INTRODUCTION

In 1943, the same year in which appeared Albert Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus,¹ John Paul Sartre published his Being and Nothingness.² There is no doubt that both works were written independently of one another. This does not mean that one cannot point to certain common sources in which the authors have taken their points of departure. Nevertheless, Camus was relatively unfamiliar with the philosophical conception of Sartre, who, in turn, did not know much about the work of Camus. Even where the matter of common sources is concerned, a comparative study of the philosophical development of the two authors soon shows that their common sources were relatively small in number. To the best of my knowledge, Camus' philosophy shows little or no direct influence from Hegel, Heidegger, or Husserl, the very philosophers who are certainly among the major sources of Sartre's inspiration.

Although The Myth of Sisyphus and Being and Nothingness may be said to be relatively independent of one another, they do exhibit certain very striking ideas in common: atheism, a certain `absurdist' theory, the importance of man's freedom, the fact that man is a `stranger' in his world, the meaning of man's death, the idea of `revolt', and the many ethical consequences of these basic ideas. On the other hand, there are equally striking differences: whereas Sartre denies that man has a `nature', for Camus this fact is undeniable; where Sartre seems to allow room for suicide, Camus definitely rejects suicide as a permissible act regardless of the circumstances involved; finally, where Sartre defends a morality of ambiguity, Camus seems to allow for an unquestionable, and for that matter, `absolute' value.³

In this essay I intend to examine the ethical views of Sartre and Camus for the dual purpose of delineating as clearly as possible both their points of agreement and their differences, and attempting to understand the basic conceptions in which they are ultimately founded. As the conclusion of the study I shall present some reflections which I hope will shed light on the basic issues with which every moral philosophy must cope before it is capable of formulating its point of view in regard to concrete issues.

Since I have previously dealt with Sartre's conception of ethics in another context⁴ I prefer to limit myself here to some basic ideas which in my view are vital to an understanding of the position which Sartre adopts toward ethics. Though some repetition is unavoidable, I shall try to keep it to a minimum.

SARTRE'S ETHICS

In Being and Nothingness Sartre has given us an outline of his phenomenological ontology. At the end of the book⁵ he refers to the ethical implications of this new kind of ontology and explicitly promises to develop a systematic survey of an existentialist ethics in a later work. This work was never written because Sartre gradually came to the conclusion that the project of working out a systematic ethics was irrelevant, if not completely impossible. There is, however, a popular lecture which touches on ethical problems and there are some papers (to be found in Situations) which deal with ethical issues.⁶ Since it is beyond the scope of this study to deal with questions connected with Sartre's later position, from 1950 on, I shall consider here only his conception of an `existentialist ethics' as promised in Being and Nothingness and later touched upon in some of his publications appearing between 1943 and 1950. In doing so I shall be making extensive use of the commentaries of de Beauvoir⁷ and Jeanson,⁸ who have written at length on Sartre's basic conception and in many instances have made his view more explicit.

In the Conclusion of Being and Nothingness Sartre begins his reflections on "Ethical Implications" with the remark that ontology as such cannot formulate ethical norms. Ontology is merely concerned with what is, and it is impossible to derive moral imperatives from ontological indicatives. On the other hand, it is undeniably true that an ontological theory has moral implications, for it confronts us with a human reality in its situation, and it is able to show that a being which founds itself (causa sui), that is to say a consciousness which perfectly coincides with itself, is absolutely contradictory. This ontology also shows us that the various tasks of the For-itself (consciousness) can be made the object of an existential psychoanalysis, in that all of these tasks aim at producing the missing synthesis of consciousness and being in the form of value, that is of self-cause. Under these conditions existential psychoanalysis becomes moral description in that it communicates to us the ethical meaning of the various human projects.⁹

In the passage which follows¹⁰ Sartre states that ontology and existential psychoanalysis must show man that he himself as moral agent is the being by whom values exist. However, the moment that man realizes that he is the source of all values, he finds himself in anguish because he understands that under this condition there will not be any values unless man himself brings them about, and that before they are brought about they are just possibilities which continuously refer to other mere possibilities without ever finding a resting point in a definitive ground. Earlier philosophers obviously never denied that possibilities can either be chosen or rejected, but they were able to avoid pure chaos by admitting an ultimate value of some sort from which an order can be derived. In whatever concrete form it was proposed, this ultimate value had the ontological status of an ens causa sui, that is to say, of God.

But, one may ask, what becomes of human freedom, if it turns us back upon this value? Sartre answers this question with some provocative counter-questions: will freedom try to carry this ultimate value with it by attempting to materialize in itself the In-itself-for-itself; in other words, will man try to make himself God in order to be man? Or will man try to make himself man in order to be God; that is to say, will freedom by apprehending itself as a freedom merely in relation to itself try to rid itself of a supreme value outside itself? But how is it possible for freedom to take itself as the source of all values? Must not human freedom necessarily be defined in relation to a transcendent value which haunts it? Let us suppose that human freedom can will itself as its own determining value, what does this precisely mean? Is not a freedom which wills itself as freedom, necessarily and at the same time, both a being which is not what-it-is and a being which is what-it-is-not? Does not such a freedom necessarily choose as the ideal of all being that being which it is not, as well as that not-being which it is? Must not such a freedom necessarily keep fleeing itself and maintaining itself always at a distance from itself, in which case this freedom would continuously be in bad faith? Or is there perhaps another fundamental attitude than the one referred to here by the expression `bad faith'? If freedom takes itself for an end, does it then escape all situations, or will it remain situated? Or will it perhaps situate itself so much the more exactly and individually as it projects itself further in anguish as a conditioned freedom, and accepts more fully its responsibility as a being by whom the entire world comes into being?¹¹

In Being and Nothingness Sartre does not explicitly answer any of these questions. He promises there, however, to return to the questions in a later work, though, as we have seen, this work has never appeared, mainly because his philosophy has considerably changed after 1950. In his popular essay Existentialism is a Humanism, however, he clearly indicates the direction in which he would have answered these questions had the book he promised in 1943 been written before the advent of a number of fundamental changes in his overall philosophical position. In addition, Simone de Beauvoir and Francis Jeanson have commented extensively on Sartre's view and developed it more systematically. It is particularly in their works that a clear insight into Sartre's view on ethics is to be found.

Since as I have already indicated that my interest here is directed toward an attempt to understand the precise meaning of the moral implications of Sartre's existentialism, and in view of the fact that I have commented on Sartre's popular essay on another occasion, at this point I shall present a brief outline of an existentialist ethics as explicitated by Simone de Beauvoir. Jeanson's commentary will be introduced toward the end of this essay.

Simone de Beauvoir begins her explanation of an existentialist ethics by pointing to the fact that in every atheistic conception of existentialism man's death plays a role, which in many aspects is analogous to the role an absolute Being plays in a theistic conception of philosophy. Although the talk is very seldom explicitly about death, this nonetheless `flavors' everything. In a theistic philosophy, in the final analysis, everything will work out well; whereas in an atheistic philosophy everything is spoiled and vitiated in advance by man's death which, more than anything else, points to the tragic ambiguity of his condition and the paralyzing paradox of his destiny. As a rational being man is able to escape from his natural condition, but his death makes it impossible for him to free himself from it.¹²

As long as men have lived, they have felt this tragic ambiguity of their condition; and as long as there have been men, they have tried to overcome this ambiguity by denying it, repressing it, revolting against it, or perhaps by living with it. Many philosophers of the past have tried to mask this basic ambiguity by reducing mind to matter, by reabsorbing matter into mind, by merging them into one substance, or by establishing a harmony between body and soul which then allows for considering as negligible that part of man which cannot be saved. The ethics which these philosophers have proposed has always tried to eliminate the basic ambiguity by making man either pure inwardness or pure externality. Although at the present time many philosophers still pursue the same course, many today feel more acutely than ever the paradox of their condition. Among others, Sartre in his philosophy faced this fundamental ambiguity and developed a philosophical view in which the basic paradox of man's condition is not denied. Sartre was convinced that it is in the clear knowledge of the genuine condition of his life that man must draw his strength to live and his reason for action.¹³

When in Being and Nothingness Sartre defined man as that being whose being is not to be, that subjectivity which can realize itself only as a presence in the world, and as freedom in that situation, he did so because he was convinced that man has to assume his fundamental ambiguity. For the same reason, existential philosophy must define itself as a philosophy of ambiguity.

It is true that in such a philosophy anguish and despair play a very important part in that they ultimately lead to the insight that man is a useless passion, that he tries in vain to materialize the synthesis of the For-itself and the In-itself and thereby to make himself God. One must realize, however, that even the most optimistic philosophy has to begin by emphasizing an element of failure in man, because without that element all ethics is impossible. It makes no sense to talk about having-to-be, except for a being who questions himself in his being, who is at a distance from himself and, thus, continuously has to be his being. Obviously, one may make the remark here that an element of failure, which in principle cannot be overcome, makes ethics equally impossible. For why should man try to overcome his failure if he knows in advance that there is no hope, since that which he wishes to accomplish is contradictory. Man does not have the means to help himself become the being he is not.

Although this is true, it does not mean that man is without hope. Indeed, man is unable to bring about meaning which will then be established once and for all; he is unable to create values which are absolute and eternal or to do anything which has the character of a divine action. But to say this is not tantamount to saying that man's life is altogether meaningless; it merely means that man who originally found himself in a realm of ambiguity will always remain within this realm. Remaining within the realm of ambiguity, he is, nonetheless, a genuine source of meaning and value. When Sartre says that man is a useless passion, he means to say that man begins as a finite being and will end as a finite being; that although he wishes to transcend his finitude, he will never succeed. To say that man is a useless passion means, therefore, that man will never be able to bring about an absolute value and, on the other hand, that there is no absolute value toward which man can orientate his finite activities. In other words, when man for the first time chooses to be a being who makes himself a lack of being in order that there might be being, at that very first moment the expressions `useful' and `useless' still lack all meaning, because there is still no value in relation to which one might distinguish the useless from the useful.

However, once man himself has established a world by his project and by the ends he sets up, then his action can be meaningful or meaningless, either in regard to the order he himself has established or in regard to an ideal he has projected for himself. The fact that in the original helplessness from which man emerges nothing is useful and nothing useless means merely that man's passion does not have a justification outside itself. This does not mean, however, that this passion could not justify itself. The fact that man's freedom has no reason a priori to will itself, by no means entails that it cannot give itself reasons for being, and the fact that these reasons remain within the realm of ambiguity does not alter this. Simply because in man's life meaning is never found a priori and is always interwoven with lack of meaning, we are not given the right to speak of man's life as an absolutely meaningless passion and to defend the thesis of an absolute absurdity. If one wishes to respect the human condition as it is experienced by man himself, it is not possible to speak of eternal truths or eternal values, but it is equally impossible to defend a form of pure nihilism and to deny every truth and every value. Classical idealism and its radical negation, pure nihilism, defend both unacceptable forms of absolutism.¹⁴

Let us now assume for a moment that man, indeed, is free to choose for himself the conditions of the life he wishes to live. Does not this necessarily mean that in such a case man can choose whatever he likes? Is not everything then permitted, so that once again all ethics would be excluded? Existentialism answers this question in the negative. First of all, God's absence does not exclude ethics; rather, it is the necessary condition under which a genuine ethics is possible. If there were a God, then there would be absolute values. Everything would be determined in advance, and man would not be really free; but if man is not really free, then ethics is impossible. Furthermore, far from God's absence making everything permissible, the contrary is the case, because man alone is now completely responsible for what he is and for the world which he establishes. Existentialism, Sartre says, puts every man in possession of himself, and thus places the entire responsibility for his own existence as well as for his world squarely upon his own shoulders. Man is responsible not only for himself alone but for all men; every man must choose himself, but in choosing himself he chooses for all men. In creating himself, man projects an image of man such as he believes it ought to be. To choose something is to affirm the value of that which is chosen, for I can choose only what is good for me and nothing can be good for me, unless it is somehow good for all of us. When a man commits himself to something, fully realizing that he is not only choosing what he will be but is thereby a legislature deciding for the whole of mankind, he cannot escape from the sense of complete and profound responsibility; at that moment man appears to himself as anguish.

Sartre is deeply aware here of the differences between his view and that defended by Kant. Kant did not realize the very essence of man's situation as we just have attempted to briefly describe it. Everyone who realizes the nature of man's situation knows at once that he is certainly not the proper person to impose, by his own free choice, his conception of man upon mankind. Nevertheless it remains true that as man I am obliged at every instant to perform actions which are examples: everything happens to every man as if the whole of mankind has its eyes fixed upon what he is doing and will regulate its conduct accordingly. At the same time I know that I do not have the right to act in such a way that humanity regulates itself by what I do. Finally, I know that even if the other is going to regulate his actions by what I am doing he still remains within the realm of inauthenticity, because he does not understand that he, too, is free and that values exist only insofar as they are freely chosen. In other words, he does not see that he, too, is left alone without excuse and condemned to be free. Purely formal advice in the manner of Kant's maxims is much too abstract to determine a person's concrete behavior in the ambiguous situations in which he continuously finds himself.¹⁵

One sees, therefore, that Simone de Beauvoir is quite correct in claiming that although Sartre's view shows some similarity to the Kantian approach to ethics, nonetheless it differs fundamentally from Kant's view. It attempts to transcend the subjectivist and solipsist points of view in ethics by means of an appeal not to an impersonal universal man, but to the plurality of concrete, particular men, who project themselves toward their ends on the basis of situations whose particularity is as radical as subjectivity itself. In other words, existentialist ethics is deeply aware of the fact that the plurality of autonomous men implies a very difficult problem for ethics: it has to explain somehow that separate beings can be bound to each other and that their individual freedom can forge laws which are universally valid for all. Seeing and admitting the problem, however, does not mean admitting that it cannot be solved. Existentialism is proud to stress this problem in such strong terms because it believes that in so doing it by far surpasses the philosophy of Hegel, who has attempted to efface the separation of men, thus to put us off with a quasi-solution.¹⁶

Marxism, which finds itself in the same position as existentialism, has tried to solve the problem by admitting, on the one hand, that the goal and meaning of action must be defined by human wills, and by positing, on the other hand, that these wills are not genuinely free, but merely reflect objective conditions by which the situation of a class or a nation is defined. Existentialism, however, maintains the freedom of man's will and tries to find in freedom itself a principle of action whose range is universal. All ethics must consider human life as a game that can be won or lost, then teach man how to win the game.

Previously we have stressed the basic ambiguity of man's situation: he wishes to be, and to the extent that he coincides with this wish he fails. All the plans in which this will-to-be tries to materialize itself are condemned in advance, and all goals circumscribed by these plans must remain phantoms. On the other hand, man wills himself to be the disclosure of being; to the extent that he coincides with this wish he wins, for then the world becomes present by his presence in it. In other words, to assert oneself as freedom and to wish for the disclosure of the world constitute one and the same movement. In this sense it is true that freedom is the source from which all meaning and all value spring.

The man who seeks to justify his life must want freedom itself absolutely and above everything else. At the same time that it requires the realization of concrete ends, of particular projects, it requires itself universally. It is not a ready-made value which offers itself from the outside to my abstract adherence, but it appears . . . as a cause of itself. It is necessarily summoned up by the values which it sets up and through which it sets itself up. . . . To will oneself moral and to will oneself free are one and the same decision.¹⁷

Thus, in the final analysis, the universality of moral laws cannot rest upon the existence of an absolute Being, nor on the existence or validity of absolute values. This universality is the consequence of the universality of the human condition and thus, ultimately, is founded in the fact that man, in willing his own freedom, cannot not will the freedom of others.¹⁸

We have just seen that according to existentialism man, and man alone, is able to give meaning to the world and to his own life by means of an authentic, free attempt to conquer the absurdity of the world. He does this by concrete projects which are not guided by pre-existing values, but which precisely constitute meaning and bring values about. These projects are finite because they are essentially temporal, but each one of them opens up possibilities for further projects. The meaning which is brought to light in this way is, of course, precarious and ambiguous because of the essential finitude of man and the impossibility of radically transcending it. But man is able to disclose the meaning of the world, and in this disclosure there exists a human transcendence of absurdity and the salvation of man. However, such salvation is possible only if, despite obstacles and failures, a man preserves the command of his future, and if each time the situation keeps opening up additional possibilities to him. In the event his transcendence is cut off from its goal, or there is no longer any hold on objects which might give it a valid content, his spontaneity is paralyzed and he may no longer be able to justify his existence.¹⁹

There is no more untenable way to punish a man than to force him to perform acts which make no sense to him, as when one would be made to fill and empty the same ditch indefinitely. This mystification of useless effort is more intolerable than fatigue. Revolt, insofar as it is a purely negative movement, remains abstract; it is fulfilled as freedom only by returning to the positive, that is, by giving itself a content through action. By destroying the given situation human transcendence then seeks the whole future which will flow from its victory; it resumes its indefinite rapport with itself. There are limit situations, however, where this return to the positive is impossible and the future is radically blocked off. In these circumstances, revolt can be achieved only in the definitive rejection of the imposed situation, that is, in suicide.²⁰

It can be seen, therefore, that freedom can always save itself, for it is realized as a disclosure of meaning through its very failure, and it can again confirm itself by a death freely chosen. On the other hand, the situations which freedom discloses through its projects toward itself do not appear as equivalent. Freedom regards itself as indefinite movement, that is, freedom wishes to pass beyond everything which limits its power; and yet, this power is always limited. Thus, just as life is identified with the will-to-live, freedom always appears as movement toward liberation.²¹

If these ideas were to be developed in greater detail, a very concrete picture of an existentialist ethics would begin to show itself. But whatever the details may be, this ethics will never transcend the basic ambiguity in which it assumed its point of departure. This is why Simone de Beauvoir employs the expression `the ethics of ambiguity' in referring to existentialist ethics. In explaining this expression she carefully points out that, as we have noted, ambiguity must not be confused with absurdity as understood in all nihilist philosophies. To say that man's existence is absurd is to deny that it can ever be given any meaning; to say that it is ambiguous is to assert that its meaning is never determined, but must be constantly brought about in freedom. If man's life is absurd, then all ethics is impossible. Ethics would be impossible also if, with classical rationalism and idealism, one were to defend the thesis that the rationalization of the real, that is of the world and of man himself, could ever be completed and finished. It is precisely because man's condition is ambiguous that he seeks to save his existence, and in turn this implies that there will be failure as well as success.

Man's moral action, as is true for his artistic and scientific endeavors, is such that in any particular case human transcendence must always cope with the same problem: it has to found itself, though it is prohibited from ever fulfilling itself. In other words, man must in any event and under any circumstances assume his finitude: not by treating his existence as transitory, but by reflecting the `infinite' within it and by treating it as absolute. There is a liberation of man only if, in aiming at itself, freedom is achieved absolutely in the very fact of aiming at itself. This requires that each action be considered as a finished form whose different moments, instead of fleeing toward the future in order to find there their justification, reflect and confirm each other so well that there is no longer a sharp separation between present and future, between means and end. If these moments are to constitute a unity, they cannot contradict one another. Since the liberation toward which man aims is a movement which tries to realize itself by tending to conquer, it cannot attain itself if it denies itself at the very start. In other words, no action can seek to fulfill itself by means which would destroy its very meaning. That is why in certain situations there will be no other possibility for man than rejection.²²

CAMUS' ABSURDISM

Differing fundamentally from Sartre, Camus explicitly admits that his philosophy has its origin in moral problems and that for this reason it is essentially ethical. In his first publication Camus attempts to defend man against himself, whereas in his later publications he tries to protect man against society. As he himself explains, in the age of negation it was of prime importance to examine one's position concerning suicide; in the age of ideologies it is necessary to examine our position in regard to murder. Before World War II people denied many things, to the point even of denying themselves by suicide. At that time many people felt that God, world, and they themselves were deceitful; for that reason they chose to die. Suicide was the problem then. After the war we have lived in an age of ideologies, which is concerned only with the denial of other human beings, who alone bear the responsibility of deceit. It is in this context that man kills; every day assassins in the robes of judges slip into some cell and kill. Murder is the problem today. In other words, Camus is convinced that in this age, for many people, the world is absurd; he himself subscribes to this view. But whereas many people have drawn from this fact the conclusion that suicide and murder are permissible, Camus hopes to prove that even, and precisely, in an absurdist point of view suicide as well as murder are to be eliminated radically from our human `possibilities'.²³

In The Myth of Sisyphus Camus begins by asking the question whether man's life has meaning. Even at the very beginning of the book Camus makes it quite clear that he is inclined to answer this question in the negative: man's life is meaningless. As a reason for this view he refers explicitly to the fact that for him, as well as for many others, there is no God. In other words, Camus argues, for anyone who does not believe in God, the absurdist position is the only genuine alternative. However, Camus continues, although it is true that there is no God and that the world is absurd, suicide is not legitimate; the absurdist position is the only sincere invitation to live and to be creative in the very midst of the desert.²⁴

For Camus there is but one serious philosophical problem, namely the question of whether man's life has meaning. Determining whether or not life is worth living is tantamount to answering philosophy's most fundamental question. Many people who believed they had to answer this basic question in the negative thought that for the same reason they had to face the problem of suicide. In Camus' view it is not difficult to justify that conclusion, for one could say, for instance, that anyone who kills himself confesses that life was not worth the trouble. People normally continue making the gestures demanded by the situation, and in their choice they are guided by custom and habit. One day, however, a man can realize the ridiculous character of such a habit, the insanity of that daily agitation, the uselessness of all suffering, and the absence of any profound reason for life. Once the world is deprived of every illusion and of all rights, man feels himself a stranger; finally, he understands that his exile is without remedy because there is left only the memory of a lost home and no hope whatsoever of a promised land. The moment this divorce between man and the world in which he was accustomed to living has come about man faces the absurd, and it is absurdity which seems to lead logically to suicide.²⁵

In The Myth of Sisyphus Camus wishes to examine the question whether or not such a view is right. What is the precise relationship between the absurd and the act of suicide? To what degree is suicide indeed a solution to the absurd? It is not easy to answer these questions. Many people argue that the questions are not properly formulated. For them it is obvious that life has meaning, and that consequently the suicide question need not be asked. Camus does not agree with such a view, for were one to ask these people to show us that life has meaning, they would not know what to say. They cannot show anything or prove any of the assertions they would like to make, but can point only to faith and hope in regard to another life, or to some great idea that gives man's life meaning. Camus is of the opinion that pointing to faith and hope is one, and even the most typical, way of evading the genuine philosophical problem. Other people admit the absurdity of the world and man's life, but refuse to reflect on these truths or to draw any conclusions from them. By continuously remaining in a sphere of inauthenticity they, too, evade the real problem.

Finally, most people who admit the absurdist thesis, and are willing to draw all the conclusions it entails, make the mistake of claiming that refusing to grant a meaning to life necessarily leads to declaring that it is not worth living. In other words, these people argue that once it is admitted that man's life does not have meaning, one must admit also that life is not worth living. In Camus' view, however, there is no necessary connection between these two statements, and the maintenance of such a connection is the main prejudice which prevents one from seeing a third solution. It is obviously true that people kill themselves because life is not worth living for them. The question, however, is whether people indeed kill themselves because life has no meaning. Could it not be the case that precisely because life has no meaning, life is worth living? In other words, could it not be the case that the absurdity of the world and of man's life is the only legitimate presupposition under which man's life can be creative and free? Camus is convinced that life's absurdity by no means logically requires one to escape it either through hope or through suicide.²⁶

Camus' view clearly rests upon two presuppositions: the absurdist thesis, and the conviction that there is no way to completely transcend the paradox of the absurd. Since the absurdist thesis has been defended by many philosophers, Camus feels that a few well-chosen remarks suffice to convince the reader of its truth. Anyone who seriously and consistently dares to ask `why' things happen to him the way they do happen will touch upon the absurd. Anyone who thinks about his future will encounter the absurd. Anyone who reflects upon the density and strangeness of the world he lives in will meet the absurd. Anyone who reflects upon the inhumanity of man comes across the absurd. Finally, anyone who dares to face his own death faces the absurd.

After this `rapid classification of well-known and obvious themes', Camus focusses all of his attention on the consequences of this discovery of the absurd. He first shows that neither science, art, philosophy, or religion is able to show man the way to transcend this paradox of the absurd. A man who seriously and consistently reflects upon the conditions in which he finds himself must come to the conclusion that he really does not know whether this world and his life have a meaning that transcends the world as well as his life. Such a man, however, does know for certain that it is absolutely impossible for him to know something like that because a meaning outside his condition obviously means nothing to him. A man can understand only in human terms, and that is why he will always remain unable to reconcile these two certainties he is convinced of: his appetite for the absolute and for unity, and the impossibility of reducing world and life to one rational principle. What other truth can a man admit without lying, or bringing in hope to which he is not entitled, and which, furthermore, means nothing within the limits of his condition?²⁷

Nonetheless, many people seem to be quite reluctant to admit this simple truth. They feel that this is the point where the question becomes one of whether one is going to commit suicide or trying to escape via some kind of leap; they appear unable to see the third possibility, namely to take up the heart-rending and marvelous gamble of the absurd. Camus admits that the temptation to leap is certainly there for the absurd man: given the history of mankind with its religions and prophets, man is asked to leap. But if this man is serious and consistent he must also admit that he does not understand it, and that it is not wise to do something one does not fully understand. The various religions will try to convince him that his attitude is dictated by pride and that pride constitutes man's `original sin'; but, again, if such a man is serious and consistent he must say to himself that he does not even understand the notion of sin. People tell him he will end up in hell, but his imagination is unable to picture such a bizarre future; they tell him that he will lose immortal life, but that seems to him an idle consideration for a finite man; people try to get him to admit his guilt, but he himself feels innocent and believes that this irreparable innocence allows him everything. That is why he demands to be permitted to live solely with what he knows and understands, to accommodate himself to what is obviously the case, and to bring in nothing that is not certain.²⁸

From this it becomes clear, Camus argues, that the genuine question is not one of ascertaining whether or not life has to have a meaning in order to be lived, but rather one of whether or not life will be better lived if it has no meaning at all. Anyone who adheres to the facts must admit that man's life has no meaning. Instead of trying to deny this fact, man must try to maintain the absurdity. Negating one of the terms of the opposition in which he finds himself, amounts to escaping his own destiny. To abolish revolt in advance is to sidestep the whole problem. For a man, living means precisely to keep the absurd alive in revolt; that is why revolt is the sole, coherent philosophical position.

Suicide, as well as the leap into religious faith, is a denial of the undeniable absurdity of man's life. Suicide is total negation, the acceptance of a limit beyond which everything is finished; suicide settles the absurd in that it engulfs it in the same death. The leap into hope and faith is total affirmation, making all genuine questioning impossible. In the realm of faith there are only answers which are given in the form of myths and their interpretation by theologians. These answers settle all problems in advance, such as the question concerning the meaning of life, of good and evil, of life and death, and of duty and right. Then all is known beforehand and the values referred to in these answers are absolute, divine, and thus unquestionable. The only thing man is allowed to do is live a life of obedience, awe, and worship. For Camus it is clear that in order to remain true to the condition of absurdity in which man undeniably finds himself, he must reject both suicide and the leap into religion, and enter `into that hopeless confrontation between man's questioning and the silence of the world'. The most fundamental human act and the first decisive revolt against the meaninglessness of life is to choose life and to establish it as the only necessary good. In other words, it is revolt alone which gives a man's life its meaning and value.²⁹

It is true, Camus summarizes, that the absurd cancels all our chances of eternal life, but we must realize also that it is the absurd which restores and even magnifies our freedom in action. Before encountering the absurd, man lives with aims, goals, and means; there is a constant concern for the future; and thus man becomes the slave of his own projects. After the absurd is realized, everything is upset. There is no goal and there is no future; thus, I must be indifferent to both. In turn, this means that there is freedom for my desire to expend everything given to me. "Do not aspire to immortal life; exhaust the limits of the possible".³⁰

Camus concludes The Myth of Sisyphus by stating that he feels the philosopher should take his starting point in the undeniable fact of the absurdity of man's life. From this he must draw three consequences: man's revolt, his freedom, and his passion for life. In so doing he transforms into a rule of life what at first sight seemed to be an invitation to death. A good philosopher refuses suicide as a genuine human possibility.³¹

In The Rebel Camus again takes his point of departure in the absurdist thesis, but this time he focusses his attention on the problem of murder as it has manifested itself in this century so tangibly in Russia, Germany, Spain, China, Korea, and so on. At first sight it seems again that the awareness of the absurd makes murder into a matter of indifference. One is tempted to say that if man believes in nothing, if nothing has any meaning for him, if he can affirm no values whatsoever, then everything seems to be possible, and nothing has any real importance. Then murder is neither right nor wrong. "We are free to stoke the crematory fires or to devote ourselves to the care of lepers; evil and virtue are mere chance and caprice."³²

Under the influence of this reflection, which at least prima facie seems to be true, one could say: let us then not act at all. But this obviously amounts to at least accepting the murders committed by others. One might decide to substitute a kind of tragic dilettantism for action; but this is tantamount to considering human lives as pieces in a game. Finally, one might decide to take some serious action. In this case, in view of the fact that there are no higher values to guide one's behavior, one could decide to aim at immediate efficacy. But since nothing is either true or false, good or evil, this guiding principle will lead one to believe that he has to demonstrate that he is the most efficient, that is, that he is the strongest. In this way the world is no longer divided into the just and unjust, but into masters and slaves. We must conclude from this, that whichever way man turns in this abyss of negation and nihilism, murder seems to occupy the privileged position.

But is it really true that in accepting the absurdist attitude one must be prepared to accept, and perhaps even to commit, murder? From what has been said about suicide, it will be clear that the absurdist philosopher has to condemn murder. We have seen already that the final conclusion of absurdist reasoning is the rejection of suicide and the acceptance of the hopeless encounter between man's inquiry and the stubborn silence of the

universe. To commit suicide is to abruptly end the encounter, and for the absurdist reasoning this means the denial of its own premises. Camus explicitly admits here that the absurdist philosophy is consistent only provided one admits that man's life is the only necessary good. Once life is accepted as an unquestionable value, it becomes clear at once why the struggle and revolt are to be maintained, although there will never be any definitive meaning. Man must protect his life, because life is good and for that reason must keep going on. While it goes on, however, this life consists in a never succeeding revolt against the absurdity which has its origin in the unbridgeable opposition between the finite man and the dense world. What is more, if one admits that life is good, then it is good for all men, and suicide as well as murder cannot be permitted.³³

Camus is deeply aware of the fact that his absurdist position comes very close to the viewpoint of absolute nihilism. Nevertheless, there is this striking difference, that, whereas for nihilism both suicide and murder are permitted, they are categorically to be excluded in absurdism. This obvious difference between nihilism and absurdism is free from contradiction, because nihilism defends an indifference to life, whereas for absurdism life is the only necessary good.

How then is it possible to defend the absurdist thesis and nonetheless claim that life is the only necessary good? Camus easily grants that the nihilist position at first sight is more coherent than the absurdist point of view in that it admits no value whatsoever. He also admits that, as far as the content is concerned, the absurdist position is indeed contradictory in that from this basic position one can derive all kinds of contradictory conclusions. It is contradictory, also, the moment that one translates it into action because then the absurdist philosophy has to exclude all value judgments while nonetheless upholding life, for to live is in itself a value judgment. It is contradictory, also, the moment one translates it into expression, because by expressing its view it gives a minimum of coherence to absolute incoherence and tries to point to consequences where, according to its own position, there cannot be any consequences. It is even contradictory the moment one considers it as a rule of life because one cannot found general rules of action on the emotion of despair if it is essential to every emotion to continuously transcend itself. Nevertheless, Camus claims, this is not the whole story. By talking about the absurdist position in this way one forgets and ignores the real nature of the absurd, namely that the absurd is an experience to be lived through. If this be so, then this experience can perhaps be taken as point of departure, which then is somehow equivalent in the realm of life to Descartes' methodical doubt in the realm of theoretical knowledge.

In elaborating this last point, Camus claims that absurdism and me

thodical doubt have in common the fact that both wipe the slate clean and thus leave us in a blind alley. But, like Descartes' doubt, absurdism can return upon itself, and then it opens up a new field of investigation. Indeed, I do proclaim that I believe nothing, that everything is absurd; but I cannot deny the validity of this proclamation, and I do believe in my own protest. This first and only evidence which is essential to the absurdist experience as such, is rebellion. Rebellion now is rooted in the spectacle of irrationality which I encounter when I realize that I am confronted with an unjust and incomprehensible condition. Rebellion itself derives its energy from a blind impulse which demands order in the midst of chaos, and unity in the very heart of the multiple and ephemeral. It, therefore, insists that the outrage be finally brought to an end, and that what has been up to now built on sand be henceforth founded on rock.

In making all these claims rebellion does not rely on any values or norms outside itself, because there are no values and norms; everything is just absurd. If rebellion is ever to find any reasons for its efforts, it is absolutely necessary that it find them within itself, just as the Cartesian doubt finds its ultimate criterion of truth in itself. This means that rebellion consents to examine itself in order to learn how to act. For rebellion to examine itself means that the absurdist philosophy carefully investigates the two centuries of rebellion which constitute our immediate past. Camus believes that in so doing one can perhaps discover in its achievements a certain rule of action which the absurd up until now has not been able to give us.

Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is. The problem is to know whether this refusal can only lead to the destruction of himself and of others, whether all rebellion must end in the justification of universal murder, or whether, on the contrary, without laying claim to an innocence which is impossible, it can discover the principle of reasonable culpability.³⁴

In trying to more concretely specify the concept of rebellion Camus compares it with the attitude of a slave who revolts against his position. A slave who has accepted commands for a long time suddenly decides to say `no' because he feels that there is a point beyond which one cannot go. This `no' represents simultaneously both a categorical rejection of an intrusion that is considered intolerable, and a certain conviction of an absolute right. This right refers to something in him that is `worthwhile' in an undeniable way, a value which he is prepared to support regardless of what the consequences may be. In other words, a certain aspect of himself which the slave wants to have respected receives a position above

everything else, and its maintenance is proclaimed preferable even to life itself. In this way it is made into the supreme good for him on the basis of which he may say: All or nothing. If one reflects upon this, it becomes clear that if an individual is willing to accept death, and even dies as a consequence of his act of rebellion, he in fact sacrifices himself for the sake of a common good which he considers more important than his own destiny. The slave thus acts in the name of certain values which, although perhaps not yet determined, are at least common to himself and all men. In other words, every act of rebellion is oriented toward something which transcends the individual as such.

Many philosophers have claimed that it is nonsense to speak of values which are pre-existent to any kind of action; one can speak of value only after an action has been completed. Camus disagrees with this view and points out that in his opinion a careful analysis of the act of rebellion seems to show that, contrary to the belief of existentialist philosophy, a human nature does exist. That which the slave considers as something which under all circumstances is worth preserving is something permanent in himself, and this permanent element comes very close to what Greek philosophy called `man's nature'. In other words, in his rebellion the slave tries to defend what he is as a man, and this he has in common with all men.³⁵

All the elements we have just briefly referred to in dealing with the rebellion of the slave are found in the rebel who revolts against the absurd with which he finds himself confronted. The rebel does not deny the absurdity by committing suicide or by leaping into a religion. On the subject of the latter alternative Camus says that

the rebel is a man who is on the point of accepting or rejecting the sacred, and determined to lay claim to a human situation in which all the answers are human. . . . From this moment every question, every word, is an act of rebellion. . . . The present interest in the problem of rebellion only springs from the fact that today whole societies want to discard the sacred. We live in an unsacrosanct moment in history. . . . History today . . . compels us to say that rebellion is one of the essential dimensions of man. It is our historic reality. Unless we choose to ignore reality, we must find our values in it. Is it possible to find a rule of conduct outside the realm of religion and its absolute values? This is the question.³⁶

As we have seen, Camus answers this question by referring to life and man's nature as the unquestionable values from which rules of conduct can be derived.

ABSURDITY VERSUS AMBIGUITY

We began this investigation by stating that, at least at first sight, the views of Sartre and Camus have many things in common whereas, on the other hand, there are definitely basic differences. In the context of the brief surveys of their conceptions just given, it will be clear by now that in some cases where Camus and Sartre appear to agree there exists only a similarity in verbal expression, but certainly no agreement about what is finally meant. On the other hand, however, we must say also that some of the differences seem to be much less vital than they originally appeared to be.

In order to be able to demonstrate in greater detail that such is indeed the case, I shall take my point of departure in a reflection on one of the presuppositions on which both expressly agree, namely, the fact that there is no God. But before starting this consideration let us first try to establish as precisely as possible the ways in which both Sartre and Camus formulate this presupposition in relation to the ethical problems with which each wants to deal.

In Existentialism Is a Humanism, Sartre states explicitly that, in his view, God does not exist, and that it is necessary to draw the consequences of His absence to the end.³⁷ In another place he says that existentialism is nothing else but an attempt to draw the full conclusions from a consistently atheistic position.³⁸ On the last page of this essay he specifies his position in the following way:

Existentialism is not atheist in the sense that it would exhaust itself in demonstrations of the non-existence of God. It declares rather, that even if God existed that would make no difference from its point of view. Not that we believe that God exists, but we think that the real problem is not that of His existence; what man needs is to find himself again, and to understand that nothing can save him from himself, not even a valid proof of the existence of God.³⁹

From these statements it is clear that Sartre himself adopts an atheist point of view. He has even developed several arguments to illustrate the truth of this claim.⁴⁰ On the other hand, he says explicitly also that the question of the existence of God is not immediately relevant for his position in regard to ethics.

Camus seems, initially at least, to adopt a different point of view here. He never claims to be convinced that God does not exist; nor does he ever attempt to prove that there cannot be a God. He merely states that he himself, as well as many other people today, do not believe in God.⁴¹ He also says that he does not know whether this world has a meaning that transcends it, and then adds: "But I know that I do not know that meaning, and that it is impossible for me to know this. What could a meaning outside my condition mean to me?"⁴² In The Rebel he makes it quite clear that the position of the absurdist is and remains provisional.⁴³ Thus, Camus' position is more that of an agnostic than of an atheist.

Camus and Sartre adopt different points of view in regard to the question concerning God's existence. Sartre explicitly claims that the question of God's existence is not immediately relevant to his position in regard to ethical problems. Camus argues that he does not know anything about God, and that this lack of knowledge, which can never be filled up, precisely constitutes the absurdity he finds himself confronted with. Sartre justifies his view by pointing to the fact that the ambiguity which affects man's freedom and action, and which, indeed, is vital for his position in regard to ethics, does not follow from the non-existence of God, but is a necessary element of man's condition as such.

These obvious differences of opinion notwithstanding, I continue to maintain that both Sartre and Camus agree as far as the question of God's existence is concerned on the one and only point which is really vital for their convictions concerning ethics. Namely, regardless of the position one adopts in regard to God's existence (doubt, ignorance, or denial), where ethics is concerned everything depends upon the undeniable fact that for man it is impossible to appeal to a meaning outside the human condition.

In other words, it is my opinion that the conceptions concerning ethics held by Sartre and Camus take their points of departure in two different but nonetheless closely connected presuppositions, namely 1) in a negative attitude in regard to the question concerning God's existence, and 2) in a very special conception of man or `the human reality in situation'. The first presupposition functions in a different way in both conceptions, in that Sartre claims that the question of God's existence is not relevant for an existentialist ethics, while Camus argues that his ignorance in regard to God's existence precisely constitutes the absurd condition in which man finds himself. This difference, however, is finally overcome in their agreement concerning the precise meaning and function of the second presupposition. I hope to justify my view in what follows, where I shall examine Sartre's conception with respect to ethics in the light of Jeanson's critical commentary on Sartre's position.⁴⁴

In order to clarify the issue, let us assume for a moment, as Jeanson suggests, what both Sartre and Camus deny, namely that God indeed does exist. In that case, because there are no valid arguments for His existence, one can be in contact with God merely through faith, that is to say, through an act which is not completely rationally justifiable. Since such a faith essentially includes a rupture with the laws of thought it cannot maintain itself on a purely speculative level; that is why faith comes to life only in action. In view of this the question becomes: from what does this action receive its orientation? The question is to be answered on the human level because it is only on that level that a human being acts. It does not seem to make sense to appeal to mysteries, if a man can act only by taking his point of departure in his own situation, that is to say if his mode of action keeps referring to the basic choice he has made in regard to himself, and if within the realm of a religious faith many choices are possible. In other words, in the choice of his way to God man is still left to himself; he has to make that choice himself, alone in freedom, and he will never find a rational justification for it. Obviously, one could say that many ways lead to God, and that for this reason each choice is a valid one. But the precise question is: how does a man know that the choice he made is an authentic one?

Finally, even the religious choice does not relieve man of a moral choice, whose only criterion consists in the degree of consciousness which this man has concerning his ideal goal. Regardless of what theologians say, and regardless of what I as a theologian may think, if I believe, then this is because I did it myself on the basis of a faith which is and remains my free choice of my ideal. One does not justify the acceptance of such an ideal by merely calling it God, but by the continuous concern for the authenticity with which one defines this ideal practically by serving it. The notion we have of God is a highly anthropomorphic one. Among other things, this means that the God of each man is the God this man has chosen to serve. But what certainty does this man have in regard to the value and authenticity of his own choice. If he is not allowed to question this choice with respect to its deepest meaning? If this questioning were not allowed, man's choice could never be free, nor could he ever bear any responsibility for it.

Freedom presupposes that I can and do question myself in each concrete form of behavior in regard to the world; moral freedom presupposes that I can and do question the value of my behavior for which I know I am responsible. This questioning cannot be sincere and authentic if there is no room for genuine doubt and even for the rejection of all moral values. In turn, this means that the answer to a moral problem cannot be determined in advance. Now, if believing in God were to mean knowing for certain that there is an absolutely perfect Being which, as Descartes believed, guarantees the truth and certainty of all my knowledge, then the possibility of a moral attitude would be excluded because there would be no room for doubt and rejection. What has been said for Descartes is true for all religious and philosophical views in which the existence of an absolutely perfect Being is offered as a first truth and source of all subsequent certainty.

One must realize here that for man all value is valorization and, thus, that the `perfect' offers itself to us only by withdrawing from us; its existence for us consists in its being to-be-realized by us. The idea of perfection does not contain any evidence in regard to an Absolute Being, but constitutes the experience of a vocation. The expression `God is' meaningless as a proposition or as a theoretical presupposition; if the expression is ever going to mean anything it is because people actively posit it and practically invest it with value. To suppose that God is means something only for one who engages himself in it with his whole faith; but in that case it is he who makes God exist for himself. One does not have or possess the idea of God, but one has to give oneself this idea time and again in the choice he makes of a particular moral course. This means that the moral value of man's activities does not rest on his belief in God; but rather his belief in God is the consequence of a prior moral decision. For man morality consists then only in the attempt to keep this faith authentic. The point here is not to deny the existence of God, but to realize that God exists only insofar as my action witnesses his existence and makes Him be for me. When the believer one day has doubts about God, then he has really doubts about himself, namely about the power to maintain in himself this practical orientation, this intimate efficiency.⁴⁵

Obviously there are many people who do not believe in God. For them the situation is not substantially different from that of the believer as far as the morality of their options is concerned. The only difference which is relevant here is to be found in the completely different ideal they have chosen to materialize. They have chosen a form of existence in which the continuous self-transcendence is not polarized by any goal outside themselves. But this basic difference notwithstanding, they too can be authentic or inauthentic, in good faith or in bad faith. They, too, could go so far as to defend a view of absolute absurdism, and then they, too, would have excluded any genuine form of morality.⁴⁶

Regardless of what this basic option in regard to man's ideal may be, regardless of whether man chooses for a form of existence in which his perpetual self-transcendence is polarized by a goal outside himself or for a form of existence which understands its own freedom as its own value and goal, in both cases man either makes himself man in order to be God, or loses himself in order that the Self-cause may be; that is to say, in both cases man is an endless passion. In both cases it is true also that man is that being by whom values exist, that is to say, man's freedom reveals itself in anguish as the unique source of value.⁴⁷

The second presupposition of Sartre's moral view, already touched upon earlier, is his typical conception of man. The unique characteristic of man in Sartre's view is his ambiguity, the fact that man is that being who can and must question himself about himself. When man questions himself he does not question the reality of the world which is constitutive for his own being, nor does he question his own reality; man merely questions himself about what he is. But the moment man asks the question of what he is, he sees that the typical characteristic of his own being is: not to be what he is. For he calls himself precisely into question in regard to himself. In other words, although I am unable to question the fact that I am, I can and must ask the question of what I am; to have to ask this second question is precisely essential to man. To exist for man means to be a problem for himself. Since man will remain a problem for himself until he dies, each attempt to stop being this problem for himself manifests his resignation in regard to himself. Thus, man's essence can not be found in something stable, determined, and determinable. Man's essence is found in the form of a task in regard to the problem he is for himself. Man is primarily projection. Before his project is brought about, he is nothing; once the project is brought about, he is merely what he has projected himself to be. ln this sense one could say paradoxically that in man and in man alone existence precedes essence. However, one has to keep in mind here that if by `essence' is understood that which defines me essentially as human subjectivity, that is to say the fact that I am my own problem, then it is clear that essence and existence are perfectly simultaneous in man.

It is of great importance, also, to notice here that by looking upon man from this point of view Sartre escapes the basic mistake made by almost every philosopher from Plato to Nietzsche. Classical philosophy has certainly seen a problem in man's essence, but it has conceived of this problem in the same manner as any other problem studied by theoretical knowledge. It has conceived of this simply as a problem to be solved, without realizing that this is a problem to be lived, and as such constitutes the root of all other problems. Philosophy has always held that its task consists in explaining the whole world, and that for that reason it must also explain man. In trying to explain man's essence it has used the same methods it employed to explain the world. Captured by its own attitude of objectifying things, it has tried to objectify this attitude itself. In so doing it has given up the genuine `positive' in order to indulge in the imaginary; it has tried to adopt God's point of view, which, as point of view, is obviously contradictory for a man, because it excludes all situation and thus all viewpoints.

In classical philosophy, thus, in order to know himself man had to suppress himself. He formulated a fiction which allegedly completely expresses his essence as this manifests itself to a supra-existential being. But one ascribes to an absolute consciousness whose role and task are the foundation of oneself and the whole world, then he makes himself into a part of the world for this consciousness, and thus becomes an object among objects; his essence becomes mere passivity made that way in order to be known. In this way the human reality makes itself the slave of its own desire to know. From this it follows almost necessarily that one must adopt the viewpoint of psychological determinism, and mystify morality by making it into either a sterile idealism or a mere `science of morals'.

In Sartre's view philosophy must, indeed, take its point of departure in the appearance of the world. But the appearance of the world is insolubly bound to man's appearance to himself. This presence to himself has the character not only of a fact, but also of a task or obligation. I am this presence to myself (this is the necessary condition in order to be capable of developing into a person), but I must say also that I have to be (that is why my self-personalization is not the effect of a natural evolution, but already a moral activity). In that sense it is true that I am responsible first and foremost for what I am.⁴⁸

Classical philosophy has tried to understand man by means of objectifying methods, and for this reason it had to change man into a thing with an invariable nature. The consequence of this way of doing things has been that the moral aspect of man's life had to be separated from `what man is'; ontology and ethics became two different sciences, both attempting to lay bare invariable structures and invariable values and norms. In recognizing in the fact of the human reality itself the formulation of the basic moral problem, existentialism has overcome these forms of `essentialism'. It fully realizes the consequences of this step: it has to deny itself any attempt to solve the problem because that would amount to suppressing the basic human fact. The moral attitude cannot consist in a total transition from the natural world to a universe of values, because this again would seem to mean the denial of the genuine human condition. Existentialism is thus a genuine form of humanism when it lays down as its basic principle: One must try to maintain the ambiguous.⁴⁹

It seems to me that most of what Jeanson says here about the genuine meaning of Sartre's position in many instances comes close to the position adopted by Camus. It is and remains true that the tone and style of both philosophers are different, that their philosophical positions taken as a whole differ substantially and are rooted in different philosophical sources, and that, even if we limit ourselves to the question of God's existence and the way in which the ideas of the two authors on this subject function in their respective philosophical views on ethics, there are basic differences. Yet both views converge in a point of agreement, namely that in the realm of ethics one cannot use insights which transcend the human condition, regardless of how a negative attitude in regard to the question concerning the existence of God is specified.

This reflection serves to further elucidate certain other seeming differences between the conceptions of Sartre and Camus. First of all, as we have seen in Being and Nothingness, Sartre explicitly claims that there is a basic difference between ontology and ethics, that ontology cannot make any moral claims in that it merely describes what is, but that it nonetheless implies important moral consequences.⁵⁰ Camus, on the other hand, does not make a distinction between a study of what is and investigations of what ought to be. In the beginning of The Myth of Sisyphus he states that philosophy for him means that investigation which tries to answer the question of whether and under what conditions man's life is worth living;⁵¹ and this is said to be the basic ethical problem. Studying Sartre's position more carefully, however, we came to the conclusion that Sartre's ontology is inherently ethical, too, and that the distinction between ontology and ethics is certainly not as clear-cut as Sartre's explicit statement seems to suggest.

Secondly, Sartre states that there is no invariable human nature. As he formulates it: "Thus, there is no human nature, because there is no God to have a conception of it."⁵² Camus, on the other hand, perhaps explicitly referring here to Sartre. says in The Rebel that "analysis of rebellion leads at least to the suspicion that, contrary to the postulates of contemporary thought, a human nature does exist, as the Greeks believed. Why rebel if there is nothing Permanent in oneself worth preserving?"⁵³

Here again, as we noted earlier, it is clear that the difference is mainly verbal in nature, for what Sartre attempts to exclude in his statement is a merely essentialist conception of man. In Existentialism is a Humanism he explains that, although it is impossible to find in each man a universal essence which can be called human nature, there is nevertheless a universality of the human condition. There are universal limitations which a priori define man's fundamental situation in the universe. This is the reason why every purpose which a human being projects is not wholly foreign to me since it presents itself as an attempt, either to surpass these limitations, widen them, deny them, or accommodate oneself to them. Consequently, every purpose which man projects, however individual it may be, is of a universal meaning. The important point to realize here, however, is that such a meaning is never something given in advance. As meaning and value it can only be understood the moment it is brought about in an actual and free decision. It is this universal and, therefore, absolute character of the free commitment, by which every man realizes himself in realizing a type of humanity, which gives an absolute character to the existentialist ethics, by means of which, in turn, it can escape mere arbitrariness.⁵⁴

From this it is clear that Sartre certainly does admit a `human nature', as Camus calls it. The only point Sartre stresses here is that one must understand by `human nature' merely that which defines man essentially as human subjectivity. This is not something stable, eternal, invariable, and determinable, but rather a kind of task which man must accomplish in regard to the problem he is for himself. If one understands what Camus means by absurdity and rebellion, it will be clear at once that he would certainly agree with Sartre in his basic conception of `man's nature.'

Thirdly, Sartre as well as Simone de Beauvoir sometimes compare their ethical positions with an `ethics of absurdity', claiming that their `ethics of ambiguity' is fundamentally different from the absurdist position.⁵⁵ On the other hand, Camus sometimes compares his `philosophy of absurdity' with nihilism and devotes a great number of pages to an explicit refutation of nihilism.<sup>56</sup> If one carefully examines the meanings which both Sartre and Camus attach to the expressions `absurdity', `ambiguity', and `nihilism', it becomes apparent that for Sartre `absurdity' stands for radical nihilism, and that this radical nihilism is precisely the one which Camus explicitly rejects. Notwithstanding minor differences, both Sartre and Camus try to avoid two positions which in their view are absolutely unacceptable, namely a philosophical view in which there are `absolute values', and a philosophical position in which all `values' are absolutely excluded.

Finally, Simone de Beauvoir in her `ethics of ambiguity' explicitly makes room for suicide as a morally respectable act (under circumstances which she carefully specifies),⁵⁷ whereas Camus categorically denies such a possibility.⁵⁸ Their differences with respect to the suicide issue as such obviously do not necessarily point to a difference of opinion in regard to basic philosophical principles. On the other hand, however, it is precisely on this point that the real difference between Sartre and Camus begins to manifest itself. The reason why, in the final analysis, Camus rejects murder as well as suicide lies in the fact that he explicitly admits that for him there are values which are unquestionable, although they are not absolutes in a religious or even a Platonian sense. In The Myth of Sisyphus he refers to life as such a value, whereas in The Rebel he mentions man's nature as such a value. For Sartre, however, no value is a priori unquestionable.

If I am interpreting Camus here as he intended his ideas to be understood, then I would certainly opt for the point of view defended by Sartre, provided I am permitted to take his view as Jeanson has interpreted it. My reason for this choice is as follows.

I believe that every value theory in ethics is unacceptable, regardless of the concrete form in which such a theory may be proposed. Not only is it true historically that any value theory takes its point of departure in a position which is philosophically untenable, but it is true, also, that such a theory cannot be justified in principle. In An Introduction to Metaphysics⁵⁹ Heidegger has correctly shown that the distinction between `what-is' and `what-ought-to-be' is intimately connected with three other basic distinctions, namely those between `what-is', on the one hand, and `what-becomes', `what-seems-to-be', and `what-is-thought', or idea, on the other. As soon, therefore, as that-which-is defined as idea, and this idea, in turn, is understood as that which can be justified by science, it becomes clear that the predominance of scientifically objectified beings begins to endanger `that-which-ought-to-be' in its role of standard and criterion. `What-ought-to-be' itself is then compelled to look for its own ground and justification in itself. Obligation can then emanate only from something which in itself already possesses a claim on obligation, which has an intrinsic value, which itself is a value. In this way the values as such become the foundation of obligation and morality. But since values are opposed to the scientifically objectified things taken as `facts', and since facts certainly `are', values cannot be in the same way. Values are then either merely subjective, or they refer to a kind of Platonic world of ideas--both of which views are obviously not tenable. The point may be illustrated as follows.

When I say that a thing has value for me and then distinguish between `that-which-is', the thing as ontic reality, and its value-for-us, it is obvious that such a distinction presupposes an abstraction and separation of two components which for my experience constitute an insoluble unity. If in the same case, however, I take the thing not as ontic reality, but as `unity of meaning', taken in such a way as to exclude that particular layer of meaning to which one refers with the term `value', then I perform an abstraction and bring about a separation for which I cannot account on the basis of my own experience. In addition, I can make a distinction between the `world' and the `universe of values'. In that case I understand by `world' either the sum total of all ontic things, or I understand by it the totality of all meaning with the exception of that realm of meaning called `values'. Now it is obvious to me that one can make these distinctions and that the sciences invite us to make these distinctions the moment we approach human phenomena with empirical methods, but it is equally obvious to me that such a distinction does not mean a thing the moment I try to reflect upon my moral behavior. In this I deal not with things as ontic entities or with abstract entities such as, for instance, the objectivations of the sciences, but with things as I encounter them within a totality of meaning, taken now in the full sense of the term so as to include the realm of values. Here, I deal with things as they offer themselves to me not in my theoretical interest, but precisely in my `practical concern'. In both cases the identification of world and realm of values on the one hand, and of `what-is' and `value' on the other, has obviously not yet been shattered.

Furthermore, once values are separated from `that-which-is', they place us before an insoluble dilemma. On the one hand, I might attempt to find a way to explain how we can know values `the way they are in themselves'; but then these values cannot have the ontological status which I would like them to have, because if I am able to know them `the way they are', they themselves cannot transcend the realm of the human condition. In other words, in that case they are neither eternal nor absolute and, thus, are unable to account for the obligatory character of the act which they are supposed to invoke. On the other hand, I might give these values the ontological status I would like them to possess, that is to say I might make them into something absolute and unquestionable, or at least into something necessarily connected with an absolute; but then I am unable to know them `the way they are', because then they do radically transcend the human condition.

Nonetheless, admitting that the position of Sartre as interpreted by Jeanson is in this as well as other aspects preferable to the point of view adopted by Camus, is not tantamount to subscribing wholeheartedly to this position. I agree with Jeanson that it does not make sense to separate ontology from ethics. Every sound ontology is basically `ethical', and every good form of ontology is certainly and necessarily a humanism. I am in agreement, also, with the way in which Jeanson explains the obligatory character of man's moral decisions without having to appeal to a priori values, norms, standards, or even goals. My main difficulty in regard to his view is connected with the fact that he does not seem to allow for an `ethical theory' on the basis of a religious view. Let me explain my position briefly.

I am willing to assume with Sartre and Camus that there are no valid arguments for the existence of God. I am willing to admit, also, that in principle there can be no valid arguments for God's existence. However, I feel strongly with Kant that one should also stress the other side of the issue, namely that there are no valid arguments for the thesis that God does not exist, and that in principle there can be no such argument here, either. This being the case, I do not see why it would be more unreasonable and `inhuman' to believe in God, then it is to believe that God does not exist. Both points of view rest upon an option which in principle cannot be rationally justified. One chooses to be an atheist or one chooses to subscribe to a `religious' view, regardless of whether this latter view involves a commitment in regard to any one of the `institutionalized' forms of religion.

If this be true, then it is possible to point to an alternative which neither Sartre nor Jeanson seems to have seen. I do agree with them that any attempt to develop an ethical view either on the basis of values, or on the basis of eudaimonism, utilitarianism, hedonism, and so on, is excluded in principle. In other words all philosophically ethical theories developed in the past are views that presuppose an option which cannot be rationally justified, namely, the free choice to believe in God or to reject Him. The ethics of Plato and Aristotle, medieval philosophy, Kant, modern axiology, naturalism, utilitarianism, and so on, all of these views take their points of departure in a conviction which continuously remains at work as a necessary condition for the obligatory character of laws, norms, or standards. In principle this conviction cannot be rationally justified, regardless of whether it refers to a World of Ideas, a supreme Good, the God of Judaism and of Christianity, Life, Freedom, Equality, or even the human condition as such.

I feel, however, that all of this does not exclude the possibility of an ethical theory which is built upon a religious conviction. In other words, while I agree with Jeanson that it is impossible to develop a philosophical ethics independent of an ontology and, thus, that a philosophical ethics in the traditional sense of the term is excluded, I do not think that adopting such a view excludes a `religious ethics'. Once a man asserts that he believes in God, the possibility of developing an ethical theory seems to be given at once. Jeanson is certainly right in claiming that even such an ethics has to respect the typical limitations of the human condition. Within a religious perspective a goal and the order which flows from it can be described as an ideal from which maxims or norms can be derived. Nevertheless, one must realize that this description has meaning if, and only if, the goal and order themselves are presented in a way which is meaningful within the limitations of the human condition.

An ethical theory, built upon an explicit religious commitment, is not without grave difficulties, as the many publications from Kierkegaard to Bonhoeffer which have been devoted to such a theory have clearly shown. I cannot deal with these difficulties in this essay, but I can indicate the direction which I would take if space permitted. First of all, I think that people who subscribe to a religious view should realize that the great majority of the moral standards, maxims, and laws the Western world has subscribed to for many centuries should be characterized as social `guide-lines', established by a society for the well-being of its members and for the well-being of the whole. In establishing these guide-lines Western societies have been influenced mainly by the Greek conception of man and the neo-Platonist interpretation of the religious sources of Judaism and Christianity. For reasons which are historically understandable these guide-lines have gradually received the status of eternal and divine laws. Today we are able to understand that these norms are historical and therefore relative, and that the societies involved may very well wish to reformulate them in such a way that they again can genuinely guide the lives men actually are living in our contemporary, complex, and sometimes even chaotic world.

This does not mean that there cannot be any `eternal' imperatives. These, however, will be very few, and they must be formulated and interpreted in such a way that they are worthy both of the God who promulgated them and of man for whom they are destined.⁶⁰ In my opinion, this means concretely that these imperatives should never suggest a fear on the part of God that a human being could ever be too human, that is, authentically rational, free and autonomous, but nonetheless unable to be perfect.

Pennsylvania State University

University Park, Pennsylvania

1. Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. trans. J. O'Brien (New York: Random House, 1955).

2. J.-P. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans. H. E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956).

3. Cf. Albert Camus, Theatre, Recits, Nouvelles, ed. Roger Quilliot (Paris: Gallimard, 1962), pp. xxxiii-xxxiv. Joseph J. Kockelmans, "On Suicide: Reflections Upon Camus' View of the Problem", The Psychoanalytic Review, LIV (1967), 423-40, espec. 427 and 433-38.

4. Joseph J. Kockelmans, "Sartre on Humanism", in Joseph J. Kockelmans, ed., Contemporary European Ethics (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1972), pp. 255-269.

5. J.-P. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 625-28.

6. J.-P. Sartre, Situations, 6 vols. (Paris: Gallimard, 1947-1965); "Existentialism is a Humanism," trans. Philip Mairet, in Walter Kaufmann (ed.), Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre (New York: The World Publishing Company, 1956), pp. 287-311. See also: Simone de Beauvoir, Les forces des choses (Paris: Gallimard, 1963), p. 218; Hazel E. Barnes, An Existentialist Ethics (New York: Knopf, 1967), p. 30.

7. Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity (New York: The Citadel Press, 1967).

8. Francis Jeanson, Le problème moral et la pensée de Sartre (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1965).

9. J.-P. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 625-26.

10. Ibid., pp. 626-27.

11. Ibid., pp. 627-28.

12. Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 7.

13. Ibid., pp. 7-9.

14. Ibid., pp. 9-15.

15. Ibid., pp. 15-17; J.-P. Sartre, "Existentialism is a Humanism", pp. 292-94, 306-309.

16. Simone de Beauvoir, op. cit., pp. 17-18; J.-P. Sartre, Ibid., pp. 303-309.

17. Simone de Beauvoir, op. cit., p. 24; pp. 18-24.

18. Ibid., pp. 24-26.

19. Ibid., pp. 26-30.

20. Ibid., pp. 30-32.

21. Ibid., pp. 32-34.

22. Ibid., pp. 129-34.

23. Albert Camus, The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt, trans. Anthony Bower (New York: Random House, 1956), pp. 3-5.

24. Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, p. v.

25. Ibid., pp. 3-5.

26. Ibid., pp. 5-8.

27. Ibid., pp. 8-12.

28. Ibid., pp. 38-39.

29. Ibid., pp. 39-41.

30. Pindar, Pythian iii, in Albert Camus, op. cit., p. 2; Ibid., pp. 41-44.

31. Ibid., pp. 47-48

32. Albert Camus, The Rebel, p. 5.

33. Ibid., pp. 3-6.

34. Ibid., pp. 6-11, espec. p. 11.

35. Ibid., pp. 13-15.

36. Ibid., p. 21; pp. 15-21.

37. J.-P. Sartre, "Existentialism is a Humanism", p. 294.

38. Ibid., p. 310.

39. Ibid., p. 311.

40. Norman N. Greene, Jean-Paul Sartre: The Existentialist Ethic (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1966), pp. 60-79.

41. Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, pp. v and 21-37 (passim).

42. Ibid., p. 38.

43. Albert Camus, The Rebel, p. 8.

44. Francis Jeanson, op. cit., pp. 265-87.

45. Ibid., pp. 265-69.

46. Ibid., pp. 271-72.

47. J.-P. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 626-27.

48. Francis Jeanson, op. cit., pp. 278-82.

49. Ibid., pp. 284-85.

50. J.-P. Sartre, Being and Nothingness, pp. 625-26.

51. Albert Camus, The Myth, p. 3.

52. J.-P. Sartre, "Existentialism is a Humanism," pp. 290-91.

53. Albert Camus, The Rebel, p. 16.

54. J.-P. Sartre, "Existentialism is a Humanism", pp. 303-304.

55. Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity, p. 129.

56. Albert Camus, The Rebel, pp. 23-105.

57. Simone de Beauvoir, op. cit., pp. 30-34.

58. Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus, pp. v and 39-41.

59. Martin Heidegger, An Introduction to Metaphysics, trans. Ralph Manheim (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961), pp. 164-67.

60. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, "Grundfragen einer christlichen Ethik," Theologie - Gemeinde (München: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1960), pp. 48-58.