Philosophical Differences: The Falling-Out of Camus and Sartre
Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre, two of the most important minds of the 20th century, were closely entwined throughout their careers. On the centenary of Camus' birth, SPIEGEL looks back at their famous friendship and the ideological feud that ultimately unraveled it.
What is a famous man? Albert Camus wrote in his diary in 1946 that it was "someone whose first name doesn't matter." That certainly applies to Camus, who would have celebrated his 100th birthday on Nov. 7, and it can also be said of his great adversary Jean-Paul Sartre, who was eight years older than him, yet outlived him by 20 years.
Camus and Sartre's falling-out in the summer of 1952, which was played out in full view of the public, was a signal, a political watershed. The rupture, in the midst of the Cold War, split the camps. For decades, people would say: Sartre or Camus? Should we hope for a better world in the distant future at the price of accepting state terror? The revolutionary mass politics espoused by Sartre in the name of Marxism would seem to contain this tradeoff. Or should we refuse to sacrifice people for an ideal, as Camus' humanist principles required?
Camus and Sartre basically stood in each other's way right from the beginning. They were both storytellers, playwrights and essayists, literature and theater critics, philosophers and editors in chief. They had the same publisher. They both were awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. Camus felt overwhelming gratitude when he accepted his award in 1957. Sartre loftily declined the designation in 1964 - making sure to underscore that he was not insulted "because Camus had received it before me," as he said at the time.
The Company of Women
And there was another -- at first glance unremarkable -- commonality. Both preferred the company of women to that of men. "Why women?" Camus wondered in his diary in 1951. His answer: "I cannot stand the company of men. They flatter or they judge. I can stand neither of the two." Back in 1940, Sartre used nearly the same choice of words in his diary when noting that he "gets horribly bored in the company of men," yet "it's very rare for the company of women not to entertain me."
They were long seen as friends and allies. But Camus could not hide that he felt a growing sense of distance from the clique of Parisian intellectuals surrounding Sartre and his companion, Simone de Beauvoir. No matter how much he debated with the others, and spent long nights drinking, dancing and seducing, he remained the wistful loner.
Sartre was envious of the idolized and good-looking French Algerian, the "street urchin from Algiers," as he later called him. Sartre saw himself as a child of the French bourgeoisie -- and he strove to break its bonds as demonstratively as possible. By contrast, Camus was proud of his humble origins and never denied his roots.
The two ambitious men met personally for the first time in the midst of the war, in occupied Paris during the summer of 1943. Camus introduced himself on the occasion of the premiere of Sartre's play "The Flies." At the time, a small group of artists and philosophers met regularly in private homes and in the cafés of Saint-Germain-des-Prés in the heart of Paris. But rivalries soon surfaced, long before the public was privy to any intellectual competition. The conflict, no surprise, often had to do with women.
Sartre once asked himself if he didn't seek out women's company "to free myself from the burden of my ugliness." In early 1944, he wrote a letter to his lifelong companion de Beauvoir, informing her of his victory over ladies' man Camus. It had to do with a certain Tania, whose sister put in a good word for him: "What are you thinking, running after Camus? What do you want from him?" he'd had the sister tell her. He, Sartre, was so much better, she'd said, and such a nice man.
Brewing Ideological Discord
Such childish games paved the way for the "epochal theoretical debate" -- as French philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy calls it -- that erupted only a few years later. To make matters even more complicated, de Beauvoir apparently showed an erotic interest in Camus, but he spurned her advances.
The tone was still friendly, at least for the time being. When Sartre traveled to the United States in 1945 and spoke about "new literature in France," he presented it as the "result of the resistance movement and the war," adding that "its best representative is 30-year-old Albert Camus."
In the spring of 1944, Camus became the head of the clandestinely printed newspaper Combat, and even after France was liberated by the Allies and the publication was legalized, he remained its editor-in-chief for many years. His lead articles were the talk of the town in Paris, and his reputation as a journalist in the French resistance helped him gain fame and recognition.
Sartre, who founded the periodical Les Temps Modernes (Modern Times) in 1945, sought to win over Camus to further his notion of socially responsible writing, or littérature engagée. In the underground, the resistance had learned that the freedom of the word had to be defended, Sartre noted, and now it was time for writers to become "completely committed" to political issues in their works.
Camus initially reacted in his diary: "I prefer socially responsible people to socially responsible literature." He refused to brand someone who had written a poem about the beauty of spring as a "servant of capitalism."
And Camus was outraged in 1946 when Sartre rejected his moral concerns about the Soviet Union by arguing that while the deportation of several million people in the USSR was more serious than the lynching of "a single Negro," the lynching resulted from a historical situation that had lasted much longer than the Soviet Union.
A quarrel erupted, but it was initially limited to a relatively small group of intellectuals. Attempts to justify sacrificing people for a higher ideal were anathema to Camus. On one occasion, he slammed the door behind him when he left a private meeting.
Camus used literature as a means of defending his own position. In his novel "The Plague," published in 1947, he wrote: "But I was told that these few deaths were inevitable for the building up of a new world in which murder would cease to be. That was true up to a point, and maybe I'm not capable of standing fast where that order of truths is concerned." This is bitter irony and reveals a growing sense of acrimony between Camus and Sartre.
By now, Camus had reached the height of his fame. "The Plague" sold hundreds of thousands of copies and was a worldwide success. What's more, his essay "The Myth of Sisyphus," published in 1942, remained a widely read and internationally debated work during the postwar years.
As a writer, Camus, the boy from Algeria who studied philosophy at the University of Algiers, had outdone his rival Sartre, the elite student from the Ecole Normale Supérieure.
There was still enough mutual respect for an advanced printing of a chapter ("Nietzsche and Nihilism") in Les Temps Modernes, but what followed was utter silence. Camus was waiting for a follow-up, and the editorial team was well aware of that. After a while, Sartre assigned a late critique of the work. A young staff member, 29 years old, was given the job. This was no friendly gesture, particularly since the reviewer was out to score points. He tore Camus to pieces.
- Part 1: The Falling-Out of Camus and Sartre
- Part 2: Tragic Dissolution
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