荒谬的人

如果斯塔夫罗金信教,他不认为他信教。

如果他不信教,他不认为他不信教。

——陀思妥耶夫斯基《群魔》

歌德 [1] 说:“我的领地,就是时间。”这实在是荒谬的言论。荒谬的人其实是什么样的?他做事不求永恒,他自己也不否认这一点,他对怀旧并不陌生,但更偏爱自己的勇气与推理。勇气教他在生活中不求人,珍惜所拥有的东西;推理让他清楚自己的界限。他确信,他的自由短暂而有限,他的反抗没有未来,对于生死也已经觉悟,于是在有生之年他要实践自己的冒险旅程。这便是他的领地,这便是他的行动,对此他不会接受来自他人的任何评判。对他而言,一种更伟大的生活并不意味着另一种生活。这是不公平的。我所谈的甚至也不是那种无价值的永生,也就是人们所说的香火长传。罗兰夫人 [2] 的依靠是自己,而这一鲁莽行为也得了教训。其后人非常乐意引用她的言论,但却忘了对之加以判断。罗兰夫人对后人保持一种冷漠的态度。

我们不可能对道德规范进行长篇大论。我见过大德之人行为不端,平常也注意到,没有必要为正直诚实设立规范。只有一种道德规范可以为荒谬所接受,它是与上帝分不开的:由上帝口授的命令。可是碰巧他的生活中没有上帝。至于其他的(我指的是非道德主义),荒谬之人除了正当理由什么也没发现,而他不需要理由去证明什么。这里我就从保证其无辜的原则谈起。

这种无辜是可怕的。伊凡·卡拉马佐夫 [3] 宣称:“一切都是被允许的”,这同样有点荒谬的味道,但前提是用一种庸俗的观念去看待它。我不知是否已充分说明:这并非一种解脱或喜悦的发泄,而是对一个事实痛苦的承认。一个确定的上帝赋予生命以一种意义,它在吸引力上远远超过了可使恶行免受惩罚的能力。选择不难做,可是没有选择,这时痛苦便来了。荒谬不会释放,而是要束缚,它不会允许所有的行为。一切都被允许不意味着一切都不被禁止。荒谬仅仅是为那些行为的结果找到一种等价物。它并不支持犯罪,因为那将很幼稚,但他再一次承认了悔恨是无用的。同样,倘若所有的生活经历都是无差异的,那么关于责任的经历就会和其他经历一样合理。做一个有道德的人只是一闪之念。

一切道德体系都建立在这一观点上,即一种行为的结果或者使这种行为合乎情理,或者抵消这种行为。一个被灌输以荒谬的头脑只会判断要冷静思考那些结果,做好了偿还债务的准备。换句话说,在这种观点看来,负责的人可能是有的,但却没了有罪之人。这种思想最多会把过去的经验作为将来行动的基础。时间拖延时间,生活为生活服务。在这个充满可能性的有限领地,他自身的一切,除了清醒的头脑,在他看来都是不可预见的。那么,从这种不理性的秩序中,又能生发出什么规则呢?似乎对他有益的唯一真理并非形式上的:真理开始形成,便在人们身上发生作用。在推理的最后,荒谬的头脑可以预见的不是道德准则,而是对人们生活的阐释与人们生活的精神支柱。以下几个人物形象都属于这种类型,他们对荒谬的推理表现出一种特定的立场,并投入了自己的热情,以此拖延荒谬的推理。

一个范例并一定要去效仿(在荒谬的世界甚至更是如此),因而下面要举的例子也并非典范。我是否还需要对这种观点加以阐释呢?为此需要某种使命感,除此之外,在考虑周全的情况下,如果人们从卢梭 [4] 的思想里得出人要爬行,从尼采的思想里得出人要虐待自己的母亲,那势必是荒唐可笑的。一位当代作家写道:“荒谬是必要的,而受骗不是必要的。” [5] 我将要论述的立场只有考虑到它们的对立面,才能保证其意义周全。邮局工作的小职员与帝王将相是平等的,只要他们都有觉悟。在这一点上,所有生活经历都是无差别的,其中有的对人有利,有的有害。如果是有意识的人,那么就会对他有利,否则便无关紧要了:一个人的失败在于对自身的评判,而非对环境的评判。

我所选择的人物,都只有一个目的——消耗自己,或者我认为他们在消耗自己。这不牵扯深层含义。此刻我只想谈论一个思想、生活在其中都没有未来的世界。促使人们工作与兴奋的任何事情都要用到希望,因而只有无效的思想才不是虚假的。在这个荒谬的世界,一个观念或一种生活的价值要由其无效性来衡量。

唐璜主义

如果只要爱就够了,那么事情就太简单了。一个人爱得越多,荒谬就越多。唐璜找了一个又一个女人,不是因为缺少爱。把他描写成一个追求真爱的神秘主义者真是太可笑了。但的确是因为他把同样的热情投入每一份爱,每次都是全身心投入,他才一定要重复利用这份天赋,不断穷追猛打。因此每个女人都希望给予他没人给过他的东西,可每次她们都大错特错了,只能让他感觉到对这种重复的需求。“终于,”其中一个女人大呼,“我把爱给了你。”唐璜付诸一笑,“终于?不,”他说,“只是又一次。”我们还会惊讶于此吗?如果不是为了得到更多的爱,那么爱还有什么必要呢?

唐璜忧郁吗?不可能。我不会去参考那些传说。他的笑,那种征服者的傲慢、那种玩世不恭,还有对剧院的钟爱都清楚明白,充满欢乐。所有健康的生灵都想自我复制,唐璜也不例外。而忧郁的人之所以忧郁是因为:他们不知道,或者他们有希望。唐璜知道,他也没有希望。他让我们联想起那些明白自身局限的艺术家,他们从不脱离他们的圈子,而且在那个表明自己精神立场的不靠谱的间隙,他们享受作主人的美妙与悠闲。这的确是非凡的才能:一种知道自身局限的智慧。直到生命的尽头,唐璜对忧郁仍是一无所知。在他知道的那一刻,他放声大笑,笑声让人原谅了一切。当他有希望的时候,他是忧郁的。现在,从那个女人的口中,他尝到了这唯一知道的事情带给自己的苦涩与安慰。苦涩?不过是:让幸福被察觉到的必要瑕疵。

如果试图把唐璜看成是依据《传道书》培养出来的人,那就大错特错了。因为在他眼里,除了对另一种生活的希望外没有任何东西是虚空的。他之所以证明了这一点,是因为他用那另一种生活来赌天堂。渴求欲望,得到满足之后欲望便终止,这种无能之人的共性不属于他。对于笃信上帝而把自己出卖给魔鬼的浮士德 [6] 来说,这没什么。对唐璜来说,事情就更简单了。莫利纳 [7] 的“骗子”每次受到进地狱的威胁时,总是回答:“你给我的缓期太长了!”死后之事都是那么的没有意义,而那些知道如何活着的人,又有多么漫长的岁月在等着他啊!浮士德渴求世间的美好;这个可怜人要做的只是伸出手。当他无法得到满足时,就相当于在出卖自己的灵魂了。说到满足,唐璜恰恰相反,他坚持要满足。如果他离开一个女人,绝对不是因为他不再爱她了,漂亮的女人总是勾人欲望的。只是他又对另一个产生了欲望,而这不是同一件事,不是的。

这样的生活满足了他的每个愿望,没有比失去这种生活更糟糕的了。这个狂人是个大智者。但是靠希望生活的人不会在这个宇宙得势,在这里,仁慈要屈从于慷慨,爱慕要屈从于强大的沉默,同舟共济要屈从于个人英雄主义。而大家都匆匆下结论说:“他是一个懦夫、一个理想主义者,或者一个圣人。”人们必须贬低那些无礼的伟大。

人们受够了(或者露出同谋者的微笑,从而降低那种欣赏的成分)唐璜的演说,还有他用在所有女人身上的同一套话。但对于追求快乐数量的人来说,唯一要紧的是效力问题。如果各种口令都经受住了考验,那还有什么必要使之复杂化呢?无论男女,没有人去听从这些口令,他们听的是发出这些口令的声音。这些口令是规则、惯例,也是礼貌。发出这些口令后,最重要的还没完成,唐璜已为此做好了准备。他为何要给自己提出一个道德上的问题呢?他不像米洛兹 [8] 剧中的马纳拉,因为渴望成为圣人而诅咒自己。地狱在他看来是一件需要被激发的东西。对于神灵的愤怒他只有一种回答,这就是人的荣耀。“我有荣耀,”他对骑士长 [9] 说,“我会遵守我的诺言,因为我是一个骑士。”可是如果把他当作一个伤风败俗之人,就又大错了。在这一方面,他“和其他人一样”:他有自己好恶的道德准则。要正确认识唐璜,只能不断参照通常他所代表的形象:平平常常的引诱者,处处拈花惹草。他是一个普通的引诱者, [10] 其不同之处只在于他是有意识的,这就是为什么说他是荒谬的。尽管如此,一个清醒的引诱者不会有所改变,引诱是他的生活状态。只有小说里的人才会改变生活状态,或是让生活得到改观。但也可以说什么也没有改变,同时一切都转变了。唐璜付诸行动的是一种数量上的道德标准,而圣人则青睐于质量。不相信事物的深层含义,是荒谬之人的专属。至于那些热诚或者令人称羡的面庞,他会投以目光,加以储存,但并不有所停留。时间与她们并进,而荒谬之人与时间不可分割。唐璜没有想要“收集”女人,他穷尽了她们的数量,与此一起耗尽的还有他生活中的可能性。“收集”就等于是依靠自己的过去生活。但他反对懊悔,这是希望的另一种形式。翻看照片不是他能做出来的事情。

尽管如此,他是自私的吗?以他的行为方式来看或许是的,但这里我们也有必要相互理解一下。有的人是为生活而生,有的人是为爱而生。至少唐璜倾向于这种说法。但他可能会长话短说成,他有能力去选择。因为我们这里所说的爱穿着永恒的幻衣。正如所有情感专家教导我们的,只有受到挫折的爱情才能成为永恒,几乎没有一帆风顺的爱情。这样一种爱只有在最后的矛盾——死亡——到来时才会终结。人应该要么成为维特 [11] ,要么什么也不是。而自杀的方式也有很多,其中之一就是全力付出与忘我。唐璜和其他人一样,知道这会带来不平静,但他又是知道这事无关紧要的少数几人之一。他还知道,那些出于一种伟大的爱而忽视个人生活的人或许是充实自己,但必定也让自己爱的人一无所有。一位母亲或一位感情热烈的妻子必定有一颗封闭的心,因为那颗心已背离了这个世界。一份感情、一个人、一张面孔,这一切都被吞食了。搅扰唐璜的是一份很不同的爱,这份爱随心所欲。它有着世上所有的面貌特征,它知道自己不能永生,于是还带着颤抖。唐璜选择成为一无是处。

对他来说,这一问题就是把眼睛擦亮。我们把爱看成将我们与其他生灵联结在一起的东西,凭借的只是一种共同的看问题方式,而这便促成了各种书籍与传奇的诞生。然而关于爱,我只知道那种欲望、爱慕以及智慧的混合体,它把我和这个或那个生灵联系在一起。这种复合物因人而异,我无权把同一名下的全部体验都涵盖进来,这就避免了人们的行为方式千篇一律。荒谬的人此时便会将他无法统一的东西加倍复制,于是他发现了一种新的存在方式,这种方式解放了他自己,也解放了那些靠近他的人。没有高贵的爱,只有自知短命而独特的爱。所有那些死亡与重生如花束般聚集到一起,偿还了唐璜的余生,这便是他付出与活跃的方式。请读者自己判断这能否叫做自私。

我想到了那些坚持要惩罚唐璜的人,他们认为他不仅应在来世受罚,即便在今世也应受罚。我想起了那些关于老年唐璜的故事、传说,还有笑话。对于一个有意识的人来说,衰老以及衰老的附带品都不足为奇。的确,他并没有无视衰老的恐怖,只有在这一点上,他才是有意识的。雅典有一座专为老年而建的庙宇,孩子们会被带到那里。唐璜认为,嘲笑他的人越多,他的形象就越突出。因此他拒绝接受那些浪漫主义者为他塑造的形象。没有人愿意去嘲笑饱受折磨、惹人怜悯的唐璜。他是被同情的;天堂能拯救他吗?但情况并非如此。在这个被唐璜瞥了一眼的宇宙里,荒唐也包含其中。他会认为受惩戒是正常的,这是游戏规则。他典型的贵族表现就是接受所有的游戏规则,但他知道自己是对的,不可能会受罚。命运不是一种惩罚。

这是他所犯的罪,而要理解上帝的子民为何要惩罚他再容易不过了。他获得一种没有幻觉的认识,这种认识否定了那些人的所有信仰。爱和占有,征服和消耗——这就是他的认识方式。(圣经中将这种肉体行为称作“知道”,圣书偏爱这个词是有意义的。)作为那些人最坏的敌人,他是无视他们的。一位编年史学家说真正的“骗子”死于法兰西斯派 [12] 的暗杀,该派想“结束生来便被赋予免罚权的唐璜那放肆和亵渎的行为”。之后他们宣称是上帝将他击倒,这一离奇的结局没有人去证明,也没有人去推翻。但是如果有这种可能性,那么我可以不加质疑地说这是符合逻辑的。在这一点上我只想把“生来”一词单挑出来推敲一下:正是生活这一事实确保了他的无辜。正是从死亡那里他获取了现在已成为传说的罪恶。

那个骑士长石像被用来惩罚敢于思想的血肉与勇气,那么它又有什么代表意义呢?秩序、永恒的理性,以及普遍道义的所有能量,一个喜怒无常的上帝让人感到陌生的所有伟大,都集合到他的身上。这个没有灵魂的巨石象征的只是唐璜永远都否定的力量。但该骑士长的任务仅止于此。雷电会回归到那个仿造的天国,也就是它们被唤起的地方。真正的悲剧在发生时离它们很远。不,唐璜不是死在一个石头的手上。我倾向于相信那故弄玄虚的传说,相信那引出一个并不存在的上帝的常人失去理智的笑声。然而我尤为相信,那个晚上,当唐璜在安娜住所等待时,骑士长没有出现,午夜过后,这个亵渎神灵之徒必定感受到了那些正人君子的可怕的痛苦。关于其生平,我更愿意接受,他最终被葬于一个修道院的说法,但关于这个故事给人的启示意义就不太可信了。他能向上帝要求什么庇护呢?但这却代表了一种荒谬生活的合理结果、一种追求短命快乐的悲惨结局。在这一点上,肉体上的享乐终结于禁欲主义。必须认识到,或许可以说,它们是同一种命运的两个方面。一个人被自己的躯体出卖,只因没有及时死去,所以在生命终结之前,他的生活一直是喜剧,而与那个不被自己崇拜的上帝面对面,像待奉生活那样侍奉他,屈膝于虚无,手伸向一个明知没有雄辩术也没有深度的天国,我们还能想到比这更恐怖的形象吗?

我看到唐璜栖身于西班牙一个被遗弃于山顶的修道院的一间净室内。倘若他有所思,思考的不会是其旧爱的幽灵,或许——透过阳光烘烤的墙上的一条窄缝——是某个沉寂的西班牙平原,一方高贵而没有灵魂的土地,在那里他认清了自己。没错,伴着这个忧郁而灿烂的画面,幕布应该拉下来了。结局,我们等待但绝不期待,结局是可以忽略不计的。

戏 剧

哈姆雷特说:“演戏就是重要的事,凭借它我将抓住国王的意识。”就是这个词,抓住,因为意识动作迅速,或者还会退缩,所以必须在它行进时下手,在它匆匆扫视自己的当口抓住它,那时不易被察觉。庸人都不爱拖延,所有事都在催着他往前走,但与此同时,除了他自己,特别是自己的潜能,什么事也提不起他的兴趣。由此他对戏剧、对表演产生了兴趣,这为他展现了那么多的命运,他可以在感觉不到悲伤的情况下体味诗意。至少这里可以看到没有思想的人,而他继续匆匆地奔向某个希望或其他什么东西。荒谬之人的起点在他人离开的地方,在停止欣赏戏剧的头脑欲进入的地方。进入那些生活,体验它们的多姿多彩,就等于是把它们演绎出来。我并不是说演员一般都会服从于那种冲动,也不是说他们都是荒谬之人,而是说他们的命运是一种荒谬的命运,可能会让一颗冷静的心陶醉、沉迷。为使读者在理解以下内容时不至于产生误解,有必要先作此说明。

演员的生命是转瞬即逝的。在已知的所有名声中,演员的名声最为短暂。然而所有名声都很短暂。从天狼星的角度看,歌德的作品在一万年后将化成尘埃,他的名字也将被遗忘。或许一批考古学家还会为我们这个时代寻找“证据”来证明它的存在。这一观点总会包含教育意义。认真思考这一观点后,我们对于冷漠之中深远的高贵,会减少一些不安情绪。最重要的是,它把我们的注意力移向了最确定之事,即最直接之事。在所有的名声中,欺骗性最小的要属已被验证过的名声。

因此,演员选择了多样的名声,这名声已被神圣化,并经受了考验。一切事物终将消亡,他从这一事实做出了最佳判断。一个演员或成功,或不成功。一个作家即使不被赏识,也有某种希望,他可以用自己的作品见证自己的过去。演员最多留给我们一张照片,关于他的过去——他的姿态、他的沉默、他对爱的汲汲渴望,我们将一无所知。对他来说,不为人知就是不演戏,而不演戏就是和他曾赋予生命或唤醒的角色一同死去,多达百次。

我们为何要讶异于最短暂生命基础之上的昙花一现的名声呢?演员有三个小时的时间去做埃古 [13] 、阿尔切斯特、费德尔或格洛斯特,在这段很短的时间内,他让这些角色有了生命,最后又倒在这五十码的舞台上。荒谬从来没有被这么详尽地论述过。除了这些令人赞叹的生命,这些在几个小时内在一个小舞台上展现的卓越而完整的命运,我们还能想象出更有启示性的典范吗?下了台,西基斯蒙德 [14] 不再是西基斯蒙德。两小时后你可能就看到他出去吃饭了。那么或许,生活就是一场梦。但西基斯蒙德之后还有后来人。在不确定性中煎熬的英雄人物取代了那个为复仇而咆哮的人。因而演员驰骋过几个世纪,演绎过无数角色,在模拟别人或展现自我的过程中,与另一个荒谬个体——游客有了很多共性。和他一样,游客也耗尽了某些东西,并且还在不断前进。他是时间中的游客,或最多是被追捕的游客,被灵魂追逐着。数量上的道德观若要找到赖以存在的基础,那么肯定是这个奇怪的台子。很难说演员在多大程度上受益于角色,但这是无关紧要的,问题只在于,要知道自己和这些不可替代的角色有多大关联。他经常随身带着这些角色,而这些角色则超越了它们出现的时空界限,与这个无法把自己和一直以来所演的角色轻易分开的人结伴同行。有时拿一个杯子,他会用哈姆雷特的姿势举起杯子。他与自己注入生命的角色之间,距离并不遥远,绝不。他每个月或每一天都在充分阐释这一内含深意的事实,即一个人想要成为的人与他自己之间没有界限。他总是关心如何更好地去展现,阐释在多大程度上表象构成了存在。因为这就是他的艺术——十足的模仿,把自己尽可能深地投入另一种生活。努力到最后,他的使命便明晰了:全心致力于一无所是,或者分饰多角。塑造角色时所受的限制越小,就越需要发挥他的才智。在今天佩戴的面具下,他或许能活三个小时。在这三个小时内,他会体验,并且表现一种独特生活的全貌。这就叫迷失自己以发现自我。在这三个小时内,他走完了这条死胡同的全程,而坐在观众席上的人却要花一生才能走完这段路。

在对这种短暂生活的模仿上,演员只在表面上训练并完善自己。戏剧表演的惯例是,通过姿态与肢体来表现和传达内心世界——或者通过内在与外在的声音,二者不分轻重。这种艺术的规则就是,把一切都夸大并用身体语言表现出来。倘若在舞台上爱一个人就必须真心去爱,说话必须用心里那个独一无二的声音,看东西时必须像人们在生活中那样凝视,那么我们的讲话就成了暗语。这时沉默就必须派上用场。爱的声音越大,静默就更加壮观。身体就是国王。不是每个人都能“表演”,这一词语被不公正地丑化了,它包含一种完整的美学和一种完整的道德观。人的一半生命都用在暗示、背离和沉默上,而演员成了入侵者。他要打破束缚灵魂的魔咒,激情才能冲上它们的舞台。他们的语言表现在每个姿态中,他们只有通过大喊大叫才能生活,所以说演员塑造自己的角色就是为了展示。他描绘或刻画他们,一下子穿上为他们虚构的外衣,并为他们的幻象输入自己的血液。当然,我所指的是伟大的戏剧,可以使演员借机实现自己完全的物质命运的那种戏剧。以莎士比亚为例,在其冲动横行的剧中,身体的激情推动着剧情的发展,可以用以解释所有事情。没有了这些激情,一切都要烟消云散。若没有流放考荻利娅 [15] 和惩处爱德伽 [16] 的粗暴行为,李尔王永远也不会坚守那源自疯狂的约定。此后悲剧的展开便充斥着那种疯狂,灵魂都给了恶魔及其萨拉邦德舞。这出戏至少有四个疯子:一个由于交易,一个出自意愿,还有两个是遭受了苦难——四个错乱的身躯,一种状态的四个方面,不可言传。

光靠人的肢体还不够,面具和厚底靴,减弱或强调面部本来特征的化装,起夸张或简化作用的服饰——在这个宇宙里所作的一切牺牲都是为了表象,只是为眼睛服务。身体通过一种荒谬的奇迹同样可以获得认识。如果我不扮演埃古这个角色,我永远也不会真正理解这个人。光听他说话是不够的,因为我只有在看见他的时候才能了解他。演员最后会从荒谬的角色中感到乏味,那是一种单一的、让人感到压抑的黑色轮廓,既陌生又熟悉,要跟着他从一个角色到另一个角色。同样伟大的戏剧作品可以促成这种格调的一致性, [17] 这正是演员的自我矛盾之处:一模一样而又千姿百态,那么多的灵魂汇集到一个身体里。然而这便是荒谬的矛盾本身:那想得到一切、经历一切的个体,那毫无价值的尝试,那无效的坚持。自我矛盾的事物总会与他相结合,正是在这时,他的身心合二为一,而已厌倦了挫败的精神转向它最忠实的同盟。哈姆雷特说,“能够把感情和理智调和得那么适当,命运也无法将他玩弄于股掌之间,这样的人是有福的。”

教会怎能不去谴责演员的这样一种行为呢?她否认了这种艺术复制灵魂的异端行为、情感上的道德败坏,以及对精神的侮辱性假设,这种假设反对只过一种生活,致力于各种形式的过火行为。她还禁止他们偏爱当下时光,阻止普罗特斯 [18] 的胜利,它们对其所有教诲都加以否定。永恒不是一种游戏。愚蠢到喜欢喜剧胜过喜欢永恒的人已经没救了。在“到处”与“永远”之间没有中间道路,由此这一备受毁谤的职业会引起一场激烈的精神论战。“要紧的,”尼采说,“不是永生,而是永乐。”实际上,所有的戏剧都是在这种选择之中。

阿德里亚娜·莱科芙露尔 [19] 临终时很想忏悔并与上帝相通,但拒绝放弃自己的职业,于是她没有得到忏悔的好处。这实质上不也等同于宁可选择无法抗拒的热情也不要上帝吗?而这个临终饱受痛苦的女人,含着热泪拒绝割舍自己口中的艺术,明明白白地表现出她在舞台灯光前永远也没有达到的一种伟大。这是她扮演过的最佳角色,也是最难演的一个。在上帝与一种可笑的忠诚之间作出选择,投身于永恒还是尽忠于上帝,这是自古就有的悲剧,在这场剧中每个人都要扮演自己的角色。

那个时代的演员知道自己被逐出了教会,进入这个职业就等于是选择了地狱。而教会则把他们看作最坏的敌人。有些文学家抗议:“什么!拒绝为莫里哀做临终祈祷!”但这只是针对,特别是针对那些把生命结束在舞台上的人,他们在演员的装束下完成了自己整个被流放的人生。至于莫里哀,他是个天才,于是什么都可以原谅。但是天才又什么都不原谅,因为它拒绝这么做。

这个艺术家当时已经知道了什么样的惩罚在等着他。可是比起生活为他保留的最后惩罚,这种含糊不清的威胁又有何意义呢?前者是他提前就预感到了,并且照单全收的。对于一个演员来说,如同对于荒谬之人一样,早逝是不可避免的。什么都抵偿不了如此多数量的面孔和他穿越过的这么多个世纪。无论如何人终有一死,演员无疑是无所不在的,但席卷而过的时间同样会把他带走,留下的印记中还带有他的痕迹。

只需要一点想象就可以体会到一个演员的命运意味着什么。他正是在时间中塑造并表达着自己的角色,同样是在时间中学着掌控这些角色。体验的不同生活越多,他对之便越淡漠。他终会为了这个世界死在舞台上。曾经历过的就在面前,他看得一清二楚,他感受到这种历险令人痛苦而又不可替代的特质。这些他都知道,现在他可以走了。年老的演员有自己的家园。

征 服

“不,”征服者说,“不要以为我热爱行动我就一定会忘了如何思考。相反,我完全可以确定自己的信念,因为我坚定我的信念,并把它看得清楚明白。有人说,‘我对此太了解了,以至于难以把它表达出来了。’请当心这些人,如果他们做不到那一点,那是因为他们不了解,或者是懒得深入探索。

“我没有多少观点。在生命将要终结的时候,人发现自己花了那么多年时间,只是为了搞明白一个真理。然而如果真理是显见的,那么它足以影响一种存在。关于人体,我倒是有些话要说。而谈到个体,人们一定要直言不讳,必要时还要带上适当的轻蔑。

“比起所言之事,所坚守之事更能凸显人的价值。我所坚守的东西有很多,但我坚定地相信,所有那些评判个体的人,在做这方面工作时凭借的经验——作为其评判基础——比我们要少的多。智慧,那鼓舞人心的智慧或许预见到了须引起注意的东西,然而时代以及时代用事实呈现给我们的毁灭与鲜血,让我们措手不及。对于古老的国度,甚至对于我们机器时代的现代国家而言,有可能去权衡社会美德与个人美德孰轻孰重,并试图发现谁为谁服务。这种可能性有两个原因:首先,人心有一种顽疾,由此人或生来服务别人,或生来被别人服务;其次,社会与个人尚未展露自己的全部能力。

“我知道,许多智慧的头脑对在佛兰德斯 [20] 战场的血雨腥风中诞生的荷兰画家们的伟大作品大为惊异,对在恐怖的三十年战争 [21] 中产生的西里西亚 [22] 神秘主义者的祈祷惊叹不已。永恒的价值面对世俗的纷扰目瞪口呆,却幸免于难,然而自那以后便有了进展。今天的画家已丧失了这种淡定,即使他们拥有创作者需要的基本心理状态,我指的是一颗封闭的心,也无济于事;对于每个人来说,包括圣人,都处于动的状态。这或许就是我感受最深之处。在战壕流产的每一种形式中,在被钢铁压碎的每一个轮廓、隐喻或祈祷中,永恒都输了一局。我意识到不能对自己的时间不闻不问,便决心成为时间不可分割的一部分。这就是我尊重个体的原因,只因他给人的印象是荒唐可笑、丧失尊严的。我知道没有胜利的事业,便爱上了失败的事业:这种事业需要一个未受玷污的灵魂,对其挫败与暂时的胜利一视同仁。对于感到和这个世界的命运息息相关的任何人而言,不同文明之间的交战让人痛苦不堪。在我想要加入这个行列的同时,我便也具有了这种痛苦。在历史与永恒之间,我选择了历史,因为我喜欢确定性。至少我对它感到确信,叫我如何否定这种压迫我的力量?

“总有那么个时候,人必须在思考与行动之间做出选择,谓之成为一个人。这种抉择的痛苦是可怕的,但对于一颗高傲的心来说,没有中间道路可走。要么是上帝,要么是时间;要么是那个十字架,要么是这把剑。这个世界有更高一层的含义,超越了它的烦恼,否则除了这些烦恼便没有真实的东西了。人必须与时间共存亡,要么就得为了一种更伟大的生活而撇开时间。我知道人们可以选择一条折中道路——生活在这个世界上,同时又相信那种永恒,这叫做接受。但我厌恶这种说法,我想得到一切,要么就什么都不要。倘若我选择行动,不要以为我会把思考撇到一边,但它给不了我所有,于是丧失了永恒的我愿与时间为伍。我不想把怀旧或苦难记在账上,我只是想看清楚一些。我告诉你,明天你也要处于动的状态,这对你我都是一种解放。个体什么都做不了,但他又可以做任何事情。在那样一种无所羁绊的绝佳状态,你会理解我为何要在颂扬他的同时立刻又把他打压下去。是世界摧毁了他,而我解放了他。我给了他应有的一切权利。

“征服者知道行动本身毫无益处,只有一种有益的行动,那便是改造人与地球。我永远不会去改造人,但人必须‘煞有介事’地去做。斗争的道路引我找到了肉体,即使失去了尊严,肉体也是我唯一确信的东西,我可以仅靠它生活。人本身就是我的故土,这就是我为何要选择这种荒谬而无效的努力,这就是我为何要支持斗争。正如我所说,这个时代适合于这一点。迄今为止,一个征服者的伟大仍表现在地理上,是由所征服领地的量来衡量的。这个词的意义已发生了改变,不再表示获胜的将领,也是有原因的。伟大已变换了阵营,它体现在抗议以及绝路的牺牲上。同样,这也不是由对失败的偏爱造成的。人们渴望胜利,但只有一种胜利,那便是永恒。这是我永远也得不到的,这是我跌倒的地方,也是我不忍割舍的地方。革命总是针对神明的,普罗米修斯 [23] 是革命的鼻祖,他是第一位现代征服者。与自己命运过不去的是人自己的需求,穷人的需求只是一个借口。但我只能在它的历史事件中抓住这种精神,我与它在这里相会。然而,不要以为我以此为乐:我维持着自己的人性矛盾,与本质矛盾相对。我的清醒保持在四面树敌的环境中。面对摧毁人的威胁,我高唱对人的赞歌,而我的自由、我的反抗、我的激情悉数进入了这种紧张的关系、这种清醒、这种大量的重复之中。

“没错,人是自己的终点,也是自己唯一的终点。如果他的目标是成为什么,那肯定要在他的生活中实现。我非常了解这一点。征服者们有时会谈到战胜与击败,但他们的意思一直都是‘战胜自己’。你很清楚这意味着什么。某些时候每个人都会感觉自己和神是平等的,至少它是通过这种方式表现出来的。但这缘于一个事实,即他在一闪念间发觉了人思想中惊人的伟大。征服者只是这样一群人,他们十分清楚自己的能力与信心,可以久立高处,也非常明白这种伟大。这只是一个算术问题,一个得多或得少的问题。征服者有能力得的多,但他们最多也只能得到人想得到的范围。所以他们从不离开人的这副皮囊,投入那云谲波诡的革命灵魂。

“他们发现这一生灵受尽残害,但他们同样在这里邂逅了自己所爱慕的仅有的价值:人及其沉默,这既是他们的贫乏又是他们的财富。在此他们只有一种奢侈品:人们之间的感情。在这个脆弱的世界,所有具有人性并只具有人性的东西都包含一种更生动的意义,人怎么能没有意识到这一点呢?紧绷的面孔,濒危的手足情,人们之间这种强烈而纯洁的友谊——这些都是真正的财富,因为它们转瞬即逝。在它们中间,思想非常清楚自己的力量与局限,也就是自己的效力。有的人还说过天才这个词,但天才说起来容易,我偏向于智慧一词。可以说此时智慧是宏伟壮观的,它照亮了这个沙漠,并在此确立了自己的统治地位。它知道自己的责任,并一一加以阐释。它与这个躯体同生共死,但知道这一点它便是自由的。

“所有教会都反对我们,我们无法忽视这一事实,一颗紧张的心逃避永恒,而所有的教会,不论是神圣的还是政治的,都声称对永恒拥有权利。快乐与勇气,报应或正义,对他们而言都处于从属地位。这是他们的教义,必须服从。但我既不关心思想也不关心永恒,在我的范围内真理都触手可及,我无法与之相分离。所以你无法以我为基础建立任何东西:征服者的一切都不会持久,哪怕是他的信条。

“无论是什么,这一切的终点,便是死亡。我们也知道它能终结一切。正因为如此,遍布欧洲的坟墓都面目可憎,而且也困扰着我们当中的某些人。人们只美化自己喜爱的事物,而死亡让我们感到厌恶,磨灭了我们的耐心,可它同样是要被征服的。被囚禁在帕多瓦 [24] 的最后一个卡拉拉人,当这个被瘟疫洗劫一空的城池被威尼斯人围困住后,他狂呼着跑遍自己废弃的宫殿:他在召唤魔鬼,请求赐自己一死。这便是战胜死亡的一种方式,而这同样也是西方勇气的一种标志,把死亡自以为荣的地方变得丑陋不堪。在反叛者的世界,死亡赞颂的是非正义。这是最高层次的毁谤。

“其他人也不加妥协地选择了永恒,谴责这个世界的假象。他们的坟茔在鸟语花香之中微笑。这很适合于征服者,为他描绘了一个他曾拒绝接受的清晰形象。而他选择了黑色的铁栅或义冢。上帝子民中的佼佼者有时会被一种恐惧攫住,恐惧的同时还对那些脑中有这样一种死亡印象的人表示关心与怜悯,而那些人正是从这里获得他们的理由与力量。我们的命运就在我们面前,而我们要去激发他。我们同样也会怜悯自己——更多的是由于意识到自己无能为力的处境,与自尊关系甚微,这是唯一可为我们所接受的同情:一种你或许理解不了的情绪,而且你绝不会觉得它有何刚强可言,然而感觉到其存在的却是我们当中的勇者。但是我们认为清醒之人才是刚强的,我们不希望得到一种与清醒撇开关系的力量。”

我重申,这些形象不夹带道德准则,不包含任何评判:它们是一些概述,只代表一种生活方式。情人、演员或冒险家都扮演了荒谬的角色。但如果他想的话,还可以扮成贞洁之人、行政人员,或者共和国首脑,扮得一样好。知道,并不加任何掩饰,便足矣。在意大利博物馆中你有时会发现被轻微涂过的挡板,那是牧师用来挡住有罪之人眼睛的,为的是不让他们看见绞刑架。各种形式的跨跃,冲入了神灵或永恒之中,屈从于平庸或是观念的幻影中——所有这些都是挡板,把荒谬挡在后面。但是也有那些没有挡板的政府工作人员,他们便是我要说的人。

我选取的是最极端的例子。从这一层面上说,荒谬赐予他们一种王权。的确,这些王子没有王国,但他们有一种优势:他们知道所有王权都是虚幻。他们知道,这是他们全部的高贵所在。丧失了希望不代表绝望。大地的火焰完全可以与天国的芳香相媲美。不仅是我,谁都无法对他们做出评判。他们并非努力做到更好,他们试着做到前后一致。如果说“智者”是依靠自己所拥有的生活,而不去思考自己没有的,那么他们就可以称得上是智者。他们之中有人比任何人都更明白,“你把自己亲爱的温顺的小绵羊养得恰到好处,你绝不会因此在人间和天堂得到一种特权;你最多还是一只亲爱的有角的小绵羊,仅此而已——即使你没有虚荣自负,也没有以一个装腔作势的法官身份制造一件丑闻。”他是思想领域的征服者,知识层面的唐璜,智慧上的演员。

无论如何都有必要为荒谬的推理提供更多诚恳的例子。我们还可以想象出更多的人——与时间和流亡不可分割的人,他们同样知道如何与一个没有未来与弱点的世界和睦共处。那时,在这个没有神灵的荒谬的世界,居住的是思想清晰、停止希望的人们。而我还没有说到最荒谬的角色——创造者。


[1] 歌德(1794—1832),德国诗人、作家,青年时代为狂飙运动的代表人物,集文学、艺术、自然科学、哲学、政治等成就于一身,写有不同体裁的大量文学著作,代表作为诗剧《浮士德》、小说《少年维特之烦恼》。——译者注

[2] 罗兰夫人(Manon Jeanne Phlipon,1754—1793),法国大革命时期著名的政治家,吉伦特党领导人之一。——译者注

[3] 陀思妥耶夫斯基小说《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》的主人公。——译者注

[4] 卢梭(1712—1778),法国思想家、文学家,其思想和著作对法国大革命和19世纪欧洲浪漫主义文学产生巨大影响,在社会观方面,主张人们经协议订立契约,建成公民的社会,在教育观方面,提出“回归自然”,让儿童的身心自由发展,著作有《民约论》、小说《爱弥尔》和自传《忏悔录》等。——译者注

[5] 参见拉歇尔·贝斯帕洛夫的《途径与十字路口》。——译者注

[6] 德国中世纪传说中的一位术士,为获得青春、知识和魔力,将灵魂出卖给魔鬼;德国作家歌德曾创作同名诗剧。——译者注

[7] 蒂尔索·德·莫利纳(约1582—1648),西班牙喜剧作家,写有喜剧四百多种,出版八十余种。在西班牙戏剧史上有一定的地位。《塞维利亚的骗子》创造出欧洲文学中的典型人物之一唐璜,莫里哀的讽刺喜剧《唐璜》,拜伦的长诗《唐璜》,都仿照剧中这一形象而写成。——译者注

[8] 奥斯卡·米洛兹(1877—1939),诗人,外交官。生于当时归于俄罗斯皇帝(现今属白俄罗斯)统治之下的立陶宛地区。后前往巴黎,在那里度过了人生的最重要时刻,并偶遇鼎鼎大名的奥斯卡·王尔德。在欧洲游历多年,并参加了一战,加入立陶宛阵营,担任过外交官。在1931年,以被授予法国荣誉骑士勋章为契机,加入了法国籍。他的《米格尔·马纳拉》(Miguel Manara ),描写了一个唐璜式的英雄,最终皈依于神无私的爱,找到心灵安慰的故事。——译者注

[9] 剧情交代:唐璜潜入骑士长邸宅,企图调戏骑士长之女安娜。安娜呼救,骑士长闻声赶来,唐璜拔剑刺死骑士长后逃跑。后来当唐璜在墓地游荡时,发现了骑士长的塑像,于是他戏邀塑像共进晚餐,塑像点头应允。结局是骑士长塑像如约前来。地面裂开,火焰喷出,唐璜被拖下地狱。——译者注

[10] 从完整意义上说,就他的错误而言。一个健全的立场同样包含谬误。

[11] 歌德著作《少年维特之烦恼》中的主人公。——译者注

[12] 又称方济各会,是天主教托钵修会之一。——译者注

[13] 莎士比亚悲剧《奥赛罗》中狡猾残忍的反面人物,暗施毒计诱使奥赛罗出于嫉妒和猜疑将无辜的妻子苔丝德蒙娜杀死。——译者注

[14] 神圣罗马帝国皇帝、匈牙利国王和波希米亚国王。——译者注

[15] 莎士比亚悲剧《李尔王》中李尔王的诚实、善良的幼女。——译者注

[16] 《李尔王》中葛罗斯特伯爵的儿子,改装后化名为:“汤姆·白德兰”,继续服侍瞎眼的父亲,最后成为国王。——译者注

[17] 我在此想到莫里哀的阿尔塞斯特。一切都是那么简单、明了、粗俗。阿尔塞斯特反对费兰特,色利曼纳反对艾里雅特,一种极端本质的荒谬结果之中的全部主题,还有诗句本身,“糟糕的诗句”,极少会像角色本质的乏味那样被强调。(以上提到的人物均为莫里哀剧作《恨世者》中的人物。——译者注)

[18] 希腊神话中的海神,可以随心变幻自己的形状。——译者注

[19] 歌剧《阿德里亚娜·莱科芙露尔》的女主角,剧本由阿图罗·柯劳替所作,是意大利作曲家契莱亚(1866—1950)最广为人知的作品。——译者注

[20] 佛兰德斯是西欧的一个历史地名,泛指古代尼德兰南部地区,位于西欧低地西南部、北海沿岸,包括今比利时的东佛兰德省和西佛兰德省、法国的加来海峡省和北方省、荷兰的泽兰省。1337—1453年,英法两国曾为争夺它而展开“百年战争”。——译者注

[21] 三十年战争(1618—1648),是由神圣罗马帝国的内战演变而成的全欧参与的一次大规模国际战争。——译者注

[22] 中欧一地区,包括波兰西南部、捷克和斯洛伐克北部以及德国东南部。——译者注

[23] 希腊神话中的人物,因盗取天火予人而触怒宙斯,被罚锁于高加索山崖上,遭神鹰折磨,后被海格立斯所救。——译者注

[24] 意大利东北部城市。——译者注

荒谬的创造

哲学与小说

所有在荒谬的稀薄空气之中维持的生活,如果没有某种深刻而恒定的思想为之灌输力量,它们是无法持之以恒的。就在这里,它只能是一种忠实的奇怪感觉。清醒之人总在最愚蠢的战争中完成自己的任务,他们不会认为自己处于矛盾之中,因为必须无所逃避。所以在忍受这个世界的荒谬时就有一种超自然的荣誉。征服或演戏、花心、荒谬的反抗,都是人在一场预定要失败的战役中向自己的尊严致敬。

这只是遵守这场战斗规则的问题。那种思想或许足够维持一种精神;它一直在支持并将继续支持全部文明。战争无法被否定,人们必须经历战争,要么就得死于战争。荒谬也是如此:关键是要与之同呼吸共命运,承认从中得到的教训,并重获其真谛。在这一点上,荒谬之极乐便是创造。尼采说:“艺术,除了艺术别无他物,我们有了艺术才不至于死于真理。”

在我试图描述并要在几种模式中强调的体验中,各种折磨必定是此起彼伏的。对健忘的幼稚找寻,满意带来的吸引,如今已少了附和。然而持续的紧张状态使人一直要面对这个世界,有序的精神错乱鼓励他易于接受任何事物,而这给了他另一种狂热。在这个宇宙,艺术作品便成了保持其清醒并确定这种冒险经历的唯一机会。创造就是加倍生活。普鲁斯特式的摸索的探求,精心收集的鲜花、墙纸和焦虑,就意味着这种创造。同时,这种创造并不比演员、征服者及所有荒谬之人将每天生活都投入其中的持续不断而又不易察觉的创造,意义更大。所有人都想尝试去模仿,去重复,去重建属于他们的现实。我们总是在有了真理的外表时便宣告结束。一个人的所有存在如果背弃了永恒,就不过是在荒谬面具之下的超级模仿。创造是伟大的模仿。

这种人首先是知道,然后他们的全部努力便是去查验、扩大,并丰富刚在那里着陆的无望岛。但首先,他们必须得先知道。因为荒谬的发现会遭遇一个停顿,那时未来的激情已准备就绪并得到证实。每个没有信条的人都有自己的橄榄山 [1] ,而人们不可以在自己的山上睡去。对于荒谬之人来说,这一问题不关乎阐释与解决,而关乎体验与描述。一切始于保持清醒的冷漠。

描述——这是一种荒谬思想的最后目标。同样,科学到达其悖论的终点时便停止提议、思考,以及描绘永远童贞的现象风景。心灵认识到,在我们看到世界的种种面貌时愉悦我们的情感,并非来自世界的深度,而是来自世界面貌的多样性。解释是无用的,而感觉会保持着,与之一起的还有在数量上没有穷尽的宇宙所产生的不断吸引。艺术作品的地位可以从这一点上得到理解。

它标示出一种体验的终结与增殖。这是对世界已精心安排的主题的一种重复,单调乏味又充满激情,其中包括:身体、庙宇楣外饰上无穷尽的画面、形式或颜色、数字或伤痛。因此,在这个精彩而幼稚的创造者的世界,再次邂逅本书的首要主题,作为总结,并非没有差别。如果从这个世界里看到一种象征,并且认为艺术作品最终可作为荒谬的避难所,那就错了。它本身就是一种荒谬的现象,而我们只关心对它的描述。它并不提倡逃避思想上的疾病,其实它是这种疾病的症状之一,在一个人的整个思想过程中都有所体现。但是它第一次让精神脱离了自身,将之与他物对立,并不是想让精神迷失,而是要明白地指给它那条所有人都已踏上的盲道。在荒谬的推理中,创造会跟随冷漠与发现,它标示出荒谬的激情爆发点,而这也是理性停止的点。创造在本书中的地位就是用这种方式被确认的。

要在艺术作品中发现荒谬思想的所有矛盾,只需阐明创造者与思想者共有的几个主题便足够了。实际上,与其说证明各思想相联系的是相同的结论,不如说是他们共有的矛盾。思想与创造亦然,更不消说共同的苦恼促使人们形成这两种立场,这是他们在初始时的一致之处。然而在所有源自荒谬的思想中,我发现极少有思想能一直保持在荒谬的范围内。而通过它们的各种变体,我能够在最大限度上判断什么是属于荒谬范畴的。同样,我必须提出疑问:荒谬的艺术作品可能存在吗?

过多强调前一种对立——艺术与哲学之间的对立——的任意性是不可能的。假如你坚持用一种有过多限制的意义来看他,肯定是错的。假如你的意思只是,这两个学科各自具有独特立场,这极有可能是真的,但语焉不详。唯一可接受的论断在于被自己的体系困住的哲学家和面对自己作品的艺术家之间的矛盾,但这适合于我们在此列为第二位的艺术与哲学的某个特定形式。把一件艺术品与其创造者分开的想法不仅已经过时,也是错误的。有人指出,与艺术家相对的是,没有哪个哲学家曾创造过几个体系。实际上,没有艺术家以不同面貌进行过多种表达,就这一点而言,该观点是成立的。对艺术所做的瞬间美化对于它的更新是必要的——只有从预先形成的观点来看这一点才成立,因为艺术作品同样是一种假设,每个人都清楚伟大的创造者能有多么无聊。和思想者的理由一样,艺术家献身于自己的艺术,并在艺术中找到自我。这种潜移默化提出了最重要的美学问题,并且,对于任何相信思想具有单一目的的人而言,没有什么比建立在方法与对象之上的那些差别更无用的了。在人们为了理解和爱而为自己设立的学科之间没有边界,它们相互串连,被相同的焦虑连接在一起。

我们有必要在开头作此说明。若想得到荒谬的艺术品,必须使思想保持最清醒的形式。但同时,思想又不能太显而易见,除非是作为起调节作用的智慧。这一悖论可由荒谬来解释。艺术品的诞生是由于智慧拒绝思考具体的事物,这标志着肉体上的胜利。激起它的正是清醒的思想,而思想正是以这一行为否认自己。它不会抵挡不住诱惑而去增加那种被描述为深层含义的东西,它知道那是不合逻辑的。艺术品体现了一种智慧的戏剧,但只是间接证明了这一点。荒谬的作品需要一个艺术家和一种艺术,这艺术家意识到这些局限,这艺术中包含的确定性除了自己没有其他意味。它不可能是一种生活的终点、意义和慰藉。创造,还是不创造都不会有什么变化。荒谬的创造者不会嘉奖自己的作品。他可以否认它,有时他的确会否认它。就像兰波 [2] 的情况一样,一个阿比西尼亚 [3] 便足够了。

同时从这里还可以发现一个美学规则,真正的艺术品总是按照人的标准来创造的。从本质上说它展示出的东西“更少”。在艺术家总的体验与反映这种体验的作品之间,在威廉·麦斯特 [4] 与歌德的成熟之间,存在着某种关系。如果作品意欲在说明性文学的花边纸上展开全部体验,那么那种关系便是坏的。如果作品只是摘自体验的一小段,如钻石的一面,内部的光泽展露无余,那么那种关系便是好的。第一种情况属于超载,自负地想要达到永恒。第二种情况则使作品显得饱满,因为全面的体验含而不露,其丰富性任由人们去猜测。荒谬艺术家的问题是,他们要获得这种超越社交本领的彬彬有礼。最后,在这种立场下的伟大的艺术家首先是一个伟大的生灵,生活在这种情况下被认为是体验与反思并重。因而这些作品便体现了一种思智上的戏剧。荒谬的作品表明,思想背弃了它的威信,心甘情愿地成为精心设计外表并为无理性之物包装形象的思维。如果世界是清晰的,那么艺术就不会存在。

这里我谈的不是形式或色彩艺术,对于那种艺术,只有最质朴的描述才能占据上风。 [5] 思想结束了,表达就会开始。那些被人们置于庙宇和博物馆中的眼窝空空的青少年,他们的哲学已经用肢体表达出来。对于一个荒谬的人来说,这比所有图书馆都更具教育意义。在另一种外表下,同样的情况也适用于音乐。如果说有一种艺术是没有教育意义的,那肯定是音乐。它与数学的关系太近了,无法借用数学的无凭无据。精神根据已确定的精确规则与自己玩了一场游戏,这游戏就发生在我们可接收的声波范围内,超出这个范围,就会振动,就发生在非人性的宇宙中了。再没有比这更纯粹的感觉了。这些例子都过于简单,荒谬之人会把这些协调性和这些形式都当作自己的。

但这里我还要说到一种作品,对于这种作品而言,解释的诱惑仍是最大的,错觉会自动现身,而结论几乎是必不可少的。我指的是小说创作。我计划探询一下荒谬能否在这里扎根。

思考首先就意味着创造一个世界(或者说限制自己的世界,其实指的是同一件事)。它从把人与其体验相分离的基本的一致性出发,目的是按照人对旧事的怀恋发现一个共同点,一个用理性设限或者说由怀旧点亮的宇宙,但不管怎样,这个宇宙提供了一个机会以取消那种不堪忍受的分离。一个哲学家,即使他是康德,也是一个创造者。他有自己的性格、自己的标志、自己的秘密行动。他有自己的故事结局。相反,位于诗歌与散文之上的小说,不看表面,它所做的榜样只是代表了一种更伟大的艺术理智化。关于这一点不可出现半点差池;我指的是最伟大的。一种文学形式的积淀与重要性常常是由它所包含的糟粕来衡量的。我们一定不能因为那么多糟糕的小说而忘记了最佳小说的价值。实际上,那些作品都拥有自己的宇宙。小说拥有自己的逻辑、自己的推理、自己的直觉和自己的假设。它同样还有自己对明晰性的要求。 [6]

以上所述的经典对立在此特殊例子中被阐释的更少。假如容易把哲学与其作者分开的话,那么它会保持在时间里。如今,思想不再主张普遍性,最好的历史或许要算它的悔恨史,于是我们知道了,这种体系如果有用的话,是不会和其作者相分离的。伦理学,从某一方面说,只是一段详尽的长篇个人自述。抽象的思想最终回到了支撑自己的肉体。同样,身体与激情的虚构活动更多是按照这个世界的某个幻象之要求来调控的。作家停止了讲“故事”,开始创造自己的宇宙。最伟大的小说家是哲学小说家,恰是论文家的对立面。略举几个例子,如巴尔扎克 [7] 、萨德 [8] 、梅尔维尔 [9] 、司汤达 [10] 、陀思妥耶夫斯基、普鲁斯特、马尔罗 [11] 、卡夫卡 [12]

他们对用形象而非推理性论断来写作表现出偏爱,但事实上,这揭示出他们所共有的某种思想,他们确信,任何解释原则都是无用的,而可感知的外表传达出具有教育意义的信息。他们把艺术作品既当作终点,又当作起点。它是一种常常不明说的哲学之结果,是对这种哲学的阐释,是这种哲学的终结,但只有将这种哲学暗含其中才算圆满。有极少一部分思想会使一种旧题的变体远离生活,大多思想则会使这种主题无奈地接受生活,而艺术作品最终证实了这种变体的合理性。思想无法完善现实,于是便中途暂停开始模仿它。我们所说的小说是那种既有关联又取之不尽的知识之工具,正如爱的工具一般。关于爱,小说创作具有原创的精彩与丰富的想象。

这些至少是我一开始从中发现的魅惑。然而我同样在那些拥有耻辱思想的佼佼者中发现了这些,后来我便见证了这些人的自杀。实际上,我感兴趣的是去了解并描述把他们带回到幻觉之普遍道路上的力量。在此同样的方法会最终帮我一把。我已经运用过这种方法,于是我便可以缩短论述,用一个特殊的例子马上加以总结。我想知道,如果一个人接受了无所吁求无所诉求的生活,那么他能否同样愿意无所诉求地去工作和创造,还有,通向这些自由的方法是什么。我想释放我的宇宙中的幽魂,并且只让有血有肉的真理居住其中,我无法否认这些真理的存在。我可以履行荒谬的工作,选择创造性的立场而非其他。然而一种荒谬的立场必须对其无凭无据保持清醒,倘若它有这种意愿的话。艺术作品的情况亦然。如果荒谬的诫律没有得到尊重,如果这一作品没有阐明分离与反抗,如果它崇尚幻象,激起希望,那么它就不再无凭无据了。我无法再让自己离开它。我的生活或许可以从中发现一种意义,但那只是微不足道的。它不再是超然与激情中的练习,为一个人生活中的辉煌与徒劳加冕。

在那种对解释的诱惑最为强烈的创造中,人能抵挡住诱惑吗?在那虚构的世界中,对现实世界的意识是最敏锐的,我能忠实于荒谬而不屈服于那种想作评判的欲望吗?有那么多问题要在最后一举考虑进来,而其所指也肯定已经弄清楚。这些问题是对一种意识的最后顾虑,这种意识害怕放弃自己初始的艰难教训,那是有利于最后一种幻觉的。适用于创造的,被认为是意识到荒谬的人可能持有的一种立场,那也同样适用于他可以选择的所有生活方式。征服者或演员,创造者或唐璜,或许已忘记,自己在生活中的练习无法离开对其疯狂特性的了解。人很快就能适应。一个人想通过赚钱获得幸福,于是他的全部努力和生活的精华部分都用来赚钱。幸福被遗忘了;赚钱是为了生命的终结。同样,那位征服者的全部努力可以转化为雄心壮志,这只是更伟大生活之路。而唐璜同样会转而服从于自己的命运,满意于那种只有通过反抗才能获得有价值之高贵的存在。对一个人来说这是意识,而对另一个人来说便成了反抗;在两种情况下荒谬都消失了。人心中有太多顽固的希望,最穷困之人最后常常会接受幻觉。这种因需要内心平和而激起的认可与有关存在的赞同相当。因而便出现了光芒四射的神和泥塑的偶像,然而我们有必要找到一条通往人之多面性的中间道路。

至此,关于它是什么,荒谬之危急关头的一次次失败已给了我们最好的答案。当我们得知答案时,同样也会注意到,小说创作可以表现出同某些哲学一样的含糊性。因此我可以选择一种包含一切事物的作品,它表现出对荒谬的了解,有一个清晰的起点和一个清醒的思想态度,其结果必将给我们以启发。倘若荒谬在其中未得到重视,那么我们就可以知道幻觉靠什么趁虚而入了。一个特例,一个主题,一个创造者的忠诚,对他们就足够了。更加细致的相同分析也包含其中。

我要查验陀思妥耶夫斯基最爱的一个主题。我也可以研究其他作品, [13] 但是关于已讨论过的存在哲学,这部作品从高尚与情感的意义上直接探讨了问题。这种一致性恰合我的目的。

基里洛夫

陀思妥耶夫斯基的所有英雄人物都问自己同一个问题——生活的意义问题。由此看出他们都很现代:他们不害怕荒唐。当代情感与传统情感的区别就是,后者在道德问题上收获颇丰,而前者则是形而上学的问题。在陀思妥耶夫斯基的小说中,这一问题的提出饱含强烈的感情,以至于只能采用极端办法解决。存在是虚幻的,或者说它是永恒的。假如陀思妥耶夫斯基满意于这种探寻的话,他便成了一位哲学家。然而他阐明了这种思维上的消遣在人的生活中可能产生的结果,就此而言,他是一名艺术家。在那些结果中,他的注意力尤其被最后的结果所俘获,这一结果在他的《作家日记》中被称为合乎逻辑的自杀。在1876年12月的日记部分,他设想了“合乎逻辑的自杀”的合理性。这一绝望的人已经确信,人的存在对于任何不相信邪恶的人而言,都是一种绝对的荒谬,于是他得出以下结论:

“因为在回答我关于幸福的问题时,以我的意识为媒介,我被告知说,除非是与伟大的一切和谐相处,否则我是不会幸福的,而这是我无法想象的,我也永远不会想象到,那么显然……”

“因为,最终在这种联系中,我既充当了原告的角色,也充当了被告的角色,既充当了被控者的角色,也充当了法官的角色;因为我认为这出由自然所导演的喜剧愚不可及;因为我甚至觉得让我屈尊去演绎是一种耻辱……”

“在我无可指责的原告与被告、法官与被告的身份上,我谴责自然,它厚颜无耻,把我带到世间就是为了受苦——我诅咒它和我一起消亡。”

这种立场尚存一丝幽默。自杀者之所以结束自己的生命,是因为他在超自然层面被惹恼了。从某种意义上说,他是在复仇。他用这种方式证明自己“不会被拥有”,然而我们知道,在《群魔》的基里洛夫身上体现出相同的主题,只是用了最精彩的概述方式,这部作品同样是提倡合乎逻辑的自杀。工程师基里洛夫在某处宣称,他要结束自己的生命因为这“是他的意念”。显然必须从其本来意义上看这个词,它指的是一种想法,一种思想,这思想就是,他为死做好了准备。这是一种高层次的自杀。在基里洛夫的脑中逐渐闪现出一系列的画面,其中就有驱使他的那种致命意念,该意念渐渐显露在我们面前。事实上,这个工程师回到《日记》的论断中来。他感觉上帝是必不可少的,而他必须存在下去。但他知道,他不会也不能存在。他惊呼道:“你为何没有意识到,这是自杀的充分理由呢?”这一态度对他来说同样包含了某些荒谬的结果。由于淡漠,他同意让他的自杀为自己所鄙视的一项事业所用。“我昨晚下定决心,我不在乎。”而最终他的行为中带有一种反抗与自由相混合的感情。“我要结束自己的生命,为的是坚定我的不屈,和我全新而又可怕的自由。”这已不再是复仇问题了,而成了反抗问题。因此基里洛夫是个荒谬的角色——但还有一种不可或缺的保留:他自杀了。但他自己解释了这一矛盾,解释的方式使他同时暴露了最纯粹的荒谬之秘密。事实上,他又为其致命的逻辑平添了一份企望,这便全方位展现了这一角色:他想要自杀以成为神。

这种逻辑具有传统的明晰性。如果上帝不存在,基里洛夫就是神。如果上帝不存在,基里洛夫必须自杀。所以基里洛夫必须自杀才能成为神。这种逻辑是荒谬的,但也是必要的。然而有趣的是要为那种被带到世上的神明赋予意义,这就等于是澄清这一前提:“如果上帝不存在,我就是神,”但仍是晦涩不明。一开始我们就要注意到,夸耀这种疯狂宣言的人确实属于这个世界,这一点很重要。为保持健康,他每天早上锻炼身体;他为查托夫找回妻子时的喜悦而感动。他死后,人们在一张纸上发现了他画的一张脸,正对“他们”吐着舌头。他稚气未脱、性情暴躁、饱含热情、神经过敏、做事有条不紊。说到超人,他只具有超人的思维与沉迷,却有人的全套特征,而平静谈论自己的神明的正是他。他没疯,要不然就是陀思妥耶夫斯基疯了。因此刺激他的不是一种妄自尊大的幻觉,而在此例子中取词句的具体意义会显得荒唐可笑。

基里洛夫自己也在帮助我们理解。他澄清说自己不是在谈论一个神人,这算是对斯塔夫罗金所提问题的回应。或许人们会认为,这是出于把自己与基督区别开来的考虑,但事实上这是一个连基督也一并归入的问题。实际上,基里洛夫一度想象,耶稣死后并没有升入天堂,于是他发现自己所受的折磨都白费了。这个工程师说:“自然法则让基督生活在谎言之中,并且为了一个谎言死去。”只是从此意义上说,耶稣才的确是整部人类戏剧的化身。他是完整的人,是意识到这种最荒谬状态的人。他不是神人,而是人神。我们每个人都像他一样,会被钉在十字架上,会代人受过——只是在某种程度上。

因此,我们所谈的神明完全是人间的。基里洛夫说:“三年来我一直在找寻我的神明有何特性,我最终找到了。我之神明的特性便是独立。”这就可以看出基里洛夫的前提——“如果上帝不存在,我就是神”——有何意义了。成为神仅仅意味着在这个地球上获得自由,而非一个永生的存在效力。当然最重要的是,它是从那种痛苦的独立中做出所有推断的。如果上帝存在,那么一切便有赖于他,我们便无法做任何有悖于他的事。如果他不存在,一切便都取决于我们。对于基里洛夫而言,正如对于尼采而言,杀死上帝便是使自己成为神,便是在这个地球上实现福音书中所说的永生。 [14]

可是,如果这种抽象的犯罪足够一个人达到圆满,为何还要自杀呢?为何在赢得自由后又要结束生命,离开这个世界呢?这是矛盾的。基里洛夫非常清楚这一点,因为他补充说:“如果你感觉到那个,你就是一位沙皇,你非但不会自杀,反而会荣耀一生。”但是一般人不会知道,他们不会感觉到“那个”。在普罗米修斯时代,他们怀有盲目的希望。 [15] 他们需要有谁给自己指明道路,并无法离开布道。因此基里洛夫肯定是出于对人性的爱而自杀,他必定为自己的教友指明了一条忠实而艰难的道路,而他是开路者。这是一种教学式的自杀,而基里洛夫做了自我牺牲。可是如果他被钉上十字架,他不会是代人受过。他仍然是人神,确信一种没有未来的死亡,被灌输入福音书式的忧郁。他说:“我不快乐,因为我必须维护我的自由。”可一旦他死了,人们也最终摆脱了无知,那时这个世界上将遍地沙皇,要由人性的光辉去照亮。基里洛夫的那声枪响将成为最后一场革命的信号,所以促人走向死亡的不是绝望,而是为了自己而对邻居的爱。在将一种无法形容的精神历险终结于血泊中之前,基里洛夫说了一句与人类的苦难一样古老的话:“一切安好。”

那么,陀思妥耶夫斯基作品中的这种自杀主题的确是一种荒谬的主题。继续论述之前,我们只需注意,基里洛夫又化为其他人物,而这些人物自己又论及其他荒谬的主题。斯塔夫罗金和伊万·卡拉马佐夫在实际生活中实践了荒谬的事实,他们是由基里洛夫的死获得解放的人,试着用自己的能力成为沙皇。斯塔夫罗金过着一种“讽刺”的生活,至于在哪一方面我们已清楚。他激起了周围人对他的反感,而理解这一人物的关键在于他的道别语:“我还没能让自己对什么产生厌恶。”他是一个淡漠的沙皇。伊万同样通过拒绝妥协而成为精神的忠实力量。对于那些和他兄弟一样,用自己的生活证明有必要羞辱自己以得到信念的人,他回答,这种状态是可耻的。他关键的一句话是,“一切都是被允许的”,带有一些得体的忧郁色彩。当然,和尼采这一最有名的行刺上帝者一样,他最终疯掉了。但还是值得冒这个险的,而面对这种悲剧的结局,荒谬精神中的本质冲动会问:“这证明了什么呢?”

所以陀思妥耶夫斯基的小说,比如《日记》,提出了荒谬的问题。它们为死亡、欣喜、“可怕的自由”创造了逻辑,沙皇的荣耀变得人性化起来。一切都好,什么都被允许,没有可恶的东西——这些是荒谬的判断。但这是多么惊人的创造啊,其中的火与冰等创造物对我们来说是那么熟悉。这个激情四射的冷漠世界——冷漠在它们内心深处轰鸣,对于我们来说根本就不恐怖,我们在其中发现自己每天都有的焦虑。或许没有人像陀思妥耶夫斯基那样,赋予这个荒谬的世界那样熟悉而又折磨人的魅惑。

但是他的结论是什么呢?让我引用两段话来表现使作者得到其他发现的彻底的抽象转变。那个自杀得合乎逻辑之人的论断激起了批评者的抗议,而陀思妥耶夫斯基在以下的《日记》部分巩固了此人的位置,并且这么总结道:“如果对不道德的信任对人类十分必要(以至于没了它人就要发展到自杀),那么它必定是正常的人性状态。鉴于此,人类灵魂中的不道德无疑是存在的。”然后在他最后一部小说的最后几页,在与上帝之间那种宏大的搏斗最后,几个孩子问阿辽沙:“卡拉马佐夫,宗教说的是真的吗,我们会死而复生,我们还会重逢?”阿辽沙回答:“当然,我们还会重逢,我们会高兴地告诉对方都发生了什么事情。”

于是基里洛夫、斯塔夫罗金,还有伊万都输了。《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》对《群魔》回答。而这确实是一个结论。阿辽沙的话没有梅什金公爵 [16] 的话含糊,后者生活在永远的现在中,略带微笑与冷漠,而这种幸福的状态或许正是公爵所说的永生。相反,阿辽沙清楚地说:“我们会重逢。”不再有自杀和发疯的问题,对于确信非道义及其带来的愉悦的人来说,有什么用呢?人用自己的神性换来了幸福。“我们会高兴地告诉对方都发生了什么事情。”于是基里洛夫的枪声再一次回响在俄国的某个地方,然而世界仍在珍视自己盲目的希望。人们无法理解“那一点”。

因此,向我们娓娓诉说的不是一个荒谬小说家,而是一个存在主义小说家。这一跨跃同样动人,并且为激发自己的艺术赋予了高贵的气质。这是一种激动人心的默许,受到怀疑、不确定和热情的严重影响。陀思妥耶夫斯基在谈到《卡拉马佐夫兄弟》时写道:“本书自始至终贯穿的一个主要问题就是我一生都深受其折磨的问题,不论我是否清醒地意识到,那就是上帝的存在。”难以置信的是,一部小说便足以将一生遭受的苦痛转化为令人愉快的确定性。某评论员 [17] 准确地指出,陀思妥耶夫斯基站在伊万一边,积极乐观的章节耗费了三个月的工夫,而他所称的“亵渎行为”只用了三周便在一种兴奋的状态中写就。他的人物没有一个不带那种肉中刺,没有一个不使之恶化,没有一个不在情感与非道义中寻求补救方式。 [18] 到达终点后,创造者会做出对其人物不利的选择。而这种矛盾可以让我们做出一个区分,这里所论及的不是一部荒谬的作品,而是一部提出荒谬问题的作品。

陀思妥耶夫斯基的答复是屈辱,用斯塔夫罗金的话说就是“羞耻”。相反,荒谬的作品不会给出答复;这便是全部差异所在。在最后我们要特别注意这一点:在这部作品中与荒谬产生矛盾的不是其基督徒的特性,而是它对一种未来生活的昭示。既信仰基督又表现出荒谬,这是可能的。基督徒不相信未来生活的例子是有的。因而对艺术作品来说,应当可以确定一种荒谬分析的方向,而这也应该能从前几章中预见到的。它促进了“福音书之荒谬性”的提出,阐明了确信并不妨碍怀疑这一观点,影响颇丰。但显然《群魔》的作者尽管熟悉这些套路,最后还是选择了一条极其不同的道路。这个创造者对其人物的回答,也就是陀思妥耶夫斯基对基里洛夫的回答,让人大吃一惊,实际上该回答可以归结为:存在是虚幻的,也是永恒的。

昙花一现的创造

我于是从这一点意识到,无法永远回避希望,希望甚至可以困扰那些想要摆脱它的人,这是我在至此讨论的作品中发现的兴趣所在。至少在创造的领域内,我可以列举一些真正荒谬的作品。 [19] 然而凡事必有一个开端,此论述的对象是某种忠实性。教会对异教徒一直都严酷无情,只因她认为没有比一个误入歧途的孩子更糟糕的敌人了。有关诺斯替教派傲慢无礼的记录与摩尼教坚忍不拔的精神,比所有的祷文对建立正统教义的贡献都要大。考虑周全的话,同样的情况也适用于荒谬。人们认清自己的路线是通过发现背离路线的路径。在荒谬推理的最后,从其逻辑所持有的立场看,这问题不是对又扮上自己最动人伪装的希望表现得无动于衷的问题。这显示出荒谬的禁欲行为之艰难,尤其是显示了时刻保持警觉的必要性,并因此确认了本书的大体框架。

但如果说列举荒谬的著作仍为时尚早,至少可以针对创造性的立场得出一个结论,这是一个可以让荒谬的存在达到圆满的结论。消极的思想更能满足艺术的要求,理解一部伟大的作品必须看到其灰暗与耻辱的部分,正如认识白就要知道黑一样。用泥去雕塑,“徒劳”地去工作和创造,知道自己的创造没有未来,眼见自己的作品毁于一旦,同时又意识到,从根本上说,这同建设未来一样无关紧要——这是荒谬思想好不容易认可的智慧。否定一个,放大另一个,同时执行这两个任务,是向荒谬的创造者打开的道路。他必须赋予虚无以颜色。

这促成了对艺术品的一种特殊构想。一位创造者的作品常常被当作一系列孤立的见证,于是艺术家与作家困惑不已。一种深刻的思想一直处在“变成”的状态中;它吸收了一种生活的体验,并表现出自己的形态。同样,一个人唯一的创造在其后续多样的面貌——作品——中得到强化。这些作品接二连三地出现,相互补充,相互纠正或相互赶超,也相互矛盾。如果说有什么会结束一种创造的话,那它不是失明的艺术家胜利而虚幻的呼喊:“我已尽言”,而是创造者的死亡,他关闭了自己的体验,合上了关于自己的天才之书。

那种努力,那种超人的清醒头脑不一定对读者显而易见。人类创造中没有奥秘,意愿完成了这一奇迹,然而至少没有无秘密的真正创造。诚然,接连不断的作品只是同一种思想的一系列相似品。但还有可能设想另一种创造者,他们并肩前进。他们的作品之间似乎没有什么关联,从某种程度上说还是相互矛盾的,但如果整体来看的话,便显示出其同类性。例如,它们都从死亡中获取确定性的意义,都从其作者的生活中得到最明亮的光。在作者去世的那一刻,他一系列的作品便只是一堆败笔。可是如果这些败笔产生了共振,那么创造者就成功复制了自我状态的形象,从而空气中便回荡着被他占有的毫无意义的秘密。

在此,为取得支配地位已付出了巨大的努力,然而人类的智慧则要大的多,它只会清楚指明由意志控制的那一面创造。我在其他地方已经指出了这一事实,那就是人类的意志除为了保持清醒外别无他图,但这也无法离开锤炼。在有关耐心与清醒的练习中,创造是最行之有效的,它同样也惊人地证明了人类仅有的尊严:与自身状况的不屈反抗,锲而不舍于一种所谓无果的努力。这需要每天的努力,对自我的克制,对真理局限性的准确估计,分寸与实力。这就是禁欲,为了重复与标注时间,一切都是“徒劳”。然而或许伟大的艺术品本身没有那么重要,其重要之处在于它期待一个人承受的苦难,在于它为这个人所提供的克服自身幻觉并一步步靠近自己赤裸裸的现实的机会。

不要在美学上出错。我于此并非要求,一篇论文要不厌其烦地探询,不断进行无果的阐述。如果你清楚地理解了我的论述,你会发现我的要求恰恰相反。论述小说是一种想要证明什么的作品,是最惹人厌恶的那种,它经常是以一种自以为是的思想激发而成。你会论证那种确信自己占有的真理,而那些只是人们提出的观点,是与思想相对的。其创造者是那些自惭形秽的哲学家。我所说的或者说我所想象的那些人相反,他们是清醒的思想者。在思想对自己置之不理的时刻,他们高举自己作品的形象,正如一种受到限制而又充满反抗精神的致命思想的显著标志。

或许他们证明了什么,可是那些证明是小说家为自己而不是为整个世界提供的。最重要的是,小说家应该在具体事物中取得胜利,这是他们的高贵所在。种种抽象的力量在其中蒙羞的思想,已经为他们准备好了这种完全的肉体上的胜利。当他们完全如此的时候,肉体便会同时让创造散发出自己所有荒谬的光辉。毕竟,讽刺性哲学家产出充满激情的作品。

任何弃绝一致性的思想都颂扬多样性,而多样性是艺术的归宿。唯一使精神得到释放的思想是不去打扰它的思想,这思想明确它的限制与行将到来的结局。没有什么理论学说能对它产生诱惑,它静候着工作与生活的成熟。如果作品脱离了精神,它就会再一次用一种近乎低沉的声音表达一种没有希望的灵魂。或者,假如厌倦于自我行为的创造者意欲转身而去,它便什么也不会表达。这是对等的。

于是我期望从荒谬的创造中获取我从思想中得到的东西——反抗、自由和多样性。不久它就会彰显出自己完全的无用性。在日复一日的努力尝试中,智慧与激情相互结合,相互取悦,而荒谬之人从中发现了一种可使其实力最大化的锻炼方式。于是必需的勤奋、顽强与清醒类似于征服者的立场。创造就像是赋予一个人的命运以一种形状,对于所有这些人物而言,作品对他们的定义至少不亚于他们对作品的定义。演员教给我们:在“是什么”与“表现为什么”之间没有界线。

我要重申,所有这些都没有什么实际意义。在通往自由的过程中仍有一段路要走,对这些相互联系的头脑(不管是创造者还是征服者)所做的最后努力,就是把他们也从自己的事业中解脱出来:做到承认那作品,不论是否是征服、爱情或创造;使任何个体生活都达到完全的无用这一圆满结果。实际上,那在作品的完成上给予了他们更多的自由,正如开始意识到他们被赋予的这种生活的荒谬性,从而不遗余力地投入其中。

剩下的就是命运了,其唯一的出路是致命的。在死亡这种单独的致命性以外,一切都是自由,毋论是喜悦还是快乐。这个世界仍是人主宰的世界,对他形成限制的是对另一个世界的幻觉。其思想的结果不再是自我否定,而是开出形象的花朵。它只是在嬉戏——肯定是在虚构之中,然而这些虚构除了人类的痛苦外没有其他深度,而且同人类的痛苦一样没有穷尽。不是从供人消遣并蒙蔽人心的神话传说中,而是从人间的面孔、姿态以及戏剧中,可以总结出一种艰难的智慧与短暂的热情。


[1] 位于耶路撒冷旧城东面,该山为犹太教和基督教的圣山。耶稣在橄榄山上度过很多时间,教导门徒并作预言,也是耶稣被出卖后度过最后一夜的地方。——译者注

[2] 阿尔蒂尔·兰波(1854—1891),19世纪法国著名诗人,早期象征主义诗歌的代表人物,超现实主义诗歌的鼻祖。——译者注

[3] 埃塞俄比亚旧名。兰波在这里度过了人生的大部分时间。——译者注

[4] 歌德的长篇小说《威廉·麦斯特的学习时代》的主人公。——译者注

[5] 奇怪的是,绘画中最需要理解力的一种,说到底只是一种视觉享受,它试图将现实还原为它的本质元素。它所保留的世界只有颜色。(这一点在雷捷身上表现得特别明显。)

雷捷(1881—1955),色彩立体派的代表——译者注。

[6] 假如你停下来想一想,这其实解释了最糟糕的小说。几乎所有人都认为自己具备思考的能力,而从某种程度上说,无论对错,大家的确都在思考。但几乎没有人会设想自己是诗人或语言大师。然而从思想胜过风格的那一刻起,人们一窝蜂地侵入了小说的领域。

这并没有人们所说的那么致命。最好的会在引导下对自己提出更多严苛的要求,至于那些屈服的人,他们就不该存在。

[7] 巴尔扎克(1799—1850),法国小说家,他的总标题为《人间喜剧》的巨著包括小说91部,反映了法国社会剧烈变革时期的现实生活,描绘了法国的人情风俗。——译者注

[8] 萨德(1740—1814),法国作家,军人出身,著有长篇小说《美德的厄运》、《朱莉埃特》等。——译者注

[9] 梅尔维尔(1819—1891),美国小说家,作品多反映航海生活,富于现实感,代表作有《白鲸》、《皮埃尔》等。——译者注

[10] 司汤达(1783—1842),法国小说家,19世纪法国现实主义文学的先驱,代表作有《红与黑》、《巴马修道院》等。——译者注

[11] 马尔罗(1901—1976),法国作家、政治活动家,戴高乐的追随者,著有长篇小说《征服者》、《人类的命运》等。——译者注

[12] 卡夫卡(1883—1924),奥地利小说家,现代派文学的先驱,作品象征着20世纪的忧虑和渗透于西方社会的异化,著有长篇小说《判决》、《城堡》等。——译者注

[13] 例如马尔罗的作品。但实际上,同时也有必要论述无法被荒谬思想所忽视的社会问题(即使这一问题可以提出若干彼此差别很大的解决办法)。然而,人必须要限制自己。

[14] “斯塔夫罗金:‘你相信在另一个世界中的永生吗?’基里洛夫:‘不相信,但我相信在这个世界里的永生。’”

[15] “人创造了上帝只是为了不至于自杀。这是对到这一刻为止的普遍历史所做的总结。”

[16] 陀思妥耶夫斯基小说《白痴》中的主人公,即书中“白痴”。——译者注

[17] 俄国的乐评家席洛兹。

[18] 纪德的评论古怪而又尖锐:几乎陀思妥耶夫斯基笔下的所有英雄都是一夫多妻。无论如何,让我们保留这一疑问。这里涉及的作品在对比下显得比白昼的阳光还要耀眼,这可以让我们把握人与其希望间的斗争。

纪德(Andre Gide, 1869—1951),法国作家、文艺评论家,曾获1947年诺贝尔文学奖。——译者注

[19] 梅尔维尔的《白鲸》。

西西弗斯 [1] 神话

众神判处西西弗斯永不休止地把一块大石头滚上山顶,到了山顶石头又在自身重量的作用下滚落下去。他们的理由是,再没有比看不到希望的徒劳更可怕的惩罚方法了。

如果你相信荷马的话,那么西西弗斯便是凡人中最聪明、最审慎的一个。但在另一个传说中,他又被安排去扮演强盗的角色。这里我没发现什么矛盾,而关于他是怎么成了地狱里只能做无用功的苦力,众说纷纭。首先,有指责说他怠慢了诸神,窃取了他们的机密。伊索普斯 [2] 的女儿伊琴娜被朱庇特 [3] 劫走,父亲对女儿的失踪大为震惊,便向西西弗斯诉怨。西西弗斯知道这起绑架,便主动告诉了他,但有一个条件,就是伊索普斯要为科林斯堡供水。比起天火雷电,西西弗斯更喜欢水浴。为此他被罚下地狱。而荷马告诉我们,西西弗斯用锁链缚住了死神,普路托 [4] 无法忍受地狱的荒凉、落寞,便派战神去把死神从她的征服者手里解救出来。

还说,西西弗斯临死前,冒失地想考验一下妻子对他的爱,便命妻子不要埋葬自己的尸体,而是把它扔到公共广场的中央。西西弗斯在地狱醒了过来。在那里他要处处服从,与他在人间享受的爱完全不同,使他饱受困扰,于是他从普洛托那里获准重回人间去惩戒自己的妻子。可是当再一次见到这个世界的面貌时,他享受着阳光的照耀和水流的滋润,还有那温暖的石头和大海,再也不想回到那黑暗的地狱了。来自地狱的召唤、怒气、警告都无济于事。他面对蜿蜒的海湾、闪烁的大海、微笑的大地,又在人间生活了多年。诸神是时候采取措施了。于是墨丘利 [5] 来了,他抓住这个鲁莽之人的衣领,将他从快乐中拽了出来,强行把他带回了地狱,在那里巨石已为他备好了。

你已经看明白了,西西弗斯是荒谬的英雄。他的激情和他的痛苦成就了这个英雄人物。他对诸神的蔑视、对死亡的痛恨、对生活的热情为他赢得了那不可言状的惩罚——运用全身心的精力去完成无用功。这是世俗的热情必须要付出的代价。关于西西弗斯在地狱的事情我们一无所知。神话都是用想象吹活的,至于这个神话,人们看到的只是一个人的全部劳作,他费力抬起一块巨石,然后滚动巨石,成百上千次把它推上一个斜坡;人们看到的是一张拧紧的脸,面颊紧贴着石头,肩膀撑着沾满泥土的大石块,双脚插入土里,每迈出新的一步双臂都要伸展拉伸,人身安全只有靠那双沾满泥土的手来保障。漫长劳作的最后是紧贴头顶的天空和没有边际的时间,此时目标便达成了。然后西西弗斯看着石头冲下山去,没一会便到了下面的世界,从那里,他又得重新把石头推上山顶。他又回到了平地。

正是这种往返、停歇,使我对西西弗斯产生了兴趣。那张磨炼得如石头般的脸已然成了石头。我看着这个人走回山下去,迈着沉重而稳健的步伐,走向一种他永远不知道终点的折磨。这段喘息时间和他所要遭受的折磨一样,定时回来,这便是意识的时刻。每当他走下山顶,慢慢陷入众神的巢穴,他都高过自己的命运,强于那块巨石。如果说这个神话是个悲剧,那是因为它的英雄人物是有意识的。如果他每迈一步都充满了胜利的希望,那么何谓对他的折磨呢?今天的劳动人民每天都在完成同样的任务,这种命运绝非荒谬,只有到了意识出现时(这种情况很少出现),它才是悲惨的。西西弗斯是众神的无产者,手无缚鸡之力,心有反抗精神,他完全明白自己的悲惨处境;这正是他下山期间所思考的。清醒的头脑是他痛苦的原因,但同时也加冕了他的胜利。没有轻蔑征服不了的命运。

因此倘若走下坡路时可以充满悲伤,那么也可以充满欢乐。这话并不过分。我想象着西西弗斯走向他的石头,悲伤开始酝酿。如果大地的形象深深地刻入记忆,如果快乐的召唤已十分迫切,那么悲伤在心中郁积:这便是石头的胜利,这就是那个石头。无尽的忧伤之重难以承受,这就是我们的客西马尼 [6] 之夜。然而雄辩的真理一旦被认识就要幻灭。因而俄狄浦斯 [7] 一开始不知情的时候是服从于命运的,而从他知道的那一刻起,他的悲剧便开始了。但同时,失明而又绝望的俄狄浦斯意识到,联系他与这个世界的唯一纽带是一个女孩冰冷的手臂。于是便有了一段掷地有声的精彩话语:“尽管历经种种磨难,我年事已高,灵魂高尚,这让我最终发现,一切安好。”所以说索福克勒斯 [8] 的俄狄浦斯,同陀思妥耶夫斯基的基里洛夫一样,都给出了荒谬的胜利法则。先贤的智慧肯定了现代的英雄主义。

人们要发现荒谬,就肯定要忍不住写一本幸福指南。“什么!用这种狭隘的方式?……”然而,只有一个世界,快乐与荒谬是同一块土地的两个儿子,是不可分的。如果说要得到快乐就必须发现荒谬,那就错了,而荒谬的感觉是来自快乐的。俄狄浦斯说“我觉得,一切安好”,这一说法神圣而不可侵犯。它在荒芜而有限的人类宇宙间回响,告诫人们一切都没有耗尽,从来就没有耗尽过。一个神带着不满与对无效痛苦的偏爱进入这个世界,而它把这个神驱逐了出去。它还把命运变成了一种人的事情,必须在人中间得到解决。

西西弗斯所有静默的快乐都包含其中。他的命运属于他自己,他的石头受他左右。同样,当荒谬的人思考自己的痛苦时,他令所有被人膜拜的偶像都哑然失声。在这个突然间恢复沉寂的世界,对大地声音毫不在乎的无数元素纷纷升起。来自所有面孔的无意识的、秘密的召唤、诱惑,它们是胜利必然付出的代价,并与之相对。有阳光就会有阴影,我们必须认识黑夜。荒谬的人说“好”,然后便会不停地努力。如果有属于个人的命运,那么便不存在更高层次的命运,或者至少只有一种命运被他认为是不可避免而又可鄙的。对其余而言,他则自知是自己生活的主人。就在人回看自己生活的微妙时刻,也就是西西弗斯又回到石头那去的时候,在那微不足道的转折处,他会思索其命运中那一系列毫无关联的行动,由自己施行,在记忆中组合,由他的死亡封存。因此,他相信有关人性的一切完全源自人性,如渴望知道有谁明白黑夜无边的盲人一样,仍然在前进。石头还在滚动。

我把西西弗斯留在山脚!人们总会一次又一次地找回自己的负担。但西西弗斯告诫我们,还有更高的忠实,它可以否定神灵,举起巨石。他最终也发现,一切安好。从此,这个没有主人的宇宙在他看来,既不贫瘠,也非无望。那块石头的每一颗微粒,那座夜色笼罩的山上的每一片矿石,本身都是一个世界。迈向高处的挣扎足够填充一个人的心灵。人们应当想象西西弗斯是快乐的。


[1] 罗马神话中的人物,他是科林斯的建城者和国王。希腊古时的暴君,死后坠入地狱,被罚推石上山,但石在近山顶时又滚下,于是重新再推,如此循环不息。——译者注

[2] 罗马神话中的河神。——译者注

[3] 罗马神话中的人物,天空的统治者,部分神和人间英雄的父亲。——译者注

[4] 罗马神话中的人物,地狱的统治者。——译者注

[5] 罗马神话中的人物,众神的使者,商业、发明之神,盗窃的守护神。——译者注

[6] 客西马尼园,福音书中所说的耶稣被犹大出卖而被大祭司抓捕前所在的地方,位于橄榄山下。耶稣在此作了最后的祷告,而门徒此时都在沉睡。——译者注

[7] 希腊神话中忒拜的国王拉伊奥斯和王后约卡斯塔的儿子,他在不知情的情况下,杀死了自己的父亲并娶了自己的母亲。得知真相后,俄狄浦斯刺瞎了自己的双眼,在安提戈涅(他与母亲所生的女儿)的牵引之下漂泊四方。——译者注

[8] 大约公元前496—406,雅典人,雅典三大悲剧作家之一,代表作为《俄狄浦斯王》。——译者注

附录

卡夫卡作品中的希望与荒谬

卡夫卡的全部艺术所在就是强迫读者重读。其作品的结尾,或作品结尾的缺失,反映的是这样的阐释意义,它们没有用清楚明白的语言提示出来,反而需要读者从另一个视角重读故事,直至意义得到证实。有时对作品的阐释可能会有两种结果,所以有必要进行二次阅读,这便是作者想要的。可是如果对卡夫卡作品中的所有东西都细致入微地进行解读,也不合适。象征总是普遍意义上的,不论其翻译多么精准,艺术家也只能还原它的整体趋向:不存在字对字的翻译。况且,没有比象征作品更难理解的东西了。一种象征往往超越了运用这种象征的人,使他实际所说多于他有意识要表达的。从这一点来说,把握这种象征的最可靠办法就是不要去激发意象,不要抱着一种先入为主的态度开始这项任务,不要去找寻藏匿的暗流。特别是对于卡夫卡而言,遵循他的规则,通过外部因素看戏剧冲突,通过形式读他的小说,是说得过去的。

对于漫不经心的读者来说,乍看,它们都是些让人不安的历险,人物在颤抖中坚韧不拔,探索着自己从不明确的问题。在《审判》中,约瑟夫·K被指控了,但他不知道因何罪名。他无疑极想为自己辩护,但还是不知道为什么。律师觉得他的案子很难办,在此期间他也不忘吃饭、读报、恋爱。然后他被审判了,但法庭很黑暗。他有很多不理解,只知道自己被判有罪,但是是什么罪他也不去想。有时他会对这事产生一些怀疑,但还是继续活着。没过多久,两个穿着考究的绅士模样的警官找到他,请他和他们走一趟。他们非常客气地把他引到一个废弃的郊外,将他的头搁在一块石头上,割破了他的喉咙。死前这个有罪之人只是说了一句:“像条狗”。

你可以看到,在一个最明显的特征恰好是自然性的故事里,很难扯上象征。自然性是很难理解的一种范畴,有些作品中的事件对读者而言是自然的,而在其他(当然很少)作品中,对角色而言,他认为发生在自己身上的事是自然的。有一个奇怪但是很明显的悖论,角色的经历越不同寻常,故事的自然性就越显著:一个人的生活是怪异的,而他则简简单单地接受了这种生活,两者之间存在着不一致,而这种不一致决定了这种自然性。似乎这种自然性就是卡夫卡式的,而人们也非常了解《审判》的意思是什么。人们已经论及人类状况的一种形象,这是毋庸置疑的,但这让问题既简单又复杂起来。我是指小说的意义为卡夫卡个人专有。从某种程度上看,拥有发言权的是他,尽管他承认说是我们在发言。他在生活,他被判有罪。从小说的前几页中,他就认识到了这一点,那是他在这个世界上的追求。然而一旦他力求应付这一点,他丝毫不惊奇自己能够做到。对自己缺乏惊诧之情,他永远也不会表现出诧异。荒谬作品的初始迹象正是通过这些矛盾被辨认出来。思想会把自己的精神悲剧投射到具体的事物上,而该做法凭借的只是一种永久性的悖论,这种悖论为色彩赋予了表达虚无的能力,为日常行为赋予了传达永恒企望的力量。

同样,《城堡》或许是某种行动上的神学,但首先它是一个个体的历险,一种心灵的历险,一种人的历险,那心灵追求优雅,那人向世界客体追问他们高贵的秘密,向女人们诘问沉睡在她们心中的诸神的信息。自然,《变形记》进而代表了一种清醒的道德准则的可怕意象,而这种结果的出现同样是由于,人们在意识到自己不费吹灰之力便表现出的兽性时,会感到惊愕不已。在这种基本的晦涩中便掩藏着卡夫卡的秘诀。这些永久性的振动——从自然到特别,从个体到普遍,从悲剧到平庸,从荒谬到逻辑,贯穿于他的作品,赋予它共鸣与意义。必须一一列举这些悖论,强化这些矛盾,方能理解荒谬的作品。

实际上,一种象征表现了两个平面,思想与感觉的两种世界,以及包含他们之间一致性的词典。这一词典是最难拟定的,然而意识到这两个面对面的世界就相当于寻到了其诀窍之间关系的踪迹。在卡夫卡那里,这两个世界一方是日常生活的世界,另一方是超自然渴望的世界。 [1] 似乎在这里我们见证了尼采的话被没完没了地利用:“重大问题比比皆是。”

人的生活状况(而且这是所有文学作品的共性)中不仅有一种不可替代的高贵,还有一种基本的荒谬性,两者巧遇,天然成趣。我重申,人类精神中的无人性部分与肉体的短暂快乐之间产生了荒唐的分裂,而在这种分裂中两者都得到了突显。荒谬的是,产生这种分裂的应该是属于这个身体的心灵,而它不加节制地超越了这身体。任何想表现这种荒谬性的人都必须在一系列相似的对比中予之生命,所以卡夫卡用平庸来表达悲剧,用逻辑来表达荒谬。

演员对一个悲剧角色投入的精力越多,他就越会小心翼翼不去夸大。如果他的表现有节制,那么他激起的恐惧就会没有节制。在这一方面,希腊悲剧让人受益匪浅。在一部悲剧作品中,命运往往在逻辑性与自然性的伪装下得到更好的突显。俄狄浦斯的悲剧提前就得到昭示。他会实施谋杀与乱伦,这是冥冥之中就已经确定的。戏剧全心致力于表现这种逻辑体系,这种体系会通过一步步的推理最终让英雄人物的不幸达到顶点。仅仅告知我们这种不寻常的命运几乎没什么恐怖可言,因为那是不可能发生的事。可是如果其发生的必然性是通过由日常生活、社会、状态、熟悉的情感构成的体系展示给我们的,那么恐惧就变得神圣起来。使人产生动摇的反抗逼迫人说“那是不可能的”,而在这种反抗中有一种让人感到绝望的确定性元素,而这种确定性可能就是“那一点”。

这便是希腊悲剧的全部奥秘,或者是其奥秘的一个方面,因为还有一种相反的方式可以帮助我们更好地理解卡夫卡。人心有一种不良倾向,只把让它崩溃的东西称为命运。但快乐同样也是不需要理由的,它会以自己的方式出现,因为它是不可避免的。然而,现代人一旦意识到了这一点,他就会把功劳都归到自己身上。相反,关于希腊悲剧的特权命运,以及那些被传奇故事所钟爱的人物,有很多值得大书特书。这些处在最困难处境的人,例如尤利西斯 [2] ,脱离了自我。要返回伊萨卡岛 [3] 并没有那么容易。

无论如何一定不能忘了将逻辑、平庸与悲剧联系到一起的秘密同谋。这便是为何《变形记》的主人公,有着怪异奇遇的萨姆沙,在变成一只虫子后,唯一困扰他的是,老板会对他的缺勤而生气。他身上长出了多条腿和触角,脊椎拱起,肚子上出现了白点——我不能说这不令他惊讶,因为那样的话艺术效果会变质——这给他造成了“一丝烦恼”。卡夫卡的全部艺术所在就是这种特色。在其核心之作《城堡》中,平庸生活的细节突显出来,但在这部没有终结而一切又重新开始的怪诞小说中,表现出的是一种追求优雅的灵魂所必经的历险。在每一个属于伟大创造者的小伎俩中,同样可以找到那种问题到行动的转化,那种一般与特殊的重合。在《审判》中,主人公或许该取名为史密特或弗兰兹·卡夫卡,可是他却被叫做约瑟夫·K。他不是卡夫卡,可他又是卡夫卡。他是一个普通的欧洲人,同所有其他人一样,但他同样是一个实体的K,是这一血肉等式中的未知数。

同样,如果卡夫卡想表达荒谬的话,他可以运用一致性。你一定知道那个疯子在浴缸钓鱼的故事。一个精神病治疗医师问他“鱼有没有上钩”,他得到了毫不客气的回答:“当然没有,你个傻瓜,这是浴缸。”这是一个具有巴罗克风格的故事,但是从故事中可以非常清晰地体会到这种荒谬的影响在多大程度上与一种过度的逻辑相联系。卡夫卡的世界事实上是一种难以描绘的宇宙,人们在其中恣意享受这种在浴缸钓鱼的折磨人的奢华,明知自己会一无所获。

于此我看到的是一个有着荒谬原则的作品。例如,就《审判》而言,我的确可以说这是一次完全的胜利。肉体胜出,什么也不缺失:不缺少那种未明确表达的反抗(但这显示在文字之中),不缺少清醒而沉默的绝望(但这显示在创造之中),也不缺少小说人物直至最后死亡还在展示的那种令人惊叹的自由态度。

但这个世界并没有它看起来那么封闭。在这个停滞不前的宇宙,卡夫卡将引入一种特殊形式的希望。从这一点上说,《审判》与《城堡》没有遵循同样的方向,它们之间是相互补充的关系。这种由此及彼的前进,代表了逃避领域中一种巨大的征服,很难被察觉。《审判》提出一个问题,《城堡》从某种程度上解决这一问题。前者按照一种类科学的方法描述,没有作结论;后者从一定程度上说,采用了解释的方式。《审判》作诊断,《城堡》设想了一种治疗方法,但这里提出的补救办法不会治愈病情,只是把这种病又带回到正常生活中,使人们从某种意义上(我们可以想见克尔凯郭尔)对之加以珍视。土地测量员K除了折磨自己的焦虑外,无法想象还有其他焦虑。他四周那些人依附于那种虚无的无名之痛,似乎痛苦显现出一种特权面貌。弗丽达对K说:“自从认识了你,当你不在的时候,我是多么地需要你,我感到那么的孤独。”这种巧妙的补救办法让我们去爱摧毁自己的东西,使希望从一个没有出口的世界一跃而起,这一突然的“跨跃”让一切都改变了,而这便是这场存在性革命与《城堡》本身的奥秘。

很少有作品能在其发展中比《城堡》还要严密。被称为城堡土地测量员的K,到了村子里。可是从村子到城堡,要沟通是很难的。在数百页的描写中,K坚持搜寻自己的道路,不断前进,运用花招与各种权宜之计,从不愠怒,试图带着一种不安的善意来承担托付给自己的责任。每一章都有一种新的障碍,也是一个新的开始,它不是一种逻辑的方法,却是连贯的。这种连贯性的范围便构成了作品的悲剧特征。当K打电话给城堡时,他听到的是困惑而混杂的声音,模糊不清的笑声,从远方传来的诱惑。这足以满足他的愿望,正如那些出现在夏日天空中的若干迹象,或是那些夜晚的期盼一样,它们是我们生活下去的理由。这里我们发现了为卡夫卡所独有的忧郁的奥秘。实际上,在普鲁斯特的作品或者普罗提诺 [4] 的领域中,也能发现同样的东西:对一种失去的天堂的怀恋。奥尔加说:“巴纳巴斯早上跟我说他要去城堡时,我很伤心,那很可能是徒劳的旅程,没有希望,还浪费时间。”卡夫卡把他整个作品的赌注都压在这一暗示性的表达上——“很可能”。然而于事无补,这里对永久性的追求是小心翼翼的。卡夫卡的人物,那些被激发起的机械人,为我们提供了一种精确形象,即当我们被剥夺了自己的消遣 [5] 并被完全移交给神圣的耻辱时所具有的形象。

在《城堡》中,那种对平庸的屈从成了一种道德准则。K非常希望城堡能接收他,由于无法独自达成这一愿望,他便竭尽全力想成为这个村子的居民,丢掉大家对他的陌生感,以此赢得那种特权。他想要的是一份职业,一个家,一个健康的正常人应有的生活。他再也忍受不了这种疯癫,他想变得理性起来。他想摆脱那种奇特的诅咒,这种诅咒让他与这个村子形同陌路。有关弗丽达的插曲从这一点上说是有意义的。倘若他让这个认识一名城堡官员的女人做自己的情妇,那是因为她的过去。他从她身上得到一些超越自己的东西——同时他也知道是什么让她永远也抵不上城堡。这会让人想起克尔凯郭尔对雷吉娜·奥尔森异常的爱情。在有些人身上,燃烧他们的永恒之火足够他们烧毁离自己最近的人。把不是上帝的东西交给上帝这一致命的错误,同样是《城堡》中这一段插曲的主题,但是对于卡夫卡来说,这似乎算不上错误,而是一种教义,一种“跨跃”。没有什么东西不是上帝的。

更加意味深长的是,土地测量员和弗丽达分手这一事实,分手为的是走近巴纳巴斯的姐妹们,要知道巴纳巴斯家可是村子里唯一被城堡还有这个村子所完全遗弃的。大女儿阿马利娅拒绝了一个城堡官员给她的可耻建议,而那随之而来的咒骂让她永远也得不到上帝的爱。不能为了上帝而失去自己的荣誉,就等于说不配得到上帝的恩慈。你会看出一个为存在哲学所熟悉的主题:与道德相反的真实,在这一点上还是有深远意义的。因为卡夫卡的英雄人物——从弗丽达到巴纳巴斯的姐妹——所追寻的道路,正是从相信爱到崇拜荒谬。在这里卡夫卡的思想又与克尔凯郭尔的相类似。“巴纳巴斯”的故事被安置在书的最后,这是不足为奇的。土地测量员的最后一次尝试是通过否定他的东西重新捕获上帝,是去辨识上帝,根据的不是我们美好与美丽的范畴,而是自己淡漠、不公与仇恨的虚无与丑恶的面貌。那个请求城堡接收自己的陌生人在行程的最后更加感到自己被放逐了,因为他没有忠于自己,抛弃了道义、逻辑以及思智上的真理,为的是进入上帝慈悲的荒漠,而他与生俱来的只是狂热的希望。 [6]

“希望”这个词用在这里并不荒唐。相反,卡夫卡所描绘的状态越悲剧,希望就变得越有攻击性。《审判》越表现出真实的荒谬,《城堡》表现出的慷慨激昂的“跨跃”就越动人,越不合情理,但是在这一种纯粹的状态中我们又发现了存在主义思想的悖论,正如人们对它的论述一样。例如,克尔凯郭尔说:“一定要扼杀掉世俗的希望;只有到那时人才能被真正的希望所拯救。”这句话可以这么解释:“人要想了解《城堡》必先写作《审判》。”

诚然,论及卡夫卡的大部分人将他的作品定义为一种绝望的呼喊,不给人任何求助的希望,然而这话有待考量。他的作品中不止一种希望。在我看来,亨利·波尔多 [7] 乐观向上的作品独有一种沮丧,这是因为他的作品无所区别,而马尔罗 [8] 的作品相反总是让人感到神清气爽,但关于两部作品共同的希望与绝望都没有疑义。我只发现,荒谬的作品本身就能导致我想要避免的不忠。这种作品只是一种无果状态的无效重复,是对短暂生命的冷静赞美,在此成了幻想的摇篮。它作解释,它赋予希望以形状。创造者再也无法将自己置身事外,它并非昔日的那个悲剧游戏,而是赋予作者以生命。

奇怪的是,不管怎样,卡夫卡也好,克尔恺郭尔也好,甚至是舍斯托夫——简言之这些都是存在主义的小说家和哲学家,都旨在揭示荒谬及其后果,他们那有着相关启发性的作品从长远来看,应该会激起那声对希望的嘹亮的呼唤。

他们拥抱这位吞噬自己的上帝。希望正是通过谦卑才借机进入,因为这种存在的荒谬性向他们确保了一种更超自然的现实。倘若这种生活轨迹最终引向上帝,那么毕竟还是有一种结果的。而克尔凯郭尔、舍斯托夫和卡夫卡的英雄们在行程中的坚持不懈与锲而不舍,为那种确定性所带来的振奋人心的力量提供了一种特殊保证。 [9]

卡夫卡拒绝将自己道德上的高贵、清晰、美德与连贯性托付于自己的神,只想更好地落入其怀抱。荒谬被认可与接受,人要顺从于它,但从那时起我们知道它已不再是荒谬了。在人类状态的范围内,还有比容许从这种状态中逃脱的希望更伟大的希望吗?正如我再次所见,存在主义思想在这方面如置身于浩瀚希望之海的一叶扁舟。正是这种希望在早期基督教以及信息传播的时代点燃了旧世界。然而在塑造了一切存在主义思想特征的跨跃中,在那种坚持中,在对一种没有表象的神明的调查中,怎能看不到那否定自身的清醒之标志呢?人们仅仅把这称之为骄傲,为了自我救赎而可放弃的骄傲。这样一种否定应是成果颇丰的,但这改变不了那一事实。在我眼里,清醒的道德标准同所有骄傲一样,不会因被称作无效而降低,要知道,一种真理在其定义下也是无效的。一切事实皆如此。在一个万物既定、无所解释的世界,一种价值或超自然的多产性,是一种没有实义的概念。

无论如何,于此你可以了解卡夫卡的作品遵循了何种思想传统。把从《审判》到《城堡》的发展看作不可避免,这是明智的。约瑟夫·K和土地测量员K只是吸引卡夫卡的两极。用他的话说就是,其作品很有可能并不荒谬,但这不应成为我们发现其高贵性与普遍性的阻碍。它们的出现得益于这一事实,即他极其充分地表现了从希望到忧伤,从绝望的智慧到有意的盲目这种平庸的过程。他的作品具有普遍性(一种真正荒谬的作品不具有普遍性),它表现了人受情感触动的面容;这种人逃避人性,从自己的诸多矛盾中得到信仰的理由,并在丰富的绝望中发现希望之光,把生活作为死亡所做的恐怖练习。这具有普遍性,因为其灵感具有宗教性质。如一切宗教一样,信仰它的人不会感到自己生命的重量。但是如果我知道这一点,如果我甚至可以赞赏它,我同样也能知道我追寻的不是普遍性的东西,而是真实的东西。两者完全不可能共存。

如果我说,真正无望的思想碰巧是由相反的标准界定的,悲剧作品或许描写的是一个乐天派的生活,其所有未来的希望都被放逐了,或许那一特殊的观点会更好理解。生活越是有波澜,想失去它的想法就越荒谬。这或许是在尼采作品中所感觉到的那种高傲的贫瘠之奥秘。在这种联系中,尼采似乎是从荒谬中得出一种美学的极端后果的唯一艺术家,因为他传递给我们的最后信息就是一种贫瘠而具有征服性的冷静,以及一种对任何形而上慰藉的坚决否定。

然而以上足以突出卡夫卡在本书结构中的重要地位,我们在此涉及了人类思想的局限。从这个词最广泛的意义上看,可以说其作品没有一处是不必要的。不管怎样,它全面提出了荒谬问题。假如有人想将这些结论与我们之前的论述作对比,将内容与形式作对比,将《城堡》的隐秘含义与塑造它的自然艺术作对比,将K充满激情与自豪感的追求与它发生的平庸背景作对比,那么人们就会意识到它的伟大所在了。因为如果怀旧是人类的标志,或许没有人会赋予这些悔恨的幽灵以这种热血与内容。但同时人们也会感知到这种荒谬作品需要什么独特的高贵,或许在这里是找不到的。如果艺术的本质就是联结普通与特殊,联结一滴水的短暂永恒与其光彩的闪烁,那么通过他所展现的这两种世界间的距离来判断这位荒谬作家的伟大性,将变得更加合理。他的诀窍就是找到两种世界在最不相称之时的相遇点。

老实说,心底纯净的人到处都能发现这种人性与非人性交汇的几何轨迹。如果说浮士德与堂吉诃德是杰出的艺术创作,那是因为他们用自己世俗的双手为我们指出了那些不可计量的高贵性。可是头脑对他们双手触及的事实会加以否定,这一刻终会到来。这一刻来了,创造便不再被当作悲剧看待,只是被严肃地对待。那时的人是有希望的,但这不是他要做的事。他要做的是远离欺骗。而这正是我在卡夫卡对整个宇宙发出的强烈诉求之末所发现的。他的令人难以置信的裁决是:在这个丑陋而搅乱人心的世界里,即使鼹鼠也敢奢谈希望。 [10]


[1] 值得注意的是,卡夫卡的作品可以从一种社会批评的角度去非常合理地解读(例如《审判》),而且极有可能没有选择的必要,两种解读都不错。从荒谬层面来看,我们前面已提到,对人的反抗针对的同样是上帝:伟大的革命总是形而上的。

[2] 古希腊史诗《奥德赛》中的英雄。——译者注

[3] 希腊西部爱奥尼亚海中群岛之一,是尤利西斯的故乡。——译者注

[4] 普罗提诺(约205—270),罗马新柏拉图派哲学家。——译者注

[5] 在《城堡》中,似乎帕斯卡式的“消遣”是由把K从他的焦虑中“分离”出来的助手来表现的。如果弗丽达最终成了其中一个助手的情妇,那是因为她更喜欢现实中的舞台,那可以分享痛苦的平庸生活。

[6] 显然这只适用于卡夫卡所留给我们的《城堡》的未完成版本,但让人疑惑的是,作者在最后几章可能破坏了其小说基调的一致性。

[7] 亨利·波尔多(1870—1963),法国作家,传统主义流派的代表人物之一,法兰西学院院士。——译者注

[8] 安德烈·马尔罗(1901—1976),法国小说家、评论家。——译者注

[9] 《城堡》中唯一不怀希望的人物是阿马利娅,土地测量员与她形成最强烈的对比。

[10] 以上所述显然是对卡夫卡作品的一种解读,然而除解读外,只有说明没有什么可以阻挠人们从一种纯美学视角去思考它,才是合理的。比如,B.格罗图森在他给《审判》所作的不同寻常的序中,就只限于阐述他所谓的空想家(这种说法极为引人注目)的种种痛苦幻想,他比我们要明智得多。小说描述了一切,又什么也没有加以肯定,这是命运,或许也是该作品的伟大之处。

An Absurd Reasoning

The pages that follow deal with an absurd sensitivity that can be found widespread in the age — and not with an absurd philosophy which our time, properly speaking, has not known. It is therefore simply fair to point out, at the outset, what these pages owe to certain contemporary thinkers. It is so far from my intention to hide this that they will be found cited and commented upon throughout this work.

But it is useful to note at the same time that the absurd, hitherto taken as a conclusion, is considered in this essay as a starting point. In this sense it may be said that there is something provisional in my commentary: one cannot prejudge the positionit entails. There will be found here merely the description, in the pure state, of an intellectual malady. No metaphysic, no belief is involved in it for a moment. These are the limits and the only bias of this book. Certain personal experiences urge me to make this clear.

Absurdity and Suicide

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer. And if it is true, as Nietzsche claims, that a philosopher, to deserve our respect, must preach by example, you can appreciate the importance of that reply, for it will precede the definitive act. These are facts the heart can feel; yet they call for careful study before they become clear to the intellect.

If I ask myself how to judge that this question is more urgent than that, I reply that one judges by the actions it entails. I have never seen anyone die for the ontological argument. Galileo who held a scientific truth of great importance abjured it with the greatest ease as soon as it endangered his life. In a certain sense, he did fight. [1] That truth was not worth the stake. Whether the earth or the sun revolves around the other is a matter of profound indifference. To tell the truth, it is a futile question. On the other hand, I see many people die because they judge that life is not worth living. I see others paradoxically getting killed for the ideas or illusions that give them a reason for living (what is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying). I therefore conclude that the meaning of life is the most urgent of questions. How to answer it? On all essential problems (I mean thereby those that run the risk of leading to death or those that intensify the passion of living)there are probably but two methods of thought: the method of La Palisse and the method of Don Quixote. Solely the balance between evidence and lyricism can allow us to achieve simultaneously emotion and lucidity. In a subject at once so humble and so heavy with emotion, the learned and classical dialectic must yield, one can see, to a more modest attitude of mind deriving at one and the same time from common sense and understanding.

Suicide has never been dealt with except as a social phenomenon. On the contrary, we are concerned here, at the outset, with the relationship between individual thought and suicide. An act like this is prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art. The man himself is ignorant of it. One evening he pulls the trigger or jumps. Of an apartment-building manager who had killed himself I was told that he had lost his daughter five years before, that he had changed greatly since and that experience had ‘undermined’ him. A more exact word cannot be imagined. Beginning to think is beginning to be undermined. Society has but little connection with such beginnings. The worm is in man’s heart. That is where it must be sought. One must follow and understand this fatal game that leads from lucidity in the face of experience to flight from light.

There are many causes for a suicide and generally the most obvious ones were not the most powerful. Rarely is suicide committed (yet the hypothesis is not excluded)through reflection. What sets off the crisis is almost always unverifiable. Newspapers often speak of ‘personal sorrows’ or of ‘incurable illness’. These explanations are plausible. But one would have to know whether a friend of the desperate man had not that very day addressed him indifferently. He is the guilty one. For that is enough to precipitate all the rancours and all the boredom still in suspension. [2]

But if it is hard to fix the precise instant, the subtle step when the mind opted for death, it is easier to deduce from the act itself the consequences it implies. In a sense, and as in melodrama, killing yourself amounts to confessing. It is confessing that life is too much for you or that you do not understand it. Let’s not go too far in such analogies, however, but rather return to everyday words. It is merely confessing that that ‘is not worth the trouble’. Living, naturally, is never easy. You continue making the gestures commanded by existence for many reasons, the first of which is habit. Dying voluntarily implies that you have recognized, even instinctively, the ridiculous character of that habit, the absence of any profound reason for living, the insane character of that daily agitation and the uselessness of suffering.

What then is that incalculable feeling that deprives the mind of the sleep necessary to life? A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity. All healthy men having thought of their own suicide, it can be seen, without further explanation, that there is a direct connection between this feeling and the longing for death.

The subject of this essay is precisely this relationship between the absurd and suicide, the exact degree to which suicide is a solution to the absurd. The principle can be established that for a man who does not cheat what he believes to be true must determine his action. Belief in the absurdity of existence must then dictate his conduct. It is legitimate to wonder, clearly and without false pathos, whether a conclusion of this importance requires forsaking as rapidly as possible an incomprehensible condition. I am speaking, of course, of men inclined to be in harmony with themselves.

Stated clearly, this problem may seem both simple and insoluble. But it is wrongly assumed that simple questions involve answers that are no less simple and that evidence implies evidence. A priori and reversing the terms of the problem, just as one does or does not kill oneself, it seems that there are but two philosophical solutions, either yes or no. This would be too easy. But allowance must be made for those who, without concluding, continue questioning. Here I am only slightly indulging in irony: this is the majority. I notice also that those who answer ‘no’ act as if they thought ‘yes’. As a matter of fact, if I accept the Nietzschean criterion, they think yes in one way or another. On the other hand, it often happens that those who commit suicide were assured of the meaning of life. These contradictions are constant. It may even be said that they have never been so keen as on this point where, on the contrary, logic seems so desirable. It is a commonplace to compare philosophical theories and the behaviour of those who profess them. But it must be said that of the thinkers who refused a meaning to life none except Kirilov who belongs to literature, Peregrinos who is born of legend, [3] and Jules Lequier who belongs to hypothesis, admitted his logic to the point of refusing that life. Schopenhauer is often cited, as a fit subject for laughter, because he praised suicide while seated at a well-set table. This is no subject for joking. That way of not taking the tragic seriously is not so grievous, but it helps to judge a man.

In the face of such contradictions and obscurities must we conclude that there is no relationship between the opinion one has about life and the act one commits to leave it? Let us not exaggerate in this direction. In a man’s attachment to life there is something stronger than all the ills in the world. The body’s judgement is as good as the mind’s and the body shrinks from annihilation. We get into the habit of living before acquiring the habit of thinking. In that race which daily hastens us towards death, the body maintains its irreparable lead. In short, the essence of that contradiction lies in what I shall call the act of eluding because it is both less and more than diversion in the Pascalian sense. Eluding is the invariable game. The typical act of eluding, the fatal evasion that constitutes the third theme of this essay, is hope. Hope of another life one must ‘deserve’ or trickery of those who live, not for life itself, but for some great idea that will transcend it, refine it, give it a meaning, and betray it.

Thus everything contributes to spreading confusion. Hitherto, and it has not been wasted effort, people have played on words and pretended to believe that refusing to grant a meaning to life necessarily leads to declaring that it is not worth living. In truth, there is no necessary common measure between these two judgements. One merely has to refuse to be misled by the confusions, divorces, and inconsistencies previously pointed out. One must brush everything aside and go straight to the real problem. One kills oneself because life is not worth living, that is certainly a truth — yet an unfruitful one because it is a truism. But does that insult to existence, that flat denial in which it is plunged come from the fact that it has no meaning? Does its absurdity require one to escape it through hope or suicide — this is what must be clarified, hunted down and elucidated while brushing aside all the rest. Does the Absurd dictate death? This problem must be given priority over others, outside all methods of thought and all exercises of the disinterested mind. Shades of meaning, contradictions, the psychology that an ‘objective’ mind can always introduce into all problems have no place in this pursuit and this passion. It calls simply for an unjust, in other words logical, thought. That is not easy. It is always easy to be logical. It is almost impossible to be logical to the bitter end. Men who die by their own hand consequently follow to its conclusion their emotional inclination. Reflection on suicide gives me an opportunity to raise the only problem to interest me: is there a logic to the point of death? I cannot know unless I pursue, without reckless passion, in the sole light of evidence, the reasoning of which I am here suggesting the source. This is what I call an absurd reasoning. Many have begun it. I do not yet know whether or not they kept to it.

When Karl Jaspers, revealing the impossibility of constituting the world as a unity, exclaims: ‘This limitation leads me to myself, where I can no longer withdraw behind an objective point of view that I am merely representing, where neither I myself nor the existence of others can any longer become an object for me,’ he is evoking after many others those waterless deserts where thought reaches its confines. After many others, yes indeed, but how eager they were to get out of them! At that last crossroad where thought hesitates, many men have arrived and even some of the humblest. They then abdicated what was most precious to them, their life. Others, princes of the mind, abdicated likewise, but they initiated the suicide of their thought in its purest revolt. The real effort is to stay there, rather, in so far as that is possible, and to examine closely the odd vegetation of those distant regions. Tenacity and acumen are privileged spectators of this inhuman show in which absurdity, hope and death carry on their dialogue. The mind can then analyse the figures of that elementary yet subtle dance before illustrating them and reliving them itself.

Absurd Walls

Like great works, deep feelings always mean more than they are conscious of saying. The regularity of an impulse or a repulsion in a soul is encountered again in habits of doing or thinking, is reproduced in consequences of which the soul itself knows nothing. Great feelings take with them their own universe, splendid or abject. They light up with their passion an exclusive world in which they recognize their climate. There is a universe of jealousy, of ambition, of selfishness or of generosity. A universe — in other words a metaphysic and an attitude of mind. What is true of already specialized feelings will be even more so of emotions basically as indeterminate, simultaneously as vague and as ‘definite’ , as remote and as ‘present’ as those furnished us by beauty or aroused by absurdity.

At any street corner the feeling of absurdity can strike any man in the face. As it is, in its distressing nudity, in its light without effulgence, it is elusive. But that very difficulty deserves reflection. It is probably true that a man remains for ever unknown to us and that there is in him something irreducible that escapes us. But practically I know men and recognize them by their behaviour, by the totality of their deeds, by the consequences caused in life by their presence. Likewise, all those irrational feelings which offer no purchase to analysis. I can define them practically , appreciate them practically , by gathering together the sum of their consequences in the domain of the intelligence, by seizing and noting all their aspects, by outlining their universe. It is certain that apparently, though I have seen the same actor a hundred times, I shall not for that reason know him any better personally. Yet if I add up the heroes he has personified and if I say that I know him a little better at the hundredth character counted off , this will be felt to contain an element of truth. For this apparent paradox is also an apologue. There is a moral to it. It teaches that a man defines himself by his make-believe as well as by his sincere impulses. There is thus a lower key of feelings, inaccessible in the heart but partially disclosed by the acts they imply and the attitudes of mind they assume. It is clear that in this way I am defining a method. But it is also evident that that method is one of analysis and not of knowledge. For methods imply metaphysics; unconsciously they disclose conclusions that they often claim not to know yet. Similarly the last pages of a book are already contained in the first pages. Such a link is inevitable. The method defined here acknowledges the feeling that all true knowledge is impossible. Solely appearances can be enumerated and the climate make itself felt.

Perhaps we shall be able to overtake that elusive feeling of absurdity in the different but closely related worlds of intelligence, of the art of living, or of art itself. The climate of absurdity is in the beginning. The end is the absurd universe and that attitude of mind which lights the world with its true colours to bring out the privileged and implacable visage which that attitude has discerned in it.

All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street-corner or in a restaurant’s revolving door. So it is with absurdity. The absurd world more than others derives its nobility from that abject birth. In certain situations, replying ‘nothing’ when asked what one is thinking about may be pretence in a man. Those who are loved are well aware of this. But if that reply is sincere, if it symbolizes that odd state of soul in which the void becomes eloquent, in which the chain of daily gestures is broken, in which the heart vainly seeks the link that will connect it again, then it is as it were the first sign of absurdity.

It happens that the stage-sets collapse. Rising, tram, four hours in the office or factory, meal, tram, four hours of work, meal, sleep and Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, according to the same rhythm — this path is easily followed most of the time. But one day the ‘why’ arises and everything begins in that weariness tinged with amazement. ‘Begins’ — this is important. Weariness comes at the end of the acts of a mechanical life, but at the same time it inaugurates the impulse of consciousness. It awakens consciousness and provokes what follows. What follows is the gradual return into the chain or it is the definitive awakening. At the end of the awakening comes, in time, the consequence: suicide or recovery. In itself weariness has something sickening about it. Here, I must conclude that it is good. For everything begins with consciousness and nothing is worth anything except through it. There is nothing original about these remarks. But they are obvious; that is enough for a while, during a sketchy reconnaissance in the origins of the absurd. Mere ‘anxiety’ , as Heidegger says, is at the source of everything.

Likewise and during every day of an unillustrious life, time carries us. But a moment always comes when we have to carry it. We live on the future: ‘tomorrow’ , ‘later on’ , ‘when you have made your way’ , ‘you will understand when you are old enough’. Such irrelevancies are wonderful, for, after all, it’s a matter of dying. Yet a time comes when a man notices or says that he is thirty. Thus he asserts his youth. But simultaneously he situates himself in relation to time. He takes his place in it. He admits that he stands at a certain point on a curve that he acknowledges having to travel to its end. He belongs to time and, by the horror that seizes him, he recognizes his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it. The revolt of the flesh is the absurd. [4]

A step lower and strangeness creeps in: perceiving that the world is ‘dense’ , sensing to what degree a stone is foreign and irreducible to us, with what intensity nature or a landscape can negate us. At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise. The primitive hostility of the world rises up to face us across millennia. For a second we cease to understand it because for centuries we have understood in it solely the images and designs that we had attributed to it beforehand, because henceforth we lack the power to make use of that artifice. The world evades us because it becomes itself again. That stage-scenery masked by habit becomes again what it is. It withdraws at a distance from us. Just as there are days when, under the familiar face of a woman, we see as a stranger her we had loved months or years ago, perhaps we shall come even to desire what suddenly leaves us so alone. But the time has not yet come. Just one thing: that denseness and that strangeness of the world is the absurd.

Men, too, secrete the inhuman. At certain moments of lucidity, the mechanical aspect of their gestures, their meaningless pantomime make silly everything that surrounds them. A man is talking on the telephone behind a glass partition; you cannot hear him but you see his incomprehensible dumb-show: you wonder why he is alive. The discomfort in the face of man’s own inhumanity, this incalculable tumble before the image of what we are, this ‘nausea’ , as a writer of today calls it, is also the absurd. Likewise the stranger who at certain seconds comes to meet us in a mirror, the familiar and yet alarming brother we encounter in our own photographs is also the absurd.

I come at last to death and to the attitude we have to wards it. On this point everything has been said and it is only proper to avoid pathos. Yet one will never be sufficiently surprised that everyone lives as if no one ‘knew’. This is because in reality there is no experience of death. Properly speaking, nothing has been experienced but what has been lived and made conscious. Here, it is barely possible to speak of the experience of others’ deaths. It is a substitute, an illusion, and it never quite convinces us. That melancholy convention cannot be persuasive. The horror comes in reality from the mathematical aspect of the event. If time frightens us, this is because it works out the problem and the solution comes afterwards. All the pretty speeches about the soul will have their contrary convincingly proved, at least for a time. From this inert body on which a slap makes no mark the soul has disappeared. This elementary and definitive aspect of the adventure constitutes the absurd feeling. Under the fatal lighting of that destiny, its uselessness becomes evident. No code of ethics and no effort are justifi able a priori in the face of the cruel mathematics that command our condition.

Let me repeat: all this has been said over and over. I am limiting myself here to making a rapid classification and to pointing out these obvious themes. They run through all literatures and all philosophies. Everyday conversation feeds on them. There is no question of re-inventing them. But it is essential to be sure of these facts in order to be able to question oneself subsequently on the primordial question. I am interested — let me repeat again — not so much in absurd discoveries as in their consequences. If one is assured of these facts, what is one to conclude, how far is one to go to elude nothing? Is one to die voluntarily or to hope in spite of everything? Beforehand, it is necessary to take the same rapid inventory on the plane of the intelligence.

The mind’s first step is to distinguish what is true from what is false. However, as soon as thought reflects itself, what it first discovers is a contradiction. Useless to strive to be convincing in this case. Over the centuries no one has furnished a clearer and more elegant demonstration of the business than Aristotle: ‘The often ridiculed consequence of these opinions is that they destroy themselves. For by asserting that all is true we assert the truth of the contrary assertion and consequently the falsity of our own thesis (for the contrary assertion does not admit that it can be true). And if one says that all is false, that assertion is itself false. If we declare that solely the assertion opposed to ours is false or else that solely ours is not false, we are nevertheless forced to admit an infinite number of true or false judgements. For the one who expresses a true assertion proclaims simultaneously that it is true, and so on ad infinitum .’

This vicious circle is but the first of a series in which the mind that studies itself gets lost in a giddy whirling. The very simplicity of these paradoxes makes them irreducible. Whatever may be the plays on words and the acrobatics of logic, to understand is above all to unify. The mind’s deepest desire, even in its most elaborate operations, parallels man’s unconscious feelings in the face of his universe: it is an insistence upon familiarity, an appetite for clarity. Understanding the world for a man is reducing it to the human, stamping it with his seal. The cat’s universe is not the universe of the ant-hill. The truism ‘All thought is anthropomorphic’ has no other meaning. Likewise the mind that aims to understand reality can consider itself satisfied only by reducing it to terms of thought. If man realized that the universe like him can love and suffer, he would be reconciled. If thought discovered in the shimmering mirrors of phenomena eternal relations capable of summing them up and summing themselves up in a single principle, then would be seen an intellectual joy of which the myth of the blessed would be but a ridiculous imitation. That nostalgia for unity, that appetite for the absolute illustrates the essential impulse for the human drama. But the fact of that nostalgia’s existence does not imply that it is to be immediately satisfied. For if, bridging the gulf that separates desire from conquest, we assert with Parmenides the reality of the One (whatever it may be)we fall into the ridiculous contra diction of a mind that asserts total unity and proves by its very assertion its own difference and the diversity it claimed to resolve. This other vicious circle is enough to stifle our hopes.

These are again truisms. I shall again repeat that they are not interesting in themselves but in the consequences that can be deduced from them. I know another truism: it tells me that man is mortal. One can nevertheless count the minds that have deduced the extreme conclusions from it. It is essential to consider as a constant point of reference in this essay the regular hiatus between what we fancy we know and what we really know, practical assent and simulated ignorance which allows us to live with ideas which, if we truly put them to the test, ought to upset our whole life. Faced with this inextricable contradiction of the mind, we shall fully grasp the divorce separating us from our own creations. So long as the mind keeps silent in the motionless world of its hopes, everything is reflected and arranged in the unity of its nostalgia. But with its first move this world cracks and tumbles: an infinite number of shimmering fragments is offered to the understanding. We must despair of ever reconstructing the familiar, calm surface which would give us peace of heart. After so many centuries of inquiries, so many abdications among thinkers, we are well aware that this is true for all our knowledge. With the exception of professional rationalists, today people despair of true knowledge. If the only significant history of human thought were to be written, it would have to be the history of its successive regrets and its impotences.

Of whom and of what indeed can I say: ‘I know that!’ This heart within me I can feel, and I judge that it exists. This world I can touch, and I likewise judge that it exists. There ends all my knowledge, and the rest is construction. For if I try to seize this self of which I feel sure, if I try to define and to summarize it, it is nothing but water slipping through my fingers. I can sketch one by one all the aspects it is able to assume, all those likewise that have been attributed to it, this upbringing, this origin, this ardour or these silences, this nobility or this vileness. But aspects cannot be added up. This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. For ever I shall be a stranger to myself. In psychology as in logic, there are truths but no truth. Socrates’ ‘Know thyself’ has as much value as the ‘be virtuous’ of our confessionals. They reveal a nostalgia at the same time as an ignorance. They are sterile exercises on great subjects. They are legitimate only precisely in so far as they are approximate.

And here are trees and I know their gnarled surface, water and I feel its taste. These scents of grass and stars at night, certain evenings when the heart relaxes — how shall I negate this world whose power and strength I feel? Yet all the knowledge on earth will give me nothing to assure me that this world is mine. You describe it to me and you teach me to classify it. You enumerate its laws and in my thirst for knowledge I admit that they are true. You take apart its mechanism and my hope increases. At the final stage you teach me that this wondrous and multi-coloured universe can be reduced to the atom and that the atom itself can be reduced to the electron. All this is good and I wait for you to continue. But you tell me of an invisible planetary system in which electrons gravitate around a nucleus. You explain this world to me with an image. I realize then that you have been reduced to poetry: I shall never know. Have I the time to become indignant? You have already changed theories. So that science that was to teach me everything ends up in a hypothesis, that lucidity founders in metaphor, that uncertainty is resolved in a work of art. What need had I of so many efforts? The soft lines of these hills and the hand of evening on this troubled heart teach me much more. I have returned to my beginning. I realize that if through science I can seize phenomena and enumerate them, I cannot for all that apprehend the world. Were I to trace its entire relief with my finger, I should not know any more. And you give me the choice between a description that is sure but that teaches me nothing and hypotheses that claim to teach me but that are not sure. A stranger to myself and to the world, armed solely with a thought that negates itself as soon as it asserts, what is this condition in which I can have peace only by refusing to know and to live, in which the appetite for conquest bumps into walls that defy its assaults? To will is to stir up paradoxes. Everything is ordered in such a way as to bring into being that poisoned peace produced by thoughtlessness, lack of heart or fatal renunciations.

Hence the intelligence, too, tells me in its way that this world is absurd. Its contrary, blind reason, may well claim that all is clear. I was waiting for proof and longing for it to be fight. But, despite so many pretentious centuries and over the heads of so many eloquent and persuasive men, I know that is false. On this plane, at least, there is no happiness if I cannot know. That universal reason, practical or ethical, that determinism, those categories that explain everything are enough to make a decent man laugh. They have nothing to do with the mind. They negate its profound truth which is to be enchained. In this unintelligible and limited universe, man’s fate henceforth assumes its meaning. A horde of irrationals has sprung up and surrounds him until his ultimate end. In his recovered and now studied lucidity, the feeling of the absurd becomes clear and definite. I said that the world is absurd but I was too hasty. This world in itself is not reasonable, that is all that can be said. But what is absurd is the confrontation of the irrational and the wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart. The absurd depends as much on man as on the world. For the moment it is all that links them together. It binds them one to the other as only hatred can weld two creatures together. This is all I can discern clearly in this measureless universe where my adventure takes place. Let us pause here. If I hold to be true that absurdity that determines my relationship with life, if I become thoroughly imbued with that sentiment that seizes me in face of the world’s scenes, with that lucidity imposed on me by the pursuit of a science, I must sacrifice everything to these certainties and I must see them squarely to be able to maintain them. Above all, I must adapt my behaviour to them and pursue them in all their consequences. I am speaking here of decency. But I want to know beforehand if thought can live in those deserts.

I already know that thought has at least entered those deserts. There it found its bread. There it realized that it had previously been feeding on phantoms. It justified some of the most urgent themes of human refl ection.

From the moment absurdity is recognized, it becomes a passion, the most harrowing of all. But whether or not one can live with one’s passions, whether or not one can accept their law, which is to burn the heart they simultaneously exalt, that is the whole question. It is not, however, the one we shall ask just yet. It stands at the centre of this experience. There will be time to come back to it. Let us recognize rather those themes and those impulses born of the desert. It will suffice to enumerate them. They, too, are known to all today. There have always been men to defend the rights of the irrational. The tradition of what may be called humiliated thought has never ceased to exist. The criticism of rationalism has been made so often that it seems unnecessary to begin again. Yet our epoch is marked by the rebirth of those paradoxical systems that strive to trip up the reason as if truly it has always forged ahead. But that is not so much a proof of the efficacy of the reason as of the intensity of its hopes. On the plane of history, such a constancy of two attitudes illustrates the essential passion of man torn between his urge towards unity and the clear vision he may have of the walls enclosing him.

But never, perhaps, at any time has the attack on reason been more violent than in ours. Since Zarathustra’s great outburst: ‘By chance it is the oldest nobility in the world. I conferred it upon all things when I proclaimed that above them no eternal will was exercised’; since Kierkegaard’s fatal illness, ‘that malady that leads to death with nothing else following it’ , the significant and tormenting themes of absurd thought have followed one another. Or, at least, and this proviso is of capital importance, the themes of irrational and religious thought. From Jaspers to Heidegger, from Kierkegaard to Chestov, from the phenomenologists to Scheler, on the logical plane and on the moral plane, a whole family of minds related by their nostalgia but opposed by their methods or their aims, have persisted in blocking the royal road of reason and in recovering the direct paths of truth. Here I assume these thoughts to be known and lived. Whatever may be or have been their ambitions, all started out from that indescribable universe where contradiction, antinomy, anguish or impotence reigns. And what they have in common is precisely the themes so far disclosed. For them, too, it must be said that what matters above all is the conclusions they have managed to draw from those discoveries. That matters so much that they must be examined separately. But for the moment we are concerned solely with their discoveries and their initial experiments. We are concerned solely with noting their agreement. If it would be presumptuous to try to deal with their philosophies, it is possible and sufficient in any case to bring out the climate that is common to them.

Heidegger considers the human condition coldly and announces that that existence is humiliated. The only reality is ‘anxiety’ in the whole chain of beings. To the man lost in the world and its diversions this anxiety is a brief, fleeting fear. But if that fear becomes conscious of itself, it becomes anguish, the perpetual climate of the lucid man ‘in whom existence is concentrated’. This professor of philosophy writes without trembling and in the most abstract language in the world that ‘the finite and limited character of human existence is more primordial than man himself.’ His interest in Kant extends only to recognizing the restricted character of his ‘pure Reason’. This is to conclude at the end of his analyses that ‘the world can no longer offer anything to the man filled with anguish’. This anxiety seems to him so much more important than all the categories in the world that he thinks and talks only of it. He enumerates its aspects: boredom when the ordinary man strives to quash it in him and benumb it; terror when the mind con templates death. He, too, does not separate consciousness from the absurd. The consciousness of death is the call of anxiety and ‘existence then delivers itself its own summons through the intermediary of consciousness’. It is the very voice of anguish and it adjures existence ‘to return from its loss in the anonymous They’. For him, too, one must not sleep but must keep alert until the consummation. He stands in this absurd world and points out its ephemeral character. He seeks his way amidst these ruins.

Jaspers despairs of any ontology because he claims that we have lost ‘naivete ’. He knows that we can achieve nothing that will transcend the fatal game of appearances. He knows that the end of the mind is failure. He tarries over the spiritual adventures revealed by history and pitilessly discloses the flaw in each system, the illusion that saved everything, the preaching that hid nothing. In this ravaged world in which the impossibility of knowledge is established, in which everlasting nothingness seems the only reality and irremediable despair seems the only attitude, he tries to discover the ‘Ariadne’s thread’ that leads to divine secrets.

Chestov, for his part, throughout a wonderfully monotonous work, constantly straining towards the same truths, tirelessly demonstrates that the tightest system, the most universal rationalism always stumbles eventually on the irrational of human thought. None of the ironic facts on ridiculous contradictions that depreciate the reason escapes him. One thing only interests him and that is the exception, whether in the domain of the heart or of the mind. Through the Dostoyevskian experiences of the condemned man, the exacerbated adventures of the Nietzschean mind, Hamlet’s imprecations, or the bitter aristocracy of an Ibsen, he tracks down, illuminates and magnifies the human revolt against the irremediable. He refuses the reason its seasons and be gins to advance with some decision only in the middle of that colourless desert where all certainties have become stones.

Of all, perhaps the most engaging, Kierkegaard, for a part of his existence at least, does more than discover the absurd, he lives it. The man who writes: ‘The surest of stubborn silences is not to hold one’s tongue but to talk’ makes sure in the beginning that no truth is absolute or can render satisfactory an existence that is impossible in itself. Don Juan of the understanding, he multiplies pseudonyms and contradictions, writes his Discourses of Edification at the same time as that manual of cynical spiritualism, The Diary of the Seducer . He refuses consolations, ethics, reliable principles. As for that thorn he feels in his heart, he is careful not to quiet its pain. On the contrary, he awakens it and, in the desperate joy of a man crucified and happy to be so, he builds up piece by piece — lucidity, refusal, make- believe — a category of the man possessed. That face both tender and sneering, those pirouettes followed by a cry from the heart are the absurd spirit itself grappling with a reality beyond its comprehension. And the spiritual adventure that leads Kierkegaard to his beloved scandals begins likewise in the chaos of an experience divested of its setting and relegated to its original incoherence.

On quite a different plane, that of method, Husserl and the phenomenologists, by their very extravagances, reinstate the world in its diversity and deny the transcendent power of the reason. The spiritual universe becomes incalculably enriched through them. The rose petal, the milestone, or the human hand are as important as love, desire, or the laws of gravity. Thinking ceases to be unifying or making a semblance familiar in the guise of a major principle. Thinking is learning all over again to see, to be attentive, to focus consciousness; it is turning every idea and every image, in the manner of Proust, into a privileged moment. What justifies thought is its extreme consciousness. Though more positive than Kierkegaard’s or Chestov’s, Husserl’s manner of proceeding, in the beginning, nevertheless negates the classic method of reason, disappoints hope, opens to intuition and to the heart a whole proliferation of phenomena, the wealth of which has about it something inhuman. These paths lead to all sciences or to none. This amounts to saying that in this case the means are more important than the end. All that is involved is ‘an attitude for understanding’ and not a consolation. Let me repeat: in the beginning, at very least.

How can one fail to feel the basic relationship of these minds! How can one fail to see that they take their stand around a privileged and bitter moment in which hope has no further place? I want everything to be explained to me or nothing. And the reason is impotent when it hears this cry from the heart. The mind aroused by this insistence seeks and finds nothing but contradictions and nonsense. What I fail to understand is nonsense. The world is peopled with such irrationals. The world itself, whose single meaning I do not understand, is but a vast irrational. If one could only say just once: ‘this is clear’ , all would be saved. But these men vie with one another in proclaiming that nothing is clear, all is chaos, that all man has is his lucidity and his definite knowledge of the walls surrounding him.

All these experiences agree and confirm one another. The mind, when it reaches its limits, must make a judgement and choose its conclusions. This is where suicide and the reply stand. But I wish to reverse the order of the inquiry and start out from the intelligent adventure and come back to daily acts. The experiences called to mind here were born in the desert that we must not leave behind. At least it is essential to know how far they went. At this point of his effort man stands face to face with the irrational. He feels within him his longing for happiness and for reason. The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world. This must not be forgotten. This must be clung to because the whole consequence of a life can depend on it. The irrational, the human nostalgia, and the absurd that is born of their en counter — these are the three characters in the drama that must necessarily end with all the logic of which an existence is capable.

Philosophical Suicide

The feeling of the absurd is not, for all that, the notion of the absurd. It lays the foundations for it, and that is all. It is not limited to that notion, except in the brief moment when it passes judgement on the universe. Subsequently it has a chance of going further. It is alive; in other words, it must die or else reverberate. So it is with the themes we have gathered together. But there again what interests me is not words or minds, criticism of which would call for another form and another place, but the discovery of what their conclusions have in common. Never, perhaps, have minds been so different. And yet we recognize as identical the spiritual landscapes in which they get under way. Like wise, despite such dissimilar zones of knowledge, the cry that terminates their itinerary tings out in the same way. It is evident that the thinkers we have just recalled have a common climate. To say that that climate is deadly scarcely amounts to playing on words. Living under that stifling sky forces one to get away or to stay. The important thing is to find out how people get away in the first case and why people stay in the second case. This is how I define the problem of suicide and the possible interest in the conclusions of existential philosophy.

But first I want to detour from the direct path. Up to now we have managed to circumscribe the absurd from the outside. One can, however, wonder how much is clear in that notion and by direct analysis try to discover its meaning on the one hand and, on the other, the consequences it involves.

If I accuse an innocent man of a monstrous crime, if I tell a virtuous man that he has coveted his own sister, he will reply that this is absurd. His indignation has its comical aspect. But it also has its fundamental reason. The virtuous man illustrates by that reply the definitive antinomy existing between the deed I am attributing to him and his lifelong principles. ‘It’s absurd’ means ‘It’s impossible’ but also: ‘It’s contradictory’. If I see a man armed only with a sword attack a group of machineguns, I shall consider his act to be absurd. But it is so solely by virtue of the disproportion between his intention and the reality he will encounter, of the contradiction I notice between his true strength and the aim he has in view. Likewise we shall deem a verdict absurd when we contrast it with the verdict the facts apparently dictated. And similarly a demonstration by the absurd is achieved by comparing the consequences of such a reasoning with the logical reality one wants to set up. In all these cases, from the simplest to the most complex, the magnitude of the absurdity will be in direct ratio to the distance between the two terms of my comparison. There are absurd marriages, challenges, rancours, silences, wars and even peace-treaties. For each of them the absurdity springs from a comparison. I am thus justified in saying that the feeling of absurdity does not spring from the mere scrutiny of a fact or an impression but that it bursts from the comparison between a bare fact and a certain reality, between an action and the world that transcends it. The absurd is essentially a divorce. It lies in neither of the elements compared; it is born of their confrontation.

In this particular case and on the plane of intelligence, I can therefore say that the Absurd is not in man (if such a metaphor could have a meaning)nor in the world, but in their presence together. For the moment it is the only bond uniting them. If I wish to limit myself to facts, I know what man wants, I know what the world offers him, and now I can say that I also know what links them. I have no need to dig deeper. A single certainty is enough for the seeker. He simply has to derive all the consequences from it.

The immediate consequence is also a rule of method. The odd trinity brought to light in this way is certainly not a startling discovery. But it resembles the data of experience in that it is both infinitely simple and infinitely complicated. Its first distinguishing feature in this regard is that it cannot be divided. To destroy one of its terms is to destroy the whole. There can be no absurd outside the human mind. Thus, like everything else, the absurd ends with death. But there can be no absurd outside this world either. And it is by this elementary criterion that I judge the notion of the absurd to be essential and consider that it can stand as the first of my truths. The rule of method alluded to above appears here. If I judge that a thing is true, I must preserve it. If I attempt to solve a problem, at least I must not by that very solution conjure away one of the terms of the problem. For me the sole datum is the absurd. The first and, after all, the only condition of my inquiry is to preserve the very thing that crushes me, consequently to respect what I consider essential in it. I have just defined it as a confrontation and an unceasing struggle.

And carrying this absurd logic to its conclusion, I must admit that that struggle implies a total absence of hope (which has nothing to do with despair), a continual rejection (which must not be confused with renunciation), and a conscious dissatisfaction (which must not be compared to immature unrest). Everything that destroys, conjures away, or exercises these requirements (and, to begin with, consent which overthrows divorce)ruins the absurd and devaluates the attitude that may then be proposed. The absurd has meaning only in so far as it is not agreed to.

There exists an obvious fact that seems utterly moral: namely, that a man is always a prey to his truths. Once he has admitted them, he cannot free himself from them. One has to pay something. A man who has become conscious of the absurd is forever bound to it. A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future. That is natural. But it is just as natural that he should strive to escape the universe of which he is the creator. All the foregoing has significance only on account of this paradox. Certain men, starting from a critique of rationalism, had admitted the absurd climate. Nothing is more instructive in this regard than to scrutinize the way in which they have elaborated their consequences.

Now, to limit myself to existential philosophies, I see that all of them without exception suggest escape. Through an odd reasoning, starting out from the absurd over the ruins of reason, in a closed universe limited to the human, they deify what crushes them and find reason to hope in what impoverishes them. That forced hope is religious in all of them. It deserves attention.

I shall merely analyse here as examples a few themes dear to Chestov and Kierkegaard. But Jaspers will provide us, in caricatural form, a typical example of this attitude. As a result the rest will be clearer. He is left powerless to realize the transcendent, incapable of plumbing the depth of experience and conscious of that universe upset by failure. Will he advance or at least draw the conclusions from that failure? He contributes nothing new. He has found nothing in experience but the confession of his own impotence and no occasion to infer any satisfactory principle. Yet without justification, as he says to himself, he suddenly asserts all at once the transcendent, the essence of experience and the super-human significance of life when he writes: ‘Does not the failure reveal, beyond any possible explanation and interpretation, not the absence but the existence of transcendence?’ That existence which, suddenly and through a blind act of human confidence, explains everything, he defines as ‘the unthinkable unity of the general and the particular’. Thus the absurd becomes god (in the broadest meaning of this word)and that inability to understand becomes the existence that illuminates everything. Nothing logically prepares this reasoning. I can call it a leap. And paradoxically can be understood Jaspers’ insistence, his infinite patience devoted to making the experience of the transcendent impossible to realize. For the more fleeting that approximation is, the more empty that definition proves to be, the more real that transcendent is to him; for the passion he devotes to asserting it is in direct proportion to the gap between his powers of explanation and the irrationality of the world and of experience. It thus appears that the more bitterly Jaspers destroys the reason’s preconceptions the more radically he will explain the world. That apostle of humiliated thought will find at the very end of humiliation the means of regenerating being to its very depth.

Mystical thought has familiarized us with such devices. They are just as legitimate as any attitude of mind. But for the moment I am acting as if I took a certain problem seriously. Without judging beforehand the general value of this attitude or its educative power, I mean simply to consider whether it answers the conditions I set myself, whether it is worthy of the conflict that concerns me. Thus I return to Chestov. A commentator relates a remark of his that deserves interest: ‘The only true solution,’ he said, ‘is precisely where human judgement sees no solution. Otherwise, what need would we have of God? We turn towards God only to obtain the impossible. As for the possible, men suffice.’ If there is a Chestovian philosophy, I can say that it is altogether summed up in this way. For when, at the conclusion of his passionate analyses, Chestov discovers the fundamental absurdity of all existence, he does not say: ‘This is absurd’ , but rather ‘This is God: we must rely on him even if he does not correspond to any of our rational categories’. So that confusion may not be possible, the Russian philosopher even hints that this God is, perhaps, full of hatred and hateful, incomprehensible and contradictory; but the more hideous is his face the more he asserts his power. His grearess is his incoherence. His proof is his in humanity. One must spring into him and by this leap free oneself from rational illusions. Thus, for Chestov, acceptance of the absurd is contemporaneous with the absurd itself. Being aware of it amounts to accepting it, and the whole logical effort of his thought is to bring it out so that at the same time the tremendous hope it involves may burst forth. Let me repeat that this attitude is legitimate. But I am persisting here in considering a single problem and all its consequences. I do not have to examine the emotion of a thought or of an act of faith. I have a whole lifetime to do that. I know that the rationalist finds Chestov’s attitude annoying. But I also feel that Chestov is fight rather than the rationalist and I merely want to know if he remains faithful to the commandments of the absurd.

Now, if it is admitted that the absurd is the contrary of hope, it is seen that existential thought for Chestov pre supposes the absurd but proves it only to dispel it. Such subtlety of thought is a conjuror’s emotional trick. When Chestov elsewhere sets his absurd in opposition to current morality and reason, he calls it truth and redemption. Hence there is basically in that definition of the absurd an approbation that Chestov grants it. If it is admitted that all the power of that notion lies in the way it runs counter to our elementary hopes, if it is felt that to remain, the absurd requires not to be consented to, then it can be clearly seen that it has lost its true aspect, its human and relative character in order to enter an eternity that is both incomprehensible and satisfying. If there is an absurd, it is in man’s universe. The moment the notion transforms itself into eternity’s springboard, it ceases to be linked to human lucidity. The absurd is no longer that evidence that man ascertains without consenting to it. The struggle is eluded. Man integrates the absurd and in that condition causes to disappear its essential character which is opposition, laceration and divorce. This leap is an escape. Chestov, who is fond of quoting Hamlet’s remark, ‘The time is out of joint’ , writes it down with a sort of savage hope that seems to belong to him in particular. For it is not in this sense that Hamlet says it or Shakespeare writes it. The intoxication of the irrational and the vocation of rapture turn a lucid mind away from the absurd. To Chestov reason is useless but there is something beyond reason. To an absurd mind reason is useless and there is nothing beyond reason.

This leap can at least enlighten us a little more as to the true nature of the absurd. We know that it is worthless except in an equilibrium, that it is above all in the comparison and not in the terms of that comparison. But it so happens that Chestov puts all the emphasis on one of the terms and destroys the equilibrium. Our appetite for understanding, our nostalgia for the absolute are explicable only in so far, precisely, as we can understand and explain many things. It is useless to negate the reason absolutely. It has its order in which it is efficacious. It is properly that of hu man experience. Whence we wanted to make everything clem. If we cannot do so, if the absurd is born on that occasion, it is born precisely at the very meeting-point of that efficacious but limited reason with the ever-resurgent irrational. Now, when Chestov rises up against a Hegelian proposition such as ‘the motion of the solar system takes place in conformity with immutable laws and those laws are its reason’ , when he devotes all his passion to upsetting Spinoza’s rationalism, he concludes, in effect, in favour of the vanity of all reason. Whence, by a natural and illegitimate reversal, to the pre-eminence of the irrational. [5] But the transition is not evident. For here may intervene the notion of limit and the notion of level. The laws of nature may be operative up to a certain limit, beyond which they turn against themselves to give birth to the absurd. Or else, they may justify themselves on the level of description without for that reason being true on the level of explanation. Everything is sacrificed here to the irrational, and, the demand for clarity being conjured away, the absurd disappears with one of the terms of its comparison. The absurd man on the other hand does not undertake such a levelling process. He recognizes the struggle, does not absolutely scorn reason and admits the irrational. Thus he again embraces in a single glance all the data of experience and he is little inclined to leap before knowing. He knows simply that in that alert awareness there is no further place for hope.

What is perceptible in Leo Chestov will be perhaps even more so in Kierkegaard. To be sure, it is hard to outline clear propositions in so elusive a writer. But, despite apparently opposed writings, beyond the pseudonyms, the tricks and the smiles, can be felt throughout that work as it were the presentiment (at the same time as the apprehension)of a truth which eventually bursts forth in the last works: Kierkegaard likewise takes the leap. His childhood having been so frightened by Christianity, he ultimately returns to its harshest aspect. For him, too, antinomy and paradox become criteria of the religious. Thus the very thing that led to despair of the meaning and depth of this life now gives it its truth and its clarity. Christianity is the scandal, and what Kierkegaard calls for quite plainly is the third sacrifice required by Ignatius Loyola, the one in which God most rejoices: ‘The sacrifice of the intellect.’ [6] This effect of the ‘leap’ is odd but must not surprise us any longer. He makes of the absurd the criterion of the other world, whereas it is simply a residue of the experience of this world. ‘In his failure,’ says Kierkegaard, ‘the believer finds his triumph.’

It is not for me to wonder to what stirring preaching this attitude is linked. I merely have to wonder if the spectacle of the absurd and its own character justifies it. On this point, I know that it is not so. Upon considering again the content of the absurd, one understands better the method that inspired Kierkegaard. Between the irrational of the world and the insurgent nostalgia of the absurd, he does not maintain the equilibrium. He does not respect the rela tionship that constitutes properly speaking the feeling of absurdity. Sure of being unable to escape the irrational, he wants at least to save himself from that desperate nostalgia that seems to him sterile and devoid of implication. But if he may be fight on this point in his judgement, he could not be in his negation. If he substitutes for his cry of revolt a frantic adherence, at once he is led to blind himself to the absurd which hitherto enlightened him and to deify the only certainty he henceforth possesses, the irrational. The important thing, as Abbé Galiani said to Mme d’Epinay, is not to be cured, but to live with one’s ailments. Kierkegaard wants to be cured. To be cured is his frenzied wish and it runs throughout his whole journal. The entire effort of his intelligence is to escape the antinomy of the human condition. An all the more desperate effort since he inter mittently perceives its vanity when he speaks of himself, as if neither fear of God nor piety were capable of bringing him to peace. Thus it is that, through a strained subterfuge, he gives the irrational the appearance and God the attributes of the absurd: unjust, incoherent and incomprehensible. Intelligence alone in him strives to stifle the underlying demands of the human heart. Since nothing is proved, everything can be proved.

Indeed, Kierkegaard himself shows us the path taken. I do not want to suggest anything here, but how can one fail to read in his works the signs of an almost intentional mutilation of the soul to balance the mutilation accepted in regard to the absurd? It is the leitmotiv of the journal . ‘What I lacked was the animal which also belongs to human destiny... But give me a body then.’ And further on: ‘Oh! especially in my early youth what should I not have given to be a man, even for six months . . . what I lack, basically, is a body and the physical conditions of existence.’ Elsewhere, the same man nevertheless adopts the great cry of hope that has come down through so many centuries and quickened so many hearts, except that of the absurd man. ‘But for the Christian death is certainly not the end of everything and it implies infinitely more hope than life implies for us, even when that life is overflowing with health and vigour.’ Reconciliation through scandal is still reconciliation. It allows one, perhaps, as can be seen, to derive hope of its contrary which is death. But even if fellow feeling inclines one towards that attitude, still it must be said that excess justifies nothing. That transcends, as the saying goes, the human scale; therefore it must be super human. But this ‘therefore’ is superfluous. There is no logical certainty here. There is no experimental probability either. All I can say is that, in fact, that transcends my scale. If I do not draw a negation from it, at least I do not want to found anything on the incomprehensible. I want to know whether I can live with what I know and with that alone. I am told again that here the intelligence must sacrifice its pride and the reason bow down. But if I recognize the limits of the reason, I do not therefore negate it, recognizing its relative powers. I merely want to remain in this middle path where the intelligence can remain clear. If that is its pride, I see no sufficient reason for giving it up. Nothing more profound, for example, than Kierkegaard’s view according to which despair is not a fact but a State: the very state of sin. For sin is what alienates from God. The absurd, which is the metaphysical state of the conscious man, does not lead to God. [7] Perhaps this notion will become clearer if I risk this shocking statement: the absurd is sin without God.

It is a matter of living in that state of the absurd. I know on what it is founded, this mind and this world straining against each other without being able to embrace each other. I ask for the rule of life of that state and what I am offered neglects its basis, negates one of the terms of the painful opposition, demands of me a resignation. I ask what is involved in the condition I recognize as mine; I know it implies obscurity and ignorance; and I am assured that this ignorance explains everything and that this darkness is my light. But there is no reply here to my intent and this stirring lyricism cannot hide the paradox from me. One must therefore turn away. Kierkegaard may shout in warning: ‘If man had no eternal consciousness, if, at the bottom of everything, there were merely a wild, seething force producing everything, both large and trifling, in the storm of dark passions, if the bottomless void that nothing can fill underlay all things, what would life be but despair?’ This cry is not likely to stop the absurd man. Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable. If in order to elude the anxious question: ‘What would life be?’ one must, like the donkey, feed on the roses of illusion, then the absurd mind, rather than resigning itself to falsehood, prefers to adopt fearlessly Kierkegaard’s reply:‘despair’. Everything considered, a determined soul will always manage.

I am taking the liberty at this point of calling the existential attitude philosophical suicide. But this does not imply a judgement. It is a convenient way of indicating the movement by which a thought negates itself and tends to transcend itself in its very negation. For the existentials negation is their God. To be precise, that god is maintained only through the negation of human reason. [8] But like suicides, gods change with men. There are many ways of leaping, the essential being to leap. Those redeeming negations, those ultimate contradictions which negate the obstacle that has not yet been leapt over, may spring just as well (this is the paradox at which this reasoning aims)from a certain religious inspiration as from rational order. They always lay claim to the eternal and it is solely in this that they take the leap.

It must be repeated that the reasoning developed in this essay leaves out altogether the most widespread spiritual attitude of our enlightened age: the one, based on the principle that all is reason, which aims to explain the world. It is natural to give a clear view of the world after accepting the idea that it must be clear. That is even legitimate but does not concern the reasoning we are following out here. In fact, our aim is to shed light upon the step taken by the mind when, starting from a philosophy of the world’s lack of meaning, it ends up by finding a meaning and depth in it. The most touching of those steps is religious in essence; it becomes obvious in the theme of the irrational. But the most paradoxical and most significant is certainly the one that attributes rational reasons to a world it originally imagined as devoid of any guiding principle. It is impossible in any case to reach the consequences that concern us without having given an idea of this new attainment of the spirit of nostalgia.

I shall examine merely the theme of ‘the Intention’ made fashionable by Husserl and the phenomenologists. I have already alluded to it. Originally Husserrs method negates the classic procedure of the reason. Let me repeat. Thinking is not unifying or making the appearance familiar under the guise of a great principle. Thinking is learning all over again how to see, directing one’s consciousness, making of every image a privileged place. In other words, phenomenology declines to explain the world, it wants to be merely a description of actual experience. It confirms absurd thought in its initial assertion that there is no truth, but merely truths. From the evening breeze to this hand on my shoul der, everything has its truth. Consciousness illuminates it by paying attention to it. Consciousness does not form the object of its understanding, it merely focuses, it is the act of attention and, to borrow a Bergsonian image, it resembles the projector that suddenly focuses on an image. The difference is that there is no scenario but a successive and incoherent illustration. In that magic lantern all the pictures are privileged. Consciousness suspends in experience the objects of its attention. Through its miracle it isolates them. Henceforth they are beyond all judgements. This is the ‘intention’ that characterizes consciousness. But the word does not imply any idea of finality; it is taken in its sense of ‘direction’: its only face value is topographical.

At first sigh, it certainly seems that in this way nothing contradicts the absurd spirit. That apparent modesty of thought that limits itself to describing what it declines to explain, that intentional discipline whence results paradoxically a profound enrichment of experience and the rebirth of the world in its prolixity are absurd procedures. At least at first sight. For methods of thought, in this case as elsewhere, always assume two aspects, one psychological and the other metaphysical. [9] Thereby they harbour two truths. If the theme of the intentional claims to illustrate merely a psychological attitude, by which reality is drained instead of being explained, nothing in fact separates it from the absurd spirit. It aims to enumerate what it cannot transcend. It affirms solely that without any unifying principle thought can still take delight in describing and understanding every aspect of experience. The truth involved then for each of those aspects is psychological in nature. It simply testifies to the ‘interest’ that reality can offer. It is a way of awaking a sleeping world and of making it vivid to the mind. But if one attempts to extend and give a rational basis to that notion of truth, if one claims to discover in this way the ‘essence’ of each object of knowledge, one restores its depth to experience. For an absurd mind that is incomprehensible. Now it is this wavering between modesty and assurance that is noticeable in the intentional attitude and this shimmering of phenomenological thought will illustrate the absurd reasoning better than anything else.

For Husserl speaks likewise of ‘extra-temporal essences’ brought to light by the intention, and he sounds like Plato. All things are not explained by one thing but by all things. I see no difference. To be sure those ideas or those essences that consciousness ‘effectuates’ at the end of every description are not yet to be considered perfect models. But it is asserted that they are directly present in each datum of perception. There is no longer a single idea explaining everything but an infinite number of essences giving a meaning to an infinite number of objects. The world comes to a stop, but also lights up. Platonic realism becomes intuitive but it is still realism. Kierkegaard was swallowed up in his God; Parmenides plunged thought into the One. But here thought hurls itself into an abstract polytheism. But this is not all: hallucinations and fictions likewise belong to ‘extra temporal essences’. In the new world of ideas, the species of centaur collaborates with the more modest species of metropolitan man.

For the absurd man, there was a truth as well as a bitterness in that purely psychological opinion that all aspects of the world are privileged. To say that everything is privileged is tantamount to saying that everything is equivalent. But the metaphysical aspect of that truth is so far-reaching, that through an elementary reaction, he feels closer perhaps to Plato. He is taught, in fact, that every image pre supposes an equally privileged essence. In this ideal world without hierarchy, the formal army is composed solely of generals. To be sure, transcendency had been eliminated. But a sudden shift in thought brings back into the world a sort of fragmentary immanence which restores to the universe its depth.

Am I to fear having carded too far a theme handled with greater circumspection by its creators? I read merely these assertions of Husserl, apparently paradoxical yet rigorously logical if what precedes is accepted: ‘That which is true is true absolutely, in itself; truth is one, identical to itself, however different the creatures who perceive it, men, monstem, angels or gods.’ Reason triumphs and trumpets forth with that voice, I cannot deny. What can its assertions mean in the absurd world? The perception of an angel or a god has no meaning for me. That geometrical spot where divine reason ratifies mine will always be incomprehensible to me. There, too, I discern a leap and, though performed in the abstract, it nonetheless means for me forgetting just what I do not want to forget. When further on Husserl ex claims: ‘If all masses subject to attraction were to disappear, the law of attraction would not be destroyed but would simply remain without any possible application’ , I know that I am faced with a metaphysic of consolation. And if I want to discover the point where thought leaves the path of evidence, I have only to reread the parallel reasoning that Husserl voices regarding the mind: ‘If we could contem plate clearly the exact laws of psychic processes, they would be seen to be likewise eternal and invariable, like the basic laws of theoretical natural science. Hence they would be valid even if there were no psychic process.’ Even if the mind were not, its laws would be! I see then that of a psychological truth Husserl aims to make a rational rule: after having denied the integrating power of human reason, he leaps by this expedient to eternal Reason.

Husserl’s theme of the ‘concrete universe’ cannot then surprise me. If I am told that all essences are not formal, but that some are material, that the first are the object of logic and the second of science, this is merely a question of definition. The abstract, I am told, indicates but a part, without consistency in itself, of a concrete universal. But the wavering already noted allows me to throw light on the confusion of these terms. For that may mean that the concrete object of my attention, this sky, the reflection of that water on this coat alone preserve the prestige of the real that my interest isolates in the world. And I shall not deny it. But that may mean also that this coat itself is uni versal, has its particular and sufficient essence, belongs to the world of forms. I then realize that merely the order of the procession has been changed. This world has ceased to have its reflection in a higher universe, but the heaven of forms is figured in the host of images of this earth. This changes nothing for me. Rather than encountering here a taste for the concrete, the meaning of the human condition, I find an intellectualism sufficiently unbridled to generalize the concrete itself.

It is futile to be amazed by the apparent paradox that leads thought to its own negation by the opposite paths of humiliated reason and triumphal reason. From the abstract god of Husserl to the dazzling god of Kierkegaard the distance is not so great. Reason and the irrational lead to the same preaching. In truth the way matters but little; the will to arrive suffices. The abstract philosopher and the religious philosopher start out from the same disorder and support each other in the same anxiety. But the essential is to ex plain. Nostalgia is stronger here than knowledge. It is significant that the thought of the epoch is at once one of the most deeply imbued with a philosophy of the non significance of the world and one of the most divided in its conclusions. It is constantly oscillating between extreme rationalization of reality which tends to break up that thought into standard reasons and its extreme irrationalization which tends to deify it. But this divorce is only apparent. It is a matter of reconciliation, and, in both cases, the leap suffices. It is always wrongly thought that the notion of reason is a one-way notion. To tell the truth, however rigorous it may be in its ambition, this concept is nonetheless just as unstable as others. Reason bears a quite human aspect, but it also is able to turn towards the divine. Since Plotinus, who was the first to reconcile it with the eternal climate, it has learned to turn away from the most cherished of its principles, which is contradiction, in order to integrate into it the strangest, the quite magic one of participation. [10] It is an instrument of thought and not thought itself. Above all, a man’s thought is his nostalgia.

Just as reason was able to soothe the melancholy of Plotinus, it provides modem anguish the means of calming itself in the familiar setting of the eternal. The absurd mind has less luck. For it the world is neither so rational nor so irrational. It is unreasonable and only that. With Husserl the reason eventually has no limits at all. The absurd on the contrary establishes its limits since it is powerless to calm its anguish. Kierkegaard independently asserts that a single limit is enough to negate that anguish. But the absurd does not go so far. For it that limit is directed solely at the reason’s ambitions. The theme of the irrational, as it is conceived by the existentialists, is reason becoming confused and escaping by negating itself. The absurd is lucid reason noting its limits.

Only at the end of this difficult path does the absurd man recognize his true motives. Upon comparing his inner exi gence and what is then offered him, he suddenly feels he is going to turn away. In the universe of Husserl the world becomes clear and that longing for familiarity that man’s heart harbours becomes useless. In Kierkegaard’s apocalypse that desire for clarity must be given up if it wants to be satisfied. Sin is not so much knowing (if it were, everybody would be innocent)as wanting to know. Indeed, it is the only sin of which the absurd man can feel that it constitutes both his guilt and his innocence. He is offered a solution in which all the past contradictions have become merely polemical games. But this is not the way he experienced them. Their truth must be preserved, which consists in not being satisfied. He does not want preaching.

My reasoning wants to be faithful to the evidence that aroused it. That evidence is the absurd. It is that divorce between the mind that desires and the world that disappoints, my nostalgia for unity, this fragmented universe and the contradiction that binds them together. Kierkegaard suppresses my nostalgia and Husserl gathers together that universe. That is not what I was expecting. It was a matter of living and thinking with those dislocations, of knowing whether one had to accept or refuse. There can be no question of masking the evidence, of suppressing the absurd by denying one of the terms of its equation. It is essential to know whether one can live with it or whether, on the other hand, logic commands one to die of it. I am not interested in philosophical suicide but rather in plain suicide. I merely wish to purge it of its emotional content and know its logic and its integrity. Any other position implies for the absurd mind deceit and the mind’s retreat before what the mind itself has brought to light. Husserl claims to obey the desire to escape ‘the inveterate habit of living and thinking in certain well-known and convenient conditions of existence’ , but the final leap restores in him the eternal and its comfort. The leap does not represent an extreme danger as Kierkegaard would like it to do. The danger, on the contrary, lies in the subtle instant that precedes the leap. Being able to remain on that dizzying crest — that is integrity and the rest is subterfuge. I know also that never has helplessness inspired such striking harmonies as those of Kierkegaard. But if helplessness has its place in the indifferent landscapes of history, it has none in a reasoning whose exigence is now known.

Absurd Freedom

Now the main thing is done, I hold certain facts from which I cannot separate. What I know, what is certain, what I cannot deny, what I cannot reject- this is what counts. I can negate everything of that part of me that lives on vague nostalgias, except this desire for unity, this longing to solve, this need for clarity and cohesion. I can refute everything in this world surrounding me that offends or enraptures me, except this chaos, this sovereign chance and this divine equivalence which springs from anarchy. I don’t know whether this world has a meaning that transcends it. But I know that I do not know that meaning and that it is impossible for me just now to know it. What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch, what resists me — that is what I understand. And these two certainties — my appetite for the absolute and for unity and the impossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonable principle — I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What other truth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope I lack, which means nothing within the limits of my condition?

If I were a tree among trees, a cat among animals, this life would have a meaning or rather this problem would not arise, for I should belong to this world. I should be this world to which I am now opposed by my whole consciousness and my whole insistence upon familiarity. This ridiculous reason is what sets me in opposition to all creation. I cannot cross it out with a stroke of the pen. What I believe to be true I must therefore preserve. What seems to me so obvious, even against me, I must support. And what constitutes the basis of that conflict, of that break between the world and my mind, but the awareness of it? If, therefore, I want to preserve it, I can, through a constant awareness, ever revived, ever alert. This is what, for the moment, I must remember. At this moment the absurd, so obvious and yet so hard to win, returns to a man’s life and finds its home there. At this moment, too, the mind can leave the arid, dried-up path of lucid effort. That path now emerges in daily life. It encounters the world of the anonymous impersonal pronoun ‘one’ , but henceforth man enters in with his revolt and his lucidity. He has forgotten how to cope. This hell of the present is his Kingdom at last. All problems recover their sharp edge. Abstract evidence retreats before the poetry of forms and colours. Spiritual conflicts become embodied and return to the abject and magnificent shelter of man’s heart. None of them is settled. But all are trans figured. Is one going to die, escape by the leap, rebuild a mansion of ideas and forms to one’s own scale? Is one on the contrary going to take up the heartrending and marvellous wager of the absurd? Let’s make a final effort in this regard and draw all our conclusions. The body, affection, creation, action, human nobility will then resume their places in this mad world. At last man will again find there the wine of the absurd and the bread of indifference on which he feeds his greatness.

Let us insist again on the method: it is a matter of persisting. At a certain point on his path the absurd man is tempted. History is not lacking in either religions or prophets, even without gods. He is asked to leap. All he can reply is that he doesn’t fully understand, that it is not obvious. Indeed, he does not want to do anything but what he fully understands. He is assured that this is the sin of pride, but he does not understand the notion of sin; that perhaps hell is in store, but he has not enough imagination to visualize that strange future; that he is losing immortal life, but that seems to him an idle consideration. An attempt is made to get him to admit his guilt. He feels innocent. To tell the truth, that is all he feels — his irreparable innocence. This is what allows him everything. Hence what he demands of himself is to live solely with what he knows, to accommodate himself to what is and to bring in nothing that is not certain. He is told that nothing is. But this at least is a certainty. And it is with this that he is concerned: he wants to find out if it is possible to live without appeal .

Now I can broach the notion of suicide. It has already been felt what solution might be given. At this point the problem is reversed. It was previously a question of finding out whether or not life had to have a meaning to be lived. It now becomes clear on the contrary that it will be lived all the better if it has no meaning. Living an experience, a particular fate, is accepting it fully. Now, no one will live this fate, knowing it to be absurd, unless he does everything to keep before him that absurd brought to light by consciousness. Negating one of the terms of the oppo-sition on which he lives amounts to escaping it. To abolish conscious revolt is to elude the problem. The theme of permanent revolution is thus carded into individual experience. Living is keeping the absurd alive. Keeping it alive is above all contemplating it. Unlike Eurydice, the absurd dies only when we turn away from it. One of the only coherent philosophical positions is thus revolt. It is a constant confrontation between man and his own obscurity. It is an insistence upon an impossible transparency. It challenges the world anew every second. Just as danger provided man with the unique opportunity of seizing awareness, so metaphysical revolt extends awareness to the whole of experience. It is that constant presence of man in his own eyes. It is not aspiration, for it is devoid of hope. That revolt is the certainty of a crushing fate, without the resignation that ought to accompany it.

This is where it is seen to what a degree absurd experience is remote from suicide. It may be thought that suicide follows revolt — but wrongly. For it does not represent the logical outcome of revolt. It is just the contrary by the consent it presupposes. Suicide, like the leap, is acceptance at its extreme. Everything is over and man returns to his essential history. His future, his unique and dreadful future — he sees and rushes towards it. In its way, suicide settles the absurd. It engulfs the absurd in the same death. But I know that in order to keep alive, the absurd cannot be settled. It escapes suicide to the extent that it is simultaneously awareness and rejection of death. It is, at the extreme limit of the condemned man’s last thought, that shoelace that despite everything he sees a few yards away, on the very brink of his dizzying fall. The contrary of suicide, in fact, is the man condemned to death.

That revolt gives life its value. Spread out over the whole length of a life, it restores its majesty to that life. To a man devoid of blinkers, there is no finer sight than that of the intelligence at grips with a reality that transcends it. The sight of human pride is unequalled. No disparagement is of any use. That discipline that the mind imposes on itself, that will conjured up out of nothing, that face-to-face struggle have something exceptional about them. To impoverish that reality whose inhumanity constitutes man’s majesty is tantamount to impoverishing him himself. I understand then why the doctrines that explain everything to me also debilitate me at the same time. They relieve me of the weight of my own life and yet I must carry it alone. At this juncture, I cannot conceive that a sceptical meta physics can be joined to an ethics of renunciation.

Consciousness and revolt, these rejec-tions are the contrary of renunciation. Everything that is indomitable and passionate in a human heart quickens them, on the contrary, with its own life. It is essential to die unreconciled and not of one’s own free will. Suicide is a repudiation. The absurd man can only drain everything to the bitter end, and deplete himself. The absurd is his extreme tension which he maintains constantly by solitary effort, for he knows that in that consciousness and in that day-to-day revolt he gives proof of his only truth which is defiance. This is a first consequence.

If I remain in that prearranged position which consists in drawing all the conclusions (and nothing else)involved in a newly discovered notion, I am faced with a second paradox. In order to remain faithful to that method, I have nothing to do with the problem of metaphysical liberty. Knowing whether or not man is free doesn’t interest me. I can experience only my own freedom. As to it, I can have no general notions, but merely a few clear insights. The problem of ‘freedom as such’ has no meaning. For it is linked in quite a different way with the problem of God. Knowing whether or not man is free involves knowing whether he can have a master. The absurdity peculiar to this problem comes from the fact that the very notion that makes the problem of freedom possible also takes away all its meaning. For in the presence of God there is less a problem of freedom than a problem of evil. You know the alternative: either we are not free and God the all-powerful is responsible for evil. Or we are free and responsible but God is not all powerful. All the scholastic subtleties have neither added anything to nor subtracted anything from the acuteness of this paradox.

This is why I cannot get lost in the glorification or the mere definition of a notion which eludes me and loses its meaning as soon as it goes beyond the frame of reference of my individual experience. I cannot understand what kind of freedom would be given me by a higher being. I have lost the sense of hierarchy. The only conception of freedom I can have is that of the prisoner or the individual in the midst of the State. The only one I know is freedom of thought and action. Now if the absurd cancels all my chances of eternal freedom, it restores and magnifies on the other hand my freedom of action. That privation of hope and future means an increase in man’s availability.

Before encountering the absurd, the everyday man lives with aims, a concern for the future or for justification (with regard to whom or what is not the question). He weighs his chances, he counts on ‘someday’ , his retirement or the labour of his sons. He still thinks that something in his life can be directed. In truth, he acts as if he were free, even if all the facts make a point of contradicting that liberty. But after the absurd, everything is upset. That idea that ‘I am’ , my way of acting as if everything has a meaning (even if, on occasion, I said that nothing has)— all that is given the lie in vertiginous fashion by the absurdity of a possible death. Thinking of the future, establishing aims for oneself, having preferences — all this presupposes a belief in freedom, even if one occasionally ascertains that one doesn’t feel it. But at that moment I am well aware that that higher liberty, that freedom to be, which alone can serve as basis for a truth, does not exist. Death is there as the only reality. After death the chips are down. I am not even free either to perpetuate myself, but a slave, and above all a slave with rut hope of an eternal revolution, without recourse, to contempt. And who without revolution and without contempt can remain a slave? What freedom can exist in the fullest sense without assurance of eternity?

But at the same time the absurd man realizes that hitherto he was bound to that postulate of freedom on the illusion of which he was living. In a certain sense, that hampered him. To the extent to which he imagined a purpose to his life, he adapted himself to the demands of a purpose to be achieved and became the slave of his liberty. Thus I could not act otherwise than as the father (or the engineer or the leader of a nation, or the post-office sub-clerk)that I am preparing to be. I think I can choose to be that rather than something else. I think so unconsciously, to be sure. But at the same time, I strengthen my postulate with the beliefs of those around me, with the presumptions of my human environment (others are so sure of being free and that cheerful mood is so contagious!). However far one may remain from any presumption, moral or social, one is partly influenced by them and even, for the best among them (there are good and bad presumptions), one adapts one’s life to them. Thus the absurd man realizes that he was not really free. To speak dearly, to the extent to which I hope, to which I worry about a truth that might be individual to me, about a way of being or creating, to the extent to which I arrange my life and prove thereby that I accept its having a meaning, I create for myself barriers between which I confine my life. I do as do so many bureaucrats of the mind and heart who only fill me with disgust and whose only vice, I now see clearly, is to take man’s freedom seriously.

The absurd enlightens me on this point: there is no future. Henceforth this is the reason for my inner freedom. I shall use two comparisons here. Mystics, to begin with, find freedom in giving themselves. By losing themselves in their god, by accepting his rules, they become secretly free. In spontaneously accepted slavery they recover a deeper independence. But what does that freedom mean? It may be said above all that they feel free with regard to themselves and not so much free as liberated. Likewise, cornpletely turned towards death (taken here as the most obvious absurdity), the absurd man feels released from everything outside that passionate attention crystallizing in him. He enjoys a freedom with regard to common rules. It can be seen at this point that the initial themes of existential philosophy keep their entire value. The return to consciousness, the escape from everyday sleep represent the first steps of absurd freedom. But it is existential preaching that is alluded to and with it that spiritual leap which basically escapes consciousness. In the same way (this is my second comparison)the slaves of antiquity did not belong to themselves. But they knew that freedom which consists in not feeling responsible. [11] Death, too, has patrician hands which, while crushing, also liberate.

Losing oneself in that bottomless certainty, feeling henceforth sufficiently remote from one’s own life to increase it and take a broad view of it — this involves the principle of a liberation. Such new independence has a definite time limit, like any freedom of action. It does not write a cheque on eterniry. But it takes the place of the illusions of freedom , which all stopped with death. The divine availability of the condemned man before whom the prison doors open in a certain early dawn, that unbelievable disinterestedness with regard to everything except for the pure flame of life — it is clear that death and the absurd are here the principles of the only reasonable freedom: that which a human heart can experience and live. This is a second consequence. The absurd man thus catches sight of a burning and frigid, transparent and limited universe in which nothing is possible but everything is given, and beyond which all is collapse and nothingness. He can then decide to accept such a universe and draw from it his strength, his refusal to hope, and the unyielding evidence of a life without consolation.

But what does life mean in such a universe? Nothing else for the moment but indifference to the future and a de sire to use up everything that is given. Belief in the meaning of life always implies a scale of values, a choice, our preferences. Belief in the absurd, according to our definitions, teaches the contrary. But this is worth examining.

Knowing whether or not one can live without appeal is all that interests me. I do not want to get out of my depth. This aspect of life being given me, can I adapt myself to it? Now, faced with this particular concern, belief in the absurd is tantamount to substituting the quantity of experiences for the quality. If I convince myself that this life has no other aspect than that of the absurd, if I feel that its whole equilibrium depends on that perpetual opposition between my conscious revolt and the darkness in which it struggles, if I admit that my freedom has no meaning except in relation to its limited fate, then I must say that what counts is not the best living but the most living. It is not up to me to wonder if this is vulgar or revolting, elegant or deplorable. Once and for all, value judgements are discarded here in favour of factual judgements. I have merely to draw the conclusions from what I can see and to risk nothing that is hypothetical. Supposing that living in this way were not honourable, then true propriety would command me to be dishonourable.

The most living; in the broadest sense, that rule means nothing. It calls for definition. It seems to begin with the fact that the notion of quantity has not been sufficiently explored. For it can account for a large share of human experience. A man’s rule of conduct and his scale of values have no meaning except through the quantity and variety of experiences he has been in a position to accumulate. Now the conditions of modern life impose on the majority of men the same quantity of experiences and consequently the same profound experience. To be sure, there must also be taken into consideration the individual’s spontaneous contribution, the ‘given’ element in him. But I cannot judge of that, and let me repeat that my rule here is to get along with the immediate evidence. I see then that the individual character of a common code of ethics lies not so much in the ideal importance of its basic principles as in the norm of an experience that it is possible to measure. To stretch a point somewhat, the Greeks had the code of their leisure just as we have the code of our eight-hour day. But already many men among the most tragic cause us to foresee that a longer experience changes this table of values. They make us imagine that adventurer of the everyday who through mere quantity of experiences would break all records (I am purposely using this sports expression)and would thus win his own code of ethics. [12] Yet let us avoid romanticism and just ask ourselves just what such an attitude may mean to a man with his mind made up to take up his bet and to observe strictly what he takes to be the rules of the game.

Breaking all the records is first and foremost being faced with the world as often as possible. How can that be done without contradictions and without playing on words? For on the one hand the absurd teaches that all experiences are unimportant and, on the other, it urges towards the greatest quantity of experiences. How then can one fail to do as did so many of those men I was speaking of earlier — choose the form of life that brings us the most possible of that human matter, thereby introducing a scale of values that on the other hand one claims to reject?

But again it is the absurd and its contradictory life that teaches us. For the mistake is thinking that that quantity of experiences depends on the circumstances of our life when it depends solely on us. Here we have to be over simple. To two men living the same number of years, the world always provides the same sum of experiences. It is up to us to be conscious of them; Being aware of one’s life, one’s revolt, one’s freedom, and to the maximum, is living, and to the maximum. Where lucidity dominates, the scale of values becomes useless. Let’s be even more simple. Let us say that the sole obstacle, the sole deficiency to be made good, is constituted by premature death. Thus it is that no depth, no emotion, no passion and no sacrifice could render equal in the eyes of the absurd man (even if he wished it so)a conscious life of forty years and a lucidity spread over sixty years. [13] Madness and death are his irreparables. Man does not choose. The absurd and the extra life it involves therefore do not depend on man’s will but on its contrary which is death. [14] Weighing words carefully, it is altogether a question of luck. One just has to be able to consent to this. There will never be any substitute for twenty years of life and experience.

But with an inconsistency odd in such an alert race, the Greeks claimed that those who died young were beloved of the gods. And that is true only if you are willing to believe that entering the ridiculous world of the gods is forever losing the purest of joys which is feeling, and feeling on this earth. The present and the succession of presents before a constantly conscious soul is the ideal of the absurd man. But the word ideal tings false in this connection. It is not even his vocation but merely the third consequence of his reasoning. Having started from an anguished awareness of the inhuman, the meditation on the absurd returns at the end of its itinerary to the very heart of the passionate fl ames of human revolt. [15]

Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences which are my revolt, my freedom and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death — and I refuse suicide. I know, to be sure, the dull resonance that vibrates throughout these days. Yet I have but a word to say: that it is necessary. When Nietzsche writes: ‘It clearly seems that the chief thing in heaven and on earth is to obey at length and in a single direction: in the long run there results something for which it is worth the trouble of living on this earth as, for example, virtue, art, music, the dance, reason, the mind — something that transfigures, something delicate, mad, or divine,’ he elucidates the rule of a really distinguished code of ethics. But he also points the way of the absurd man. Obeying the flame is both the easiest and the hardest thing to do. However, it is good for man to judge himself occasionally. He is alone in being, able to do so.

‘Prayer,’ says Alain, ‘is when night descends over thought.’ ‘But the mind must meet the night,’ reply the mystics and the existentials. Yes indeed, but not that night that is born under closed eyelids and through the mere will of man — dark, impenetrable night that the mind calls up in order to plunge into it. If it must encounter a night, let it be rather that of despair which remains lucid — polar night, vigil of the mind — whence will arise perhaps that white and virginal brightness which outlines every object in the light of the intelligence. At that degree, equivalence encounters passionate understanding. Then it is no longer even a question of judging the existential leap. It resumes its place amidst the age-old fresco of human attitudes. For the spectator, if he is conscious, that leap is still absurd. In so far as it thinks it solves the paradox, it reinstates it intact. On this score, it is stirring. On this score, everything resumes its place and the absurd world is reborn in all its splendour and diversity.

But it is bad to stop, hard to be satisfied with a single way of seeing, to go without contradiction, perhaps the most subtle of all spiritual forces. The preceding merely de fines a way of thinking. But the point is to live.


[1] From the point of view of the relative value of truth. On the other hand, from the point of view of virile behaviour, this scholar’s fragility may well make us smile.

[2] Let us not miss this opportunity to point out the relative character of this essay. Suicide may, indeed, be related to much more honourable considerations — for example, the political suicides of protest, as they were called, during the Chinese revolution.

[3] I have heard of an emulator of Peregrinos, a post-war writer who, after having finished his first book, committed suicide to attract attention to his work. Attention was in fact attracted, but the book was judged no good.

[4] But not in the proper sense. This is not a definition, but rather an enumeration of the feelings that may admit of the absurd. Still, the enumeration finished, the absurd has nevertheless not been exhausted.

[5] Apropos of the notion of exception particularly and against Aristotle.

[6] It may be thought that I am neglecting here the essential problem, that of faith. But I am not examining the philosophy of Kierkegaard, or of Chestov, or, later on, of Husserl (this would call for a different place and a different attitude of mind); I am simply borrowing a theme from them and examining whether its consequences can fit the already established rules. It is merely a matter of persistence.

[7] I did not say ‘excludes God’ , which would still amount to asserting.

[8] Let me assert again: it is not the affirmation of God that is questioned here, but rather the logic leading to the affirmation.

[9] Even the most rigorous epistemologies imply metaphysics. And to such a degree that the metaphysic of many contemporary thinkers consists in having nothing but an epistemology.

[10] A. — At that time reason had to adapt itself or die. It adapts itself. With Plotinus, aft er being logical it becomes aesthetic. Metaphor takes the place of the syllogism.

B. — Moreover, this is not Plotinus’ only contribution to phenomenology. This whole attitude is already contained in the concept so dear to the Alexandrian thinker that there is not only an idea of man but also an idea of Socrates.

[11] I am concerned here with a factual comparison, not with an apology of humility. The absurd man is the contrary of the reconciled man.

[12] Quantity sometimes constitutes quality. If I can believe the latest restatements of scientific theory, all matter is constituted by centres of energy. Their greater or lesser quantity makes its specificity more or less remarkable. A billion ions and one ion differ not only in quantity but also in quality. It is easy to find an analogy in human experience.

[13] Same reflection on a notion as different as the idea of eternal nothingness. It neither adds anything to nor subtracts anything from reality. In psychological experience of nothingness, it is by the consideration of what will happen in 2,000 years that our own nothingness truly takes on meaning. In one of its aspects, eternal nothingness is made up precisely of the sum of lives to come which will not be ours.

[14] The will is only the agent here: it tends to maintain consciousness. It provides a discipline of life and that is appreciable.

[15] What matters is coherence. We start out here from acceptance of the world. But Oriental thought teaches that one can indulge in the same effort of logic by choosing against the world. That is just as legitimate and gives this essay its perspectives and its limits. But when the negation of the world is pursued just as rigorously one often achieves (in certain Vedantic schools)similar results regarding, for instance, the indifference of works. In a book of great importance, Le Choix , Jean Grenier establishes in this way a veritable ‘philosophy of indifference’.