Hélas, Paris ! The Fall of Existentialism

Paris in Turmoil: An Elegy for an Intellectual Movement

The social upheaval and unsettling images coming out of France in recent days have left me with a heavy heart. To those who have never lived there, Paris may be little more than a glamorous capital, a tourist destination, or a symbol of fashion and the arts. But for those who have experienced the changing seasons of France, from the golden autumn leaves along Parisian boulevards to the sunlit Mediterranean coast of Nice in winter, the quiet charm of Bordeaux’s old streets in spring, and the vibrant summer days of Lyon between its two rivers, these images are more than news on a screen. They touch our memories and our affection for a country that has left a lasting impression on our lives.

If Jean-Paul Sartre or Albert Camus could return to life and stroll along Boulevard Saint-Germain on a suffocating Parisian afternoon, amid social tensions and public unrest, they would surely have much to contemplate. Perhaps they would still choose a familiar corner at Les Deux Magots, order a coffee or a glass of red wine, and watch passersby with the contemplative air of philosophers who once grappled with freedom, responsibility, and the human condition. But would they recognize, in the turmoil of this city, a paradox within the very age their ideas helped shape? What becomes of a culture that champions individual autonomy and encourages people to create meaning for themselves when personal choices no longer seem to converge on a shared vision of community?

Of course, protests and acts of violence committed by some participants cannot establish that existentialism has failed, much less justify blaming Sartre or Camus for every social crisis in France. Political and social upheavals have complex causes, ranging from economic inequality and dissatisfaction with institutions to conflicts over interests and beliefs. Nevertheless, recent events raise a question worth considering: Is emphasizing individual freedom and self-determination enough to help people build a shared life grounded in order, responsibility, and meaning? It is this question that leads me to revisit existentialism, not to dismiss its contributions, but to examine the limitations that may emerge when freedom becomes the nearly absolute foundation for understanding the self.

Sisyphus’s Boulder and the Limits of Freedom

One of Jean-Paul Sartre’s most famous propositions is that “existence precedes essence.” Human beings are not born with a predetermined nature that they merely have to fulfill. Instead, they shape who they are through their choices and actions. From this perspective, freedom is not simply the right to choose among available options; it is also the burden of taking responsibility for the person one becomes. This is a powerful idea. It liberates individuals from externally imposed destinies and compels them to confront their own responsibility. Yet a problem emerges here: if each person must create meaning for their own life, what enables these different choices to coexist in a shared world?

Sartre famously wrote that “hell is other people.” In the context of his play No Exit, the statement does not simply mean that other people are always a source of misery. Rather, it evokes the weight of being seen, judged, and defined by others. Another person’s gaze can deprive us of control over our own image, turning us into an object within someone else’s world. This is a penetrating observation about the relationship between the individual and society. But if we emphasize too heavily the tension between our own freedom and the gaze of others, do we risk overlooking the possibility that people can create meaning together, share responsibility, and establish conditions in which everyone can live better? Other people are not merely a constraint on our freedom; they can also be what gives that freedom meaning.

Albert Camus approached the human condition from a different direction. In The Myth of Sisyphus, he draws on the Greek myth of a man condemned to push a boulder up a mountain, only to watch it roll back down and begin again. For Camus, this punishment symbolizes the absurdity of human existence: we long for meaning, yet the universe does not necessarily offer a satisfying explanation in return. Camus’s answer is not surrender, but to continue living and resist the absurd through conscious defiance. Sisyphus thus becomes a symbol of inner strength, resistance, and human dignity, even in the absence of any guaranteed ultimate meaning.

Viewed through the lens of social life, however, this image also suggests another paradox. An individual may find dignity in continuing to push their boulder, but that does not mean they must accept a boulder whose very existence should never be questioned. If every generation merely repeats the struggles of the previous one, if society continually cycles through discontent, protest, and reconstruction without addressing the conditions that produce discontent, is the courage to confront the absurd enough? An individual may find meaning in their struggle, but a community also needs to understand the causes of conflict, reform its institutions, and create better conditions for living. The courage to endure adversity cannot fully substitute for the capacity to solve problems that can, in fact, be solved.

In Nausea, Sartre portrays Antoine Roquentin as experiencing an unsettling estrangement from the world around him. Familiar objects suddenly seem strange, bare, and difficult to comprehend; the meanings people ordinarily take for granted appear to lose their foundations. It is a compelling depiction of the moment when a person confronts the contingency of existence and the fragility of the frameworks through which life has been understood. But if estrangement becomes the dominant lens through which we see the world, do we risk losing sight of the relationships that sustain everyday life? Family, friendship, work, and community may not provide definitive answers to the grand questions of philosophy, but they can still create practical and enduring sources of meaning.

My concern is not that existentialism is wrong to value freedom, nor that Sartre or Camus should be held responsible for every manifestation of instability in modern society. The issue is the limitation of a worldview that places the individual and self-determination at its center but does not, by itself, provide a complete set of principles for organizing collective life. Freedom may be a necessary condition for living with dignity, but it does not automatically produce wisdom, compassion, self-restraint, or a sense of community. Human beings need more than the right to choose. They also need the ability to understand how their choices affect others, as well as the principles and institutions necessary to resolve conflicts when rights and interests collide.

Perhaps, then, the more important question is not whether people are free, but within what relationships that freedom is exercised, what responsibilities constrain it, and what kind of shared life it serves. A society cannot remain stable through individuals asserting their rights alone. It also needs people who know how to limit their own power, respect the dignity of others, and accept the task of building common rules. Without these foundations, freedom risks becoming an endless assertion of separate selves, while the community gradually loses its ability to find common ground.

Paris in Memory and an Irreplaceable Intellectual Legacy

Despite these reflections, I still feel a deep affection for France. My memories of Paris, Nice, Bordeaux, and Lyon cannot be erased by the unsettling images of the present. I still remember Parisian boulevards in autumn, the winter sunlight along the Mediterranean, the quiet beauty of Bordeaux in spring, and the vitality of Lyon in summer. These places are not merely points on a map; they are part of an experience that has broadened my understanding of people, culture, and the world. A country can experience a crisis and still preserve values worthy of admiration, just as one can love a culture without agreeing with everything happening within its society.

France has made enormous contributions to the history of human thought, from philosophy and literature to the arts and debates over human rights, freedom, and justice. Sartre and Camus, despite their many differences, remain influential voices who confronted difficult questions about responsibility, choice, and the meaning of existence. Their contributions cannot be dismissed simply because we wish to examine the limits of their ideas. On the contrary, a serious reading requires us to recognize what they opened up while daring to question what they left unresolved. Respecting a thinker does not mean turning them into the final authority on truth. Sometimes, the deepest form of respect is to continue the dialogue and ask difficult questions.

I believe that love for a country requires the same spirit. If we see France only through its philosophers, museums, literary cafés, and romantic streets, we can easily turn it into a perfect symbol in our imagination. But a real country is made not only of beautiful legacies; it is also shaped by disagreements, failures, political choices, and struggles that remain unresolved. Precisely because I value France, I do not want to view it through an idealized lens. I want to cherish what it has contributed to humanity while looking honestly at the contradictions and limitations that French society, like every other society, continues to confront.

Perhaps this is also how we should approach existentialism. There is no need to declare an entire philosophical movement dead simply because the modern world remains troubled by problems it cannot resolve. Yet neither should we treat its ideas about freedom, choice, and absurdity as complete answers to every human dilemma. A philosophy may help us recognize part of the truth without necessarily encompassing the whole of it. Its value lies in its capacity to open up important questions, not in providing a closed system capable of explaining every circumstance. What matters is that we continue to engage with this intellectual legacy while seeking other traditions of thought and experience that can complement what it leaves unaddressed.

In Tribute to Vietnam’s Intellectual Heritage: Bringing Civilizations into Dialogue

Looking back at history, I have an even greater appreciation for generations of Vietnamese intellectuals who engaged with and learned from different civilizations. They grew up within Vietnamese and broader East Asian intellectual traditions, while many in later generations actively explored Western thought, science, and social change. What deserves admiration is not simply the ability to read multiple languages or access a wide range of knowledge. It is the capacity to connect what one has learned to the circumstances of one’s own society and, in doing so, develop an independent understanding of humanity and social life. Learning becomes meaningful only when it moves beyond repeating other people’s ideas and becomes an act of reflection, questioning, and the creation of new interpretations.

Of course, we should not idealize our forebears by assuming that all of them mastered multiple languages or had direct access to every major intellectual tradition. Their educational paths and historical circumstances varied considerably. Yet even within these limitations, we can recognize a valuable tradition: learning from elsewhere without entirely losing one’s own intellectual grounding, and embracing new ideas without dismissing the historical and cultural experience of one’s people. Knowing several languages does not necessarily make someone a profound thinker, just as exposure to multiple civilizations does not automatically confer an independent perspective. What ultimately matters is how a person thinks, evaluates, and applies what they have learned.

For this reason, I do not believe that any civilization holds a monopoly on truth. Nor do I believe that embracing Western thought automatically makes a society progressive, or that preserving tradition necessarily makes it conservative. The essential question is whether we possess the intellectual independence to recognize the value, limitations, and internal contradictions of each system of thought. Western traditions offer useful approaches to individual freedom, human rights, and social organization; Vietnamese and broader East Asian intellectual traditions also contain long-standing reflections on responsibility, human relationships, and life within a shared social order. We should not absolutize any one source, but neither should we reject a body of knowledge simply because it comes from outside our own tradition. Intellectual confidence does not mean closing the door to difference. It means engaging with difference thoughtfully and independently.

Perhaps this is also why the events in Paris have given me so much to consider. My affection for France, for the streets I once walked, the seasons I remember, and its immense philosophical legacy, does not require me to idealize everything about the country. Likewise, criticizing Sartre or Camus does not mean denying their profound contributions to modern thought. The question I want to revisit is not whether freedom is valuable, but whether freedom, when isolated from responsibility, compassion, and a sense of community, is sufficient to help human beings live together.

Freedom may open the door for people to determine the course of their own lives, but it does not automatically teach them how to live alongside others. A sustainable society requires more than individual choice. It needs shared principles, trustworthy institutions, and the willingness to recognize that our freedom always exists in relation to the freedom of others. Perhaps the lesson to draw from the turmoil in Paris is not that a philosophy has died, but that no philosophy can entirely replace the wisdom of lived experience, the responsibility of individuals, and the collective effort required to build a community. We can learn from great civilizations without bowing before them; honor the intellectual legacies of our forebears without ceasing to question them; and pursue freedom while recognizing that freedom acquires its fullest meaning when people learn how to live together.

Perhaps this is also how a nation can preserve its identity while continuing to learn, grow, and affirm its place in the world.