Lautréamont and Sade
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Lautréamont and Sade
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Overview
"Sade's Reason," in part a review of Pierre Klossowski's Sade, My Neighbor, was first published in Les Temps modernes. Blanchot offers Sade's reason, a corrosive rational unreasoning, apathetic before the cruelty of the passions, as a response to Sartre's Hegelian politics of commitment.
"The Experience of Lautréamont," Blanchot's longest sustained essay, pursues the dark logic of Maldoror through the circular gravitation of its themes, the grinding of its images, its repetitive and transformative use of language, and the obsessive metamorphosis of its motifs. Blanchot's Lautréamont emerges through this search for experience in the relentless unfolding of language. This treatment of the experience of Lautréamont unmistakably alludes to Georges Bataille's "inner experience."
Republishing the work in 1963, Blanchot prefaced it with an essay distinguishing his critical practice from that of Heidegger.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780804750356 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Stanford University Press |
| Publication date: | 07/09/2004 |
| Series: | Meridian: Crossing Aesthetics Series |
| Edition description: | 1 |
| Pages: | 200 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.46(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
LAUTRÉAMONT AND SADE
By Maurice Blanchot, Stuart Kendall, Michelle Kendall
Stanford University Press
Copyright © 1963 Les Éditions de MinuitAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8047-5035-6
CHAPTER 1
§ Sade's Reason
In 1797, La Nouvelle Justine, ou les Malheurs de la Vertu suivie de l'Histoire de Juliette, sa soeur was published in Holland. This monumental work—nearly four thousand pages long, which its author wrote in several drafts, augmenting its length ever more, almost endlessly—immediately horrified the world. If there is a Hell in libraries, it is for such a book. One can say that no other literature of any other time has seen as scandalous a book appear, that no other book so profoundly wounded the sensibilities and convictions of men. Who in this day and age would dare compete with Sade's licentiousness? Yes, it can be claimed that here we have the most scandalous work ever written. Is this not enough to warrant its close examination and our preoccupation with it? We have the opportunity to know a work that no other writer, during any other era, has ever dared to venture beyond. We have, therefore, in some way, within our grasp, and in the so very relative world of literature, a veritable absolute, and yet, incomprehensibly, have we not sought to interrogate and examine it? We do not even dream to question it, to ask it why it is so unsurpassable, to ask what is in it that makes it so excessive and eternally too much for man to take? An extraordinary negligence. But perhaps the scandal is so pure simply because of this negligence? When we take into account all the precautions history has taken to make Sade a prodigious enigma, when we contemplate his twenty-seven years in prison, his confined and restricted existence, when sequestration affects not only a man's life, but his afterlife—to such an extent that cloaking his work in secrecy seems to condemn him too, even while still living, to an eternal prison—we come to wonder if the censors and the judges who claim to lock Sade up, are not actually in Sade's service, and are not fulfilling the burning desires of his libertinage, Sade, who has always longed for solitude in the depths of the earth, for the mystery of a subterranean and reclusive existence. Ten times over, Sade formulated the idea that man's greatest excesses called for secrecy and the obscurity of the abyss, the inviolable solitude of a jail cell. Now, strangely enough, it is the guardians of morality who, in condemning him to the seclusion found within prison walls, have made themselves accomplices to intense immorality. It is his mother-in-law, the puritanical Madame de Montreuil, who, by turning his very life into a prison, makes it a masterpiece of debauchery and infamy. Similarly, if after so many years Justine et Juliette continues to be the most scandalous of books one can read— though reading it is nearly impossible—it is because the author and the editors, with the help of universal Morality, have taken every measure to ensure that this book remains a secret, a perfectly unreadable work, as unreadable for its length, its composition, and its ruminations as for the force of its descriptions, the indecency of his savagery, which cannot but hurl it to Hell. A scandalous, virtually untouchable book that no one can render public. But the book also illustrates that there is no scandal where there is no respect, and that where the scandal is extraordinary, the respect is extreme. Who is more respected than Sade? How many of us, even today, deeply believe that just holding this accursed book in our hands for a moment or two would make Rousseau's disdainful allegation come true: that any young girl who reads even one page of this book will be lost? Such respect is certainly a treasure for a literature and a civilization. Moreover, to all his present and future editors and commentators, can we not stop ourselves from discreetly uttering this avowal: in Sade, at least, respect the scandal.
Fortunately, Sade defends himself quite well. Not only his work, but also his thought remains impenetrable—and this is despite the fact that theoretical developments abound therein, and that he repeats them with disconcerting patience, and that his reasoning is crystal clear and sufficiently logical. A taste and even a passion for systems animates him. He explains, he affirms, he proves; he returns a hundred times to the same problem (and a hundred times is an understatement), he examines it from all angles, he explores every objection, he responds to them, he even uncovers others, and responds to them in turn. And since what he is saying is generally rather simple, since his language is copious, though specific and consistent, one might think there should be nothing easier than understanding Sade's ideology which, in him, is inseparable from the passions. And yet, what is the basis of Sade's thought? What exactly has he said? Where is the order of this system, where does it begin, where does it end? Is there anything more than a shadow of a system in the approach of this thought that is so obsessed with reason? And why do so many very well coordinated principles not succeed in forming the solid whole that they should and that they in fact seem to construct? This too remains unclear. This is Sade's primary and main peculiarity: that, at every moment, his theoretical ideas release the irrational forces that are bound up with them. These forces at once animate and frustrate his ideas, doing so with such impetus that his ideas resist these forces, and then yield to them, seeking to master this impetus, which effectively they do, but only while simultaneously releasing other obscure forces, which will lead, twist, and pervert them anew. The result is that everything said is clear, but seems at the mercy of something unsaid, which a bit later is revealed and is again incorporated by the logic, but, in its turn, it obeys the movement of a still hidden force. In the end, everything is brought to light, everything comes to be said, but this everything is also again buried within the obscurity of unreflective thought and unformulatable moments.
The reader's uneasiness when faced with this thought which is only clarified by a further additional thought which, at that moment, cannot itself be clarified, is often very intense. The reader's uneasiness increases even more because Sade's declared principles, which we might call his basic philosophy, appear to be simplicity itself. This philosophy is one of self-interest, then of complete egoism. Each of us must do what pleases us, each of us has no other law but our own pleasure. This morality is founded on the primary fact of absolute solitude. Sade said it and repeated it in all its forms: nature creates us alone, there is no connection whatsoever linking one man to another. Consequently, the only rule of conduct is that I favor all things that give me pleasure, without consideration of the consequences that this choice might hold for the other. Their greatest pain always counts less than my pleasure. What does it really matter, if the price I must pay for even my slightest joy is an outrageous assortment of hideous crimes, since this joy delights me, it is in me, yet the effects of my crimes do not touch me in the least, they are outside me.
These principles are clearly stated. We find them developed in a million ways throughout twenty volumes. Sade never tires. What he most enjoys is holding these principles up against the ideas of his contemporaries, their theories that all men are created equal before nature and before the law. Thus he proposes some reasoning along these lines: Given that all beings are equal in the eyes of Nature, this fact allows me the right not to sacrifice myself to preserve others, whose ruin is indispensable to my happiness. Or better yet, he drafts a sort of Declaration of the Rights of Eroticism, with this maxim as its fundamental principle, applicable as much for women as for men: Give yourself over to all those who desire you, take all those you desire. "What evil do I do, what crime do I commit when, greeting a beautiful creature, I say: 'Give me the part of your body that can satisfy me now, and if you like, pleasure yourself with the part of my body that might be pleasing to yours?" Such propositions appear irrefutable to Sade. For pages on end he invokes the equality of individuals, the reciprocity of rights, without perceiving that his reasoning, far from being strengthened by these propositions, is transformed into complete nonsense. "Never can an act of possession be exercised on a free human being," he writes. But what conclusions does he draw from this? Not that it is forbidden to commit a violent act against another human being and to enjoy hurting them, inflicting them with pain against their will, but rather that no one has the right to use an exclusive relationship, one of "possession," as an excuse to refuse themselves to him. The equality of beings is the right to make equal use of all beings; freedom is the power to subject each person to his own will and wishes.
In seeing similar formulations one after another, we begin to think that there is a discrepancy in Sade's thought, something missing, a madness. We sense a profoundly deranged thought, bizarrely suspended over the void. But, suddenly, logic assumes control, our objections vanish and the system gradually takes shape. Justine, who, we know, represents worldly virtue, and who is tenacious, humble, always oppressed and unhappy, yet who is never convinced of the world's wrongs, declares suddenly in a very reasonable fashion: Your principles suppose power; if my happiness consists in never taking into account the interests of others, in occasionally hurting them, will not one day arrive when the interests of others consist in hurting me; on what grounds will I be able to protest? "Is the individual who isolates himself able to struggle against all of humanity?" This, we understand, is a classic objection. The Sadean man both implicitly and explicitly responds in numerous ways that gradually lead to the heart of his universe. Yes, he says at first, my right is that of power. And, in fact, Sadean humanity is essentially composed of a small number of all-powerful men, who had the will to raise themselves above laws and place themselves outside prejudice, who feel naturally worthy because of the deviations nature created in them, and who seek satisfaction in every way possible. These extraordinary men generally belong to a privileged class: they are dukes, kings, even the pope himself is descended from nobility; they take advantage of their status, their fortune, the impunity that their situation assures them. They owe to their birth the privileges of inequality, which they are happy to perfect through implacable despotism. They are the most powerful because they are part of a powerful social class. "I call the People," says one of them, "that vile and deplorable social class that makes its living only through pain and sweat; all who breathe must join forces against this abject social class."
But there is no doubt about it, even though these Sovereigns of debauchery often consolidate within themselves and to their own advantage the full range of inequality among the classes, this is only the expression of a historical circumstance that Sade is not taking into account in his value judgments. He is fully aware that, during the historical moment of his writing, power is a social category, that it is inscribed within the organization of society as it existed before and after the revolution, but he also believes power (like solitude) to be not only a state, but a choice and a conquest: a man is powerful when he knows how to become so with his energy. In reality, his heroes are recruited from two opposite milieux: the highest and the lowest, from the most privileged class and from the most disadvantaged class, from among the world's great individuals and from the cesspool of society's dregs. Both sets of individuals find, at the point of departure, something extreme promoting them; the extreme of misery is as powerful a stimulus as the exaltation of fortune. When one is a Dubois or a Durand, one rises up against the laws of the land because one is so restrained and too far below the laws to be able to conform to them without perishing. And when one is a Saint-Fond or the Duke de Blangis, one is too far above the law to be able to submit to it without demeaning oneself. This is why, in Sade's works, the justification for crime is an expression of contradictory principles: for some, inequality is a fact of nature; certain men are necessarily slaves and victims, they have no rights, they are nothing, against them everything is permissible. Consequently, there are the crazed eulogies to tyranny, the political constitutions intended to make the revenge of the weak and the enrichment of the poor forever impossible. "Let it be clearly understood," says Verneuil, "that it is among Nature's intentions that there necessarily be a class of individuals who by their birth and inherent weakness shall remain essentially subject to the other class."—"The laws are not made for the people ... The basic precept of any wise government is to make certain that the people shall not encroach upon the authority of the masters." And Saint-Fond: "The people shall be kept in a state of slavery that will make it quite impossible for them ever to attempt to dominate the wealthy or debase their properties and possessions." Or again: "All that goes under the name of crimes of libertinage shall never be punished, save in the slave casts."
Here we are, it seems, in the presence of the most insane theory of the most absolute despotism. Nevertheless, the perspective brusquely changes. What does Dubois say? "Nature caused us all to be equals born; if fate is pleased to intervene and upset the primary scheme of things, it is up to us to correct its caprices and, through our own skill, to repair the usurpations of the strongest ... So long as our good faith and patience serve only to double the weight of our chains, our crimes will be as virtues, and we would be fools indeed to abstain from them when they can lessen the yoke wherewith their cruelty bears us down." And she adds: for the poor, crime alone opens up doors in life; villainy is their compensation for injustice, just as theft is the revenge of the dispossessed. Therefore, this has been clearly delineated: equality, inequality, freedom to oppress, rebellion against the oppressor are only completely provisional arguments through which the Sadean man's right to power is affirmed, given the difference in social strata. Besides, soon the distinction made between those who need to commit crimes to live and those who take pleasure in living only when committing crimes, dissolves. Mme. Dubois becomes a baroness. Mme. Durand, the worst kind of poisoner, rises above even princesses on the social ladder, the very princesses that Juliette does not hesitate to sacrifice to her. Counts become gang leaders, crooks (as in Faxelange), or even innkeepers to better rob and kill simpletons. (Though most of the victims of libertinage are found in the aristocracy, since they must be of noble birth. As the Marquis de Bressac declares with marvelous contempt to the countess, his mother: "Your days are mine, and mine are sacred.")
Now, what is happening? Some men have become powerful. Some were so by birth, but they also demonstrate that they deserve this power by the way they accrue it and enjoy it. Others have become powerful after having had recourse to criminal behavior, and the sign of their success is that they use this power to acquire freedom to commit every crime. Such is the world: some have ascended to the highest ranks of society—and around them, ad infinitum, is a nameless dust, a countless number of individuals who have neither rights nor power. Look at what becomes the rule of absolute egoism. I do what pleases me, says Sade's hero, I know only my pleasure and, to guarantee that I get it, I torture and kill. You threaten me with a similar fate the day I happen to meet someone whose pleasure is found in torturing and killing me. But I have acquired this power precisely to rise above this threat. When Sade offers us answers along these lines, we feel like we are completely slipping toward a side of his thought that is held together only by the dark forces hidden within it. What is this power that fears neither chance nor law, that disdainfully exposes itself to the terrible risks of a rule thus conceived—I will hurt you as much as I like, hurt me as much as you are able—on the pretext that this rule will always turn in its favor? Now, note that for the principles to dissolve, only one exception is needed: if only once the Powerful finds misfortune in the pursuit of his pleasure alone, if just once while exerting his tyranny he becomes a victim, he will be lost, the law of pleasure will appear to be a scam, and men, instead of wanting triumph through excess will begin again to live mediocre lives fearing the least evil.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from LAUTRÉAMONT AND SADE by Maurice Blanchot, Stuart Kendall, Michelle Kendall. Copyright © 1963 Les Éditions de Minuit. Excerpted by permission of Stanford University Press.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Preface: What is the Purpose of Criticism?.................... 1
§ Sade's Reason.................... 7
§ The Experience of Lautréamont.................... 43
Notes.................... 165