Existentialism is a Humanism
L’Existentialisme est un humanisme, 1946)
Jean-Paul Sartre
My purpose here is to offer a defence of existentialism against several
reproaches that have been laid against it. First, it has been reproached as an
invitation to people to dwell in quietism of despair. For if every way to a
solution is barred, one would have to regard any action in this world as
entirely ineffective, and one would arrive finally at a contemplative
philosophy. Moreover, since contemplation is a luxury, this would be only
another bourgeois philosophy. This is, especially, the reproach made by the
Communists.
From another quarter we are reproached for having underlined all that is
ignominious in the human situation, for depicting what is mean, sordid or base
to the neglect of certain things that possess charm and beauty and belong to the
brighter side of human nature: for example, according to the Catholic critic,
Mlle. Mercier, we forget how an infant smiles. Both from this side and from the
other we are also reproached for leaving out of account the solidarity of
mankind and considering man in isolation. And this, say the Communists, is
because we base our doctrine upon pure subjectivity - upon the Cartesian "I
think": which is the moment in which solitary man attains to himself; a position
from which it is impossible to regain solidarity with other men who exist
outside of the self. The ego cannot reach them through the cogito. From the
Christian side, we are reproached as people who deny the reality and seriousness
of human affairs. For since we ignore the commandments of God and all values
prescribed as eternal, nothing remains but what is strictly voluntary. Everyone
can do what he likes, and will be incapable, from such a point of view, of
condemning either the point of view or the action of anyone else.
It is to these various reproaches that I shall endeavour to reply today; that is
why I have entitled this brief exposition "Existentialism is a Humanism." Many
may be surprised at the mention of humanism in this connection, but we shall try
to see in what sense we understand it. In any case, we can begin by saying that
existentialism, in our sense of the word, is a doctrine that does render human
life possible; a doctrine, also, which affirms that every truth and every action
imply both an environment and a human subjectivity. The essential charge laid
against us is, of course, that of over-emphasis upon the evil side of human
life. I have lately been told of a lady who, whenever she lets slip a vulgar
expression in a moment of nervousness, excuses herself by exclaiming, "I believe
I am becoming an existentialist." So it appears that ugliness is being
identified with existentialism. That is why some people say we are
"naturalistic," and if we are, it is strange to see how much we scandalise and
horrify them, for no one seems to be much frightened or humiliated nowadays by
what is properly called naturalism. Those who can quite well keep down a novel
by Zola such as La Terre are sickened as soon as they read an existentialist
novel. Those who appeal to the wisdom of the people - which is a sad wisdom -
find ours sadder still. And yet, what could be more disillusioned than such
sayings as "Charity begins at home" or "Promote a rogue and he'll sue you for damage, knock him down and he'll do you homage"? We all know how many common
sayings can be quoted to this effect, and they all mean much the same - that you
must not oppose the powers that be; that you must not fight against superior
force; must not meddle in matters that are above your station. Or that any
action not in accordance with some tradition is mere romanticism; or that any
undertaking which has not the support of proven experience is foredoomed to
frustration; and that since experience has shown men to be invariably inclined
to evil, there must be firm rules to restrain them, otherwise we shall have
anarchy. It is, however, the people who are forever mouthing these dismal
proverbs and, whenever they are told of some more or less repulsive action, say
"How like human nature!" - it is these very people, always harping upon realism,
who complain that existentialism is too gloomy a view of things. Indeed their
excessive protests make me suspect that what is annoying them is not so much our
pessimism, but, much more likely, our optimism. For at bottom, what is alarming
in the doctrine that I am about to try to explain to you is - is it not? - that
it confronts man with a possibility of choice. To verify this, let us review the
whole question upon the strictly philosophic level. What, then, is this that we
call existentialism?
Most of those who are making use of this word would be highly confused if
required to explain its meaning. For since it has become fashionable, people
cheerfully declare that this musician or that painter is "existentialist." A
columnist in Clartes signs himself "The Existentialist," and, indeed, the word
is now so loosely applied to so many things that it no longer means anything at
all. It would appear that, for the lack of any novel doctrine such as that of
surrealism, all those who are eager to join in the latest scandal or movement
now seize upon this philosophy in which, however, they can find nothing to their
purpose. For in truth this is of all teachings the least scandalous and the most
austere: it is intended strictly for technicians and philosophers. All the same,
it can easily be defined.
The question is only complicated because there are two kinds of existentialists.
There are, on the one hand, the Christians, amongst whom I shall name [Karl]
Jaspers and Gabriel Marcel, both professed Catholics; and on the other the
existential atheists, amongst whom we must place Heidegger as well as the French
existentialists and myself. What they have in common is simply the fact that
they believe that existence comes before essence - or, if you will, that we must
begin from the subjective. What exactly do we mean by that? If one considers an
article of manufacture as, for example, a book or a paper-knife - one sees that
it has been made by an artisan who had a conception of it; and he has paid
attention, equally, to the conception of a paper-knife and to the pre-existent
technique of production which is a part of that conception and is, at bottom, a
formula. Thus the paper-knife is at the same time an article producible in a
certain manner and one which, on the other hand, serve a definite purpose, for
one cannot suppose that a man would produce a paper-knife without knowing what
it was for. Let us say, then, of the paperknife that its essence that is to say
the sum of the formulae and the qualities which made its production and its
definition possible - precedes its existence. The presence of such - and - such
a paper-knife or book is thus determined before my eyes. Here, then, we are
viewing the world from a technical standpoint, and we can say that production
precedes existence.
When we think of God as the creator, we are thinking of him, most of the time,
as a supernal artisan. Whatever doctrine we may be considering, whether it be a
doctrine like that of Descartes, or of Leibnitz himself, we always imply that
the will follows, more or less, from the understanding or at least accompanies
it, so that when God creates he knows precisely what he is creating. Thus, the
conception of man in the mind of God is comparable to that of the paper-knife in
the mind of the artisan: God makes man according to a procedure and a
conception, exactly as the artisan manufactures a paper-knife, following a
definition and a formula. Thus each individual man is the realisation of a
certain conception which dwells in the divine understanding. In the philosophic
atheism of the eighteenth century, the notion of God is suppressed, but not, for
all that, the idea that essence is prior to existence; something of that idea we
still find everywhere, in Diderot, in Voltaire and even in Kant. Man possesses a
human nature; that "human nature," which is the conception of human being, is
found in every man; which means that each man is a particular example of a
universal conception, the conception of Man. In Kant, this universality goes so
far that the wild man of the woods, man in the state of nature and the bourgeois
are all contained in the same definition and have the same fundamental
qualities. Here again, the essence of man precedes that historic existence which
we confront in experience.
Atheistic existentialism, of which I am a representative, declares with greater
consistency that if God does not exist there is at least one being whose
existence comes before its essence, a being which exists before it can be
defined by any conception of it. That being is man or, as Heidegger has it, the
human reality. What do we mean by saying that existence precedes essence? We
mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world -
and defines himself afterwards. If man as the existentialist sees him is not
definable, it is because to begin with he is nothing. He will not be anything
until later, and then he will be what he makes of himself. Thus, there is no
human nature, because there is no God to have a conception of it. Man simply is.
Not that he is simply what he conceives himself to be, but he is what he wills,
and as he conceives himself after already existing - as he wills to be after
that leap towards existence. Man is nothing else but that which he makes of
himself. That is the first principle of existentialism. And this is what people
call its "subjectivity," using the word as a reproach against us. But what do we
mean to say by this, but that man is of a greater dignity than a stone or a
table? For we mean to say that man primarily exists - that man is, before all
else, something which propels itself towards a future and is aware that it is
doing so. Man is, indeed, a project which possesses a subjective life, instead
of being a kind of moss, or a fungus or a cauliflower. Before that projection of
the self nothing exists; not even in the heaven of intelligence: man will only
attain existence when he is what he purposes to be. Not, however, what he may
wish to be. For what we usually understand by wishing or willing is a conscious
decision taken - much more often than not - after we have made ourselves what we
are. I may wish to join a party, to write a book or to marry - but in such a
case what is usually called my will is probably a manifestation of a prior and
more spontaneous decision. If, however, it is true that existence is prior to
essence, man is responsible for what he is. Thus, the first effect of
existentialism is that it puts every man in possession of himself as he is, and
places the entire responsibility for his existence squarely upon his own
shoulders. And, when we say that man is responsible for himself, we do not mean
that he is responsible only for his own individuality, but that he is
responsible for all men. The word "subjectivism" is to be understood in two
senses, and our adversaries play upon only one of them. Subjectivism means. on
the one hand, the freedom of the individual subject and, on the other, that man
cannot pass beyond human subjectivity. It is the latter which is the deeper
meaning of existentialism. When we say that man chooses himself, we do mean that
every one of us must choose himself; but by that we also mean that in choosing
for himself he chooses for all men. For in effect, of all the actions a man may
take in order to create himself as he wills to be, there is not one which is not
creative, at the same time, of an image of man such as he believes he ought to
be. To choose between this or that is at the same time to affirm the value of
that which is chosen; for we are unable ever to choose the worse. What we choose
is always the better; and nothing can be better for us unless it is better for
all. If, moreover, existence precedes essence and we will to exist at the same
time as we fashion our image, that image is valid for all and for the entire
epoch in which we find ourselves. Our responsibility is thus much greater than
we had supposed, for it concerns mankind as a whole. If I am a worker, for
instance, I may choose to join a Christian rather than a Communist trade union.
And if, by that membership, I choose to signify that resignation is, after all,
the attitude that best becomes a man, that man's kingdom is not upon this earth,
I do not commit myself alone to that view. Resignation is my will for everyone,
and my action is, in consequence, a commitment on behalf of all mankind. Or if,
to take a more personal case, I decide to marry and to have children, even
though this decision proceeds simply from my situation, from my passion or my
desire, I am thereby committing not only myself, but humanity as a whole, to the
practice of monogamy. I am thus responsible for myself and for all men, and I am
creating a certain image of man as I would have him to be. In fashioning myself
I fashion man.
This may enable us to understand what is meant by such terms - perhaps a little
grandiloquent - as anguish, abandonment and despair. As you will soon see, it is
very simple. First, what do we mean by anguish? - The existentialist frankly
states that man is in anguish. His meaning is as follows: When a man commits
himself to anything, fully realising that he is not only choosing what he will
be, but is thereby at the same time a legislator deciding for the whole of
mankind - in such a moment a man cannot escape from the sense of complete and
profound responsibility. There are many, indeed, who show no such anxiety. But
we affirm that they are merely disguising their anguish or are in flight from
it. Certainly, many people think that in what they are doing they commit no one
but themselves to anything: and if you ask them, "What would happen if everyone
did so?" they shrug their shoulders and reply, "Everyone does not do so." But in
truth, one ought always to ask oneself what would happen if everyone did as one
is doing; nor can one escape from that disturbing thought except by a kind of
self-deception. The man who lies in self-excuse, by saying "Everyone will not do
it" must be ill at ease in his conscience, for the act of lying implies the
universal value which it denies. By its very disguise his anguish reveals
itself. This is the anguish that Kierkegaard called "the anguish of Abraham."
You know the story: An angel commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son: and
obedience was obligatory, if it really was an angel who had appeared and said,
"Thou, Abraham, shalt sacrifice thy son." But anyone in such a case would
wonder, first, whether it was indeed an angel and secondly, whether I am really
Abraham. Where are the proofs? A certain mad woman who suffered from
hallucinations said that people were telephoning to her, and giving her orders.
The doctor asked, "But who is it that speaks to you?" She replied: "He says it
is God." And what, indeed, could prove to her that it was God? If an angel
appears to me, what is the proof that it is an angel; or, if I hear voices, who
can prove that they proceed from heaven and not from hell, or from my own
subconsciousness or some pathological condition? Who can prove that they are
really addressed to me? Who, then, can prove that I am the proper person to
impose, by my own choice, my conception of man upon mankind? I shall never find
any proof whatever; there will be no sign to convince me of it. If a voice
speaks to me, it is still I myself who must decide whether the voice is or is
not that of an angel. If I regard a certain course of action as good, it is only
I who choose to say that it is good and not bad. There is nothing to show that I
am Abraham: nevertheless I also am obliged at every instant to perform actions
which are examples. Everything happens to every man as though the whole human
race had its eyes fixed upon what he is doing and regulated its conduct
accordingly. So every man ought to say, "Am I really a man who has the right to
act in such a manner that humanity regulates itself by what I do." If a man does
not say that, he is dissembling his anguish. Clearly, the anguish with which we
are concerned here is not one that could lead to quietism or inaction. It is
anguish pure and simple, of the kind well known to all those who have borne
responsibilities. When, for instance, a military leader takes upon himself the
responsibility for an attack and sends a number of men to their death, he
chooses to do it and at bottom he alone chooses. No doubt under a higher
command, but its orders, which are more general, require interpretation by him
and upon that interpretation depends the life of ten, fourteen or twenty men. In
making the decision, he cannot but feel a certain anguish. All leaders know that
anguish. It does not prevent their acting, on the contrary it is the very
condition of their action, for the action presupposes that there is a plurality
of possibilities, and in choosing one of these, they realize that it has value
only because it is chosen. Now it is anguish of that kind which existentialism
describes, and moreover, as we shall see, makes explicit through direct
responsibility towards other men who are concerned. Far from being a screen
which could separate us from action, it is a condition of action itself.
And when we speak of "abandonment" - a favourite word of Heidegger - we only
mean to say that God does not exist, and that it is necessary to draw the
consequences of his absence right to the end. The existentialist is strongly
opposed to a certain type of secular moralism which seeks to suppress God at the
least possible expense. Towards 1880, when the French professors endeavoured to
formulate a secular morality, they said something like this: God is a useless
and costly hypothesis, so we will do without it. However, if we are to have
morality, a society and a law-abiding world, it is essential that certain values
should be taken seriously; they must have an a priori existence ascribed to
them. It must be considered obligatory a priori to be honest, not to lie, not to
beat one's wife, to bring up children and so forth; so we are going to do a
little work on this subject, which will enable us to show that these values
exist all the same, inscribed in an intelligible heaven although, of course,
there is no God. In other word - and this is, I believe, the purport of all that
we in France call radicalism - nothing will be changed if God does not exist; we
shall rediscover the same norms of honesty, progress and humanity, and we shall
have disposed of God as an out-of-date hypothesis which will die away quietly of
itself. The existentialist, on the contrary, finds it extremely embarrassing
that God does not exist, for there disappears with Him all possibility of
finding values in an intelligible heaven. There can no longer be any good a
priori, since there is no infinite and perfect consciousness to think it . It is
nowhere written that "the good" exists, that one must be honest or must not lie,
since we are now upon the plane where there are only men. Dostoevsky once wrote
"did God did not exist, everything would be permitted"; and that, for
existentialism, is the starting point. Everything is indeed permitted if God
does not exist, and man is in consequence forlorn, for he cannot find anything
to depend upon either within or outside himself. He discovers forthwith, that he
is without excuse. For if indeed existence precedes essence, one will never be
able to explain one's action by reference to a given and specific human nature;
in other words, there is no determinism - man is free, man is freedom. Nor, on
the other hand, if God does not exist, are we provided with any values or
commands that could legitimise our behaviour. Thus we have neither behind us,
nor before us in a luminous realm of values, any means of justification or
excuse. - We are left alone, without excuse. That is what I mean when I say that
...
ccc84