Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit illustrates how easily human beings deceive themselves. In particular, Garcin struggles to present an accurate representation of himself, claiming that he’s been sent to hell for sticking up for his “principles,” though it soon becomes clear that there are several other (more valid) reasons for his condemnation. In a similar vein, Estelle arrives in hell adamant that there’s been a mistake, refusing to admit that she’s done anything to deserve this wretched existence, though the audience later learns that she not only committed adultery, but murdered her newborn baby. Inez, on the other hand, has no problem admitting her own shortcomings, quickly accepting that she’s in hell and that this aligns with how she lived her life. And though her honesty with herself doesn’t give her long-lasting solace, the only respite from terror that the characters experience comes when she finally convinces them that they’re destined to torture each other for eternity and that this is exactly what they deserve. In this regard, Sartre suggests that those who are doomed might as well acknowledge their circumstances and accept responsibility for their moral failures.
Early in No Exit, Sartre spotlights the human tendency to deny unpleasant circumstances. When Garcin refers to himself as “dead,” Estelle interjects, saying, “Please, please don’t use that word. It’s so—so crude.” Wanting to avoid the fact that she’s dead, she suggests that she and the others should refer to themselves as “absentees,” effectively enabling herself to block out the reality of her situation, which is that she has died. Given this practice, it’s rather unsurprising that she also rejects the idea that she deserves to be in hell. When Inez asks why she thinks she’s been condemned, Estelle says, “I haven’t a notion, not the foggiest. In fact, I’m wondering if there hasn’t been some ghastly mistake.” In response, Inez smiles mockingly, so Estelle chastises her, saying, “Anyhow, isn’t it better to think we’ve got here by mistake?” This question underlines her desire to believe that she’s a good person, the kind of person who would never be placed in hell. Although this wouldn’t necessarily change her circumstances (since she’s trapped in the drawing-room either way), she clearly wants to deny responsibility for her actions, deceiving herself by insisting that there has been a “mistake.”
Garcin, for his part, doesn’t suggest that he has been mistakenly placed into hell, but he does claim that he doesn’t know why he deserves condemnation. “And now, tell me,” he says to Estelle, “do you think it’s a crime to stand by one’s principles?” Going on, he claims to have died for a good cause, saying that he refused to become a soldier because he was a “pacifist.” To the contrary, though, it eventually emerges that he was cruel to his wife and that he didn’t truly take a “stand,” but rather was caught running away from the war. Furthermore, Estelle admits not only to having an affair, but to murdering the newborn infant she had as a result of that affair. Consequently, the audience sees once and for all that it’s absurd for either Garcin or Estelle to think of themselves as innocent people. This, however, is exactly what they think, proving their unfailing ability to delude themselves.
Unlike Estelle and Garcin, Inez makes no effort to hide her moral shortcomings. This rankles Garcin, who doesn’t understand her willingness to submit to their terrible circumstances. He even tries to get her to change her behavior, saying that if they band together, they’ll be able to avoid torturing one another. However, Inez recognizes that they’re in hell and, as a result, knows nothing they do will change the fact that they’ve been placed here to torment one another. “It’s a trap,” Garcin insists. “They’re watching you, to see if you’ll fall into it.” This doesn’t bother Inez, who merely replies, “I know. And you’re another trap. Do you think they haven’t foreknown every word you say?” Continuing, she acknowledges that she’s in this “trap” for a reason, saying, “And of course there’s a whole nest of pitfalls that we can’t see […] But what do I care? I’m a pitfall, too.” In other words, she sees that she’s in a “trap,” but she doesn’t do anything to avoid it because she accepts that she deserves to be there. The more she lusts after Estelle, the worse her situation will get, and the more she’ll suffer. And yet, she understands there’s no way of avoiding this, saying, “There’s nothing to be done about it.” This is a defeatist attitude, but at least it frees her from being at odds with herself. By accepting the fact that she deserves to be in hell, she circumvents internal conflicts like the ones that afflict Garcin and Estelle as they try to deny their immorality.
Accepting that she can’t do anything to change her situation, Inez encourages Garcin and Estelle to stop deluding themselves. When Garcin suggests that he was a good man who was misjudged by a “single action,” she challenges him. “It’s what one does, and nothing else, that shows the stuff one’s made of,” she says, expressing the existentialist belief that people aren’t fundamentally good or bad. Rather, humans define themselves by how they live their lives. “You are—your life, and nothing else,” Inez says. When she finally convinces Inez and Estelle of this, they enjoy a certain kind of peace, no longer trying to persuade themselves that they’re good people. Reveling in the situation’s morbid absurdity, all three of them throw back their heads and laugh. Given that they’re each other’s torturers, this is a significant moment, as they share a moment of levity despite their bleak circumstances. Then, when they fall silent, Garcin says, “Well, well, let’s get on with it…,” indicating that he has finally accepted the nature of his situation—an act of acceptance that is no doubt the reason he was able to laugh in an otherwise cheerless context. In turn, Sartre highlights the value of being truthful with oneself.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Self-Deception vs. Acceptance ThemeTracker
Self-Deception vs. Acceptance Quotes in No Exit
GARCIN [enters, accompanied by the ROOM-VALET, and glances around him]: Hm! So here we are?
VALET: Yes, Mr. Garcin.
GARCIN: And this is what it looks like?
VALET: Yes.
GARCIN: Second Empire furniture, I observe. . . . Well, well, I dare say one gets used to it in time.
VALET: Some do. Some don’t.
I won’t make a scene, I shan’t be sorry for myself. I’ll face the situation, as I said just now. Face it fairly and squarely. I won’t have it springing at me from behind, before I’ve time to size it up. And you call that being “romantic”! . . . So it comes to this; one doesn’t need rest. Why bother about sleep if one isn’t sleepy? That stands to reason, doesn’t it? Wait a minute, there’s a snag somewhere; something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable? . . . Ah, I see; it’s life without a break.
GARCIN: I can quite understand that it bores you having me here. And I, too—well, quite frankly. I’d rather be alone. I want to think things out, you know; to set my life in order, and one does that better by oneself. But I’m sure we’ll manage to pull along together somehow. I’m no talker, I don’t move much; in fact I’m a peaceful sort of fellow. Only, if I may venture on a suggestion, we should make a point of being extremely courteous to each other. That will ease the situation for us both.
INEZ: I’m not polite.
GARCIN: Then I must be polite for two.
Please, please don’t use that word. It’s so—so crude. In terribly bad taste, really. It doesn’t mean much, anyhow. Somehow I feel we’ve never been so much alive as now. If we’ve absolutely got to mention this—this state of things, I suggest we call ourselves—wait!—absentees. Have you been—been absent for long?
INEZ: […] Look here! What’s the point of play-acting, trying to throw dust in each other’s eyes? We’re all tarred with the same brush.
ESTELLE [indignantly]: How dare you!
INEZ: Yes, we are criminals—murderers—all three of us. We’re in hell, my pets; they never make mistakes, and people aren’t damned for nothing.
ESTELLE: Stop! For heaven’s sake—
INEZ: In hell! Damned souls—that’s us, all three!
INEZ: Wait! You’ll see how simple it is. Childishly simple. Obviously there aren’t any physical torments—you agree, don’t you? And yet we’re in hell. And no one else will come here. We’ll stay in this room together, the three of us, for ever and ever. . . . In short, there’s someone absent here, the official torturer.
GARCIN [sotto voce]: I’d noticed that.
INEZ: It’s obvious what they’re after—an economy of man power—or devil-power, if you prefer. The same idea as in the cafeteria, where customers serve themselves.
ESTELLE: What ever do you mean?
INEZ: I mean that each of us will act as torturer of the two others.
No, I shall never be your torturer. I wish neither of you any harm, and I’ve no concern with you. None at all. So the solution’s easy enough; each of us stays put in his or her corner and takes no notice of the others. You here, you here, and I there. Like soldiers at our posts. Also, we mustn’t speak. Not one word. That won’t be difficult; each of us has plenty of material for self-communings. I think I could stay ten thousand years with only my thoughts for company.
To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out—but you can’t prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I’m certain you hear mine. It’s all very well skulking on your sofa, but you’re everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled, because you’ve intercepted it on its way.
When I say I’m cruel, I mean I can’t get on without making people suffer. Like a live coal. A live coal in others’ hearts. When I’m alone I flicker out. For six months I flamed away in her heart, till there was nothing but a cinder. One night she got up and turned on the gas while I was asleep. Then she crept back into bed. So now you know.
INEZ: Well, Mr. Garcin, now you have us in the nude all right. Do you understand things any better for that?
GARCIN: I wonder. Yes, perhaps a trifle better. [Timidly] And now suppose we start trying to help each other.
INEZ: I don’t need help.
GARCIN: Inez, they’ve laid their snare damned cunningly—like a cobweb. If you make any movement, if you raise your hand to fan yourself, Estelle and I feel a little tug. Alone, none of us can save himself or herself; we’re linked together inextricably. So you can take your choice.
I want you to do me a service. No, don’t shrink away. I know it must seem strange to you, having someone asking you for help; you’re not used to that. But if you’ll make the effort, if you’ll only will it hard enough, I dare say we can really love each other. Look at it this way. A thousand of them are proclaiming I’m a coward; but what do numbers matter? If there’s someone, just one person, to say quite positively I did not run away, that I’m not the sort who runs away, that I’m brave and decent and the rest of it—well, that one person’s faith would save me. Will you have that faith in me? Then I shall love you and cherish you forever. Estelle—will you?
GARCIN: Yes. You, anyhow, know what it means to be a coward.
INEZ: Yes, I know.
GARCIN: And you know what wickedness is, and shame, and fear. There were days when you peered into yourself, into the secret places of your heart, and what you saw there made you faint with horror. And then, next day, you didn’t know what to make of it, you couldn’t interpret the horror you had glimpsed the day before. Yes, you know what evil costs. And when you say I’m a coward, you know from experience what that means. Is that so?
INEZ: Yes.
GARCIN: So it’s you whom I have to convince; you are of my kind. Did you suppose I meant to go? No, I couldn’t leave you here, gloating over my defeat, with all those thoughts about me running in your head.
GARCIN: […] I aimed at being a real man. A tough, as they say. I staked everything on the same horse. . . . Can one possibly be a coward when one’s deliberately courted danger at every turn? And can one judge a life by a single action?
INEZ: Why not? For thirty years you dreamt you were a hero, and condoned a thousand petty lapses—because a hero, of course, can do no wrong. An easy method, obviously. Then a day came when you were up against it, the red light of real danger—and you took the train to Mexico.
GARCIN: I “dreamt,” you say. It was no dream. When I chose the hardest path, I made my choice deliberately. A man is what he wills himself to be.
INEZ: Prove it. Prove it was no dream. It’s what one does, and nothing else, that shows the stuff one’s made of.
So this is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the “burning marl.” Old wives’ tales! There’s no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is—other people!
INEZ [struggling and laughing]: But, you crazy creature, what do you think you’re doing? You know quite well I’m dead.
ESTELLE: Dead?
[She drops the knife. A pause, INEZ picks up the knife and jabs herself with it regretfully.]
INEZ: Dead! Dead! Dead! Knives, poison, ropes—all useless. It has happened already, do you understand? Once and for all. So here we are, forever. [Laughs.]
ESTELLE [with a peal of laughter]: Forever. My God, how funny! Forever.
GARCIN [looks at the two women, and joins in the laughter]: Forever, and ever, and ever.
[They slump onto their respective sofas. A long silence. Their laughter dies away and they gaze at each other.]
GARCIN: Well, well, let’s get on with it. . . .
