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Existentialism & the Absurd Part 3: Jean-Paul Sartre — Radical Freedom & Bad Faith

April 30, 2026 Wasil Zafar 18 min read

Sartre took Kierkegaard's anxious freedom, stripped it of God, and made it the defining condition of being human. The result is a philosophy in which we are radically free, painfully responsible, and almost always lying to ourselves about it.

Table of Contents

  1. Sartre in Context
  2. Existence Precedes Essence
  3. Being-In-Itself & Being-For-Itself
  4. Bad Faith (Mauvaise Foi)
  5. The Look (Le Regard) & Authenticity

Sartre in Context

Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) was the public face of 20th-century existentialism. Philosopher, novelist, playwright, biographer, political activist, and, in his own description, "a man who writes" — Sartre dominated French intellectual life from the end of the Second World War until his death. He famously refused the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1964, on the grounds that no writer should let himself be transformed into an institution.

His life partner Simone de Beauvoir was his philosophical equal and frequent challenger; we will meet her in Part 6. Together they built what they called a "morganatic marriage" — a relationship of unconditional intellectual loyalty without legal or sexual exclusivity. Their café (the Café de Flore in Saint-Germain-des-Prés) became the de facto headquarters of postwar French thought.

Paris, War, Resistance

Sartre's philosophy did not develop in a study. He drafted parts of Being and Nothingness (1943) — his vast 700-page magnum opus — while a prisoner of war in a German camp, and continued writing during the Nazi occupation of Paris. He worked, modestly, for the Resistance. The experience of occupation, where every small daily act was a political choice, gave concrete weight to his abstract claim that we are always free, even in chains.

From the occupation: "Never were we freer than under the German occupation. We had lost all our rights, beginning with the right to talk... and that is why the Resistance was a true democracy: for the soldier, as for his superior, the same danger, the same loneliness, the same responsibility, the same absolute freedom within discipline."

Existentialism is a Humanism (1945)

In October 1945, Sartre delivered a public lecture in Paris titled L'existentialisme est un humanisme. The hall was so overcrowded that women fainted; he reportedly had to fight his way through the crowd to reach the podium. The lecture, transcribed and published the following year, became the most accessible — and most controversial — statement of his philosophy.

Sartre later expressed regret about it; he thought it oversimplified Being and Nothingness for a popular audience. But it remains the best gateway to his thought, and the source of his most-quoted lines.

Existence Precedes Essence

This is the core slogan of Sartrean existentialism. Like all great slogans it is initially obscure, and turns out to do a lot of work.

The Paper-Knife and the Human

Consider, Sartre says, an artisan making a paper-knife. Before the knife exists, the artisan has a concept of it: its purpose (to slit envelopes), its shape, its material. The essence of the paper-knife — what it is, what it is for — exists before any actual paper-knife. The artisan then makes a knife according to that essence. For manufactured objects, essence precedes existence.

The classical Western tradition treated humans the same way. God is the cosmic artisan. Before he created you, He had a concept of "human nature" — your purpose, your function, your moral telos. Your job was to fulfill the essence already designed for you. Even Enlightenment philosophers who dropped God kept the structure: there was still a "human nature" — rational, moral, social — that defined what you should become.

Sartre, an atheist, refuses this. If there is no God, there is no cosmic artisan, no pre-given human essence. Therefore:

The slogan: "Man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world — and defines himself afterwards. If man as the existentialist sees him is not definable, it is because to begin with he is nothing. He will not be anything until later, and then he will be what he makes of himself."

What Follows From This

If existence precedes essence, then a series of unsettling things follow:

  • You have no excuses. You cannot say "I am this way because of my nature" — there is no nature. You are what your choices, summed up across a life, have made you.
  • You are responsible for everyone. Every choice you make implicitly proposes a model of how a human being should be. To choose for yourself is to legislate, in a small way, for humanity.
  • You are in anguish. The realization that you alone, without external sanction, are choosing the meaning of your life is vertiginous. (This is Kierkegaard's anxiety in atheist dress.)
  • You are in forlornness. There is no God to consult, no value-system pre-installed. You are alone with your decisions.
  • You live in despair — but a working despair, the discipline of acting only on what is in your power and not relying on miracles.

Being-In-Itself & Being-For-Itself

To make sense of bad faith and freedom, we need a quick tour of the metaphysics from Being and Nothingness.

Two Modes of Being

Being-In-Itself (l'être-en-soi)

Things

The mode of being of things. A rock is what it is. It is full, dense, opaque, identical with itself. It has no perspective on itself, no possibility of being otherwise. In-itself is solid being.

Being-For-Itself (l'être-pour-soi)

Consciousness

The mode of being of consciousness. A conscious being is never identical with itself. It is always at a distance from itself, taking itself as an object, projecting itself toward future possibilities, and aware that it could have been otherwise. The for-itself is haunted by what it is not.

Consciousness as Nothingness

Sartre's most striking claim is that consciousness is, structurally, a nothingness at the heart of being. It is not a thing among things. It is the gap — the "fissure" — through which non-being enters the world. To ask a question, to expect, to negate, to imagine an absent friend in the café — all these acts presuppose a being that can hold the world at a distance and consider it as not yet.

This is why human freedom is total. There is no fixed human "nature" weighing the for-itself down toward determinism, because there is no thing in there at all to be determined. You are not a self the way a rock is a rock. You are a process of constantly choosing — even when you refuse to choose, you are choosing to refuse.

The hard part: Sartre famously says we are "condemned to be free." Freedom is not just one option among many — it is what we are. Even slaves and prisoners are radically free, in the sense that they always retain a choice of attitude, meaning, and project. Sartre is unflinching here, and you may find it difficult; the existential point is that no situation, however bad, ever fully determines our response.

Bad Faith (Mauvaise Foi)

If we are radically free, why don't we feel it most of the time? Sartre's answer is bad faith — the systematic, self-deceiving flight from our own freedom. Bad faith is not ordinary lying (lying to others); it is the much stranger project of lying to oneself. The liar in good faith knows the truth she is hiding. The bad-faith subject must, in some sense, both know and not know the truth at once. This impossibility is what makes consciousness, on Sartre's view, the only being capable of bad faith.

The Parisian Waiter

The Famous Example

Being and Nothingness, Part 1, Ch. 2

Sartre describes a café waiter whose movements are "a little too precise, a little too rapid... his eyes express an interest a little too solicitous for the order of the customer." He is, Sartre says, playing at being a waiter. He has identified himself fully with his social role — as if he were, in his very being, a waiter the way a rock is a rock.

But of course he is not. He is a free for-itself who happens, this morning, to have chosen this job. The bad faith lies in pretending he is essentially a waiter, in fleeing the dizzying responsibility of being a free man who could, at any moment, walk out the door, change careers, become a different person.

Society approves of this bad faith. We want the waiter to be a waiter and only that, the same way we want the soldier to be a soldier and the priest a priest. Sartre is asking us to notice the cost.

The Woman on the Date

Another famous example: a woman on a first date. The man takes her hand. She knows he wants more, but she is not ready to decide. So she leaves her hand in his — and pretends, to herself, that the hand is just a thing, an object, that she doesn't notice. She makes herself all transcendence (an intellect floating above the table, discussing poetry) and treats her own body as all facticity (a passive thing, irrelevant to her real self).

Bad faith, Sartre says, almost always works by treating one of the two poles of human existence as if it were the whole truth. We are always both facticity (the given: body, history, situation) and transcendence (the going-beyond: project, freedom, future). To collapse into either pole is bad faith.

Modern Examples

Bad Faith Today

"I can't help it, I'm an introvert." — collapsing freedom into facticity.
"Money doesn't matter to who I really am." — collapsing facticity into transcendence.
"It's not me, it's the algorithm." — outsourcing choice to a system.
"I had to take this job." — translating freedom as necessity.
"That's just who I am." — turning a sequence of past choices into a fixed essence.

Anguish, Forlornness, Despair

Bad faith is, in part, a flight from three painful affective dimensions of freedom Sartre names in his lecture:

  • Anguish (angoisse) — the feeling that arises when I realize the choice is mine alone, with no external arbiter. The general who orders an attack, the parent who sets a curfew, the artist who picks one career over another, all feel this when they take it seriously.
  • Forlornness (délaissement) — the felt absence of a moral universe pre-stocked with values. Sartre tells of a student during the war who came to him torn between joining the Free French and staying with his ailing mother. No ethical theory could decide for him. Sartre's only advice: "You are free, therefore choose — that is to say, invent."
  • Despair (désespoir) — the disciplined refusal to count on what is outside my power. I cannot count on the world cooperating; I can only commit to what I can will and act on, here and now.

The Look (Le Regard) & Authenticity

So far we have a single consciousness wrestling with itself. But humans are not solitary. The other person — equally a free for-itself — bursts onto the scene, and changes everything.

The Keyhole Scene

The Famous Phenomenology

Being and Nothingness, Part 3, Ch. 1

Imagine, Sartre says, that out of jealousy or curiosity I am crouched at a keyhole, listening at someone's door. I am wholly absorbed in the act; there is no "I" reflecting on it, just the act itself unfolding.

Suddenly I hear footsteps in the corridor behind me. Someone is watching me. In an instant, my entire being is transformed. I was a free transcendence; now I am an object in someone else's world, fixed by their look as a person spying through a keyhole. I feel shame — and shame, Sartre says, is precisely the recognition that I am, for the Other, the object they take me for.

The Other's look does not just tell me about myself; it steals a part of my freedom, congealing me into the in-itself.

Hell is Other People

Sartre's play No Exit (Huis clos, 1944) dramatizes this. Three dead characters discover they are in hell — but the hell is just a drawing room with no mirrors, where each must see themselves only through the eyes of the other two. The famous closing line — "L'enfer, c'est les autres," Hell is other people — has been almost universally misunderstood.

Sartre clarified: he did not mean that other people are intrinsically bad, or that human relations are necessarily torture. He meant that when our relations with others are corrupted, the others' look becomes a hellish constraint we cannot escape. The play's three characters are damned because they refuse to take responsibility for the freedom each still has — they let the others' image of them be the truth of who they are. That is hell. It is also bad faith.

Toward Authenticity

Sartre never wrote the systematic ethics he repeatedly promised, but the implicit ideal that runs through his work is authenticity: a way of living that fully owns one's freedom, refuses bad faith, and acknowledges the equal freedom of others.

Authenticity is not a state you achieve once and keep. It is a constant practice. Each new situation tempts a new bad-faith escape; each demands again the lucid acknowledgment "this is mine to choose." Beauvoir, in The Ethics of Ambiguity (1947), develops this further: my freedom is only authentic if I will the freedom of others as the condition of my own. We will return to this in Parts 6 and 7.

Living with Sartre: You don't have to accept Sartre's atheist metaphysics to use his diagnostics. The next time you catch yourself saying "I had no choice," "that's just how I am," or "they made me feel this way" — pause. Those are the verbal signatures of bad faith. The Sartrean question is always: What am I doing right now, and which freedom am I refusing to face?

Next in the Series

In Part 4: Albert Camus — The Absurd & Revolt, we'll turn to the writer Sartre called a "moralist" and a friend (until they fell out spectacularly over communism). Camus rejected the existentialist label — but his philosophy of the Absurd, his three responses to it, and his stubborn affirmation that "we must imagine Sisyphus happy" complete the postwar Parisian triangle.