The existentialist philosopher, Jean Paul Satre, was a man
of letters, writing plays, novels, and screenplays, and of course, philosophy. He
was a lot of things in his time, including a political activist (Marxist), and
a literary critic. Everything I’ve read of his is supremely intelligent and
thoroughly thought out, and it all makes me sense that he really has something
valuable to say. And these couple plays only encouraged me to read more from
Sartre in the future. They are short vignettes expressive of his philosophy of man’s
freedom to choose, and the responsibility to act; and in typical Sartre
fashion, they are passionate in expression, and challenging to thought-norms. No Exit wasn’t my favorite, but The Flies was amazing.
No Exit was set in
a room which signified the hereafter, and served as a rendezvous for 3 people
who were assigned this confined space as their punishment for eternity. What
follows is basically mind games between the three in which one of them struggles
futilely to love themselves, another is doomed to unrequited love, and another
questions his previous life’s level of courage and strength of will. The line from
the play which best summarizes it: “Hell is—other people!”
The play was alright as a whole and packed some fun
surprises in the dialogue, but I mostly liked the discussion surrounding the
man who lacked courage. He wanted to believe that his acts in his previous life
pointed towards a greater courage in
posse that was never actuated. Through this character, Sartre neatly
dismisses any myth we might cherish regarding the potential of one’s life apart
from action with these brilliant words: “One always dies too soon—or too late.
And yet one’s whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly
under it, ready for the summing up. You are—your life, and nothing else.”
The Flies was
amazing as a declaration of defiance against conventional, social penitence as
a salve to conscience; and against obeisance paid to any god that might excuse
us from taking personal responsibility. The way Sartre seems to possess his
hero, Orestes, to stand in the face of Zeus and scream his threat of defection
from a weak, anemic divinity who grows fat on the fears and tears of his
worshippers is truly inspiring. When threatened with the lifting of God’s
finger to destroy him, Orestes smugly replies in full confidence of moral
conviction, “Then do so. Lift a finger, lift your whole hand while you are
about it.” Smartass…but I loved it.
The play begins with the murder of a king and the subsequent
mourning of the city for standing idly by while it happened. The new king falls
into self-abasing remorse as well, and initiates superstitious rites that lead
the people into lugubrious public grieving and intense psychological pressure
to prostrate themselves before God in life-long repentance. Little known to the
new king, the old king’s son, Orestes, was smuggled out of the city, and now returns
to see if he can save his sister who is now the mistreated slave of the court. Flies,
metaphors for the tormenting furies of guilt—“the goddesses of remorse”—swarm
through the dispirited city, burdening the life of drudgery that the residents
feel condemned to.
Orestes decides to commit himself to rid the city from the
oppressive influence of the current king’s reign, and tries to free his sister
from the grip that fear has on her. In
the grand finale, he debates Zeus, mocking him in the spirit of Elijah, though
he fully acknowledges that Zeus has the power to cause him anguish. But he has
no remorse for doing what he felt was right, and he is committed to the
furthest repercussions of his decision despite numerous opportunities to ‘take
it back’. He would rather suffer under the hands of a tyrant-god than be his
friend, and in doing so, he proved his superiority and power of freedom, rather
than pay for the happiness of a slave in demonstrations of grief and cowardice.
Also emphasized in this play is Sartre’s well-known
philosophy on the personalized nature of experience—the ‘own-able’ situations
that people find themselves in. “Whatever happens to you, happens through you,
and moreover, whatever happens to you is yours” (from Being and Nothingness). In
claiming one’s situation and making the best out of it, one is claiming
themselves, because every person is in part a product of their time and
culture, and is therefore ‘co-author’ of their situation by choosing life
instead of suicide or desertion of responsibility. In the play, Orestes, the
old king’s son, willingly chooses to accept the role of pariah and hunted
rebel, even though he knows he will be killed and will possibly lose his sister.
He does this because, by owning a situation—any situation—he is coming to form
a true identity through connections to the world and memories which endear life
to him. He argues with his mentor throughout the story as his mentor tries to
help him choose a safe life, a smart life, a wealthy life. He chooses instead a
path that is dangerous and unknown, and declares boldly and proudly, “Today I
have one path only, and heaven knows where it leads. But it is my path.” He has come to full possession
of himself, and feels at home.
And nothing could have prepared me for the exhilaration I
felt in reading Orestes cutting Zeus down to size by—get this—sympathizing with
him. “You are God, and I am free; each of us is alone, and our anguish is
akin.” He stands to his full height in this passage, feels no pity for himself,
and takes on the full responsibility of his freedom and anxiety of existence. The
ending is tragic-heroic, and is a challenge for us to realize our potential
that often lies wheezing beneath the fat idol of religion or convention.
Pushing that fat mother off us requires a willingness to hurt a little for
love, and necessitates a real conviction of our worth and value in this
universe that won’t be easily shaken when others, unable or unwilling to love
themselves, tell us we’re worthless.
I especially admired the way the hero stands firm in the
face of a ‘bad’ god, whom he doesn’t even feel the need to dismiss as unreal or
powerless. Sartre seems to be implying that each of our gods, whatever name
they may have, may very well be the highest power in our life, but if he/she
isn’t good, then we have the responsibility to ‘out-moral’ him, and launch a
resistance against their power. We may not fare well physically, but
spiritually we conquer by our refusal to cower before evil. We win.
Sartre has masterfully demonstrated his philosophy in this
play, and it is a perfect specimen to share with others to introduce them to
Sartre’s thought and application of his theories.
