![]()  | 
            |||||
Just Above Sunset 
               June 26, 2005 - The man who thought he was being chased by a lobster ... 
                | 
            |||||
| 
               
               
                The man who thought he was being chased by a lobster  through the nightmare streets full of loud music...    ______________________   Notes from Tuesday, June
                  21, 2005: the moon was just about full (actual full moon June 22), they had that music thing going in Paris, and Jean-Paul-Sartre
                  would have been one hundred years old on this date, but he's dead.    PARIS, France (UPI) -- France kicked off summer
                  Tuesday with musical festivities now being replicated worldwide.    As noted last year about this time in these pages –    This is madness in Paris,
                  where the longest day of the year gives everyone reasonable natural light until well after ten in the evening.  (Paris in on the far western edge of its fifteen-degree time zone so the sun sets very, very late.)  In 1997 up in Montmartre, strolling rue des Abbesses, you would have heard a lot of
                  Brazilian bands, as I recall, and then, further east down the street, one could walk into an ancient stone church where one
                  could sit and listen to some ancient looking nuns doing plainchant sorts of things. 
                  In June of 2000, on a long walk from rue Daguerre down rue des Rennes and ending up at the Buci market area (a long
                  slog), the city seemed filled with over amplified seventh-rate amateur rock bands, crappy novelty New Orleans groups doing
                  "Hold That Tiger" (Tenez ce tigre?) and such things – and a heavy mental band outside the hotel window that played (quite
                  badly) until four in the morning.  Awful stuff. 
                  I missed Patricia Kaas across the river on the right bank.   Hollywood has nothing like
                  thing, or is like this all the time.    "France hated him when
                  he was alive and shuns him in death," French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy said.    Yep, and Sartre supported
                  the Soviet regime in the fifties and then the Maoists, then he defended the killing of those Israeli athletes at the Munich
                  Olympics in 1972, and he turned down the Nobel prize for literature – it was just too bourgeois, of course.  So there have been a series of tributes and events, but he does have this reputation as an apologist for
                  totalitarianism.  It's not all just "holding forth in a smoky cafe on the Left
                  Bank with his partner, the French feminist writer Simone de Beauvoir."    As an intellectual superstar
                  and monstre sacre, Sartre has no equal in the English-speaking world. Even in France you would have to go back to Voltaire
                  to find a figure of comparable stature. At his funeral in 1980, a crowd of 50,000 people followed the cortege through the
                  streets of Paris to the Montparnasse cemetery. This ugly little wall-eyed scribbler had done it all. He created existentialism,
                  a philosophy that could be lived. His treatises and novels sold in the millions; his plays were boffo successes; his
                  public lectures were mobbed. He founded Liberation, which was to become France's most powerful left-wing newspaper,
                  and Les Temps Modernes, for years its premier intellectual journal.    Yep, a big gun.  And Holt suggests that if you combined aspects of Bertrand Russell, Arthur Miller, Noam Chomsky, Saul Bellow,
                  Leonard Cohen, and Mick Jagger you might have a pretty good idea of how big a gun he was.    Some critics say that
                  in creating existentialism he simply took the ideas of Heidegger and give them a Gallic gloss. Sartre's Being and Nothingness,
                  they complain, is just Heidegger's Being and Time with some racy passages thrown in about the anus and Italian love-making.
                  That is unfair. It is certainly true that Sartre, who grew up in a bilingual Alsatian household, owed a great debt to German
                  thought. But the starting point for his philosophy, as he always insisted, was the Cartesian formula "I think, therefore I
                  am." Consciousness, the core of our being, is an emptiness or "negativity" that must fill out its nature through arbitrary
                  choices - that is the idea behind Sartre's celebrated aphorism "We are condemned to be free."    Ah, screw Kierkegaard and
                  Heidegger, and let's have some Sartrean fun!    In the underground caves
                  of St. Germain-des-Pres, jazz dancing was deemed the highest expression of existentialism. Never has a serious philosopher
                  had such an impact on nightlife. Sartre even wrote a rather beautiful song for the great chanteuse Juliette Greco to
                  sing at the Rose Rouge.   I guess you had to be there.  And it is hard to determine what Sartre made of Juliette Greco's hot affair with Miles
                  Davis.    He broke with Camus because
                  the latter denounced totalitarianism. He was silent on the gulag ("It was not our duty to write about the Soviet labor camps"),
                  and he excused the purges of Stalin and later Mao. When the defector Victor Kravchenko published I Chose Freedom, the
                  first inside account of the horrors of Stalinism, Sartre wrote a play implying that Kravchenko was a creation of the CIA.
                  Even when Sartre was on the right side, he could be morally tone-deaf. In opposing the war in Vietnam, he urged the Soviet
                  Union to take on the Americans, even at the risk of nuclear war. And in championing Algerian independence, he wrote (in his
                  preface to Franz Fanon's The Wretched of the Earth) that for an African "to shoot down a European is to kill two birds
                  with one stone, to destroy an oppressor and the man he oppresses at the same time."    Yipes - read Holt for all
                  the details.    True, France still has
                  writers on philosophical questions who also march in demonstrations. (One of them, Luc Ferry, has even been made the nation's
                  minister for education.) But there will never again be a combination of totalizing theoretician, literary colossus, and political
                  engage like Sartre. Today's French intellectuals look like puny technocrats by comparison. Luckily, they proved to
                  be on the winning side of history, so they can afford to be gracious to him, to say, along with de Gaulle, Sartre, c'est
                  aussi la France.   So full moon, music in
                  the streets, and it was Sartre's birthday.  Here in Hollywood not much was happening.
                     [1] In fact, says historian
                  Annie Cohen-Solal writing in Le Monde newspaper, the French have largely turned their backs on Sartre, while his philosophy
                  goes from strength to strength in other parts of the world.    Ah, more of that "pop star"
                  business.    [1] A bevy of popular
                  French singers performed before more than 70,000 people, according to the police, in the grounds of the Versailles palace.
                     So the Brazilian music
                  up on rue des Abbessess up in Montmartre in 1997 has gone upscale.  The Jardin
                  de Luxembourg no less.  Cool.    
 
  | 
            ||||
| 
               
               
               
               	
               
                
 
                   This issue updated and published on...
                   
               
 Paris readers add nine hours....
                   
               
 
  | 
            ||||