JeanPaul_Sartre_JeanPaul_Sartre_Basic_Writing
JeanPaul_Sartre_JeanPaul_Sartre_Basic_Writing JeanPaul_Sartre_JeanPaul_Sartre_Basic_Writing
Writing285the real. And yet they remained what they were: young bourgeois of the middle class,supported by their family or practicing a “liberal” profession. So they had to choose:either nothing had been produced—because nothing could be produced—except indreams; and so literature, insofar as it demanded these ruptures, had become impossible.Or the choice of the imaginary, insofar as it represented the common signification ofthat behavior, was an effective and revolutionary step. The Postromantics chose theimaginary so as to be able to write.But the necessity of this choice represents in itself an element of objective neurosis.Let us examine what it means. In the first place, rupture with the real—which isequivalent to condemning it—cannot be lived except as a permanent refusal to adapt;the artist must deny the aims of the race and society in himself and others as much aspossible. And as he does not always manage to do so, the refusal must be imaginary.Similarly, he is required to lose the ordinary comprehension of objects, acts, andwords to the same extent that absolute negation compels him no longer to sharecommon aims. But this incomprehension does not come—as with the philosophers ofthe Platonic cave—from a superior knowledge that would in itself degrade the superficialactivities of men in the name of their underlying essence and the essential goals ofhumanity, or even from a demand for deeper knowledge of them. Outside thisincomprehension there is nothing: it confines itself to manifesting things in a state ofestrangement precisely because of the refusal to integrate them into a real system. Thepoint, in short, is to live in a permanent state of slight depersonalization, sometimessincerely felt, sometimes maintained in the form of a role. In this state, if it can besustained by external assistance, the writer must put himself and the world betweenparentheses; he does not intervene, he abstains. Consequently, things lose their weightof reality and sensation loses its “seriousness”; this is a subtle way of “realizing”absolute negation by reducing the universe to a series of apparitions untested bypraxis and which—by their nothingness of being, the total absence of any coefficientof instrumentality or adversity—are finally equal to appearances. Since art must bethe supreme negation, the content of the work will be that desubstantialized, invisibleuniverse of the imaginary. And in order to obtain the suppression of being in theinterest of the pure, unreal apparition, the artist will have to receive his impressions asif he were imagining them. This is called the aesthetic attitude, the rigorous requirementof a literature that claims its full autonomy just when the bourgeoisie wants a classliterature. With this attitude the artist unrealizes himself and at the same time derealizesthe world. And as art is posited for its own sake through him, these strategies must inthemselves imply a reversal of the usual set of values, making appearances worth
286Jean-Paul Sartre: Basic Writingsmore than realities and any apparition valued in proportion to its quantity of nonbeing.Thus the autonomy of art in 1850 can be obtained only through the nonreality of theartist and the content of the work, since these show us the nonreality of the world orthe subordination of being to appearance. This may mean that the techniques of art areused to destroy the real, to present it in the work as it appears to the aesthetic attitude.Or it may mean that the artist can turn his back on reality, a strategy particularlyfavored in the Symbolist period for the purpose of choosing the imaginary and evenattempting an oneiric literature. The chief thing, in one form or another, is the valorizationof nonbeing. Around this time, the reason for writing is to resurrect vanishedcivilizations, to contest quotidian banality by an exoticism often entirely fabricated inParis. Everything that is no longer there, that is not there, that is fixed in a permanentabsence, is good provided one has access to the resurrected object solely throughimagination. There is nothing accidental in the widespread vogue of Orientalism, thetranslation of sacred Indian songs, the recurrent presence of antique Greece—workson Greek history and art proliferate—but it is more dead and distant than ever. Writersthus hoped to escape their element and wanted that ancient, exotic culture to remainsavage and inaccessible, its unassimilable originality revealing itself in the very heart ofreading to be an image beyond all images, making palpable the nothingness at the veryheart of imagination as the limit imposed on it by absence and death.Absolute-art, an objective determination of literature-to-be-written, imposes therupture with being on its future ministers from the outset. They cannot write withouta metamorphosis which, unable to call itself by name without exposing its neuroticnature, announces itself objectively as an ordination. But the comparison is misleading:a religious order is an institution that sustains the vocation of the neophyte against theexterior and often against himself; in addition, for a believer, and above all in eras whenfaith is a positive bond between men, a young man leaving the world, in what isactually a negative moment, believes he is turning toward the full positivity of being.But when literature makes itself the absolute, that absolute can be only an absolute ofnegation. Thus the vows of the writer commit him only to himself and are posited bythemselves as always revocable. In other words, they will be irrevocable—which is anecessity—only if the artist is unable to revoke them. The fact is that his first negationor renunciation of the world is not supported by any community and, far from beinga source of integration, reveals exile and solitude as his imperative lot; on the otherhand, this negation is not transformed into negativity—or the patient and joyouswork of undermining—or into the gateway to positivity (the neophyte’s access to theprimary truths of the supernatural plenitude of real being). It must remain radical
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<strong>Writing</strong>285the real. And yet they remained what they were: young bourgeois of the middle class,supported by their family or practicing a “liberal” profession. So they had to choose:either nothing had been produced—because nothing could be produced—except indreams; and so literature, insofar as it demanded these ruptures, had become impossible.Or the choice of the imaginary, insofar as it represented the common signification ofthat behavior, was an effective and revolutionary step. The Postromantics chose theimaginary so as to be able to write.But the necessity of this choice represents in itself an element of objective neurosis.Let us examine what it means. In the first place, rupture with the real—which isequivalent to condemning it—cannot be lived except as a permanent refusal to adapt;the artist must deny the aims of the race and society in himself and others as much aspossible. And as he does not always manage to do so, the refusal must be imaginary.Similarly, he is required to lose the ordinary comprehension of objects, acts, andwords to the same extent that absolute negation compels him no longer to sharecommon aims. But this incomprehension does not come—as with the philosophers ofthe Platonic cave—from a superior knowledge that would in itself degrade the superficialactivities of men in the name of their underlying essence and the essential goals ofhumanity, or even from a demand for deeper knowledge of them. Outside thisincomprehension there is nothing: it confines itself to manifesting things in a state ofestrangement precisely because of the refusal to integrate them into a real system. Thepoint, in short, is to live in a permanent state of slight depersonalization, sometimessincerely felt, sometimes maintained in the form of a role. In this state, if it can besustained by external assistance, the writer must put himself and the world betweenparentheses; he does not intervene, he abstains. Consequently, things lose their weightof reality and sensation loses its “seriousness”; this is a subtle way of “realizing”absolute negation by reducing the universe to a series of apparitions untested bypraxis and which—by their nothingness of being, the total absence of any coefficientof instrumentality or adversity—are finally equal to appearances. Since art must bethe supreme negation, the content of the work will be that desubstantialized, invisibleuniverse of the imaginary. And in order to obtain the suppression of being in theinterest of the pure, unreal apparition, the artist will have to receive his impressions asif he were imagining them. This is called the aesthetic attitude, the rigorous requirementof a literature that claims its full autonomy just when the bourgeoisie wants a classliterature. With this attitude the artist unrealizes himself and at the same time derealizesthe world. And as art is posited for its own sake through him, these strategies must inthemselves imply a reversal of the usual set of values, making appearances worth