Introduction
As a student of Religious Philosophy, I have long grappled with questions of human existence, purpose, and the role of divinity in shaping our lives. Engaging with Jean-Paul Sartre’s seminal lecture “Existentialism is a Humanism” has prompted a profound shift in my understanding, particularly regarding concepts like bad faith and the radical freedom inherent in human life. This essay reflects on how Sartre’s ideas, encountered during my course, have challenged my previously held beliefs in a predestined divine path, encouraging me to view humans as fundamentally free beings responsible for creating their own essence. Through this personal reflection, I aim to explore the evolution of my thinking, drawing on Sartre’s text and related philosophical insights to illustrate this transformation.
Roadmap of the Essay
This essay begins by outlining my prior beliefs about human purpose and divinity, rooted in a religious worldview that emphasized a predetermined path. It then delves into how my engagement with Sartre’s “Existentialism is a Humanism,” alongside brief influences from Nietzsche and Stevens, has reshaped my perspective on bad faith and freedom. Specifically, my thinking has shifted from seeing life as guided by divine will to recognizing humans as condemned to freedom, without excuses or external directives, primarily because Sartre’s arguments exposed the illusions of bad faith that I once unwittingly embraced. Finally, the essay concludes by recapping this journey and pondering its broader implications for personal responsibility.
My Previous Beliefs on Human Purpose and Divinity
Before delving into the course materials on existentialism, my views on human existence were deeply influenced by a religious upbringing that emphasized the concept of a divine path. Growing up in a Christian household, I believed that life was not a random series of events but rather a carefully orchestrated journey designed by a higher power. This perspective provided comfort; it meant that every decision, hardship, or success was part of God’s grand plan, reducing the weight of personal choice. For instance, I often turned to biblical narratives, such as the story of Joseph in Genesis, where apparent misfortunes ultimately served a divine purpose, to rationalize life’s uncertainties. This belief extended to notions of morality and purpose—good actions were rewarded in alignment with divine will, and bad faith, though I didn’t call it that then, was simply straying from the path God intended, perhaps forgivable through repentance.
In this framework, freedom felt limited, almost illusory. I thought humans had some agency, but it was always secondary to divine providence; we could choose, but only within the boundaries set by a creator who knew our destinies. This view was reinforced by religious texts and community teachings, where phrases like “God’s will be done” were commonplace. It shaped how I approached daily decisions—procrastinating on studies or avoiding difficult conversations felt less like personal failings and more like temporary detours on a predestined road. Looking back, this mindset fostered a kind of passive acceptance, where I excused inaction by attributing it to waiting for divine signs or interventions. It wasn’t until confronting existential philosophy that I began to see this as a form of self-deception, but at the time, it offered a reassuring structure amid life’s chaos.
Moreover, this religious lens colored my understanding of human essence. I subscribed to the idea that we are born with an inherent purpose, predefined by our creator, much like artifacts crafted for specific functions. Sartre would later challenge this directly, but previously, I saw no contradiction in believing that freedom coexisted with destiny—after all, religious doctrines often blend free will with omniscience. This belief influenced my interactions; for example, in moments of doubt, I prayed for guidance rather than forging my own path, assuming clarity would come from above. It also affected my views on suffering: tragedies were tests of faith, not absurdities in a meaningless world. In essence, four weeks ago, I was a thinker who found solace in structure, avoiding the full terror of absolute freedom by clinging to the notion of a divine blueprint. This starting point, while comforting, limited my sense of accountability, as I often deferred responsibility to an external authority.
The Evolution of My Thinking: Engaging with Sartre and Beyond
Encountering Jean-Paul Sartre’s “Existentialism is a Humanism” during my Religious Philosophy course marked a pivotal moment in my intellectual journey, prompting me to reconsider the foundations of my beliefs about freedom, bad faith, and the absence of a divine path. Originally delivered as a lecture in 1945 and later published, Sartre’s work defends existentialism against critics by asserting that existence precedes essence, meaning humans first exist and then define themselves through choices (Sartre, 1946). This idea resonated deeply with me, as it directly contradicted my prior religious convictions. Reading Sartre felt like a confrontation; his blunt dismissal of excuses and emphasis on radical freedom forced me to confront how I had been living in what he terms “bad faith.” For the first time, I saw my reliance on divine guidance not as piety, but as a way to evade the anguish of true autonomy.
Sartre’s explanation of bad faith particularly transformed my perspective. He describes it as a form of self-deception where individuals deny their freedom by pretending to be determined by external factors, much like a waiter who over-identifies with his role to avoid acknowledging his broader possibilities (Sartre, 1946, p. 29). In the text, Sartre illustrates this with the example: “The waiter in the café… his movement is quick and forward, a little too precise, a little too rapid… He is playing, he is amusing himself. But what is he playing? We need not watch long before we can explain it: he is playing at being a waiter in a café” (Sartre, 1946, p. 59). This quotation struck me profoundly because it mirrored my own behaviors—how I often “played” the role of a faithful believer, using religious narratives to justify indecision, rather than embracing the freedom to act. Before this, I viewed such patterns as natural submissions to divine will; now, I recognize them as bad faith, a refusal to accept that “man is condemned to be free” (Sartre, 1946, p. 34). This shift wasn’t immediate; it unfolded over several readings, as I journaled my reactions, realizing how my excuses—like waiting for a “sign” before making career choices—were mechanisms to avoid the responsibility Sartre demands.
Furthermore, Sartre’s rejection of a divine path amplified this change, aligning with but expanding upon ideas from Friedrich Nietzsche, whose critiques of religion I encountered briefly in the course. Nietzsche’s proclamation that “God is dead” in “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” (Nietzsche, 1883-1885) echoes Sartre’s atheism, suggesting that without a divine overseer, humans must create their own values. While Nietzsche’s work felt more poetic and aggressive, it complemented Sartre by highlighting the void left by God’s absence, which Sartre fills with humanistic responsibility. For instance, Sartre argues, “If God does not exist, we find no values or commands to turn to which legitimize our conduct. So, in the bright realm of values, we have no excuse behind us, nor justification before us. We are alone, with no excuses” (Sartre, 1946, p. 23). This passage challenged my belief in a predestined life; I now see humans as truly free, without a cosmic script, which initially terrified me but ultimately liberated my thinking. It prompted me to reflect on personal experiences, like a recent breakup where I blamed “fate” instead of my choices—Sartre’s lens revealed this as bad faith, urging me to own my actions.
The course also introduced Wallace Stevens’ poetry, such as “Sunday Morning,” which explores existential themes through a secular lens, questioning religious comforts in favor of earthly realities (Stevens, 1923). Stevens’ lines, like “Divinity must live within herself: / Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow,” suggest that meaning arises from human experience rather than divine intervention, reinforcing Sartre’s humanism (Stevens, 1923, p. 67). Though Stevens is more literary than philosophical, his work prompted me to think about how poetry can evoke the same existential angst Sartre describes. Reading these texts together created a rich dialogue in my mind; Nietzsche’s radical individualism pushed me to question religious morality, Stevens’ imagery made the absence of divinity feel poetic rather than bleak, and Sartre provided the analytical framework to integrate them. What do I believe now? Humans are indeed free, with no divine path to follow or blame—our essence is forged through actions, and bad faith is the lie we tell ourselves to escape this truth. This realization has made me more proactive; I’ve started making decisions without seeking external validation, like pursuing a philosophy minor that aligns with my newfound interests.
This evolution wasn’t without resistance. Initially, Sartre’s atheism clashed with my religious background, evoking a sense of loss for the comforting structure I once had. However, as I delved deeper, I appreciated how his humanism elevates human potential— we are not puppets of fate but creators of meaning. In religious philosophy terms, this shifts the focus from theodicy (justifying God’s role in evil) to anthropodicy, justifying human responsibility in an absurd world. Critically, while Sartre’s views are empowering, I recognize their limitations; his emphasis on individual freedom might overlook social constraints, as noted in critiques by feminist philosophers like Simone de Beauvoir, who extended his ideas to gender (de Beauvoir, 1949). Nonetheless, engaging with these texts has made me a more self-aware thinker, less prone to excuses and more committed to authenticity.
Expanding on this, my experience reading Sartre was immersive and unsettling. I remember sitting in the library, highlighter in hand, pausing at his assertion that “existence precedes essence” (Sartre, 1946, p. 20), which flipped my religious assumption that essence (divine purpose) precedes existence. It prompted introspection: if there’s no divine blueprint, then my life’s meaning is mine to invent, a daunting but exhilarating prospect. Nietzsche’s influence, though secondary, added depth; his concept of the Übermensch encouraged me to transcend traditional morals, aligning with Sartre’s call to invent values. Stevens, meanwhile, offered a softer entry, his poetry evoking the beauty in a godless world, which eased my transition from faith-based thinking. Collectively, these readings have not only changed my views on bad faith—now seen as a barrier to freedom—but also on human divinity: we are our own gods, in a sense, responsible for our paths. This hasn’t erased my religious curiosities; instead, it has prompted a more nuanced approach, perhaps exploring existential theology like Kierkegaard’s, but Sartre remains the catalyst for this shift.
Conclusion
In recap, this reflection has traced my journey from a belief in a divine path that excused personal inertia to an embrace of Sartre’s existential freedom, where bad faith is recognized as self-deception and humans are truly free without excuses. What began as a comforting religious framework has evolved into a more authentic, albeit challenging, acceptance of responsibility, influenced profoundly by Sartre’s “Existentialism is a Humanism” and echoes from Nietzsche and Stevens. This change, while small in the grand scheme, has empowered me to live more intentionally, and it opens doors to further philosophical inquiry, such as how existentialism intersects with modern spirituality. Ultimately, Sartre’s ideas remind me that in the absence of a divine script, the human story is ours to write— a thought that continues to shape who I am as a thinker.
References
- de Beauvoir, S. (1949) The Second Sex. Jonathan Cape.
- Nietzsche, F. (1883-1885) Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Ernst Schmeitzner.
- Sartre, J.-P. (1946) Existentialism is a Humanism. Méthuen.
- Stevens, W. (1923) Harmonium. Alfred A. Knopf.
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