Writers of all periods have dealt with the general notion of the Duplicity of Being,[1] the essence of which is an awareness of two distinct and conflicting dimensions of Being:[2] the rational, or deliberate, and the spiritual, or undeliberate. This essay aims to construct a general approach to this question in the existentialist manner;[3] it consists of a contemplation of the nature of this condition, a concomitant discernment of the probable mechanisms that facilitate cognition of this disharmony, and an immodest prescription of a general remedy for this existentialist malady — a "recipe" for the attainment of Being.

It is important to realize that although the treatment of the subject has a rich history, the approach of existentialist writers is novel: while "traditional" writers had resorted to well-documented afflictions as mediators (e.g., homosexuality in works by Thomas Mann and Stefan George),[4] the most creative existentialist writers avoid devices with literary precedents that may have branded into our minds a cognitive prejudice. For example, the transfiguration that assaults Gregor Samsa in Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis is decidedly not common; neither is it figurative and thereby associable with familiar singularities, dysfunctions, or calamities. It is unfathomable and yet palpable, as opposed to intelligible but intangible; it is unpredictable and yet inevitable, as opposed to imminent but forestallable. And what does this transformation signify? What is the nature of this beast? It is the materialization of our other constituent half — our undeliberate self.[5] We are generally aware of the first half[6] (and perhaps axiomatically so),[7] but we are not necessarily aware of the other half. Thus, we might, early in our lives, perceive ourselves as whole beings endowed with the ability to fashion our inclinations and our actions after objective standards arising from systematic evaluative frameworks.[8] In most cases, unfortunately, we come to realize that we are not generally able to change or even suppress certain inclinations,[9] and that attempting to do so will eventually prevent us from acting according to our "better judgment" (i.e., the designs of our rational half) or, worse still, force us to act against our "better judgment." This event, the emergence of the undeliberate self (to which we shall henceforth refer as the Other), is unpredictable because the rational self (to which we shall henceforth refer as the Ego,[10] the individual as aware of himself) is only susceptible to sensory stimuli and therefore unequipped to perceive pure essence (the sort which precedes Existence and which is the is the sole constituent of the Other), and pure essence is unfathomable. It is also inevitable because the Other is very real and truly distinct from the Ego, not just a random fancy or an aberration of the thought process, and the logical consequence of the Ego's failure to fulfill the longings of the Other is that the latter (starved by the neglect ensuing from the ignorance of the former) actually manifests itself in a palpable manner — one which we can rationally ascertain and assimilate.[11]

For example, Mathieu Delarue, the central figure in Jean-Paul Sartre's The Age of Reason, experiences precisely this. He has caught a glimpse of his yearning to commit himself to a noble cause and engage in some form of shared undertaking (i.e., a glimpse of the longing of his undeliberate self) in his desire to fight against the fascist uprising in Spain; however, he remains uncommitted because he fears that, in obeying this impulse, he would be betraying a higher value-freedom-the preservation of which has become the object of his endeavors. We are justified in suspecting that he is seeking to live up to an objective standard that he has crafted with the aid of a systematic evaluative framework constructed through the formal study of Philosophy – of systems of belief and of the ensuing relative worth of things – precisely because this conflict exists. In a fit of quasi-lucidity, he accuses himself of being a coward and a "wash-out" for failing to go to Spain and for refusing to join Brunet at the Maginot Line (161), but he nevertheless persists in the belief that his freedom is too precious to surrender for even these causes; the fact is he will never find a cause worth his freedom. Let us substantiate these claims by way of explicit reference. Mathieu's failure to realize the aforementioned shortcomings of his approach to Being is tragicomic, as even his well-reasoned form of self-restraint cannot prevent a betrayal of the Ego by the Other in the seemingly harmless act of sex: at that instant, the latter overwhelmed the former and thus procured a physical manifestation of the alienated self. Mathieu is disgusted by the budding creature (23, etc.) and does not recognize its significance: as a true manifestation of his undeliberate self, this materialization was unpredictable, inevitable, unfathomable, and now palpable. Poor Mathieu! Here, at last, he has an opportunity to commit himself to a shared undertaking of considerable value on a human scale and yet, thanks to his acquired philosophical prejudices, he cannot recognize fatherhood as a vehicle through which to fulfill the longing of his undeliberate self (that is, as a specific manner of Being)[12] so that, with the same self-critical righteousness with which he later dismisses Brunet, he justifies to himself that Marcelle's pregnancy must be terminated. He chooses to remain, as ever, uncommitted and unhappy; he persists in his Unbeing.[13]

It must be understood, however, that although one may quell a rebellion against the rational self temporarily, ultimate subduction of the Other by the Ego is unattainable. This is clear in Gregor Samsa's metamorphosis into a "monstrous vermin," the reality of which is quickly and unequivocally affirmed by Kafka[14] lest we should be tempted to dismiss it as a dream — which could easily be mistaken for a random fancy of the mind or aberration of the thought process. The mutation, already consummated before his return from dreams-in-sleep to consciousness-in-wakefulness,[15] is the materialization of the Other, which Gregor has tried to suppress in an attempt to live up to his externally-induced expectations of himself. In his new condition, Gregor can no longer ignore the fact that the condition of wage-slavery into which he had worked himself stemmed from a supposed collapse of the family's finances (28) and an unnecessarily outstanding debt to his hated employer. Thus, "[w]ith the loss of his world and of his position as bread-winner, which he unconsciously rejects in the course of the metamorphosis, Gregor loses the foundation on which his existence has been built up. The realization of this loss of foundation brings with it both a deep feeling of anxiety and a bad conscience: the being that has lost its foundations sees itself as “verminous”; the terrifying outward appearance is in itself the result of an unconscious self- punishment" (Tauber 20). In fact, Gregor-inside-the-vermin dreads the anxiety and the bad conscience to the point that he eventually desires his own death (Kafka 54). However, since Gregor is now the materialization of his undeliberate self, banishing the creature amounts to killing Gregor altogether; that is, a complete and sustainable manner of Being necessitates the harmonious coexistence of the Ego and the Other, and the "suppression of either of the poles"[16] can only result in Unbeing.[17]

An even more severe formulation of our predicament is found in Franz Kafka's The Trial, in which the protagonist, Joseph K., is accosted by a form of the Other that he cannot see; that is, although it is unquestionable that he is under arrest and that the Law – which, as a purely essential thing independent of human judgment (220), is representative of the Other – summons him, he does not know who has filed the charges or even what the charges are. The consequence is terrifying: an invisible insect is very hard to kill; therefore, K. must find the insect — he must seek admission to the Law. Unfortunately, he is hindered in his quest (which we shall construe after the fashion of René Dauvin's "The Trial: Its Meaning") by his acquired prejudices, one of which is that the Law is attained through the Court (i.e., institutionalized religion and academic philosophy). He quickly finds out, however, that the Court has degenerated to the point that, while it is the keeper of the Law, it knows not the nature of the Law.[18] In its perverted form, this vehicle for Justice (with Justice, as painted by Titorelli, being properly construed as Existence) cannot be comprehended by the lawyer (who represents objective knowledge and the scientific effort) nor by the painter (who represents art and the humanistic tradition), as they can only describe the Law in terms of the information available to them through the Court. Therefore, as the Law can only be attained by personal visitation,[19] K. eventually goes to the Cathedral (which represents the spiritual realm), in which he finds the prison chaplain (who is representative of the Other[20]). Why then, after lucidly conversing with his undeliberate self, does K. fail to realize Existence?[21] Because that is precisely what one cannot afford to do: one cannot lucidly consult one's Other, because that would amount to a visitation of the spiritual realm by proxy; that is, Joseph K. is his Ego, and as his Ego, he cannot comprehend the Other, but only become aware of it and heed its call. In other words, in order to attain Being, shedding the institutional groundings of our evaluative frameworks (i.e., attaining Existence of the Ego) is necessary but not sufficient.

And so, we finally arrive at pseudo-recipe for Being. We have demonstrated that awareness of the Other by the Ego is inevitable, that to suppress the Other is to persist in a state of Unbeing, that the spiritual dimension of Being is inaccessible through the traditional vehicles of religion and conventional philosophy and incomprehensible even by force of reason exerted by a truly existent Ego. How, then, can we attain a harmonious simultaneous Existence (i.e., "co-Existence" proper) in both dimensions of Being? Or, to use a pseudo-existentialist phrase, how can we attain Being-proper? An unlikely role model is to be found in Antoine Roquetin, the protagonist of Jean-Paul Sartre's Nausea. Through him we learn that, by abandoning oneself to certain impressions, letting oneself be invaded by them and borne by them, one attains truths surpassing those of normal men; at first, this requires a willful renunciation of our lucid consciousness so that our thoughts may "think themselves," as it were, and become impersonal (cf. Magny 22-23). This will result in the gradual disintegration of "that barrier which usually separates and protects even the most defenseless of men from Nothingness and Nausea" (Magny 23). The most successful attainment of Being in the literature surveyed in this course, however, is exemplified by one of its most contemptible characters, Albert Camus's Meursault. This particular existentialist hero appears to have constructed a proper evaluative framework, the groundings of which are the Other; this coordination between the selves, however, is not achieved by way of a reduction of the Other to a set of principles upon which the Ego might base its judgment, but rather by a sort of direct consultation (using Roquetin's technique) of the Other, so that the rational self may at all times exercise (in the best manner discernible by reason) the designs of the undeliberate self. In this way, Meursault averts feelings of remorse and maximizes his enjoyment of life; in short, by constantly acknowledging the demands of the Other on the Ego, he lives, to the end of his days, deliberately (i.e., existing in the rational realm) and without appeal (i.e., existing in the spiritual realm without exacting a toll on the rational self).[22]

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Copyright © 1995-2008 Alex Laburu