which real freedom is to be discovered. If the Sartre of Being and Nothingness rejected unqualified deterministic explanations of human behavior, especially in its creative expressions, so did the Sartre of Saint—Genet. Appeals to environmental, historical, and hereditary factors, at most serve to indicate the context or matrix in which the creative act takes place. Such explanations can never explain the creation itself. As Sartre wrote, concerning Racine and his creation of Phédre, A technical invention, a work of art, has positive content which remains irreducible. 295 After you have explained Racine by his envi— ronment, by his age, by his childhood, there remains Phédre which is inexplicable.41 In this passage, Sartre almost seems to be implying that even if one could account for a given human being in terms of external influencing factors, that his ac- tions, especially his creative actions, could pg; be so explained. "Reductionism" applied either to men themselves, or to their creations, is suspect from the very outset, according to Sartre. Reductionism in its various guises, is little more than an ad hoc attempt at explaining free actions; it is able to explain not before, but only after the creative act has taken place. If freedom is still central to Sartre's analysis in Saint—Genet, so is the problem of the Other. While Sartre at this phase of his career was more willing to admit the presence of group cooperation, he was still insistent on the fragile character of such groupings. Sartre, for instance, cites an example of a small, tightly—knit group which had suddenly found a traitor in its midst. This discovery had the effect of instantly 4lIbid., p. 236. I Ii 296 altering the entire group. Sartre wrote, ”Each of us becomes for all the others a potential traitor; each of us feels the petrifying gaze of the Other upon him. The original unity explodes; there remains only a large number of solitudes."42 While a We-subject relation may be possible, it can be shattered into tiny fragments, tearing assunder the delicate webs of inter-subjectivity which had united the monadic For-itselves together, and returning them to a state of war of all against all. Perhaps, Sartre seems to be saying, a relation of cooperation and reciprocal recognition of subjectivity is possible; but this relation is extremely difficult to '\ maintain intact. The ontological structure of man pre— sents a constant threat of destruction. Group coopera— tion is never given; it must be achieved and can at any time be lost, due to factors which are either internal or external to the group itself. If such be Sartre's 421bid., p. 173. 297 suggestion, and it seems to be, then he has once again brought his theory into closer alignment with the per— suasion of Beauvoir. She had maintained, even at a time when Sartre had written in Being and Nothingness that the basic relation between men was conflict, that harmony between men was possible. She had held, ”har— mony is never a donneé; it must be worked for contin— ually,"43 even while Sartre denied the possibility of the We—subject relation, on ontological grounds. Sartre's recognition of the possibility of group behavior, did not substantially lessen his estimation of the threat posed by the Other in general, however. The Other still challenges my free being as a For—itself, and since there is "no means of acting on others directly except by physical coercion,”44 I am still forced to de— vise techniques to deal with this threat. I can, like Genet, for example, set a trap by which the Other's freedom may be caught, a trap in the form of words. I can employ a line of argument as a “snare for his 43Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, p. 208. 44Sartre, Saint—Genet: Actor and Martyr, p. 420. I uh- NU sun-trons “...-”:36. “:5an 216-11:: IM- -m. . ' "‘ 9*? .wlevuena 30 5 '5: :t-W: '.'..-.-T-J :..» .:--x. ...._ -'-E‘ .19st am:- .r' :finfl 45 . . . . freedom." Here is a new technique for dealing With the Other. In Saint-Genet, Sartre argued that the whole of Genet's literary career was motivated primarily by Genet's desire to ensnare the freedom of the Other, through the medium of words. Just as in Being and Nothingness, however, while the Other threatens me in my very being, I need him to bestow a character upon me. As Sartre stated concisely, “To.be tragic, handsome, noble, frightening, is to de- . . . 46 pend entirely on the opinion of others.” Each man is a complex and ambiguous creature, and he stands in a complex, dialectical relation with the Other. As Sartre wrote: In our profession, our family, our party, we are nOt quite subjects and not quite objects. The Other is that instrument which obeys the voice, which regulates, divides, distributes, and it is, at the same time, that warm, dif— fused atmosphere which envelops us; and that is what we are too, are for others and conse— quently for ourselves.47 ____________________________________________________ 451bid. 46Ibid., p. 134. 47 Ibid., p. 591. I‘lr.1 ] but must face and somehow come to terms with,the Other. In Saint—Genet, Sartre made his own existen- tialistic approach stand out in bold relief in contrast with the essentialist view. For Sartre, ”essentialism” is a systematic form of bad faith; a prolonged attempt to view oneself as a mere thing, a substance. Genet, perhaps caught while stealing as a child, was called a thief by the Other or Others. He then accepted realize this essence. His actions no longer seemed under his direct control; they,rather, seemed to issue forth from his essential structure or nature in an un- broken flow. Genet began to View himself as a ”stealing “48 Substance as the mind is a thinking substance. He Started to tell himself that, ”if he did not steal those ____________________________________________________ 48Ibid., p. 63. 300 jewels, he would steal others next week,"49 for his essence, his underlying substantial nature is to pg a thief. So construed, his acts became no longer acts at all, but instead the "simple attributes of the sub- stance they embody."50 For the existentialist persuasion, at least as Sartre envisions it, acts define a man's essence. For Genet, the essentialist, his substance or essence de— fines and determines his acts. For Sartre a man is a thief because he steals (and for no other reason). For Genet, on the other hand, a man steals because he lg a thief. In the former instance, the man can be said to truly make or define his own essence; in the latter (Genet's case) the man at least seems to be made by his essence. The existential man in short, regards his essence as something to be made or to be done, while the essentialist views his essence as something to be suffered. 491bid., p. 350. SOIbid., p. 63. 301 For a man who has fully accepted the essential— ist myth, his whole life seems to merely unfold before him like the pages of a book. For such an individual, Nothing more can happen to him since every— thing is already decided, by others and by himself; at every instant he lives his des— tiny in its entirety, and each time his thinking covers the same monotonous circuit; the die is cast.51 Such was Genet's attitude, according to Sartre, at least for a considerable portion of Genet's life. To Genet, the essentialist, to be a soldier means "to share sud— denly and magically in the virtues, mysteries and legen- . . ,52 . dary history of a huge multi-colored beast.’ This means for Genet to have a substantial nature conferred upon him from the outside. The existentialist, on the contrary, says that being a soldier means "to exercise a function for a limited time, to become a subject who . . 53 has been given abstract rights and duties." The essentialist, in short, tends to view him— self as an object, coerced by the facticity of his 51Ibid., p. 339. 521bid., p. 470. 53Ibid. 302 existence and the constitution of his nature into pur— suing specified paths of action. He is perhaps what Beauvoir chose to call the "sub—man" in her book Egg Ethics of Ambiguity. The existentialist views himself as a self-creative subject, a subject who employs the facticity of his existence in order to confer upon himself an essence. He is keenly aware, in other words, of his own role in constituting his world and his nature. To this juncture, Sartre's ideas as expressed in Saint-Genet do not appear to differ in any basic sense from those of Being and Nothingness. There are some key passages in Saint—Genet, however, which reveal subtle and, in other instances, even fundamental alter- ations in Sartre's basic outlook. One of the more subtle shifts is to be located in Sartre's bringing together of his notions of project or fundamental project and external pressures. While for Sartre, Genet's becoming a thief was in a sense a freely chosen project on his part, at one and the same time this was to a large ex— tent imposed upon Genet without his free election. Genet's original crisis, his being caught and labelled 111* 303 as a thief, had profound significance upon his entire life. Genet could, conceivably, have rejected this label, but once he had accepted it (as all children are prone to do in a world where adults are regarded by the child as omniscient) the remainder of his life was thereby radically altered. Two of Sartre's critics, D. G. Cooper and R. D. Laing, suggest a possible manner in which Sartre's an— alysis of this crucial experience of Genet's can be treated so as to preserve at least a modicum of Genet's freedom intact. They suggest that this original crisis should not be regarded as decisive in a mechanical sense for Genet's subsequent development. Rather, this exper— ience became “a prototypical mode of Genet's experience of himself-for—others at a stage of his childhood.”54 Thus construed, perhaps Genet's freedom had not been totally obliterated; but it had certainly been modified in significant ways by factors over which Genet had no direct control. In the language of Being and Nothingness, 54D. G. Cooper and R. D. Laing, Reason and Vio— lence: A Decade of Sartre's Philosophy: l950-l960 (Lon— don: Tavestock Publications, 1964), p. 71. .‘ I am. 304 “a new dimension of his being had been conferred upon him from the outside.” Genet, unfortunately, made the somewhat tragic mistake of taking this judg ment as de— finitive, not merely of gpg aspect of his being, but of his very essence or substantial nature. Genet, then, by means of what Sartre in Being and Nothingness had termed "elective assumption," attempted to ”see himself as others saw him.” In Genet's case, surrounded as he was by right thinking people (Sartre's term for the smugly self—righteous), the Others saw Genet as a "stealing substance.” The remainder of Genet's career became, according to Sartre at least, the extended ef— fort to see himself as jggp such a substance. The suggestion by Sartre that Genet was defin- itely influenced, if not largely molded by, the society in which he found himself, indicated one aSpect of Sar- tre‘s developed or altered perspective. As a matter of fact, Sartre's whole notion of responsibility seemed to undergo a basic transmutation in Saint-Genet. The same man who had spoken of total reSponsibility without qual- ification in Being and Nophingnes , began to speak 305 of what society had done to Genet (Genet the "martyr")~ Sartre constantly throughout Saint—Genet, referred to tendency to project, Sartre wrote: And who does one strike, in the person of the ”dirty greedy, sensual, negating” Jew? One's self, one's own greed, one's own lech— ery. Whom does one lynch in the American South for raping a white woman? A Negro? No. Again one's self. Evil is a projection. I would go so far as to say that it is both the basis and aim of all projective activity.55 The right thinking people who have a constant appetite for new and likely targets for their projec- tive activities, found a ready victim in Genet. Such individuals had, in effect, been waiting for Genet. Sartre declared: ”All the rungs of the ladder which he was to descend had been prepared in advance.” He added, Even before he had emerged from his mother's womb, they had already reserved beds for him in the prisons of Europe, and places for him M“ 55Sartre, Saint-Genet: Actor and Martyr, p. 29. a“ 306 in all shipments of criminals. He had only to go to the trouble of being born.56 In the above cited passage, Sartre appeared to be main— taining that society literally needs Genets. As a matter of fact, Sartre came quite close to making the suggestion he had previously made in Anti-Semite and ggy. There, Sartre had maintained that even if the Jew did not exist, the anti-Semite would invent him. In Saint—Genet, Sartre seems to imply that even if persons like Genet did not exist, the right thinking people would invent them. This thirst of the self-righteous for an object of their scorn and moral condemnation, had severe conse— quences upon the young and impressionable Genet. As a result Of their judgments, "Genet became free to be guilty, but was not free to change. The reason is that the wrath of the just wants to perpetuate itself; if Genet became honest, it would lose its object."57 Sartre Soon added, ”This virtuous anger is relentless. It is ________________________________________________________ 56Ibid., p. 31. 57Ibid., p. 19. 'n ""‘l 307 not enough for it to murder a child; it must also con- trive a hopeless future for the monster it has just . "58 , . fabricated. Even Genet s attempts to disprove such judgments by the just, are doomed to failure and impo- tence; for no matter what form his revolt takes, the right thinking people will merely declare, ”I predicted as much.”59 To be sure, Sartre stated in Saint—Genet, much as he had in previous writings, that ”the Ego is not distinguishable from its possibilities and projects. It is therefore defined by the complex body of its de- cisions . . . revealed only in and by acts.”6O In Gen— et's case, however, his acts seem to have had only one outcome. His Ego is defined by his acts; but the char— acter of his acts is conferred upon them from the out— side by the Other in the form of the just. In a sense, Genet can still be said to be defining himself; but SBIbid. 59Ibid., p. 58. 60Ibid., p. 187. .1“ 308 clearly, this is hardly a free creation, since he is compassed about by right thinking people. Of course, Genet did revenge himself, Sartre argues. Through the medium of his fictional creations, Genet betrayed the right thinking man into entertaining thoughts he believed himself incapable of; even into becoming a party to his own degradation, as he followed the fictional exploits of one of Genet's perverted heroes. Through a diabolically clever technique, Genet ensnared the just in their own trap of self—righteous condemnation. He led them to a point in his literary works where they had become so intimately involved in the narrative, that the sins of the hero seemed quite literally to be their pflp sins. Genet tricked the just into viewing themselves as guilty. By their having be— come identified with his fictional characters, the just had at least become guilty by association. In any case, Sartre's treatment of responsibil— ity has obviously been revised, or at least qualified. As one of Sartre's critics suggests, in Saint—Genet, moral responsibility has been shifted from the wrong— ..IL 309 doer (in this instance Genet) to society (a society of right-thinking people).61 This means, of course, that by implication, Genet himself is absolved of individual responsibility for his mideeds.62 Genet, unfortunate victim that he was (at least according to the Sartrean interpretation), simply found himself caught up in the intricate machinery designed by the just to purge them— selves of their own evil inclinations and tendencies by projecting them into other persons. The society of the just, in other words, because it requires mon— sters for its purposes, made one out of Genet and so society is answerable for this creation. Thus one can see that even though perhaps Genet could still be said to have formed his essence by his surpassing of the situation in which he found himself, this situation had been pre—outlined by the right think- ing people. They had, in fact, so limited its base, that even the transcendence of this situation by a free 61Joseph Frank, "Existentialist Ethics," New Re— public, CXXIX (September 7, 1953), p- 19- 62 Ibid. .% 310 and self-creative For-itself (in this instance, Genet) would have to take a certain direction. The society of the self-righteous, then, far more than Genet him— self, is to be held accountable for his actions, or at least for the basic direction which these actions were to take. The just are responsible for having rigidified and restricted the context in which Genet was able to exercise his self—creative choice. Given the narrowed framework within which Genet was forced to act, only a pitifully few alternatives were avail— able to him. If Genet is less than totally responsible, clearly he must not be absolutely free either, since responsibility is the corollary of freedom, for Sartre. As one of Sartre's commentators wrote in this regard, "Sartre's plea that society is ultimately responsible for Genet is so strong that it poses at least a threat to his doctrine that every human being is absolutely free.”63 Even on the basis of the quotations already 63 . . . . . Barnes, Humanistic EXistentialism: The Lit- erature of Possibility, p. 29. 3ll cited, however, this critic's suggestion seems overly conservative. Sartre's declarations in Saint—Genet seem to pose more than a mere threat to his doctrine of absolute freedom. They indicate a basic revision (or further evolution) of his philosophical perspective. Nowhere in this entire work on Genet, does Sartre refer to Genet's absolute freedom; all references to Genet's freedom are to a conditional sort of freedom. On the basis of this crucial deletion, one can assume either: that Sartre has abandoned his doctrine of absolute fundamental freedom entirely; or that he no longer takes a direct interest in this mode of human freedom, preferring instead to focus upon its practical manifestations. This latter alternative seems more cred— ible. In Saint—Genet, as well as in the works which followed it, perhaps Sartre is not so much denying Genet's fundamental freedom, as he is examining in minute detail, its concrete manifestations. Conceiv- ably, Sartre might still wish to maintain that Genet's fundamental freedom remained intact throughout his life; but due to the judgments of the right thinking l I ! people, the concrete expressions of this freedom through action, had been severely restricted. In Being and Nothingness, and the period of Sar— tre's career most directly dominated by this work, Sar— tre had granted external factors influencing For-itself's context, only minor importance. In his emphasis on the For—itself's seemingly omnipotent freedom, external fac- tors were subsumed under the category of Being—in—itself, a realm under the rule of man. The entire world thus became a vast storehouse, furnishing the raw materials out of which, through his self-creative choice, man could create for himself an essence. Thus viewed, Being—in-itself became a ”tabula rasa“ upon which man could impress meaning and significance; prime matter to which man alone could bring form. While, even for the Sartre of Being and Nothingness, freedom was always freedom—in—situation, freedom and pp: the situation assumed the dominant role throughout. Gradually, however, as Sartre's thought under- went further development, he began to place more import- ance on externalities. Rather than dealing with situation "I! 313 only as a bare abstraction, he began to speak of it with respect to specific socio—political contexts. His For-itself became an historical being rather than a sort of Platonic Idea. The fundamental freedom of which Sartre spoke was all but replaced by references to practical freedom, or freedom-in—action. Duties, obligations, and restrictions began to assume almost as important a role in Sartre's later philosophy, as pure autonomy had in his earlier thinking. Sartre began to imply, in Saint—Genet and else- where, that perhaps not all situations allowed the same latitude of choice; that the base of such situations could be extended or narrowed by elements external to the freedom of the For—itself within that situation. One of the more obvious sources of such external in— fluence was, of course, the Other or Others, especially in the guise of right—thinking people. Sartre had in— ‘ sisted even in Being and Nothingness that the Other con— fers my character upon me. But in Saint—Genet, this imposition seems more definitive, less avoidable than before. To be sure, Sartre did write in Saint—Genet, . .....‘ ml] 314 "We are not lumps of clay, and what is important is not what people make of us, but what we ourselves make of what they have made of us.”64 As one soon discovers, however, Sartre's own treatment of Genet revealed that there may very well be only a narrow range of possibil— ities open to one. The number of things that I, as a For-itself can do with "what the Other makes of me" is not only finite, but extremely limited. Part of the reason for this is that the Other or Others may allow me only a certain latitude. The manner in which the Other first circumscribes my being, and then devises techniques to insure that I remain within that delimited sphere, directly affects my actions. The Other may not allow me to discard the label which he has affixed to me, without a severe struggle, or may even see to it (as did the just with respect to Genet) that the label cannot be removed, even if I change. The Other may, for example, label me as a coward on the basis of an action which he sees me perform. Even if I do not take his label as definitive, but resist 64Sartre, Saint—Genet: Actor and Martyr, p. 49. HIGH Sud .IU 33 am mag“: :..; 65:6!!! smart with p swat-neat: rumba arm 1m - _.' I" Ea \ I ! ul " ‘- 1 . 1 1 i i i . this imposition and attempt to perform heroic actions, I have no real guarantee that he will revise his earlier judgment. In the first place, the Other may claim that this later action is not in fact heroic at all. In the second place, he can always claim that this later action does not really prove me a hero (or a non-coward). He can assert that I am now merely a ”coward playing at be- ing a hero." He could, as a matter of fact (like the anti—Semite), find me even more contemptible after the second act, than he did before. He can ggy accuse me of compounding my cowardice by "refusing to admit the truth of his judgment, and pretending to be that which I am not." What is true of a single Other is obviously even more true of a large group compounded of Others. When not one person, but many, label me coward, the tendency to accept this judgment as definitive increases. While I might feel quite free to disregard the evaluations of one, two, or more Others, as the number of them in— creases, the evidence against me likewise mounts. This is especially true if I have accepted Sartre's statement in Being and Nothingness to the effect that "I gm as the Other sees me." If I am greatly outnumbered by the Others (as Genet was outnumbered by the right— thinking people, for example), I may begin to feel that I have no right to ignore their judgments of me, or that I cannot disregard their judgments in all in- tellectual honesty. (In a sense, of course, Sartre holds that I should not and could not merely ignore the evaluations of the Other. The Other does, after all, confer my character upon me; its configurations are created within and only within, a social context.) If I not only take the Other's evaluations of me into account in deriving my self—concept, but become convinced that he (or they) have discovered the very essence of my being, I may cease to struggle and re— sist (may cease to nihilate their judgments by a con— tinued withdrawal into my self—creative freedom as a For-itself). I may, like Genet, make an effort at elective assumption. I may attempt, in other words, literally to "see myself as Others see me.” Clearly, this can lead not only to bad faith, but to extreme di5content on my part as I search, without success, for that opaque body (my substantial nature) within me, which the Others have recognized. As For—itself I am not a thing to which a label can be affixed, and to pretend otherwise is to be in bad faith. Further— more, because I am defined solely with reference to my acts, there is in fact no opaque body within me which I could possibly discover, no matter how hard I tried. (My success at finding such a substance with— in me would merely be positive proof of my bad faith.) The solidified quality which the Other discovers in me, I cannot (as an authentic man) discover in myself. The Other sees this quality in me because he views me as object; I cannot, because I view myself as subject. Furthermore, for the Sartre of Saint—Genet, even more than in Being and Nothingness, as a man, I am pp; free to retire from society. Solitude is pg; man's original state from which he emerges if all goes 65 well, and to which he can return if his luck changes. Human reality is as truly in—society as it is in-the 651bid., p. 590. 318 world and exists fully only within a social framework.66 Man must, then, somehow come to terms with his fellows; must learn to value the judgments of the Other without allowing such evaluations to become definitive and final (as Genet did). Man must learn, in other words, to es- tablish a delicate and precarious balance between pas— sively suffering the Other's imposition of qualities upon him, and ignoring the Other's judgments entirely. To allow the Other or Others to define one in a final sense, is to become thing—like; to ignore their evalu- ations is to cease to possess a human character or na— ture. The relations which one establishes with the Other constitute only part of one's being—in—the—world, however. In addition, one must establish certain rela— tions with the material world, or more precisely, must come to terms with such crucial relations as OWnership and property. One must, in other words, attend both to his being and his having (to employ Marcel's termin— OlOgy). Sartre had hinted that man's relationship to 66Ibid. " a -.II-\ \- «.'- things in a manner which made clear the centrality of this relation in Sartre's developing philosophical out— look. In Saint-Genet, Sartre maintained that one's relation to material things influences his image of man. Such being the case, the factory worker and the landowner, for instance, have different ideas on the nature of man. Sartre suggests that the factory worker, especially in a nationalized factory system, tends to think that a man lg what he does. Landowners, on the contrary, tend to think that a man lg what he has. The misfortune of Genet, so far as Sartre is concerned, is . . . 67 that he derived his image of man from the landowners. Genet was taught that a man lg what he has, and being himself illegitimate, a ward of the state, he owned nothing and therefore was nothing. Clearly Genet's situation in this instance is of more than passing concern. His having been brought up in an agrarian economy, in which men tend to be de— fined in terms of their property, resulted in Genet's 67Ibid., p. 10. 320 radical sense of inferiority. For the young Genet, everything which he had was a gift; nothing really belonged to him. Consequently, perhaps in his attempt to finally derive for himself some semblance of being, the young Genet stole, stole so that finally he could own something, and therefore pg something. Caught in this theft and condemned by a society of right think— ing people, Genet suddenly found himself with a nature. This nature was, unfortunately, a "polluted nature,” a "guilty freedom,” a "destiny."68 The Other, who had caught Genet stealing while ten years of age, had 1a— belled Genet a thief and then in concert with his fel— “lows, saw to it that Genet could never disprove the appropriateness of that label. Surrounded by his elders, whom the child Genet naturally assumed knew all things, even his gyp nature, better than he did, Genet accepted their judgment of him as final. Suddenly, “at ten years of age he knew to the last detail the life that he will have to sip, drop by drop.“69 68Ibid., p. 20. 9 6 Ibid. 321 Because Genet had been nurtured in a property—centered economy, whose value system revolved around possession and ownership, he first stole to attain being, and was then condemned for this theft. Genet had, in short, been taught an ethics, one which condemned him.70 He had learned a system of ethics in which each and every one of his acts, literally from his having been born to his theft, was guilty. He had been taught that in the world of haves, the have—nots to which number he belonged are de—trop, superfluous (even, perhaps sub— men). Such was Genet's context, the situation with respect to which he formed his essence. Sartre was not suggesting that Genet's situation in and of itself neces— sitated in a mechanical fashion the entire series of epi— sodes which made of Genet's career. Before this situa— tion could become operative in Genet's life, he had to evaluate, appreciate and then surpass it. This surpaSsing or transcendence was, however, bound intimately to that particular situation. (Given Genet's socio—economic 70Ibid., p. 15. \q JH?LFJ 399d *J i 322 context and the judgments of the right—thinking people, only a very limited number of alternatives were open to him.) Sartre almost seems to be suggesting that each situation points toward the ways in which it can be surpassed or transcended. The choice of which way is then up to the For—itself within that contextual setting. In transcending a given situation, the For— itself can be said to be leaving it behind him. At the same time, however, his withdrawal bears within 5: “ itself the marks of this context, since the withdrawl or nihilating movement was a nihilation pf just that particular situation and no other. People do not tran— scend situations in general. They transcend specific situations, more or less well—defined configurations of elements which come together to form a synthetic unity, and their very transcendence bears the clear stamp of this unity. Furthermore, in Saint-Genet much as in his essay "Materialism and Revolution,” Sartre seems to directly imply that many men do not transcend their situations. .....'_. . 323 For various reasons, some of which are beyond their control, men are often unable to grasp their situation; to see clearly its configurations and then nihilate this framework by a future-oriented projection. Whether through self—deception, trickery by oppressive classes, harsh external surroundings, or whatever, many men are reduced (or reduce themselves) to simple coincidence with their situation. Their whole identity is defined with reference to their specific socio—economic func— tion, for instance. Thus viewed, their most important human dimension, their transcendental freedom, becomes obscured; and when men no longer realize that they are (fundamentally) free, they cease in fact to pg free. They are regarded as, and tend even to regard themselves as, something less than human. Men thus become things for themselves and for others. Pearl fishers (to cite Sartre's own example) become for the rajah whom they serve, no different ”from a pig that noses truffles.“7l Losing sight of his transcendental dimension, becoming intimately involved with the affairs of every- 71Ibid., p. 360. 324 day life; growing to think of himself more and more with reference to his vocation, man can become slave to thing. Instead of his work bestowing a human qual- ity on that which is produced, his work can bestow an inhuman quality on the producer. Instead of the labor of the lacemaker transforming lace into a human product, "lace made a laceeworm of the lacemaker."72 Here in modified form, developed along explicitly politico-economic lines, is Sartre's notion of the basic antagonism between Being—for—itself and Being—in—itself. Man, the free being, is still forced to confront the realm of Being—in—itself as an opponent, as that which is to be conquered. In his writings subsequent to 1943, however, Sartre began increasingly to deal with the con— cept of Being—in—itself in terms which were more specif— ically economic in tone. He began to make more explicit the suggestion that man is related to this realm not in general intangible ways, but that he is related directly to it by a fundamental bond, namely need. Man's needs 2 7 Ibid. l 325 as a psycho—physical organism can be satisfied only inasmuch as he relates successfully to this domain of matter, or to his fellows who may control selected parts of this domain. Sartre suggested in Being and Nothingness, al— most in passing, that man comes to know himself through the circuit of the world. In his later works, especially in Search for a Method and the Critigue de la Raison Dialectigge, this material mediation took a more import- ant place in Sartre's theory. Man, for Sartre, came to know himself not in respect to his general relation to Being—in—itself, that vague, chaotic block universe of . .. . . ‘y- if”? pure Being; but more speCifically With regard to his ' ' role as worker, farmer, businessman, and the like..Each of these roles stands in a certain relationship to mat— ter, views materiality in a different fashion, and typ— ically fosters a variant conception of man, perhaps by virtue of this mediational process itself. The "freedom which must be won,” and which Sartre yet truly values, must now be won in a socio-economic context, via social reform and action. The ideal which .'--- was that of Orestes is the ideal of an alien and iso- lated freedom dwelling apart in a self—sufficient realm; Sartre now explicitly rejects such an ideal. In its place, he erects another, an ideal which has as its nucleus freedom, just as before, but a freedom which is now located squarely in the marketplace and in the factory, squatting ;amidst Inan's most pernicious prob— lems and common difficulties. This sort of freedom is that which, perhaps in the present world, only the revolutionary grasps in its full richness, and with which only he with ”dirty hands" ever comes into inti— mate contact. To bring about a framework in which the ideal of each man actualizing his freedom to his utmost can be realized, one may well have to side directly with the revolutionary. He may have to be willing to raze the established systems, institutions and values in the present world, in order to bring this freedom- revealing context into existence. Such is Sartre's own conclusion, one which serves as a most fitting note upon which to conclude this chapter. Sartre wrote: VI”; 7 7 . {so (has ’ ' _ _ 7 . Werifi, tea-”Mam "birth -‘ 4, producing comunity.-a;nd, $746 . try t9 draw fip with the workers and the‘ militants, the table of new values.73 I..- II 73Ibid-, p. 202. H. i. l CHAPTER V THE LATER PERIOD The phase of Sartre's career which extends roughly from 1952 to the present time (1964), has been termed, for want of a better designation, Sartre's later period. During this interval, many of the ideas which were to be found only in an implicit or germinal form in Sartre's earlier writings were brought to full fruition. For instance, while Sartre's developing con— ceptions of human freedom and responsibility began to point towards implicit Marxian elements in his thought, even during the middle and late 1940's, Sartre did not come to make an explicit, detailed statement of his neo—Marxist position until he wrote Search for a Method and the Critigge de la Raison Dialectigue in 1960. Not until the publication of these two companion works did Sartre make clear the relationship between existential— ism and neo-Marxism, or state in a direct fashion the 328 329 need to analyze man's socio—political context or situ— ation along lines which were basically neo—Marxian (as Sartre understands this perSpective). The present investigation, as the Introduction should have made sufficiently clear, is not an analysis of Sartre's political theory. However, his espousal of a theory such as neo-Marxism, which has such obvious and important implications with respect to human free- dom and reSponsibility, could hardly be ignored. As a result, Sartre's later politico—philosophical theory will be discussed; but only as it relates directly to the theme of human freedom. Questions concerning the f. adequacy of Sartre's discussions of orthodox Marxism, ( or the feasibility of his own neo—Marxist position, will not be dealt with here. What will occupy the attention of this study will be, rather, Sartre's pyp understanding of the Marxian philosophy, and his convictions held in connection with neo-Marxism. The focus, in other words, will in all cases be upon Sar- tre's grasp of these theories; upon the manner in which f 330 pg believes his theory of freedom can be reconciled, modified, or upheld with respect to these theoretical persuasions. Sartre has not denied, even in connection with his espousal of new—Marxism, that man is free. He has, however, emphasized more strongly than before_the means whereby man's freedom can be stolen from him; the tech- niques which can be employed by the forces of oppression to reduce man to the status of a mere thing. The worst enemy of man's freedom becomes during this period not the opaque realm of Being—in—itself as such, nor even the Other. Instead, Sartre maintains that man's worst enemy is injustice and tyranny. Specific socio-economic, poltically determinant evils, which make ”liberty so hard to attain not only for the natives of colonial empires, but for the proletarians everywhere,”l become the target of Sartre's attack in this phase. Man's struggle for freedom, which Sartre previ— ously had viewed in ontological terms, is now dealt with in the practical vocabulary of sociology, economics and politics. Man's true opponent becomes not merely Being— A 331 in—itself, but the ”practico—inerte," a Specified, re— sisting portion of this total ontological field, a re- sistance experienced in practice. Similarly, man must engage in combat not with the Other in general, but with specific Others; with those who are bent upon the oppression of him and of his fellow class members. In this battle, suggests Sartre, man may often find it necessary to band together with his fellows in a com- munal effort. He may need, in other words, to identify his goals with those of his fellows; to think of himself as a member of a specified class, and then to seek for the betterment not merely of himself, but of his entire class. One of Sartre's critics has suggested that Sar— tre, in his later theories, has maintained that social cooperation is in fact possible, but only on the plane Of gglgg. When men have a common aim, a common trans— cendence, a shared project which is realized through their working together, a plurality of free consciousness l J. M. Domenach, ”Camus-Sartre Debate: Rebellion VS- Revolution,“ The Nation, CLXXVI (March 7, 1953), p. 203. .‘fi 332 is perhaps possible.2 Whether or not such a recognition and cooperation is possible on the plane of being, that dealt with in Being and Nothingness, is another question, one with which Sartre seems but little concerned in his later writings. While authenticity is still of cardinal import— ance in Sartre's scheme, he tended to View this in terms 1 of Specific groups and organizations. Sartre's authen- tic man, he who had deliberately chosen freedom, was most often portayed by Sartre as a member of a working 1&4 ‘ 3: class crowd, engaged in political or trade union activ- ity.3 Such individuals became for Sartre the paradigm cases of the man who has made a deliberate choice, and who has committed himself with respect to that decision. Sartre's existential man had apparently descended the Olympian heights, had joined his comrades in their every—day concerns, and had even taken a job in a factory. 2 Jacques Salvan, To Be and Not to Be: An Analy- Sis of J. P. Sartre's Ontology (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1962), pp. 147-148. 3 . . . Thody, Sartre: A Literary and Political Study, P- 174. 333 Interestingly enough, Sartre's feeling for and interest in working class society (which he seems to admire from afar) resulted in some significant revi— sions of his earlier declarations. For example, in The Flies, Sartre had announced through the lips of his character Orestes, that "Human happiness begins on the far Side of despair." However, when a film ,i was being prepared of a later play, with its setting an». . in the American South (La Putain Respecteuse) Sartre authorized a happier ending than in the original. Fur- (i thermore he did this because in his own words, I knew too many young working class people who had seen the play and been disheartened because it ended sadly. And I realized that those who are really pushed to the limit, who hang on to life because they must, have need of hope.4 By 1954, one of Sartre's critics suggests that three major changes could be observed in Sartre's gen— eral outlook. First, the Other had become an indispens— able part of my own existence and self-concept; and more important, my own freedom, rather than being incompatible 4 , . Cited by Cranston in Sartre, p. 102. 334 with Others, is dependent upon theirs, as is theirs upon mine. SeCOnd, Sartre no longer mentioned the ontological defeatism of Being and Nothingness in which man had been termed a “useless passion." Third, Sartre's philosophy now sailed under the flag of hum— anism.5 The critic could have added that by the early 1950's, if not even earlier, Sartre's theory had been embraced by even left—wing intellectuals. They had seen that Sartre's interest in the welfare of the pro- letariat and his resistance to the bourgeois, together with his pronouncements in“Existentialism is a Humanism," . . . . . . . 6 made his Views not entirely incompatible With MarXism. By 1953, some of Sartre's critics maintained that he had become ”the foremost fellow-traveller among the French intellectuals.”7 Whether or not Sartre's views at this time were properly regarded as being Marxian in tone, or humanistic 5Spiegelberg, ”French Existentialism: Its So— cial Philosophies," Kenyon Review, XVI (1954), p. 452. 6Percy Winner, "The 'New Left’ in France,” The New Republic, CXXXIII (July 18, 1955), p. 14. 7Ibid. ‘_——_l 335 in content, is a matter of some dispute. What lg of interest, with respect to this phase of his career, is that Sartre's theories lent themselves so readily to such interpretations, and that Sartre seemed so willing to have such interpretations take place. The very fact that Sartre allowed, or even encouraged, his views to be applied, perhaps only pointed to his own conviction that the philosopher and writer (himself, 5 in this instance) should be engaged in his world.8 ; ? One should keep in mind that Sartre had clearly stated in an earlier essay, "Materialism and Revolu— tion,“ that "Materialism is indisputably the only myth that suits revolutionary requirements."9 In addition, as has already been made obvious by the foregoing chap— ter, Sartre had often chosen Communist or revolutionary figures as his example of the truly engaged or committed man. He had also, especially in the period now under under investigation, clearly sided with the proletariat 8See Appendix B, p. 415, for a discussion of the man of action in Sartre's later drama. 9Sartre, "Materialism and Revolution,“ p. 223. 336 in its struggle against the bourgeois, who were oppres— sing and exploiting it. Even so, however, it would be a mistake to regard Sartre as a Communist simpliciter, either at this, or any other time in his career. His espousal of dialectical materialism has always been carefully and systematically qualified, and he has al— ways regarded as rather silly the suggestions of ortho— dox Marxists that one can discover a dialectical process by which society can be carried straight to salvation. Sartre allies himself with the proletariat, but, as one of his critics wrote, ”intellectual or proletarian, each has to put up his gyg battle, with the odds looking ra— ther against him.lo Furthermore, the wavering determinism of dia— lectical materialism seems to serve as a much less ade— quate base for a revolutionary movement than Sartre's . , . 11 . . . . . OWn eXistentialism. Perhaps in its baSic direction, loEdmund Wilson, "Jean—Paul Sartre: The Nov— elist and the Existentialist” in Sartre: A Collection of Critical Essays, Edith Kern, ed. (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice Hall Incorporated, 1962), p. 50. llSpiegelberg, The Phenomenological Movement, II, p. 419. 337 namely the suggestion that man's material situation must be improved before man can achieve true happiness, dialectical materialism is correct. In its more extreme pronouncements, however, the materialism which serves as the basis of dialectical materialism, can undermine the very alternative which the Communists wish men to choose. In Sartre's words, This then, is the materialism they want me to choose, a monster, an elusive Proteus, a large, vague, contradictory semblance. I am asked to choose, this very day, in all intel- lectual freedom, in all lucidity and with all my wits about me, a doctrine that destroys thought.12 Sartre seems to be suggesting in the above cited statement, that the Communists are correct in their em- phasis upon the physical constituents of man's context- ual position in the world. Material components, espe— cially in the form of economic factors, do in fact have considerable influence upon the situation of man. But, such material aspects are pg: sufficient to make man identical with the merely material features of his situ— ation. These features are dependent for their true 12 . . . Sartre, ”Materialism and Revolution," p. 221. 338 efficacy upon man's having evaluated them, appreciated them, and having employed them with reference to his future projects. Sartre argues that if materialism is taken as the assertion that only matter exists, then at one and the same time, it denies both freedom and thought, and in so doing makes its own assertion, and the program of action postulated upon it, absurd. Sartre maintains, furthermore, that the advo— cate of dialectical materialism must at all times re— member that materialism is at best an effective myph. Even if the use of this myth were to help to bring about crucial reforms in man's socio—economic context, this fact would not justify one's claim that material- ism furnishes a comprehensive account of man's true condition in the world. Materialism in short, so far as Sartre is concerned, is an excellent tool for spe- cific purposes. As an attempt to provide a philosoph— ical analysis of human activity, however, materialism fails.l3 l3_l’_b_i§» I 1 339 Sartre's objections to Communism did not always remain purely at the theoretical level, however. In 1956, with the uprising in Hungary, Sartre came into direct disagreement with Russian Communist policies. In an article, “After Budapest," Sartre declared: The people were clearly mistaken, but even in their errors, they have the right to lib— erty and respect; workers free themselves by means of errors, of experiments; errors are not corrected by cannon fire. Stalinism is entirely responsible for these very errors. 14 As though to make his disagreement with the Russian ac— tion even more emphatic, Sartre then went on to write: I condemn absolutely and unconditionally, the Soviet aggression. Without rendering the Rus- sian people responsible, I repeat that its . . 15 present government has committed a crime . . . . Because Sartre felt this action on the part of the Russian government to be a crime, he declared in the most direct manner, ”I break off with regret, but completely, my relations with my friends the Soviet writers, who do not (or cannot) denounce the massacre 4 l Jean—Paul Sartre, “After Budapest,” Ever— green Review, I (January, 1957), p. 7. 15Ibid., p. 16. _ "l6 . . . . in Hungary. His oppOSition served as ample eVidence that he had come to suspect that Russian Communism, es— pecially in the guise of Monistic Marxism, had itself become an oppressive institution; had itself become an instrument for silencing the true spirit of revolu— tion. Although Sartre's opposition to the Russian Com— munist policy in Hungary took some thinkers by surprise, there is actually a precedent for this opposition in Sartre's earlier view of Russian action. For example, in The Prime of Life, Simone de Beauvoir relates how she and Sartre, even at the beginning of the German aggression, had entertained many misgivings about Rus— sian policy. They both realized that Russia maintained such oppressive institutions as labor camps, and employed related restrictive instruments. In spite of this, she and Sartre still believed that the Soviet Communist gov— ernment best served the cause of world revolution. When Russia signed the treaty with Hitler, however, Beauvoir and Sartre realized that the left—wing opposition groups l6Ibid. had been right all along. Russia had simply become an imperialist power like any other. By this treaty, Russia had revealed that, in fact, it cared nothing at all about the proletariat of Europe.17 Search for a Method Sartre's developed neo—Marxist outlook, which has such a direct bearing upon his conception of human freedom and activity, came to be expressed in its most explicit form in his two companion works, Search for a Method and Critigue de la Raison Dilaectigue. (While Search for a Method was originally intended by Sartre to follow, rather than precede the Critigue, the more natural order seems to be the just reverse of that originally envisioned by him) For this reason, Search for a Method iS now published under the same cover as the Critigue by the Gallimard Press, the only publishing house to print Sartre's Critigge to the present time. 16Ibid. 17 Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, pp. 299—300. Consequently, a discussion of Search for a Method will be undertaken here as a preparatory step to examining Sartre's Critigue (at least Volume I, since it alone has been published to date). If one has heard of Sartre's espousal of neo— Marxism before reading Search for a Method, he no doubt expects to find in this brief work an explicit repudia— tion of Sartre's earlier theories, especially those of Being and Nothingness. No such wholesale rejection is to be found within its pages, however. Even with re— spect to his central conception of human freedom, Sar— tre clearly reveals elements which unite this later work with Being and Nothingness. Both works, for ex- ample, indicate the same opposition by Sartre to abso— lutistic systems which threaten to smother individual freedom. The main shift to be noted with respect to these two works, is Sartre's choice of absolutistic systems to attack. In Being and Nothingness, Hegel— ianism in particular is taken as the arch—enemy of individual freedom and activity. In Search for a Method, on the other hand, what Sartre terms "Stalin— ist Marxism" is singled out for criticism.l8 Sartre's attention may still be said to be focused upon the workings of human freedom; but in Search for a Method, as well as his Critigpe, this freedom is viewed as being dialectical in character. Sartre's conception of dialectic is, at least so far as he is concerned, basically at odds with the Marxist theory, however. The Marxist, with his theoretical base of dialectical materialism, tends to treat dia— lectic as some sort of external law or force which is imposed upon man's actions from the outside.19 Such a treatment, maintains Sartre, really amounts to noth— ing more than an effort to develop a "dialectic without men.“ That which is to be found only in and through human activity, has been abstracted from its proper context, and erected into an external principle by the Marxist. Precisely this Marxian treatment of 18 Hazel Barnes, Translator's Introduction to Search for a Method (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963), p. xxx. 19 Ibid., p. xxi. “9": dialectic, Sartre suggests, has caused Marxism to 20 “stagnate, and turned it into a paranoiac dream.” Dialectic, at least the only sort which is ever actually encountered by man, is inextricably bound to human activity; it can be thought of only with reference to men, to their actions within a reciprocal framework. Dialectic, in other words, Sartre suggests, is more accurately viewed pp; as an external principle which prescribes the course of hu- man behavior, but as a descriptive term, which char- acterizes human processes and products. While in Search for a Method, Sartre does tend to emphasize man's material conditions more than in previous works, he still finds the more orthodox Marx— ist position a gross over—simplification of man's true nature. If what Sartre refers to as “Idealist Marxism" were correct, man would be ”a passive product, a sum 21 of conditioned reflexes." Sartre maintains that this approach reflects the fact that the Marxists have chosen zolbid. 21Sartre, Search for a Method, p. 85. 345 the simplest, as opposed to the most adequate, inter- pretation of man. -Marxism may have characterized the basic configuration of the human situation, but it has left out of account the transcendent movement which alone enables one to account for human (historical) activity. Sartre insists in Search for a Method, just as he did in his earlier works, that ”man is characterized . . . . 22 above all by his gOing beyond a Situation.“ In other words, man is to be described not only in terms of what the situation makes of him; but rather, in terms of II ' ‘ "23 what he succeeds in making of what he has been made. The situation does put its mark upon a man, and Sartre sees no need to deny this basic fact. What the man gggg once this mark has been placed upon him assumes by far the more significant role, so far as Sartre is concerned. Men are not mere passive entities which suffer the imposition of any quality whatsoever. 22 . Ibid., p. 91. 23Ibid. Sartre argues that human history, whether or not the Marxists have realized it, cannot be accounted . 25 with the fact of human creativity in the world. All this means, of course, that as Barnes points out, Sar— tre is still convinced of the key role which man's free project plays in the creation of history. "Man makes his being by launching himself toward the future,” 26 . . . Barnes suggests. Sartre himself writes. It is by transcending the given towards the field of possibilities and by realizing one possibility from among all the others, that ___________________________________________________ 24Ibid., p. 99. 25Ibid. 26Barnes, “Translator's Introduction,“ Search for a Method, p. xiv- 347 the individual objectifies himself and con— tributes to making History.27 The real shift,if it can be called such, in Sartre's thought, is perhaps to be located in his more direct insistence upon the intimate relation which project and the world of matter bear to each other. In §g§rch for a Method, Sartre maintains that man can launch his project ”only by inscribing himself in the world of matter.”28 By somehow coming to terms with the conditioning factors of his situation, man confers upon them a meaning, tends to view himself in terms of his relation to his material context. The specific manner in which each man deals with his particular part of the material world, shapes his character, re— flects back to him his own image, and furthers or stifles the development of his self—concept. This is not to suggest that Sartre has, in Search for a Method, joined the reductionists' camp. ____________________ Sartre still insists that even though man is influenced H— 27Sartre, Search for a Method, p. 93. 28Barnes, op. cit., p. xiv. by conditioning factors, he is more than a mere con— junction of such factors. Man's actions can be under— stood, according to Sartre,if and only if he is viewed as a signifying being. Even the slightest of his ges— tures cannot be understood "without going beyond the pure present and explaining it by the future . . . ."29 A complete analysis of the material circumstances sur— rounding a person's situation serves to only locate the moment of choice. The choice itself can be ex— plained only by reference to man's transcendent, future— oriented project. Man remains for Sartre, even in Search for a Method, irreducible to the natural world (what Sartre had previously termed Being—in-itself). Neither man himself, nor his actions which create human culture, can be simply equated with the realm of matter. Indeed, Sartre writes, "What we call freedom is the irreduci— bility of the cultural order to the natural order.”30 29Sartre, Search for a Method, p. 152. 3OIbid. .I||I .l ..I While man is not strictly reducible to the r natural or material order, he is, Sartre insists, very much a part of this order. As a matter of fact, Sartre maintains, in Search for a Method, that the only theory of knowledge which is valid today is one which is founded upon a basic truth of microphysics: "the ex— . . . 31 perimenter is part of the experimental system.” Only by emphasizing man’s intimate relationship to the world in which he finds himself, can one avoid what Sartre terms the "idealist illusion.“32 Only if Heidegger's analysis of man as a being—in—the—world is taken quite literally, can one be shown ”real man in the midst of the real world."33 At this juncture, one might well describe Sar— tre's rejection of Marxian materialism and its opponent, idealism, in the following manner. Materialism is right to the extent that it situates man's freedom in the con— crete world. As an account of man's immanent dimension, 31Ibid., p. 32. 321bid. 33Ibid. materialism is essentially sound. Its flaw lies in its lack of attention to, or even denial of, man's trans— cendental character. Similarly, idealism is correct in its refusal to allow man to be reduced to the order of things; but mistaken in its lack of attention to, and concern with, man's immanent dimension. If man is no mere random grouping of atoms, then neither is he a timeless essence, or bodiless mind circling above the spatio—temporal order. For the Sartre of Search for a Method, man is very much a ”child of the earth,” intimately related to a particular historical epoch, society, and cultural matrix. He fashions his essence not in isolation from, but in accordance with, or in response to, the actions of his fellows, within a socio—economic context. Sartre even suggests that man is "a product of his product, fashioned by the social conditions of production.“34 This means, apparently, that man derives his self- concept not only from the evaluation of the Other, but also from seeing his image reflected back from 34 . Ibid., p. 79. 351 that which he uses and from that which he produces. Man's self-concept, then, is fashioned both by his spe— cific relation to the material world (now viewed for the most part in economic terms, by Sartre) and by the social context in which this relation takes place. In a world where the Other is co—present with me, both in the form of individuals and ”collectives" (Sartre's term), I am not free to elect any course of action I might like to choose. There are laws, regu- lations, obligations, hopes and expectations of my family, social, political, and economic pressures—— all of which delimit the range of likely possibilities. Precisely because as a man, I am born into a world which ‘f{ 1 is social to its very roots, I am not free to ignore the I l 1 Other. This is true not only because I might happen to love and respect the Other, or feel bound to honor the plans and expectations which he entertains with regard to me; but equally, even if the Other and myself are ' l at odds, if our projects are at cross—purposes. In i either circumstance, my attempt to evolve for myself ‘ i a ”history” is blocked, eSpecially when my relations 352 with the Other are antagonistic in nature (as Sartre argues, is so often the case). Sartre wrote, "If His— tory escapes me, this is not because I do not make it; . . . . . "35 it is because the Other is making it as well. Con- flicts in a society, in other words, derive from the fact that society is made up of individuals ”with dif— ferent value orientations, so that the ideal society of one would be the hell of the other.“36 Sartre now argues, in an explicit fashion, that man is bound to the world and that an inherent part of this world is the Other, with whom each man must some— how come to terms. The Other, as characterized both in Being and Nothingness and Search for a Method, is ‘/f simultaneously a threat to my freedom, ggg a necessary E feature of my very being as a human. The conflicting l relationships generated by this confrontation with the Other were described with individualistic reference in ‘ Being and Nothingness, while in Search for a Method Sar— i tre tends to deal with such conflicts in terms of group 35Ibid., p. 88. ‘ . 3 6Norman Grene, lea—HEW- , £i§l$§£_§phlg (Ann Arbor, Mich.: University of Michigan %' Press, 1960), p. 116. dynamics. His analysis is still conducted along the lines of the subject—object dichotomy, however, which is so familiar to the reader of Being and Nothingness. In connectionwmththe confrontation of one group with another, Sartre wrote: Each of them is subject insofar as it directs its own action, and each is object insofar as it submits to the action of the other; each tactic sees the other's tactic, more or less thwarts it, and is thwarted in turn.37 The relation is reciprocal, dynamic, dialecti— cal, in other words. Subjectivity is constantly won, only to be lost again; objectivity is cast off, only to be re—affirmed if that group becomes once more sub- servient to another. This means of course that victor— ies are always conditional and never final. Yesterday's Slave can become tomorrow's master (as history so clearly shows); the have—nots can suddenly become the haves; the dispossessed can be transmuted into the possessors. In— deed, this constant possibility of inverting the existing socio—political hierarchy, haunts group inter—action as dealt with in Search for a Method and the Critigge, just 37Sartre, Search for a Method, p. 128. 354 as the possibility of the enslaved Other recovering his subjectivity haunted individual relationships in Being and Nothingness. (This very possibility, as a matter of fact, is for Sartre a tangible proof of man's freedom.) Sartre's later tendency to analyze the dialec— tical unfolding of human freedom primarily in terms of group behavior, should not be taken as an indication that he has abandoned his interest in the individual and his free projects. Sartre still places an ultimate value in the individual, but he approaches an analysis of the individual's free activity via an examination of that individual's relation to his group. For Sar— tre, the group has no independent status; it is con- stituted by individuals and, because of this very fact, reflects either directly or indirectly the free posit— ings of its members, exhibiting by its structure their free activity. Apart from the potency and vitality which the individual members grant it, the group is but a pale shadow. Sartre states clearly, "We repeat with Marxism: There are only men and real relations 355 38 . . between men." For Sartre and the MarXists, in other words, there are not groups on the one hand, and men on the other. Rather, there are just groups 2; men. The Shift in Search for a Method is not so much an abandonment of the assertion of individual freedom, as it is an effort by Sartre to focus upon the specific conditions of such freedom. In Being and Nothingness, Sartre tended to stress the potency of Being-for—itself almost to the point of making hfln seem omnipotent. With- out being facetious, one could say that Being-for—itself in this earlier work assumed some of the qualities tra- ditionally attributed to God. Being—for—itself, at least with respect to his essence, came very near to being an ens causa sui, in the Sartrean Schema. Thus viewed, the entire realm of Being—in—itself was regarded primarily as a storehouse which provided the raw mater— ial for the freely chosen projects of Being—for-itself. AS a result of Sartre's conception of this cen— tral ontological pair, the freedom of which he spoke 38Ibid., p. 76. in Being and Nothingness tended to appear unanchored, gratuitous, evanescent. His remarks to the effect that the freedom of Being-for—itself was always to be dis— covered via his being—in-the-world, did not Signifi- cantly alter this general impression, even if Sartre had intended otherwise. Sartre's emphatic reiteration of the total or absolute character of man's freedom caused all other considerations to recede into the background. If the material world, included within the conception of Being—in—itself, possessed any genu— ine importance, this was because of its function as a dark backdrop for the drama of human choice and free activity. The realm of matter was to be understood in reference to man's free projects and not vice versa, Since Being—in—itself was, by definition, impotent and devoid of true efficacy. Not until after writing Bglpg_ggg_flgphlpgg§§§, did Sartre come to View the relation between man and the material world as a more complex, reciprocal rela- tion. Especially in Search for a Method and the Cri— tigpe de la Raison Dialectigue, Sartre tended to empha— size the mutual inter—action of these two realms. Man's freedom may still be said to be the source of meaning and significance in the world; but this freedom itself began to take on features which reflected directly the socio—economic context in which each man finds himself. Perhaps the greater part of the theoretical conclusions to be found within Search for a Method and the Critigge de la Raison Dialectigue, involve Sartre's making ex- plicit, via neo—Marxist theory to some extent, a pro— nouncement which he had made earlier. In ”Cartesian Freedom,“ Sartre had written (in a passage which has already been cited in this thesis), “Freedom is one and indivisible, but it manifests itself in a variety of 39 ' Sartre's later ways, according to circumstances.' works treat in detail of just such circumstances. Such a view as the above, Sartre feels, is at least compatible with certain strains of Marxism, es- pecially that of Engels, whom Sartre quotes with some approval. In Search for a Method, for instance, Sartre cites a letter written by Engels, in which the follow— ing statement was made: 39Sartre, “Cartesian Freedom,“ p. 180. There does not exist, as we would like to imagine now and then, simply for the conven— ience, any effect produced automatically by the economic situation. On the contrary, it is men themselves who make their history, but within a given environment which condi— tions them and on the basis of real prior conditions. . . .40 While Sartre is in substantial agreement with this approach to analyzing human behavior, he felt that a qualification was called for, at least from the per- spective of his own existentialist philosophy. He wrote: . . men make their history on the basis of real prior conditions (among which we would include acquired characteristics, distortions imposed by the mode of work and life, aliena— tion, etc.) but it is the men who make it, and not the prior conditions.41 In summary, one could say that the whole of Search for a Method concerns itself with an examination of man's freedom; but only as this freedom manifests itself in its practical dimensions. AS Hazel Barnes wrote, ". . . now Sartre's interest lies much more 40 . Cited by Sartre, Search for a Method, p. 31. 41 Ibid., p. 87. with the degree of practical freedom people experience, than with the psychological freedom which most seek to ignore or seek to evade."42 Her remark is in substan— tial agreement with information concerning Sartre's de— veloped view of freedom which is furnished by Wilfrid Desan. According to Desan, Sartre indicated to him in an interview conducted during June, 1956, that he had gradually moved away from his extreme stand on freedom as typified in Being and Nothingness. While, as Sartre told Desan, he was still convinced that individual free- dom was total ontologically Speaking, he was more and more convinced that this freedom is conditioned and . . . 43 limited by Circumstances. R. M. Albéres summarizes what may very well be Sartre's gyg present view towards his previous pronounce— ments, especially as these are to be found in Being and Nothingness. Albéres wrote: Today Sartre would probably accuse himself of having been a bourgeois philosopher or a 2 . 4 Barnes, “Translator's Introduction,” Search for a Method, p. xxiv. 43Desan, Foreword to The Tragic Finale, p. xvi. philosopher afflicted with chronic idealism, for today he seems no longer to be interested in the life of consciousness, but instead in the objective social world.44 If Albéres is correct, and there seems good reason to believe that he is, then the conspicuous absence, in both Search for a Method and the Critigge de la Raison Dialectigue, of those terms and concepts which played such a key role in Sartre's earlier philosophical po- sition, is no mere accident. This systematic deletion reflects an altered philosophical (and perhaps meta— philosophical) persuasion on Sartre's part, one which necessitated the abandonment, or at least careful re- vision of, a previously employed technical apparatus. Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue Sartre's Critigge de la Raison Dialectigue (hereafter to be abbreviated simply the Critigpe) rep- resents his last major technical work published to date 44 p. 139. Alberes, Sartre: Philosopher without Faith, ID 361 (1965). Only Volume I of this work is available as yet, and there is little tangible evidence which would allow one to predict how soon, if ever, further vol— umes will be published. As a consequence, the remarks of this section will be addressed solely to the only volume published to the present time, and no distinct effort will be made to deduce the probable contents and persuasions of any volumes which might eventually follow Volume I. The Critigue, while clearly indicating Sartre's heightened awareness of, and interest in, group dynamics and neo—Marxian analysis, does reflect earlier persua- sion, such as those to be found in Being and Nothing— pggg. While the problem of historical dialectic assumes What might be termed the dominant role in this work, Sartre still maintains that such dialectic rests ulti— mately upon free individual “praxis.”45 (Praxis is the term which Sartre borrows from the Greek, where it simply meant action. For Sartre praxis is any meaningful or 45 . . . . Jean—Paul Sartre, Critigge de la Raison Dialec- sigma (Paris: Gallimard, 1960), p. 166. purpose undire< not eXI; tive, T ance t view 5 Persor tical purposeful activity, any act which is not random and undirected.)46 Molar behavior, in other words, does not exclude or preclude individual action or initia- tive, but follows from it. Individual freedom, then, is still of import— ance to Sartre in the Critigge; but he now tends to View such freedom as being dialectical in character. Personal life is to be analyzed in terms of a dialec— tical process, which might be best described as a ”constituted—constituting"; as “a synthetic unity of what we make of what we are made of, of molding our- selves out of what we have been molded . . . ."47 Man is neither a creator ex nihilo, nor a passive product of impersonal economic and political forces. Instead, there is a constant, active, reciprocal interchange between man and his socio—economic environment. Man is a ”constituted-constituting" in that he is first to 46Barnes, "Translator's Introduction," Search for a Method, p. xvii. 47Laing and Cooper, Reason and Violence: A Decade of Sartre's Philosophy: 1950—1960, p. 23. some extent ”made" and then reacts to this molding pro- cess in a manner which defines his human essence. Man, in other words, for the Sartre of the Critigge, both acts and is acted upon; shapes and is shaped in turn. He leaves his mark upon the world of matter, and it leaves its mark upon him. Man may still be characterized in terms of his ability to withdraw, transcend, absent himself from the non—conscious world. Sartre wrote in the Critigge, This absence, this movement of perpetual re- gression which cannot be manifested in any material object, is that which constitutes human reality.48 However, man's bond to this world is far more in the forefront in the Critigge than it was in Being and Noth— ingness. Even man's withdrawal or nihilation of the material world is conditioned by the configurations of this world; partially pre—outlined by its contexture. Precisely because this is true, because man does stand so intimately related to the world of matter which serves as his natural habitat, Sartre wrote: 48 P- 337. Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigge, 7 ,i when“. mater' terial world; ‘ world, that is of the world , i. I -Man is not with the material v by both physical ar in his Critigge rel acteristic as a sh: ingly enough sugge: however, and that i all live in a worli (The "scarcity" to those goods and/or physical and psych Dialectic, ical movement so f roots in individua might have ma intai difference is that W 491bid. , ] 50Ibid . , _______——----IIIIIIIIIII-I-II-IIIII-----------1’% 364 Man is a material being in the midst of a ma— terial world; it is necessary to change the world, that is the order of the materiality of the world, if man is to be changed himself. 49 Man is not strictly reducible to, nor identical with the material world; but he is clearly bound to it, by both physical and psychological needs. Sartre even in his Critigue refuses to grant to man any such char— acteristic as a shared human nature. He does interest— ingly enough suggest that there is a human condition, however, and that men are "united by the fact that we all live in a world which is defined by scarcity.”5O (The "scarcity" to which Sartre refers is a lack of those goods and/or services, required to satisfy man's physical and psychical needs.) Dialectic, the true enervating force of histor- ical movement so far as Sartre is concerned, finds its roots in individual choice and project, much as Sartre might have maintained in Being and Nothingness. The difference is that in the Critigue, such individual 49Ibid., p. 191. SOIbid., p. 211. projects are more . reflect more direc group influences, a man's free electiOJ even developed a S] to describe all thi environment, which ence of his finitu In a very ‘ the practico— inert tion of his earlie it is .to be found of the practice-in else, Being-in—its practical terms. work constituted a he could become er definitive spontax "steals my action W 51Barnes, for a Method, 13. 52Ibid. 365 projects are more directly bound to the material realm; reflect more directly familial,social, and various other group influences, all of which tend to circumscribe man's free election of possibilities. Indeed, Sartre even developed a special term, the "practico—inerte," to describe all those things, including the "material“ environment, which go to make up man's painful experi— ence of his finitude.51 In a very real sense, Sartre's conception of the practico-inerte might be regarded as the modifica— tion of his earlier conception of Being—in—itself as it is to be found in Being and Nothingness. The field of the practico—inerte is, perhaps more than anything else, Being—in-itself construed in economic, immanently practical terms. Being—in—itself in Sartre's earlier work constituted a trap for Beingabr—itself in which he could become ensnared and thereby lose his precious, definitive spontaneity. Similarly, the practico—inerte . . 2 . . ‘steals my action from me."5 "By Simply being there—- 51 . - n Barnes, ”Translator 3 Introduction, Search for a Method, p. xvii. 2 . 5 Ibid. ...,---"-" gnxsm by not bei actions and preven had declared that, suggests in Sartre cifically the Othe This is no still threaten my our relations are trary. Sartre, t} tude of ways in w} in constant confl; The cause or sour garded as ontolog and Nothingness . cal pronouncement me yig his bare e ically economic. the same materia by need, scarc it W Ibid. ...—_— or even by not being there——matter provokes certain . "53 . actions and prevents others. In No EXit, Sartre had declared that, "Hell is other people." As Barnes suggests in Sartre's Critigue, "Hell” becomes not Spe— . . . . . 54 Cifically the Other, but instead the practico—inerte. This is not to suggest that the Other does not still threaten my free action as a human being, or that our relations are mutually enriching. Quite on the con— trary. Sartre, throughout the Critigue, shows a multi— tude of ways in which the Other and myself are engaged in constant conflict, both in overt and covert forms. The cause or source of this conflict is no longer re— garded as ontological, however, as it had been in Being and Nothingness. The Other, according to the theoreti— cal pronouncements of the Critigue, does not threaten me via his bare existence per se. His threat is Specif— ically economic. He and I typically find ourselves in the same material context, a context which is conditioned by need, scarcity, and other determining factors. (We 53Ibid. 54Ibid. are in an arena co in other words.) field in accordanc and in so doing, In value or sub—man, an anti-praxis, w flicts can take p group level. Who for employment, f anti—values . Both myse transcend or depa to some degree; 1: only causes us tr a matter of fact material world, which poses the or depassing me , value, a thing. 55 P: 689. Sartr 367 are in an arena compassed about by the practico—inerte, in other words.) The Other organizes this material field in accordance with his own needs and interests, and in so doing, may well come to view me as an anti— value or sub—man, even perhaps as an anti—value or an anti—praxis, which must be destroyed.55 Such con— flicts can take place both at the individual and the group level. Whole groups, competing with my group i I for employment, for example, may be treated by us as anti-values. Both myself and the Other can still be said to transcend or depass the field of the practico—inerte to some degree; but this transcendence by each of us only causes us to confront each other as enemies. As a matter of fact, just this ability to transcend the material world, is precisely that feature of the Other which poses the greatest danger to me. By transcending Or depassing me, he turns me into an object, an anti— value, a thing. Perhaps the Other might even convert 55Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, P. 689. r" me into nothing mo, employed by him in social goals . 56 In my cont countered (as befo activity. Just as as a human being 11 or more specifical tre declares in tl limits freedom-"5- of men in the pra ity, brings them the freedom of th of the other.58 which it generate to be hostile in the subtle forms 56Ibid. 57Iloid- , 5811316. . 368 me into nothing more than a tool or instrument, to be employed by him in the achievement of his economic and 56 social goals. In my contact with the Other, then, I have en— countered (as before) a genuine obstacle to my free activity. Just as in Being and Nothingness, my freedom as a human being has found its limit in freedom itself, or more specifically in the freedom of the Other. Sar- tre declares in the Critigue that, "It is freedom which limits freedom.”57 He goes on to state that the praxis of men in the practical field conditioned by material— ity, brings them into conflict with each other and that the freedom of the one reciprocally limits the freedom of the other.58 This confrontation and the friction which it generates, causes most social relationships to be hostile in tone, even if such hostility takes the subtle forms one encounters in the business world. 56Ibid. 57Ibid., p. 361. 58Ibid. In Being a modes which hostil masochism, and the variety is to be d groups can treat t form, as object, a tre's analysis of choose to deal wi‘ semble more close in Bein and Not ample, one may c his body, in an a to reach one's g about the Other‘ obtain his own g to those of the Whether form of open ag< groups or natio day business tr constitutes h is 369 In Being and Nothingness there were several modes which hostility could take, including sadism, masochism, and the like. In the Critigue, a similar variety is to be discovered. Both individuals and groups can treat the Other, in singular or corporate form, as object, an alternative which parallels Sar— tre's analysis of overt sadism. One can, however, choose to deal with the Other along lines which re— semble more closely Sartre's analysis of seduction in Being and Nothingness. As a businessman for ex— ample, one may change himself, his behavior and even his body, in an attempt to employ the Other as a tool to reach one's gyp ends. He can merely appear to care about the Other's welfare, purely as a technique to obtain his own goals, goals which may well run counter to those of the Other- Whether conflict between men takes the overt form of open aggression, as in actual warfare between groups or nations, or in the covert form as in every— day business transactions, one's fellow—man still constitutes his worst enemy. This conViction was stated most clearlj of Altona, as well speaking through t'. Sartre declared th The century mi not man been w that cruel ene him, that hair himself};9 In a parallel pass . . . nothing nor tiny micrr man than that species, equi which has as truction of m Perhaps m Sartre to be ontc However, this doe basic to Sartre's even in this lat fellows in an ag 5 9Sartre and George Lees< p. 177. 60Sartr p. 208. stated most clearly by Sartre in his play The Condemned of Altona, as well as in his Critigge. In the former, speaking through the mouth of one of his characters, Sartre declared the following: The century might have been a good one, had not man been watched from time immemorial by that cruel enemy that had sworn to destroy him, that hairless, flesh—eating beast——man himself.59 In a parallel passage in the Critigue, Sartre wrote: . . . nothing in fact,——neither great beasts, nor tiny microbes—~can be more terrible to man than that intelligent, cruel, carnivorous species, equipped with human intelligence, which has as its end precisely the very des— truction of man.60 Perhaps man's struggles are no longer held by Sartre to be ontologically based, in his Critigge. However, this does not mean that conflict is any less basic to Sartre's analysis of human behavior. Man, even in this later work, most often confronts his fellows in an aggressive posture. Most often, the 59Sartre, The Condemned of Altona, trans. Sylvia and George Leeson (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1961), P- 177. 60 Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, p. 208. possibility whic mutually enrichi genuine and spon ternal factors. scarcity, for ex; appears as radic; where there is m shelter, to meet all of our conta< by this all-perva able circumstance instead rivals, l The fact themselves in a 1 dangerous to the. preclude group c do in fact often densely packed a is approached by 61 Ibid. possibility which one man might have had to enter into mutually enriching relationships with the Other, through genuine and spontaneous reciprocity, is negated by ex- ternal factors. Reciprocity is typically modified by scarcity, for example, in such a manner that each man appears as radically Other to his fellows.61 In a world where there is not enough food, employment, wealth, and shelter, to meet the needs both of myself and the Other, all of our contacts with each other will be conditioned by this all—pervading lack. Men who, under more favor— able circumstances might have become friends, become instead rivals, bent upon each other's elimination. The fact that the majority of men today find themselves in a world where the Other is de trop and dangerous to their socio—economic well—being, does not preclude group cooperation. Sartre does admit that men do in fact often band together forming more or less densely packed aggregates of individuals. Such activity is approached by Sartre in its negative dimensions in 61Ibid. the m, be a given group, nC: his fellow-memberE especially in corj labor union, for fellow-workers bu' of the factory in the men with whom Group beha as a reaction to e of any desire for one joins a partic does so because he and wishes to gair external threat. the very basis of because his own f] more ways by the ( (either in an expj Ceremony or in an Operate in a com the Critigge, however. One joins, or helps to found a given group, not as much out of love and respect for his fellow—members as he does out of fear of the Other, especially in corporate form. One might join a given labor union, for instance, not because he respects his fellow—workers but simply because he fears the owners of the factory in which he labors, more than he dislikes the men with whom he works on the assembly line. Group behavior, in short, is to be viewed more as a reaction to external threat than as the expression of any desire for communion with one's fellows. When one joins a particular group, according to Sartre, he does so because he fears the actions of the Other, and wishes to gain allies in his struggle against this external threat. Freedom is, nevertheless, still at the very basis of group behavior. One joins a group because his own freedom has been threatened in one or more ways by the Other. Further, by taking an oath (either in an explicit fashion by going through a set ceremony or in an implicit fashion, by agreeing to co— Operate in a common effort) one promises to employ his freedom in specif Sartre, what I ha fellow-members th xx, - "d. a manner which wow An oath, self-imposed limi‘ As a free man, I l the group of whic] lagree to constr: sort of security 1 not wish to maint should be conside freedom, however. , an extension, wit liberty.64 As a a state of limit: my actions and t] for the mutual g l, ' 6zrbid., 63 Ibid., 641bid. 65113161. freedom in specified ways. When I take an oath, argues Sartre, what I have in fact done is to swear to my fellow—members that I will not employ my freedom in . . 62 a manner which would be corrOSive to that group. An oath, so far as Sartre is concerned, is a self—imposed limitation upon one‘s own free activity. As a free man, I know that I could, in fact, betray the group of which I am a member. In swearing an oath, I agree to constrain this freedom; my oath becomes a i . . 63 sort of security against my own freedom. Sartre does not wish to maintain that the group which one joins should be considered as a restraint upon his individual freedom, however. The group should be looked upon as an extension, with explicit qualifications, of one's . 64 . liberty. As a member of a group, I freely enter into a state of limited reciprocity, a state in which both my actions and those of my fellow-members are restricted, for the mutual good of all concerned.65 621bid., p. 44. 63Ibid., p. 476. 64Ibid. 65Ibid. Sartre s a new dimension c! him; namely, his will henceforth c (even if the grou The Other, for ir. the group to whic long as they choc continued exister strictly speaking suspend with res; tude toward othe: members and myse or as "Us" (mutu Those who remair ,5 Others, the pots say that the en the group of wh 8 A trait cisely because Or never was, 374 Sartre suggests that when one joins a group, a new dimension of his being has been conferred upon him; namely, his being—in—the—group. Such membership will henceforth condition one's actions and reactions (even if the group is not officially recognized as such) The Other, for instance, is defined with reference to the group to which one belongs. My fellow—members, as long as they choose to honor the oath which makes the continued existence of the group possible are not, strictly speaking, to be counted among the Others. I suspend with respect to them my usual antagonistic atti— tude toward other subjectivities, and think of my fellow— members and myself either as ”We” (mutual subjectivity) or as ”Us” (mutual objectivity before a dominant Third). Those who remain outside the group become “Them,“ the Others, the potential or actual enemy. One might even say that the enemy,by definition, is always outside of the group of which one is a member. A traitor, for example, becomes an enemy pre— cisely because he has Shown that he either is not now, or never was, a true member of the group to which he 54277 1"— swore allegiance . himself to be numb cally, to be inclui group“ with which ' flict. The traitc tinued existence c tial traitor, and preserved if and I lizes this fact, accordingly . Thus the t0 Sartre's analy "MN Project, as it w; l e“ in fluid prises at one an swore allegiance. By leaving the group, he causes himself to be numbered among ”Them,” or more specifi- cally, to be included in that segment of the ”non— group“ with which his former group is in direct con— flict. The traitor symbolizes the threat to the con— tinued existence of all groups. Each man is a poten— tial traitor, and the stability of his group can be preserved if and only if each man simultaneously rea— lizes this fact, and chooses to restrict his freedom accordingly. Thus the theme of free renewal is as crucial to Sartre's analysis of what might be termed the group- project, as it was to his treatment of individual proj— ect in Being and Nothingness. This free renewal com— prises at one and the same time, the source of energy behind individual and corporate action, and the poss— ible means whereby such action can be negated and un— dermined. The same freedom which allows man to become a hero, also opens to him the possibility of becoming a coward. The same freedom which makes possible group membership in the first place, also entails the possibility of dis the group into fra tivities, through i All of Sar his Critigue even denial on his part tinues to talk of free praxis. He 5 given a particular one invents his 1 project.66 This that he possesses structure that whi him in the world c Sartre did not mes ever, even in Beir i a certain autonomy Sartre develops t} I ”,w‘ his views primari] in economic , poli possibility of disregarding one's oath and shattering the group into fragments, isolated and warring subjec— tivities, through his treachery. All of Sartre's admissions as they occur with his Critigue even taken together, do not constitute a denial on his part that man is free. Sartre still con— tinues to talk of human freedom, or more typically of free praxis. He states that free praxis occurs when given a particular circumstance, danger, threat or need, one invents his law for himself, in the unity of his project.66 This means that man is free to the extent that he possesses the power to re-organize and re- structure that which is given, or that which confronts him in the world of his everyday concerns. By freedom Sartre did not mean the freedom to do anything whatso— ever, even in Being and Nothingness. He meant rather, a certain autonomy on the part of man. In the Critigge, Sartre develops the same basic conception, expressing his views primarily in the technical jargon developed in economic, political and sociological theory. 66Ibid., p. 541. ‘ ”"1 [any In the Cri tain that man is f such a suggestion, stead, by free pr has of re—structu demands of his pr its own order and order these deman to reach those g ends to be attai that these ends reference to the Even though the 1 organize for mys still bears clea Further, Sartre man is free to 1' 67Ibid. 68 Ibid. 69 Ibid. :in ‘— , 377 V In the Critigue, Sartre does not wish to main- tain that man is free to refuse any demand whatever; such a suggestion, he holds, would be ridiculous. In— stead, by free praxis he means the ability which man has of re—structuring and re—organizing the concrete demands of his practical life into an ensemble with . 67 . its own order and precedence. As a free being, I order these demands in a manner which will enable me to reach those goals which I have set for myself as . ‘i ends to be attained.68 Sartre does admit, however, Ed that these ends themselves are to be understood with . . . . 69 reference to the restrictions of the practical field. Even though the hierarchical order of demands which I f" 3 organize for myself might be freely chosen, this order still bears Clearly the mark of these objective demands. i Further, Sartre makes no attempt to suggest that any man is free to ignore such demands. At the very most, 67Ibid. 68Ibid. 691bid. given these deman them, assign to t precedence. Beyo does not extend. To qualif to deny either it tre argues in the deny the reality all forms of colo find themselves i lize the slave is treat him as a do condition of the that he cannot de the freedom) of h to preclude their To this j Show those aspect work conceptuall§ given these demands and needs, one is free to re—arrange them, assign to them his own order of importance or precedence. Beyond this, apparently, man's freedom does not extend. To qualify one's conception of freedom is not to deny either its reality or importance, however. Sar— tre argues in the Critigue that even the tyrant cannot deny the reality of man‘s freedom. Sartre holds that all forms of colonialism, exploitation, and tyranny find themselves in the position of first having to rea— lize the slave is a free man, so that they can then treat him as a dog.70 What Sartre terms the ”unhappy condition of the master,” is the awareness on his part that he cannot deny the human reality (which is to say the freedom) of his slaves, if for no other reason than to preclude their escape or resistance to him.71 To this juncture, the attempt has been made to Show those aspects within the Critigue which bind this work conceptually to Being and Nothingness. This is 7OIbid., p. 190. 71Ibid. not to suggest the elaboration of gag Critigge also cont: visions and explar; parent denials of Sartre's key notic point. In the (_Irj tic is not to be v working throughout dialectic is a res and his efforts, It Thus far, his stat the complement to and Nothingness . dialectical proces the socio—economia is by the scarcity man's psychologica ters what is more ”Ibid., 1 73Ibid. 379 not to suggest that the Critigge is nothing but an elaboration of Being and Nothingness, however. The Critigge also contains within itself significant re— visions and explanations, if not indeed even some ap- parent denials of Sartre's earlier ideas and theories. Sartre's key notion of dialectic serves as a case in point. In the Critigue, Sartre maintains that dialec— tic is not to be viewed as some sort of divine force working throughout history. He argues, instead, that dialectic is a resultant; a product of man's struggles . 72 and his efforts, not a force externally imposed. Thus far, his statement seems to be little more than the complement to theories already implicit in Bgigg and Nothingness. Sartre soon added, though, that the dialectical process itself is directly conditioned by the socio—economic context, shaped and limited as it is by the scarcity of material goods, as well as by 73 man's psychological needs. Clearly, here one encoun— I ters what is more than a minor footnote to Sartre s k_________ 72Ibid., p. 132. 73Ibid. ._ 1': : n N- sadist thearaes. ‘ mesgheut the Eiri One of the is the conspicuous whose polar opposi Bein- and Nothino-n to Being—in—itself larly, only one re and this, as Laing relatively minor f of course, if he the terms Being—in a terminological i tre’s vocabulary t in 1943 and anothe would be little ca On the otl terms and concept: which have such a: M 74 Laing a 380 earlier theories, and this instance is multiplied throughout the Critigue. One of the more obvious alterations, of course, is the conspicuous absence of the key ontological pair, whose polar opposition constituted the foundation of Being and Nothingness. But a single reference is made to Being—in—itself in the whole of the Critigue. Simi— larly, only one reference is made to Being—for~itself and this, as Laing and Cooper point out, occurs in a relatively minor footnote.74 One could always maintain, of course, if he were so disposed, that the absence of the terms Being-in—itself and Being—for—itself is merely a terminological issue. Thus construed, a shift in Sar— tre's vocabulary to be noted between one work published in 1943 and another written nearly twenty years later, would be little cause for concern. On the other hand, Sartre's employment of new terms and concepts, especially those of the Critigue, which have such an obvious socio—economic disposition, \—————————_—————_ 74 . . Laing and Cooper, Reason and Violence, p. 17. coupled with his - might well point . focus of attentio might then be vie alteration of San This second alter of the two; altho vocabulary unacc0I would not provide tre has changed 5 between 1943, and 1960. In their and Cooper develo and preferable of argue that Sartre which they conta' with respect to is correct, then subsumed under t coupled with his abandonment of his previous vocabulary, might well point toward a shifted persuasion and a new focus of attention on Sartre's part. Such a revision might then be viewed as signalling far more than a mere alteration of Sartre's basic philosophical vocabulary. This second alternative seems to be the more credible of the two; although, to be sure, a shift in Sartre's vocabulary unaccompanied by other textual support, would not provide evidence for the assertion that Sar— tre has changed significantly his philosophical posture between 1943, and the publication of the Critigge in 1960. In their joint work, Reason and Violence, Laing and Cooper develop a thesis which conforms to the second, and preferable of the alternatives discussed above. They argue that Sartre's earlier works and the terminology which they contain, are to be regarded as being ”depassé" . , .. 75 . . With respect to Sartre s Critigue. If their assertion is correct, then Sartre's earlier ideas have simply been subsumed under the form of more comprehensive concepts, 75Ibid. anew: infinwfslflmg ___d ions Sartre's own two early categor itself for instan into the notions I The advanI lined by Laing an their analysis se tone set by Sartr There he argues, dialectically, 1e his conceptions, ( secondary reifica1 than for Sartre U to see in his ear: from which his laI 3 i The secon< *1 I 1 Reason and ViolenI 4...: .. . W Power. Critics a . .4" in an unfolding dialectical movement which character— izes Sartre's own philosophical development. Sartre's two early categories, Being—in—itself and Beingefor— itself for instance, have been transmuted, absorbed into the notions of praxis and process in the Critigge.76 The advantage of such an approach as that out— lined by Laing and Cooper is twofold. First of all, their analysis seems more in keeping with the dominant tone set by Sartre himself throughout the Critigye. There he argues, at great length, that one must think dialectically, lest he falsify his perceptions to fit his conceptions, distort his concrete experience by secondary reifications.77 What could be more natural than for Sartre to apply this notion to his gwg thought; to see in his earlier conceptions only the germ plasm from which his later views developed? The second advantage of the approach implied in Reason and Violence, might be termed its explanatory power. Critics and commentators have long been plagued 76Ibid. 77Ibid., p. 13. hdfif‘tfff'e mares houncemen'ts to ”h " eitpressed in Bei cmmmntators hav: Sartre has not r which case Bein seriously, or b regarded as expl he earlier expre Perhaps of dialectic mo see that the abc They would have haps because he sees no need _ejg' I :_ _ V . which are rigor : ‘ piss, 93; to rep :i : dialectically, Qe_S_s_ constitut . pleted dialect l ..' , ' _ . thus no a rio 383 with the problem of how to relate Sartre"s later pro— nouncements to his earlier statements, especially as expressed in Being and Nothingness. Typically, such commentators have chosen to assume either: a) that Sartre has not really changed his views at all, in which case Being and Nothingness alone need be taken seriously, or b) that Sartre”s later views should be regarded as explicit repudiations of those ideas which he earlier expressed. Perhaps if such thinkers had taken the notion of dialectic more seriously, they would have come to see that the above alternatives are not exhaustive. They would have realized, in short, that Sartre, per- haps because he now applies dialectic to his own thought, sees no need either to make only those declarations which are rigorously consistent with Being and Nothing— flggg, 9; to repudiate his earlier conceptions. Regarded dialectically, the pronouncements of Being and Nothing~ Q§§§ constitute only the initial moments of a yet uncom— pleted dialectically developing world—view. There is thus no a priori reason to expect, much less to demand, of later moments .. strictly to those larly, one should in Sartre's later jected all of his a genuine dialect by Hegel for inst not merely oblite subsumed by them, veloped modes, t differ markedly i Bearing i Cooper which has one may better ur move with such at to another throuc. was possible for 781m an cation of Les N10 of mine that I r them all good- ” 110) 384 of later moments of the process, that they conform strictly to those moments which preceded them. Simi— larly, one should not interpret the changes he detects in Sartre's later views as a sign that Sartre has re— jected all of his previously stated theories.78 (In a genuine dialectical process, such as that envisioned by Hegel for instance, earlier phases of a process are not merely obliterated by the latter; they are, rather, subsumed by them, carried onward toward their fully de— veloped modes, though perhaps in a form which might differ markedly from their original.) Bearing in mind the suggestion of Laing and Cooper which has been developed to some length here, one may better understand how Sartre has been able to move with such apparent ease from one pronouncement to another throughout his philosophical career. This was possible for Sartre because he viewed, or came to 781n an interview immediately after the publi— cation of Les Mots, Sartre declared, ”There is no book Of mine that I reject. That does not mean that I find them all good.” (Life: 57, No. 19, Nov. 6, 1964, p. 110) view, his earlier standing in need I and further develi Being and Nothing ample, are correc schema; but incor or definitive dec may have realized one might prefer is better viewed truth on his par time explicitly One may 11m as later It Sartre's own thc to be found wit] evaluation of SI especially as t' tion of human f in connection VI in these later View, his earlier theories as, by their very nature, standing in need of complementation, supplementation, and further development. The theories laid down in Being and Nothingness, viewed dialectically for ex— ample, are correct as partial moments of a total schema; but incorrect if interpreted as being final or definitive declarations by Sartre. Sartre himself may have realized this point even in 1943, although one might prefer to maintain that Sartre“s career is better viewed as an increasing awareness of this truth on his part, a truth of which he was pg; at one time explicitly aware. One may choose to view the ideas of the Cri— tigue as later moments of a dialectical process in Sartre"s own thought, or not. In any case, the ideas to be found within this work g9 necessitate a re— evaluation of Sartre”s basic philosophical persuasion, especially as this persuasion relates to his concep— tion of human freedom. As has already been suggested in connection with Search for a Method and the Critigue, in these later works, Sartre seems more intent upon analyzing the res- dom from being ac- mmological purity freedom. At the ris summarize the bee] lows. In his earl Nothingness . Sart dom as a consciou he tended to conc forces, imposed f can stifle and re basic experience Nothingness is _d_e damental existent Over the former, the latter. Thu: Phases of Sartre What man @935. ; 1 "ii" 386 analyzing the restrictions which prevent man"s free— dom from being actualized, than in insisting upon the ontological purity or inaccessible character of such freedom. At the risk of over—simplification, one might summarize the basic shift in Sartre“s attitude as fol— lows. In his earlier works, especially in Being and Nothingness, Sartre emphasized the power of man“s free- dom as a conscious being. In his later works, however, he tended to concern himself more directly with those forces, imposed for the most part from without, that can stifle and render impotent such freedom. The most basic experience of free consciousness in Being and Nothingness is desire, while in the Critigge, the fun~ . . . 9 damental eXistential structure of man is seen as need.7 Over the former, man exercises vastly more control than the latter. Thus, one could say that in the earlier phases of Sartre"s thought, the emphasis falls upon what man does; in the latter, upon what he suffers 79Barnes, “Translator“s Introduction,” Search for a Method, p. xv. (although in hot I This tend for instance, in Egg. He wrote without need, tra ingly enough, the components in the their true order tive. His empha: either of the ot] but this freedom which man mainta grim Sartre man‘s limitation that man today of the practico verse forms of 0f man from man (although in both cases man is free). This tendency on Sartre's part can be seen, for instance, in his treatment of praxis in the g;;— tigue. He wrote there that praxis is ”inconceivable without need, transcendence and project.“80 Interest— ingly enough, the order in which Sartre listed these components in the above cited statement, seems to be their true order of precedence in his later perspec— tive. His emphasis clearly falls more upon need, than either of the other two elements. Man is still free; but this freedom is strictly conditioned by need, over which man maintains only limited rule. Indeed, in the Critigue Sartre even goes to some lengths to emphasize man's limitations in the modern world. He maintains that man today is limited by restrictions in the field of the practico—inerte, by exploitation, scarcity, di— verse forms of servitude, and the increasing alienation of man from man.81 8O Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, P- 171. 81Ibid., p. 369. Sartre ev of, and insistencg activity, places ‘ Stoic conception. pretation of thei is free in all 51' cisely the revere and consequently in various situal times this freedI sometimes it may ive or truncated ifications bring those of Beauvo ' cation of the C equivalent. In I maintains as Sartre d transcenden than a mere uation was 388 Sartre even goes on to argue that his awareness of, and insistence upon, such barriers to man's free activity, places his doctrine at direct odds with the Stoic conception. While, according to Sartre's inter- pretation of their position, the Stoics held that man is free in all situations, Sartre's gwn view in pre- cisely the reverse.82 Situations are not all equal, and consequently the forms which freedom will assume in various situations will differ accordingly. Some— times this freedom may be fully expressed or actualized; sometimes it may be thwarted and expressed only in abort— ive or truncated forms. Once again, Sartre’s later qual— ifications bring his views into closer alignment with those of Beauvoir, who had held long before the publi— cation of the Critigue that all situations are not equivalent. In her own words, I maintained that from the angle of freedom as Sartre defined it—-that is as an active transcendence of some given context, rather than a mere stoic resignation—-not every sit— uation was equally valid: what sort of 2 8 Ibid. /"’ transcendence harem achieve l Furthermoj gaggle to Speak could occur in is: the opposite. In one of Merleau—Po the historical co by the fact that Even as an infant recognized as bei type, if not Othe social milieu; a fixed by the nat is in sharp cont in Bein and Not characterized as in freedom, then P- 189. ———------IIIIIIIIIIllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIll-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII‘MYW 389 transcendence could a woman shut up in a harem achieve?83 Furthermore, Sartre no longer chooses in the Critigue to speak of the human project as though it could occur in isolation. Instead, he insists on just the opposite. In a manner which cannot fail to remind one of Merleau—Ponty's position, Sartre suggests that the historical content of one's project is influenced by the fact that one finds himself already among men. ,p Even as an infant or a young child, each person is $ recognized as being of a certain type (at least racial W? type, if not others in addition); belongs to a certain 5 social milieu; and occupies a place which is already L X ,/'i . 84 . l ‘ fixed by the nature of matter. All of this, of course, ; I is in sharp contrast to Being-for-itself as portrayed } in Being and Nothingness. There, the For—itself was > characterized as “somehow there alone, living his life in freedom, then suddenly being disagreeably limited ’ 83Beauvoir, The Prime of Life, p. 346. 84Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, P. 189. in discovering th Sartre's <| terms of group in‘: is, of course, in the Being—for-its erick Copleston s as expressed in h the rubric "atomi reinforces this s pictured by Sart: tingent, self-em juxtaposed" to 0+ 390 in discovering the presence of others."85 Sartre's attempt to analyze human activity in terms of group inter—action and praxis, in the Critigue is, of course, in marked contrast to his theory of man, the Being—for—itself of Being and Nothingness. Fred— erick Copleston suggests that Sartre's theory of man, as expressed in his early works, can be placed under . . . . . . .86 . the rubric "atomic indiVidualism' Kurt Reinhardt reinforces this suggestion, by holding that man, as pictured by Sartre in Being and Nothingness, is a “con— tingent, self—enclosed, isolated being, who is merely . 87 . . juxtaposed” to other men. In addition, numerous critics have remarked upon the obvious parallel which is to be found between Sartre's lonely individual and the "monad" of Leibniz. Almost as though he were re— Sponding to such criticisms, Sartre in the Critigue 85Van Meter Ames, ”Mead and Sartre on Man,” P- 215. 86 . , Copleston, Contemporary Philosophy, p. 195. 87 Reinhardt, The Existentialist Revolt, p. 167. h: I denies that a t 88 covered. Sartre as of an absolutely: than a myth. In' grouped.89 Some negative ways; b1 exal“1916:, even th by virtue of his posed Of those w which he has rej understand the n this freedom Lia and inter-actior Perhaps ality: deVelOpe( \ 88 89 . M. 391 denies that a truly isolated individual can be dis— covered. Sartre asserts that, in fact, the very notion of an absolutely isolated human being is little more than a myth. In reality Sartre holds, Ell men are grouped. Some men may, to be sure, be grouped in negative ways; but all are grouped nonetheless. For example, even the hermit in his solitude is a hermit by Virtue of his negative relation to the group com— posed of those who live with their fellows, a group which he has rejected as his own. If then, one is to understand the nature of human freedom, he must approach this freedom via an examination of group reciprocity and inter—action, since beyond grouped behavior, there are no men to be found. Perhaps Sartre's earlier theories of human re— ality, developed in terms which were suggestive of iso- lation, juxtaposition, and atomic uniqueness, have been M“ 888artre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, p. 642. 89Ibid. replaced or subs Perhaps, in othe ‘ chosen to deal wi, vectors, rather t a vectoral approa gator, similar i1 analyses in the ( Real existenr units juxtap vectors, eac‘ the other. tity include it- The who but is full that are qui To sugge Viduals, and ful “0t largely def: Group me'mershi] freedom, hOWeVe group is a resu 392 ,' replaced or subsumed under a more comprehensive concept. Perhaps, in other words, Sartre in the Critigue has chosen to deal with human relationships in terms of vectors, rather than discrete units. John Wild suggests analyses in the Critigue. Wild wrote: 9 Real existence is not made up of discrete ,g units juxtaposed together, but rather of “T vectors, each of which exists by virtue of the other. What we call a single real en— u tity includes many relational factors within m it. The whole entity is never self—enclosed, but is full of relational valencies to things that are quite distinct.90 To suggest that there ggg no non—grouped indi— viduals, and further that men are at least partly, if 1 i not largely defined with reference to their respective group memberships, is not to rob man of his individual freedom, however. This is because, for Sartre, any group is a resultant; it is a multiplicity of recipro— 91 Cities upon which work has been done. All groups are 90Wild, The Challenge of Existentialism, p. 67. 91Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, p. 638. products of the are to be thoughI While the indivi, nourishment from analysis, it dep mitment for its Historic in general have ding among them of individual f: that such is th collective phen outgrowth of in bahaViOr is the any Structured 393 products of the free praxis of individual men; none are to be thought of as somehow given by Nature. While the individual member may draw strength and nourishment from his particular group, in the final analysis, it depends upon big free and renewed com- mitment for its continued existence. Historical movement and collective behavior in general have been viewed by many theoriests, inclu- ding among them some orthodox Marxists, as a disproof of individual freedom and initiative. Sartre denies that such is the case. He chooses instead to treat collective phenomena and historical movement as the . 93 . outgrowth of individual praXis. Group or collective behavior is the conjoint expression of man's dialectic— ally structured needs and goals. As R. M. Albérés wrote, The historical movement originates in the individual, not through any magical or sta— tistical operation, but because in themselves, individuals in the normal dialectic of their 92Ibid. 93Ibid., p. 476. lives, manif which create ~ While the or even a necessi "this necessity i consented to unde increasing urgem Because the Othe: form, threatens 1 harm, I agree to me protection in joining a partic . one takes into c , .....‘\ - ternal threat, u- C ~—-u'- - a response to t} 394 lives, manifest the need for totalization which creates the collective phenomenon.94 While there may be a sort of internal inertia, or even a necessity to be found within group behavior, “this necessity is produced by freedom itself, freely consented to under the pressure of circumstances of increasing urgency and under the shadow of scarcity.“95 Because the Other, either in singular or in corporate form, threatens me with physical, economic, or social harm, I agree to join a particular group which promises me protection in return for my support. My action in joining a particular group can be understood only if one takes into consideration both this element of ex— ternal threat, Egg my free commitment to the group as a response to this threat. Even in the Critigue, "Man makes himself,“ so far as Sartre is concerned. In the Critigue, however, this making is always tied directly to one's particular group; to his role as a worker, a producer of goods, 94Alberes, op. cit., p. 146. 95Laing and Cooper, op. cit., p. 165. and related functi jaw“ 'f 53142: I are conditioned an, economic context , established laws c the like.” This period, “the strur labor define for Parture . "98 Man, Sar1 is an historical inscribed on the Laing and COOpeI \ Each person ‘.I . I I tation to tl i another arr; 395 . 96 and related functions. These functions, in turn, are conditioned and defined within a limited socio— economic context, which has its own historical margins, established laws of consumption and production, and . 97 . the like. This means that for Sartre in his later period, "the structures of society created by human labor define for each of us an objective point of de- parture."98 Man, Sartre maintains throughout the Critigue, is an historical being, a being who finds his image . . , 99 inscribed on the face of that which he produces. As Laing and Cooper summarized this notion: Each person is the center of another orien— tation to the objective world, a center of another arrangement of the universe. Road- mender or gardener, each is made by what he himself does. Each is a product of his own product . . . . I can see through what they ‘_‘—___a 96Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, P- 192. 97Ibid. 98 ' ' 52 Laing and Cooper, op. Clt., p. . 99Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, P- 192. 'W do, what are terize their I (In his own casei part of his autoi flected back fro relations with w In a ser reveals in. its I already implici‘ Jacques Salvan, out, Sartre had iPSiety." Accc , 1 "-*'~..\ , to reach myselj ‘. ture is tied u] '1 aPpears to me haps Sartre's reflected back that with whic the unfolding do, what are the unifications which charac— terize their fields.100 (In his own case, Sartre explains in Les Mots, the first part of his autobiography, that he found his image re— flected back from his literary productions, from his relations with words.) In a sense of course, the Critigue really only reveals in its more developed form, an idea which was already implicit in Being and Nothingness. There, as Jacques Salvan, one of Sartre's commentators, has pointed out, Sartre had expressed his notion of the ”circuit of ipsiety.“ According to this notion, "I must keep trying to reach myself through the world . . . . My own fu— ture is tied up with the future of the world, which . lOl appears to me as a complex of things and tools.” Per— haps Sartre's later assertion that man finds his image reflected back from that which he produces and from that with which he works, is merely a later moment of the unfolding dialectic of his own thought, a moment lOOLaing and Cooper, op. cit., p. 109. lOlSalvan, To Be and Not To Be, p. 55. been subsumed un In any c. cover himself th it; but not unle within a distin- Critigge , Sartr- in which every n mines the range even if, as a f transcendence t revolutionary, ment is. of cor myself and Othe itive and nega“ 102 Mau Theory of Lite Phenomenology 106. 1035M pp. 325-326. I 104 lb 105lb 397 in which the concept of the ”circuit of ipsiety“ has been subsumed under a more comprehensive concept. In any case, man can still be said to "dis- "102 cover himself through his acts, as Natanson put it; but not unless this action is seen to take place within a distinctly material context. Throughout the Critigue, Sartre insists that the material environment in which every man must exist as a human being, deter- . . . lO3 . . mines the range of his actions. This remains true, even if, as a free man,I nihilate this environment by transcendence toward other possibilities, as does the 104 . . revolutionary, for example. The material enViron- ment is, of course, itself released reciprocally to myself and Others, and is itself modified in both pos- . . 105 itive and negative ways by this relation. Thus, Hf.— 102Maurice Natanson, "Existentialism and the Theory of Literature," in Essays in Existentialism and Phenomenology (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1962), p. 106. 103Sartre, Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, PP- 325-326. 104Ibid. lOSIbid. even the threat . iate forms is to each man through Because man finds his im of the material the importance (1 ends or project: squarely in the d_o on the basis this question c matter itself, f Critigge, just Nothingness. ( self, to his p: he has chosen ‘ tiplicity of 11 world. Laing be helpful in 106 lb even the threat of the Other in its mediate and immed- iate forms is to be understood primarily as it affects each man through the material world.106 Because Sartre in the Critigue suggests that man finds his image in and through the modifications of the material world, this does not mean that he denies the importance of analyzing human behavior in terms of ends or projects. Given that man is a being placed squarely in the midst of ”matter”; what does each man up on the basis of this brute given? The answer to this question can be arrived at pg: by reference to matter itself,for it remains dumb and opaque in the Critigue, just as did Being—in-itself in Being and Nothingness. One must, rather, refer to each man him— self, to his projects and goals; to the manner in which he has chosen to re—organize and re-structure the mul— tiplicity of needs and conditioning factors of his world. Laing and Cooper provide an example which may be helpful in this connection. One may, let us imagine, 106Ibid. see a particula- be able to unde - suddenly realize so that all his to this end, doe the worker ' s act Although tive as revealed worthy of seriou convictions rema the publication tre would still "Man is not a re field of possibi the SM! t1". (in both its po relation to man ' practico- inerte see a particular man working from a distance, and not be able to understand what he is doing. Not until one suddenly realizes at what gag he is aiming in his labor, so that all his movements become unified with respect to this end, does one truly grasp the significance of the worker's actions.107 Although the modifications in Sartre's perspec— tive as revealed in the Critigue are significant and worthy of serious consideration, many of his most basic convictions remain essentially unaltered, even after the publication of this later study. For example, Sar- tre would still hold, as did Heidegger before him, that "Man is not a ready made substance. He is a potential field of possibilities."108 Sartre simply insists in the Critigge, that human possibility can be understood (in both its positive and negative dimensions) only in relation to man's reaction to the realm or field of the practico—inerte. My actions as a man can be adequately 107Laing and Cooper, op. cit., p. 64. 108Schrag, Existence and Freedom, p. 199. accounted for , r- to the field of into considerati best described a matter which re either by its p the material en structures such and the like . 1C In man} of the practicr Being—in—itsel there are obvi idea of the pr moment of his modern man ra. givenness; ra . which has bee " structured by he is surrou realm of the accounted for, if and only if my concrete relations to the field of the practico—inerte have been taken into consideration. The practico-inerte is perhaps best described as being for Sartre, any "worked-over" matter which results in a modification of my actions either by its presence or absence. This will include the material environment as well as objective human structures such as rules of language, public opinion, and the like.109 In many ways, of course, Sartre's conception of the practico—inerte seems to be but his notion of . . . . . . ll . Being—in-itself in a slightly altered guise. 0 While there are obvious similarities, and while Sartre's idea of the practico—inerte may be treated as a later moment of his previous conception, the practico~inerte 109Barnes, Humanistic Existentialism, p. 402. llOSartre seems to be suggesting that, in fact, modern man rarely confronts Being—in-itself in its brute givenness; rather, he is surrounded by Being—in—itself which has been molded, shaped, hammered, twisted and structured by the projects of his fellow—man, that is, he is surrounded by what Sartre now chooses to call the realm of the practico-inerte. clearly enters ‘ did Being—in-it think ofBeing- Aristotle's "pr inerte cannot b atic and far-re in-itself was 13 The practice—in acterized by Sa inertia, exterr The practico—il guest than a c‘ sinister, serva Sartre fied Marxism h merits, its re inerte to men' at least. Sari to see in cla: tors, an axis clearly enters more directly into the lives of men than did Being-in-itself. One could, perhaps quite accurately, think of Being—in-itself in terms closely analagous to Aristotle's "prime matter." The field of the practico— inerte cannot be so regarded, at least without system— atic and far—reaching qualifications by Sartre. Being— in—itself was flexible, submissive, plastic, and servile. The practico—inerte,on the other hand, tends to be char— acterized by Sartre in terms of its rigidity, resistance, inertia, external constraint or imposition, and the.like. The practice—inerte resembles far more an uninvited guest than a cooperative, though silent and somewhat sinisten servant. Sartre seems to hold that a reformed and puri— fied Marxism has as one of its major advantages or merits, its recognition of the importance of the practico— inerte to men's lives. Properly construed, Marxism, or at least, Sartre's own brand of neo—Marxism, allows one to see in class struggle, conditioned by economic fac— tors, an existential-historical interpretation of man.111 Built u that is to say, dividual praxis above, Marxism 4 which can help ties. Erected sic dialectic,‘ mechanical Cha] process , Marxi ment. "Monist Sartre is most his role as tl seeks, rather and disintegr That tulating a d: according to man fulfills lllc II, p. 420 . 112, man.lll Built upon the concept of a genuine dialectic, that is to say, a dialectic which arises from free in— dividual praxis and does not descend upon man from above, Marxism can reveal to man a course of action which can help to alleviate present evils and inequi— ties. Erected upon a base of what Sartre calls ”extrin— sic dialectic," however, which emphasizes the purely mechanical character of the historical—dialectical process, Marxism can distort and maim human develop— ment. "Monistic" or ”Idealistic” Marxism, with which Sartre is most at odds, attempts 39; to reveal to man his role as the initiator of historical dialectic, but seeks, rather, "to supress man . . . to knead, dissolve and disintegrate him into the universe.”112 That ”Monistic Marxism” should find itself pos— tulating a dialectic without men, is no mere accident, according to Sartre. As both Sartre and Beauvoir agree, man fulfills himself by his free project and justifies lllSpiegelberg, The Phenomenological Movement, II, p. 420. 2 . . ll Laing and Cooper, op. Cit., p. 96. ,i 'r. “'3 himself by refer Just because, fo petual self—tran dimension is den tion made to as becomes nothing. for a theory sue just this dimen conscious indiv from the scene . of free, respor such a theory, not exist, but admit to, or a As car new and the Sartre now se- llBBe 114Wj in Existentia day and Comp: 11.5 31 403 C) himself by reference to the end at which he aims.llJ Just because, for Sartre, "human existence is a per- "114 . , petual self—transcendence, if man s transcendent dimension is denied, and the facticity of his situa- tion made to assume the dominant role, the individual . 115 . becomes nothing. This would mean, of course, that for a theory such as Monistic Marxism, which denies just this dimension of human reality, the free and conscious individual would quite literally disappear from the scene. The worldly stage would become emptied of free, responsible and self—creative men according to such a theory, not (Sartre argues) because free men do not exist, but because the theory cannot in principle admit to, or account for, their existence or efficacy. As can be seen from a reading of Search for a Method and the Critigue de la Raison Dialectigue, what Sartre now seeks to become is a modern ”gadfly“ of 113Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 115. l . . 1 4William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy (Garden City, New York: Double— day and Company, 1962), p. 245. 115Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 115. He now Marxism. an awareness of, cacious presencel Marxism a genuin tempts to divert istic course . E man in the mids of some previou the relations a there. Influer that, as one o: analyze struct' " "\ and ideal recc gues, in short i cal Presuppos; World whiCh r‘ to eliminate and cOllnter—i If, -- \ 1 16A Marxism. He now seeks to goad and sting Marxism into an awareness of, and explicit attention to, man's effi— caCious presence in the world. Apparently seeing in Marxism a genuine hope for human progress, Sartre at- tempts to divert it from its present, rigidly a prior- istic course. He tries to cause Marxism to examine man in the midst of the real world, pp; in the light of some previously adopted theory, but in the light of the relations and processes to be actually encountered there. Influenced by phenomenology, Sartre maintains that, as one of his critics wrote, ”philosophy should analyze structures, rather than aim at an arbitrary 116 and ideal reconstruction of the world.” Sartre ar— gues, in short, that Marxism should alter its theoreti— cal presuppositions when it encounters elements in the world which run counter to them, rather than attempt . . I to eliminate from the world such "embaraSSing exceptions and counter—instances. If,-in other words, Marxism in its various forms cannot account for free activity, but is forced instead f ll6Albérés, op. cit., p. 138. to explain such flaw in its own denials indicate) experience and a areas where furi called for with: For Sar the socio-econc ity in the worl an approach sei Situation stanr Choice and pro \ This does Lot i eVEr, that may It World_ The 9: constitutes t'. takes Place. creatiVe be in mere COincide to explain such activity away, it has revealed a serious flaw in its own theoretical foundations. Such forced denials indicate not something about the world of human experience and activity, but serve instead to point up areas where further thought and reconsideration is called for within the Marxist framework. For Sartre, Marxism with its insistence upon the socio—economic conditioning factors of man's activ- ity in the world, performs a valuable function. Such an approach serves to make the crucial aspects of man's situation stand out in bolder relief, so that human choice and project can be more adequately understood. This does pp; mean, as many Marxists have assumed, how— ever, that man is reducible to this given aspect of his world. The given is at most a starting point; at most constitutes the arena in which the drama of human choice takes place. As long as man remains a conscious, self— creative being, he will never in principle come into mere coincidence with the material world. That Marxism flab .-——-. reject Marxism has so often be incidence is a i I ! E J to account for I need to supp lem; those of Sartre 406 has so often been interpreted as asserting such a co— incidence is a fact, serves as sufficient reason to reject Marxism's claims of total adequacy in its efforts to account for human behavior, and reveals a crucial need tO supplement the insights of such an approach with those of Sartre's freedom-centered existentialism. Summary and Conclusions Even if one were to agree with Walter Odajnyk, who holds that Sartre's Critigue fails to achieve the union between Marxism and existentialism which was its 117 . . . . . . goal, this work is still of importance. The Critigue (at least Volume I) reveals Sartre's attempt to bridge the "gap between the Marxist conception of a determined society and history and the existentialist conception . . . 118 . Of the free and creative indiVidual." This very ll7Walter Odajnyk, Marxism and Existentialism (Garden City, New York: Doubleday and Company Anchor Book, 1965), p. 170. ll8Ibid., p. 158. attempt. even i considerable Si world—view. Oni who maintains t a Marxist and n Sartre's though influence in s As Des sovereign for dialectical p1 human individ1 is no longer "\ ' the world. A ) -._ "Objectificat ; achieve those time, matter . ment of "Obj I . \ "ll9_ l20‘ (Garden Cit 1965)! p. 3 121 attempt, even if unsuccessful, reveals something of considerable significance about Sartre's developed world—view. One might wish to quarrel with Odajnyk, who maintains that in the Critigpe, ”Sartre is now . . . . "119 a MarXist and no longer an EXistentialist, but Sartre's thought does show definite signs of Marxist influence in several crucial respects. As Desan maintains, the Self may still remain . 120 . sovereign for Sartre, in the sense that even the dialectical process finds its source and origin in the human individual and his projects, but this individual is no longer isolated. He is now very much in and of the world. As a man he engages in what Sartre terms "objectification,” that islhe uses matter in ways which achieve those ends he sets for himself; but at the same 121 time, matter is working upon man. This double ele— ment of ”objectification“ (man's working upon matter) ”llglbid., p. xxii Introduction. 120 Wilfrid Desan, The Marxism of Jean-Paul Sartre (Garden City, New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1965), p. 308. 2 . l llbid-, p. 112. r'” and "objectivi all of human a element in man. dialectic, an i planned by him which comes in he becomes unf The pe expression wit uous, a fact v Part, but ref: characterizes times through unable to Str and "objectivity” (matter's working upon man) permeates . . 122 . . . all of human actiVity. While there is that cruCial element in man's experience which Sartre would term dialectic, an element which is free, controlled and planned by him, there is also at work the "anti-dialectic" which comes into play when man's actions cecape him and he becomes unfree, inert and passive.”123 The persuasion of Sartre, at least as it finds expression within the Critigue, is fundamentally ambig— uous, a fact which is apparently not accidental on his part, but reflects the ambiguity which, for Sartre, characterizes man himself. Desan suggests that many times throughout the Critigge, Sartre "finds himself . 124 . . . unable to stress either one.” Still unWilling to abandon his interest in the individual and his freedom, but no longer able to ignore those factors which con— dition the context within which individual freedom 122Ibid. 123Ibid., p. 84. 124Ibid., p. 129. finds its expres recognize both p Sartre seems to d: not free, creati‘. and prisoner, bu as well. “125 Whether conclusion to b. (hopefully in v dissoluble anti dence Presently in inferring tj ..-.-"\ ' now been disco (if at an) or . dual Charactey | P01. ltical Con longer a "VOl \ 12 SI} _. finds its expression, Sartre finds himself forced to recognize both poles of this polar relation. Indeed, Sartre seems to conclude that, “Man is both free and not free, creative and inert, master and slave, rebel and prisoner, builder of the Bastille and its destroyer as well.”125 Whether Sartre would consider the above cited conclusion to be a mere paradox which can be dissolved (hopefully in Volume II of the Critigpe) or as in in— dissoluble antinomy, remains to be seen. From the evi— dence presently available, however, one seems safest in inferring that for Sartre, a basic antinomy has now been discovered, an antinomy which can be solved (if at all) only through the lucid recognition of man's dual character in a materially conditioned, socio- political context. Man, for Sartre, is clearly no longer a ”volatile, translucid, absolutely free" 125Ibid., p. 260. beingzl26 but n rounded by othe] ognizes this fui activity in the: 12611015 .-F ' . ‘ ognizes this fundamental-fact,can.deal with'humam activity in the world. 126Ibid.' p. 3029 APPENDICES Sartre should not lea sides, without revolutionary such as those for instance, reinforcement -.-.,\ , i to Sartre, f1 They are as behavior as may pose as pressive cl, Typ 6”mine that his freedox -| \ ls APPENDIX A Sartre and the ”Revolutionary" Sartre's espousal of a revolutionary persuasion should not lead one to conclude prematurely that Sartre sides, without qualification/with all sorts of so—called revolutionary programs. Some revolutionary programs, such as those often to be found among Communist groups, for instance, seek not true liberation, but merely a reinforcement of discipline. Such groups, according to Sartre, fear nothing so much as genuine freedom. They are as a prioristic in their approach to human behavior as the systems which they have rejected, and may pose as real a threat to man's freedom as any op— pressive class.l Typically, of course, Communist revolutionaries argue that man must be treated as a thing, deprived of his freedom, and subjugated to harsh rules and strict lSartre, ”Materialism and Revolution," p. 249. 412 si.it regulations onl stage of the di theorists in en: words, “relinqu right to facts, aries claim the is merely tran: of those being of which men h in good time. " assertions. E be restored t< ‘\ ' this?“3 Sartr ' of SO‘Called Piciously enc Sartre is at regulations only temporarily. (Presumably during the stage of the dictatorship of the proletariat.) These theorists in effect tell man that he must, in Sartre's words, "relinquish the right to free criticism, the right to facts, the right to truth.”2 Such revolution- aries claim that the dictatorship which they advocate is merely transitional and is undertaken for the good of those being subjugated. They claim that the freedom of which men have been deprived will ”all be restored in good time.“ Sartre, however, is suspicious of such assertions. He wrote, “I am told that this will all be restored to us later, but what proof is there of this?”3 Sartre tends to be distrustful, in other words, of so-called revolutionary programs which lead, sus— piciously enough, to oppressive orthodox systems (such as, for example, orthodox Monistic Marxism, with which Sartre is at direct odds). 2 Ibid., p, 222. 3Ibid. Furthe I in Sartre' s wor upon his right , Such being the i is the real hon Marxism, with : can actually b though it is s olutionary the the importanm Oppression in ally . To the -\ I muted into a Sartre 'shoult Furthermore, there is the definite implication in Sartre's works, that the true revolutionary insists upon his right to reject any oppressive regime whatever. Such being the case, one cannot assume that Communism is the real home of the revolutionary at all. Russian Marxism, with its increasing rigidity and orthodoxy, can actually betray the revolutionary spirit, even though it is supposedly erected upon a bedrock of rev— olutionary theory. Inasmuch as Communism emphasizes the importance of revolution as a means of alleviating oppression in the world, Sartre may be regarded as its ally. To the extent this revolutionary spirit is trans— muted into a rigid and solidified, oppressive orthodoxy, Sartre should be regarded as Communism's avowed enemy. The man in several of The Flies, 1L1}; Hoederer in D_i very epitome r personal espo this cause wh had assumed I freedom in o the sterile as being wor has ceaSed 1 of his acti. to see that APPENDIX B Action and Sartre's Drama The man of action has been a central character in several of Sartre's important dramas, especially in The Fligg, Dirty Hands, and The Devil and the Good Lord. Hoederer in Dirty Hands, for example, had served as the very epitome of the engaged For—itself. Through his personal espousal of Communism and his dedication to this cause which he has accepted as his own, Hoederer had assumed his responsibility. He had realized his freedom in concrete, tangible terms; had left behind the sterile dream of a pure and disengaged freedom, as being worthy only of saints or of yogis. Hoederer has ceased to demand justification for the rightness of his actions before he performed them and had come to see that such a justification follows, rather than precedes, human activity. In short, Hoederer had aban— doned a “purist" or "esthetic” approach to the world, 415 and had achie and to act wit l Essend of Sartre's afi Sartre's play lizes in this itselves, is 1 He becomes aw: but that this number of oth instance (as choice might SelVes from a World Where [1 Goet: and experienr 416 and had achieved an awareness of the necessity to choose and to act within the arena of finite everyday existence. Essentially the same discovery is made by another of Sartre's dramatic characters, this time Goetz, in Sartre"s play The Devil and the Good Lord. Goetz rea— lizes in this drama that his fate, like that of all For- itselves, is bound inextricably to the fate of other men. He becomes aware of the fact that he must not only choose, but that this choice has repercussions upon an untold number of other persons. If one chooses pacifism, for instance (as happened in the play itself) this very choice might result in the slaughter of one”s neighbors, who so desperately needed his assistance to defend them— selves from aggressors. No choice is isolated in a world where men are so intimately inter—related, Goetz realizes both the necessity of choosing and experiences the loneliness of this choice, He dis— covers that ”God” is but the void, an encompassing si— lence, a sort of universal absence; discovers that man must be selfwreliant in a universe where he is alone with his fellow men. This discovery does not break the spirit 0 that he is ( to live with D spite of God become a gen the duties a entails and to cherish. drama, "The As one of S to see that men themse] when this 6 manity of 1 Go come to Se \ l 1 trans ’ Kit 149. 2 1 Wm 417 the spirit of Goetz, however; instead, authentic man that he is (or at least attempts to be) Goetz agrees to live with the empty sky over his head; to live in spite of God"s absence. Goetz agrees, in short, to become a genuine part of the human community, to assume the duties and obligations which such a social existence entails and to abandon a set of ideals which he had come to cherish. He declares in the closing lines of this drama, "There is a war to fight, and I will fight it.“1 As one of Sartre°s critics suggested, Goetz had come to see that as a free man he must take his place among men themselves, accept obligations to leadership, even when this entails certain evils, and fight for the hu— 2 manity of himself and his fellow man. Goetz, perhaps even more than Hoederer, had come to see that, "Man is linked to the destiny of his 1Jean—Paul Sartre, The Devil and the Good Lord, transP Kitty Black (New York: Vintage Books, 1962), p. 149. 2 . Percy Winner, ”The I'New Leftl in France," The New Republic, CXXXIII (July 18, 1955), p. 14. age. and by his acts and other men. C; action or dii new ideal, t] which he fou: "Good is lov other. Inte Goetz (or Sa this lack of mental Struc other is, re and misery.1 happy state rected by t sarY Progra this, Comes abOUt Such \ 3 A] Po 103. 418 age, and by his very existence he plays a role."3 Both his acts and his refusals to act have repercussions on . other men. Goetz finally repudiates the ideal of in- 1 action or disinterested contemplation in favor of a new ideal, the improvement of the human community in which he found himself. Goetz discovers both that, 3: “Good is love,”4 and that men do not in fact love each other. Interestingly enough however, the reason which Goetz (or Sartre in the guise of Goetz) provides for this lack of love, is not with respect to man“s funda— mental structure. What prevents men from loving each other is, rather, ”inequality of conditions, servitude and misery.”5 The implication is obvious. Man's un— happy state is explicable and avoidable; it can be cor— rected by the proper measures being taken, by the neces- sary programs of action being taken. Goetz, realizing this, comes to be the man of action, helping to bring about such an improved world. 3Alberes, Sartre: Philosopher without Faith, p. 103. 4Sartre, The Devil and the Good Lord, p. 70. 5 Ibid. m s m a I } lfilbérés, R.. Tran ical Allers, Rudc fiel 1961 I/Aloysius, Ma iste cal /Alston, Wili léfih The Ames, Van M \‘I \- . m AUdry' C011 % Par Ayerl A. J. m l , Barnes, Ha} m VG] BIBLIOGRAPHY ‘tAlbéres, R. M. Sartre: Philosopher without Faith. Trans. Wade Baskin; New York: The Philosoph— ical Library, 1961. 152 pp. Allers, Rudolf. Existentialism and Psychiatry. Spring— field, Illinois: Charles C. Thomas Publisher, 1961. I’Aloysius. Mary S. S. J. ”Freedom and the "I': An Ex— istential Critique," International Philosophi— cal Quarterly, III (Dec. 1963), pp. 571—599. in s in Twentieth Centur Philoso h . 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